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bueckets · 1 day ago

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Textbook Chemistry | Preview

Pairing: paige x tutor!reader

Description: What you thought would look good on your resume turns out to be a weekly exercise in restraint, where Paige Bueckers treats biology like a game she can win through sheer charm, and you try—try—not to let her get under your skin. She’s got no notes, no shame, and apparently no real fear of academic failure, just endless confidence and a talent for turning even the most basic study session into getting under your skin—in all the right ways.

Preview WC: 3.1k

The library is way too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing sound deafening, where every shuffle of paper or tap of a pen echoes like a gunshot. It’s the kind of silence that should be perfect for studying. Should be.

Except Paige Bueckers is sitting across from you, and Paige Bueckers doesn’t give a single shit about studying.

Instead, she’s leaned back in her chair like she’s lounging courtside instead of being one bad test score away from academic probation. She’s got her long legs stretched out beneath the table, sneakers tapping lazily against the floor. Her hoodie—way too oversized for someone whose entire existence is dedicated to agility and precision—is slouching off one shoulder, and she’s twirling a pen between her fingers like she’s dribbling down the court with a shot clock winding down. The sleeves are bunched up just enough to show her forearms, strong and lined with faint muscle from years of training, but the only thing working right now is her mouth.

Grinning. Smirking. Teasing. Doing everything but reading the goddamn textbook in front of her.

“Alright, Paige,” you sigh, pushing your notes toward her for what has to be the third time. “We need to focus. You will fail this class if you don’t start studying.”

Paige doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t move an inch beyond a lazy stretch that makes her hoodie ride up just slightly, flashing the waistband of her shorts. Her smirk deepens like she can feel you noticing.

“Yeah,” she drawls, tilting her head, “but then I’d have to take it again next semester. Which means more quality time with my favorite tutor.”

You stare at her. She stares back. The kind of look that feels like a staredown before tip-off except way less athletic and way more are you seriously this insufferable?

She holds the eye contact, easy as anything, while you struggle to remind yourself that she is only your student, not a professional flirt sent to ruin your life. Her eyes gleam in the dim library lighting, playful and sharp at the same time. Her lashes are unfairly long, brushing against her cheeks when she finally blinks.

Your heart rate picks up. Not from that. From the academic crisis happening right now. Obviously.

“You’re not failing on purpose, right?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

Paige tilts her head, pretending to ponder, lips pursing slightly. “Hmm. No, but if I did, would that be kinda cute?”

You groan dramatically, dragging a hand down your face. “I am this close to committing academic misconduct and just taking the test for you.”

Paige gasps. Actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux offense. “Wow. I knew med school was intense, but I didn’t realize you were out here ready to commit federal crimes.”

“That’s it,” you announce, pushing back from the table. “I’m done. I quit. Find someone else to teach you about mitochondria.”

You barely make it an inch before Paige reaches across the table and hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you back down like you weigh nothing. Her grip is firm, all strength and control—like she’s grabbing a rebound, like she’s got her hands on the game ball in overtime. Your pulse jumps again, this time definitely because of that.

Her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before she releases you. But she’s still watching you, expression softening just slightly around the edges. “C’mon, stay,” she says, voice lower now, like a secret. “I promise I’ll actually pay attention this time.”

You cross your arms. “Oh? And what changed?”

She leans forward this time, elbows on the table, chin propped on one hand. The lighting catches the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. She’s smiling, but it’s something different now—something slower.

“Figured out that if I fail,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore.”

Your brain does a full system reboot. Error. What the fuck did she just say?

“Wh—Paige.”

She just winks, sinking her teeth iinto her bottom lip for half a second before her grin spreads, slow and satisfied. “What? That was cute, right?”

You grab your pen and point it at her accusingly. “You are so goddamn lucky you’re good at basketball, because if you had to rely on your brain—”

“I’d still get by,” she interrupts smoothly, shooting finger guns at you. “People tend to go easy on the charming ones.”

Your mouth actually falls open. Not on purpose—just an involuntary reaction to the sheer, unbelievable audacity of this girl. She’s failing biology, hasn’t written down a single note, and still has the goddamn nerve of a mathlete coasting through an easy A.

You snap your jaw shut, you refuse to let her see how flustered you are. You refuse. “Okay, charming one, then explain the process of cellular respiration.”

Paige squints, lips pressing together as she sucks in a breath through her teeth, nose scrunching like she’s really trying to make something shake in that head of hers. “Uh… it’s when cells… respire?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through your teeth. “We are so, so fucking doomed.”

She just laughs, kicking her feet out beneath the table, accidentally knocking her knee against yours. “Relax,” she says, her grin widening. “You love tutoring me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” she nods, completely sure of herself. “You totally have a little crush on me.”

You let out a dry, incredulous laugh—one of those sharp, breathy ones, all eyebrows raised and head bobbing. “Yeah, sure.”

She shrugs, tapping a finger against the open page of her biology textbook like she might actually start paying attention. Then, without looking up—

“Nah, I know.”

You blink. Paige blinks back.

The air between you tightens like a taut shoelace, pulling, pulling—dangerously close to snapping. You could be the bigger person here. You could roll your eyes, let it go, return to the noble pursuit of keeping Paige Bueckers from academically imploding.

But something about the way she’s looking at you—too smug, too sure—strikes a competitive nerve in you. And you’re not about to lose anything to her. Not a game, not a staredown, and sure as hell not a battle of wits.

So you shift in your chair, tilting your head, letting your lips curl just slightly. “Oh, you know?”

Paige leans back again, arms crossed, shoulders loose. She’s cocky, sure, but there’s something anticipatory in her gaze—like she knows you’re about to challenge her and she’s thrilled about it.

“Mhm.” She nods, casual as ever. “Crystal clear.”

You hum, feigning thoughtfulness, tapping a finger against the open textbook. “Wow. Must be nice. I thought you struggled with retention, but here you are, remembering things that have literally never been said.”

She gasps. “Rude.”

“You’ll get over it,” you deadpan.

Paige, of course, does not let it go. She tips her chin up, meeting your gaze with something wicked and playful tangled in the blue of her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have a little crush on me.”

You exhale, relieved.

“But you definitely think about me when I’m not around.”

Your breath catches. Paige sees it. Her grin stretches wider, knowing, smug.

Oh, you are not letting her have this.

You scoff, shifting back in your chair, fighting the warmth creeping up your spine. “Paige, you are in my life solely because you can’t pass basic biology. I think about you in the same way people think about a fire alarm that won’t stop beeping.”

“Ah, so constantly?”

You scowl.

She beams.

“That’s fair,” Paige shrugs, stretching her arms over her head, and the movement makes her hoodie ride up again, flashing a sliver of tanned stomach. “I am pretty unforgettable. Even when I’m annoying.”

“Especially when you’re annoying,” you mutter.

Paige smirks, but then, as if sensing your growing frustration, she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and dragging her textbook closer. “Alright, fine. I’ll study.”

You narrow your eyes. “For real?”

She winks. “Scout’s honor.”

“Paige, you were never a scout.”

“Prove it.”

You sigh but relent, watching as she flips open the book and actually—miraculously—starts reading the page in front of her. You take a sip of your now-cold coffee, reveling in the small victory.

For a blissful forty-five seconds, Paige is silent. Then—

“So, like,” she starts, “mitochondria. That’s the powerhouse of the cell, right?”

You pause. Blink. Lower your coffee. “Yes?”

Paige throws her hands in the air. “Let’s gooo. I’m a genius.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Paige, you have three weeks until your exam. We need to cover way more than that.”

“Okay, okay,” she soothes, putting her hands up in surrender. “Next question.”

You flip to another page, glancing up briefly to make sure she’s paying attention.

She’s not.

She’s looking at you.

You pause, caught off guard by the way she’s watching you—not with teasing amusement or lazy smugness, but with something softer. Warmer. Curious.

“Paige,” you warn, shifting uncomfortably.

She blinks, then grins again, but there’s something slightly less sharp about it now. “Nothing, nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head, flipping a page in her book. “Just thinking.”

You hesitate, unsure if you want to ask, what about? But you don’t.

Instead, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the book. “Okay. Explain the process of osmosis.”

Paige tilts her head dramatically. “Is that, like, when you just chil through life and things come to you naturally?”

“Oh my god, no,” you deadpan.

She grins. “Damn. Thought I was onto something.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We are so fucked.”

Paige just laughs, bright and easy. “Nah. You’d never let me fail.”

She says it like it’s a fact. Like she knows, without a doubt, that you’d never let hers fall behind.

And the worst part is she’s most definitely right.

She twirls her pen between her fingers, spinning it effortlessly like a basketball rolling off the tips of her hands. It’s hypnotizing, actually—the smooth rotations, the lazy way her fingers flick with just enough control to keep it from dropping. She’s been doing this for the last ten minutes, and not once has she even pretended to read the page in front of her.

Meanwhile, you’re hunched over your notes, taking deep, steadying breaths. You tell yourself you won’t let her test your patience today. You won’t get dragged into her game. You won’t—

“Paige,” you say, voice strained.

“Hm?” she replies, still flipping her pen effortlessly.

“Please read.”

Paige hums noncommittally. Turns a page without reading it.

You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. “Paige.”

She finally looks up, resting her chin on her palm, eyes bright with amusement. “What? I’m absorbing information. Through osmosis.”

You close your eyes, count to three. Consider what your life would be like if you had literally any other tutoring assignment.

“You are so lucky you’re athletic,” you mutter, flipping the page back to where she was actually supposed to start reading. “C’mon. Photosynthesis. What do you know?”

Paige stretches her arms behind her head, her hoodie riding up slightly—distractingly—before she drops back down with a smirk, looking at you like she’s about to deliver the most groundbreaking scientific revelation of all time.

“Plants… make food?”

Your eyelid twitches.

“Correct,” you deadpan. “And they do that through—”

“The power of love,” Paige interrupts, placing a hand over her chest. “And sunlight.”

You grip the edge of the table. Consider flipping it over. “Yes. Because that’s what biology is. Disney magic and good vibes.”

Paige grins. “Exactly.”

You open your mouth—probably to unleash a scathing lecture about the sanctity of science—when a shadow hovers at the edge of the table. You glance up—because you always have to glance up when people stop by your study sessions with Paige—and find a girl, probably a freshman, clutching her phone like it’s a sacred artifact.

She shifts on her feet, looking like she’s debating whether she should even speak to Paige. You can already see where this is going.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” the girl says, eyes darting between you and Paige, before ultimately landing—unsurprisingly—on Paige. “Could I, um, get a picture? If that’s okay?”

Paige doesn’t miss a beat. She shifts effortlessly from Slacker Paige to Cool Superstar Paige, flashing an easy grin as she leans back in her chair like she expected this. Like this is as common as someone asking her to pass the salt at dinner.

“Of course,” she says, voice warm, inviting, polished. She stands smoothly, rolling her shoulders back, exuding that same relaxed confidence she has right before sinking a step-back three.

You, meanwhile, remain seated, taking a slow sip of your coffee, already resigned to your fate as Paige Bueckers’ unofficial designated library bodyguard.

It’s routine at this point. The public adoration, the excited stammering, the sheepish thank you so much before they rush off like they just met royalty. And then Paige slides back into her chair, knocking her knee against yours like she doesn’t have an entire fan club scattered across campus.

“Where were we?” she asks casually, flipping her pen again.

You don’t even blink. “You were pretending to study, and I was contemplating my life choices.”

Paige snorts. But before she can respond, another person approaches.

You glance up again, already prepared, already so tired.

This time, it’s a guy—tall, student-athlete vibes, definitely not looking at you.

“Hey, sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly nervous despite the fact that Paige is already smiling at him like they’re old friends. “Could I get a picture real quick?”

Paige grins. “Yeah, of course.”

You take another sip of your coffee. Stare blankly into the abyss.

Same process. Paige stands, poses, flashes her million-dollar smile. The guy stammers out a thanks and hurries off.

You exhale. Set your coffee down. “You done?”

Paige barely has time to smirk before two more people shuffle up, practically vibrating with excitement.

She notices your unimpressed expression and loses it, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, now it’s funny,” she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Now it’s funny?” you echo flatly.

She grins. “Yeah. You look miserable.”

You scowl. Paige beams.

Another five minutes pass before the final wave of admirers disperse, and Paige—finally—sinks back into her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.

“I should start charging,” she jokes.

You arch a brow. “Should I start charging? I’m the one sitting here like an unpaid security detail.”

Paige grins, drumming her fingers against the table. “You could be my manager, you know. We’d be an iconic duo.”

You scoff. “We’re not even an iconic study group.”

“Yet,” she corrects.

You roll your eyes but, reluctantly, glance at the time. The session should go another thirty minutes, but between Paige’s inability to focus and her impromptu meet-and-greet, you’re pretty much out of patience.

“Fine,” you sigh, shutting your book. “We’ll pick this up next time.”

Paige fist-pumps like she just nailed a game-winner. “Let’s go.”

You raise a hand. “But—”

Paige groans.

“You actually have to study next time,” you warn, pointing a finger at her like a parent scolding a child. “No excuses. No distractions. No impromptu fan club meetings.”

Paige nods solemnly. “Of course. One hundred percent. Fully locked in.”

You squint at her. “You’re lying to my face.”

She grins. “Yeah. But I did it really well.”

You let out a slow breath, collecting your things, already knowing that next time will be just as chaotic. But, somehow, you don’t hate the idea.

You barely make it two steps out of the library before Paige falls into step beside you, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, head tilted toward you like she’s waiting for something.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does she.

But she’s still there, walking at your exact pace, still spinning that damn pen between her fingers like she’s making it her personal mission to erode the last of your patience.

After half a block of this nonsense, you finally huff. “Why are you still here?”

Paige smirks, eyes twinkling. “Wow. I thought we were friends, and you hit me with why are you still here? I think I need to sit down. That was devastating.”

You resist the urge to shove her into a trash can. “You should sit down. With a biology textbook.”

“That,” she sighs dramatically, “sounds like a you problem.”

You groan, but the corners of your lips twitch—just slightly.

She glances at you again, side-eyeing, like she’s waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. So, instead, she nudges your arm with her elbow.

“You heading back to your dorm?”

“Yep,” you say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Where some people go to actually study.”

Paige grins. “Fun. I was gonna hit the gym.”

You pretend to be shocked. “No way. The gym? You? Unheard of.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Crazy concept. Gotta keep these knees in top shape so I can keep playing dumb for you in the library.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips do twitch again.

When you reach the intersection where you usually part ways, Paige hesitates—just slightly. Her foot taps against the pavement, and she glances at you, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t.

But then the crosswalk light changes, and she just flashes her usual grin. “Alright, I’ll see you next time. Can’t wait to waste more of your valuable time.”

You shake your head, already walking away. “You are a waste of my valuable time.”

Paige calls after you, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Admit it! You’d be bored as hell without me!”

You don’t respond. Maybe, just maybe, she has a point.

Comment below for taglist. Thank you for reading.

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abyssyby · 18 hours ago

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Touch, touch, touch

—every time you and sylus touch is out of necessity, until it isn’t just.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: baby’s first drabble! hello! soft, yearning, aching, hand-flexing sylus has been eating away at my brain like a maggot (affectionate). here’s the first of hopefully more of whatever this is ♡ i havent written in a hot MINUTE, so feedback is super appreciated. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, longing, dressing wounds, dates, and touches

The hunter’s attempts at sneaking up on him amuse him and make his chest ache at the same time. It was an all-too-familiar sight— her face and her eyes watching him like a hawk’s, her motions like a wild cat’s. A knife in hand isn’t favorable, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s barely looking when he catches your wrist with his sturdy fingers, head gracefully turning to look at you with no trace of urgency.

“Kitten.” glowing rubies scrutinize your failed attempt at causing harm. Or a good startle. He couldn’t read if that was murder or mischief in your eyes. Either way, he liked it. “Nice try.”

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Always so lost when it comes to the base, Mephisto is your only friend. The halls were made to be a labyrinth to anyone who dared trespass. Only Sylus and the twins truly know the way. Sylus spent hours programming the bird to know the ins and outs of the base, so he is your beacon. But he flies quick, and after shaking him like a tambourine that one time, he doesn’t really care if he loses you.

“Shit.” you mutter, turning in a circle. A comical fork in the hall before you. You just wanted to find the library Sylus has been so proud of. You wonder how you’ll ever get there. You wonder how you’ll ever get out…

Warmth on your shoulder and a sturdy grip on your arm maneuver you towards the rightmost hallway. Sylus towers over you, unimpressed. “He went that way.”

Cheeks growing warm, you wanted to punch him— for sneaking up on you in a most idiotic state. But you thank him instead, shaking him off and stalking after the stupid bird. Maybe you’ll give him another shake for good measure.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Amongst all your injuries, the broken nail on your thumb irks you the most. At least the lock is broken, and you’re safe and warm inside the safe house. The uncharacteristically charismatic safe house with leather couches, plush rugs, and a fancy fireplace. It smelled of white ginger incense and cinnamon. If you weren’t so dizzy and cold from the blood loss, you’d be living it up in this gold brick bungalow.

Slumping against the door, respectfully getting only the wood floors wet and not the carpet, you assess the situation: bruises and scrapes (no big deal), gunshot to your shoulder, bullet still lodged and bleeding slowly (not so bad), and possible concussion (maybe a little concerning), broken thumbnail (big issue).

You know exactly what you need to do. Where the first-aid kit may be, how to dig the bullet out, and what to bite on when you do it. Simple, easy, quick— as you were trained to do. A few winces and groans, and you’ll be fine. You lose a slow and steady breath. You’ll be fine…

A few minutes to rest wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few breaths, a moment to rest your eyes, to calm your heartbeat and slow the bleeding. Just a minute. Just a minute.

The click of the broken lock disengaging wakes you, sends you into a panic. How long have you been out? Instinct makes you reach, point, and cock your gun to the door— where it meets a dragon’s rock-molten glare. He scowls at you, incredulous— maybe at the blood on the polished mahogany floor, seeping between its crevices. Or at the shattered, high-end biotech door lock. Or the fact that you broke in. You have no energy to ask.

“You welcome this house’s owner by pointing a gun to his head?” he asks, but his voice carries no venom, nor does it any humor. He’s kneeling the next time you blink, hands hovering over your left shoulder. There’s something in the scrunch of his brows, the crease beneath his eyes, the short breaths he tries to hide— as if he’d been running, panicking.

“How…?”

“A safe with a broken lock tends to make itself known, sweetie.” he murmurs, too focused on all the blood. Too much to be coming from you. “Although the treasure usually doesn’t walk right in.”

He applies pressure. You groan. “What?”

“Can you stand?” he asks. You try, but at the first sign of strain on your face, he stops you and moves you himself.

He lays you by the fireplace, leaves the room to retrieve a first aid kit, and then works carefully in the dim light. He doesn’t speak a word, and you wonder if it’s because he’s mad. It is pretty shameless of you to break into his property. And you suppose pointing a gun to his head is even worse.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t be dirtying his hands with your mistakes, dealing with the consequences of your poor and ill-tempered decisions. Shouldn’t have to be dealing with a bloody floor and a broken lock— and it’s all your fault. Guilt, cold and sickening, bubbles up in the pit of your stomach.

But his hands are gentle and soothing. His presence, the sound of his breathing is lulling you into calm-surfaced waters with a current that runs rapidly, dangerously beneath. You hate that you want to drown.

“Sylus…” you start as he wipes his hands on his thighs, finished with stitching up your wound.

He holds out a pill. “Take this.”

You blink at him.

“Painkiller.” he nudges your hand open, and you wince as he hits your thumb. The broken nail making its presence known once more. He freezes, wondering if he’d done that. If he’d missed a broken bone. He didn’t check for sprains. He opens his mouth to say something.

But you cut him off, bringing your finger to your lips and sucking. “I broke it when I picked your lock.”

“Your finger?” he sounds mad.

“My nail.” you clarify, voice quieter now. A response at his own tone.

The cord that pulled his shoulders taut and froze his spine breaks its tension. He exhales. The rest of him follows, and with softness, he whispers. “Let me see.”

You lift your hand to him carefully, and his strong fingers wrap around the base of your thumb and your palm. He inspects it with such care you’d think it was a protocore worth his time. “Looks bad.”

“Feels bad.” You confirm, tugging at your hand. But with no real force. Maybe just to see if he would let go.

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks pained. Maybe he had been looking pained this whole time— when he cleaned your cuts, when he pulled the bullet out of your shoulder and stitched up the gaping hole. Too engrossed in your guilt, you hadn’t noticed that what you thought was anger on his face was something else entirely. Anguish. Worry. The last fraying thread of composure his sanity clings to tonight. His grasp tightens around your hand, and he cleans it with the same tenderness he gave your worse injuries.

Then he pulls your hand up to his lips. His breath ghosts over your skin, heat lacing through your veins, down your arm and pooling in the crevices of your chest. “Call me, next time. When you need help.”

He gauges your expression. He looks different here. His usual blood-cursed irises now looking like sweet, warm honey in the glow of the firelight.

“Please.” He insists, voice low and imploring. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you nod. That’s enough for him.

You spend the rest of the night talking, or at least he tries to keep you talking. You still did have a concussion after all.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. In the mirror, you scrutinized yourself in the dress he bought you. The shifting hues of black and red at the movement, how the gloves looked like starlight and felt like butter on your arms. How the heavy diamonds adorning your ears and your neck glimmer in the ambient light of his guest room.

There is a knock on the door and at your command, it swings open to reveal an equally stunning leader of Onychinus.

The strap of his watch catches his skin as he pushes the door open. He’s scowling at his wrist when you see him. And as he looks up, he meets your wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. There is a rupturing, caving so grand in your chest at his heated gaze. A smile he cannot help graces his dangerously, beautiful lips. “You look…”

“My dress,” you say at the same time. Desperate, quick to fill the silence that stuffed the room now that there are two people in it. Now that he— handsome and alluring— is in it. You need to get a grip. “Can—“ you pause when you realize he was speaking too. But he simply gestures for you to go on. “Can you help me?”

Sylus takes in the ask and nods. Willing the thrumming in his chest to cease and his breathing to steady as he comes up behind you. Closer and closer until you feel the heat of his fingers on your skin.

“I’m going to—“

“Go ahead.” you feel his knuckle glide up the skin of your back as he zips you up snugly in the dress. So perfectly fit, you tried to find a flaw— but there was none. The glitter didn’t scratch under your arms, the fabric didn’t itch around your waist and it draped just below your ankles. it was soft and flexible enough should you have to move more than needed during tonight’s operation, you could.

Something stirs in you that Sylus, under the guise of wanting to handle things himself, still took to account specific, necessary modifications for your comfort without you having to say a word.

“Thanks.” you say, catching the reflection of his eyes again. His own lingers on the zipper for a moment before he pulls his hands away like he’d touched fire. He grunts in reply. Whatever he came in to say was lost to him, and frankly, he had no interest in getting it back.

“Take your time.” he says instead, voice tight. Then, unable to say another word, he turns on his heel and marches out with a rigid spine and stiff shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, his ears had gone as crimson as his irises. Meanwhile, you curl in on yourself, nails digging into your arms as you drop to your ankles, willing yourself into a ball to distract from the inferno in your chest.

Good thing the dress was stretchy.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Sylus?” turning, you wonder how it was possible to lose such a tall, formidable man.

The crowd is an ocean that pulls you within its current however-much you push against. He asked you, very kindly, actually, to stay by his side— or so you recall. And yet the pastries, the trinkets, the lanterns and the small stall with the adoptable pets have charmed you like the lilt of a flute’s tune.

The Linkon plaza is never this crowded, if it weren’t for the new year festival. From his cave, you thought you’d lure him out and show him how bright and happy a celebration should be beyond the confines of the base. Sure, the lanterns are up, the gold coins are scattered, the streamers and confetti have littered the floors of the mansion (thanks to the eagerness of the twins), but being out with the people celebrating the arrival of a new year is still, you argued, different.

“I don’t need anyone else.” He’d said when you coined the idea. With his gentle look, and the hint of a challenge beneath a raised brow. You turn away before he spots the visual evidence of the prickles you feel under the flesh of your cheeks. He still does, anyway. It makes him grin.

Never truly one to deny you, he agrees on one condition: stay close. And here you are… not.

“Excuse me— sorry.” You weave through people as gently as you could, straining your neck trying to look over countless heads to find familiar moon-touched hair. A part of you itches in frustration— with his height, he should find you easily. Why wasn’t he looking for you?

The crowd spits you out by a sidewalk where children have gathered nearby to watch a puppet show. He’s impossible to miss in his red coat and bright white hair. There he stood in the back of the short crowd, watching intently as the paper dragon dances with the princess.

You wander next to him quietly, not wanting to disrupt his intrigue. There was a far-away look in his eyes that made you wonder if he was watching at all. When he flinches ever so slightly as the dragon is slain, you’re sure he is.

He feels your hand slip into his palm, and his fingers instinctively find their place between the spaces of your own. And something like freshly cooked rice or a hearty soup travels down into your chest at the feeling that this— this was right. You should have been doing this from the moment you arrived; then you wouldn’t have wandered, then you wouldn’t have strayed. You make a mental note: don’t let go.

He thinks of how well you’ve gotten at sneaking up on him.

Your grasp tightens. “There you are.”

“You left me.” he says, his voice a little raspy from underuse. Unlike yours, that has been yelling his name the moment you realized he was gone.

“No, I didn’t.” you insist, nudging him. “I just lost you for a second.”

“Felt like ages, sweetie.” he says, looking at you. He means to tease, but his words carry the weight of a lifetime.

“Sylus.” you frown. You don’t like the way his features look haunted by a specter you cannot slay. Your free hand comes to touch his face, fingers brushing just below his eye, easing lightness back beneath his skin. “I found you.”

And as if by your touch, his soul snaps into place. This one, now. Not any other life before. His brows unfurl and his distance from sea to shore recedes. A tenderness. A gratefulness. A prideful, present sort of affection. “You did.”

“Wasn’t easy.” you huff, shoulders sinking in frustration. Spreading out the tension as the air between you has gotten too thin. But your hand stays in place, curling around his jaw to stabilize itself. Your thumb has a mind of its own, rubbing the back of his hand. To ground him, you say. For him. For… you, too. “There are too many things, I got a little overwhelmed.”

He smirks, reaching up to your face and swiping his thumb over the corner of your lip. It comes away stained with blue icing. From the very cupcake that lured you away. He brings it to his lips and tastes it. “Show me.”

“Hm?” you blink, distracted at the act. The sound of your pulse muffling your ears, drowning out the droning of the crowd.

“Show me the many things.” he says again, a chuckle sanding his tone. His voice is clear as day, the only true thing you hear in the cheerful chaos of the festival. He shakes your joined hands. “I’ve got you.”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

thank you for reading!

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 18 hours ago

Text

Passion and Strength

Written for the February 2025 round of the @steddiemicrofic challenge

Prompt: rose, 367 words

Rated: T

Tags: Canon-divergence; Post s4; Tattoo artist Eddie; First meeting; Scars

Eddie's first thought is that an angel just walked through his door. The guy looks ethereal - all soft fabrics and bright colors against the black and red of Eddie’s tattoo shop.

“Coffee shops's next door,” Eddie says, then winces. Way to look like an asshole.

“Huh?” Large, hazel eyes blink at him. “Oh no, I'm Steve. I called earlier?”

“Oh?” Eddie says intelligently. “Oh, yeah. About the cover-up?”

“Exactly,” Steve nods. “I- ... Look, I'll be honest, I've never gotten a tattoo, but I'm tired of looking at those scars, and I thought- … I'm not even sure you can work with them, they're pretty nasty.”

“I can work with anything,” Eddie claims. It's a bold statement, but Steve’s face lights up with hope. “Show me?”

“What, right now?” Steve says. “Um … okay.”

And then he strips out of his sweater.

Eddie catches a glimpse of a toned chest and bites his tongue. He's a professional. He can't afford to do stupid things like ogle customers or run his fingers through their chest hair to see if it's as soft as it looks.

Then, Steve turns.

“Shit, what happened to you?”

Steve shrugs. The gnarly scar tissue covering his shoulder blades moves with it.

“I was in an earthquake. You know Hawkins?”

Eddie nods. Of course he does. Everyone in the Midwest knows.

“Would have to be one massive tattoo,” he mutters, and this time, he does reach out and touch. “You got any ideas?”

“A baseball bat with nails over my spine.” If Steve catches Eddie’s bewildered look, he ignores it. “And some sort of flowers around it? To symbolize life and growth?”

“Roses,” Eddie mutters. He can see them before his mind's eye, vibrant and beautiful like the man who'll carry them. “For passion and strength.”

Steve turns, and he withdraws his hand.

“Perfect. When can we get started?”

Eddie barks a laugh. “Easy, big boy. I'll need to design something first, and you'll wanna sleep on it. It'll take a long time, and it'll be painful.”

“That's okay,” Steve says. “I like pain.”

Eddie thinks that his professionalism is hanging by a thin thread.

He still tells Steve to come back tomorrow.

Something something, Eddie grew up outside of Hawkins, the UD shit still happened, Steve commissions him to cover up his scars.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddiemicrofic #hype's microfics #steddiemicroficfebruary

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megalony · 3 days ago

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Matters Of The Heart- Part 2

It's been too long since I posted the first part of this Evan Buckley imagine, but here is finally the second part.

I hope you will all like it, feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: (Y/n) and Evan keep their relationship private, but they're happy. But when (Y/n) falls pregnant, she doesn't know what to do; she's suffered miscarriages before and worries this will end up the same way.

Enjoy.

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

"So… how'd it go? You never said." Hen slumped herself down on the sofa and folded her left arm over the back of the sofa. She propped her head up on her hand and curled her knees up on the seat while her eyes focused on the girl sitting in front of her.

(Y/n) couldn't lift her gaze from the steaming cup of coffee she was nursing like she was trying to bring it back to life. Her fingers grazed up and down the red speckled cup and she brought her knees closer to her chest before she finally looked up.

Part of (Y/n) hoped they wouldn't have to have this conversation. It was unnaturally easy to know just what subject Hen was talking about without needing any other details.

Hen had become more than a little nervous after finding (Y/n) with the pregnancy test last week. And she was growing more and more worried by the day when she didn't get a call or even a text to say how it had ended up.

"You can talk to me, you know."

She knew. (Y/n) knew she could open up to Hen with just about anything. She could of said she'd murdered someone and Hen would still try to understand and help her through it. That was how close they had gotten while working together and it was something (Y/n) loved about her friend. That she was always so willing to listen attentively and try to help in any way she could.

But (Y/n) didn't want any help right now, even if part of her wondered if she needed it.

A big part of her was saying to lie. False alarm. It was negative. Nothing to worry about. Her mind was screaming at her to tell any one of those lies and brush this under the rug. Push it away and hope that the conversation, and the event itself, would fade into a distant memory.

But telling a lie didn't make it a truth, no matter how hard (Y/n) wished for it to be so. She took a quick look around the loft, making sure no one else was within ear shot before she spoke.

"Positive." The word fell from her lips like a droplet of rain cascading down from the clouds. Quiet, soft, disappearing as soon as it was seen.

She watched Hen move her hand round from cradling the back of her head to run across her mouth and across her cheek. The way Hen pursed her lips and looked down showed she was trying to think. She was trying to come up with an answer, some sort of comforting phrase or some logic that might make this seem less frightening.

"Have you gone to the doctors yet? I'll go with you if you want." Hen knew it was frightening to go to the doctors for just about any reason. Let alone going to talk about a new pregnancy like this when (Y/n) was already so worried and certain that it would end badly.

If she didn't want to go alone- something Hen would not recommend at all- then Hen would gladly go along with her for moral support and help her talk through this and decide what she wanted to do.

"I'm not going, at least not yet." Maybe it was the stubbornness within her heart, but (Y/n) didn't want to.

She didn't want to see a doctor and have this dream confirmed, only to have it crushed in a few weeks. Her mind was made up on the fact that pregnancy was not something her body was capable of doing.

(Y/n) would rather wait a few weeks and see if she miscarried. If by some miracle she didn't, then she would go to the doctor and see if this was going to be possible and get herself checked out. She would rather live in denial than try and bask in this dream because all dreams broke eventually. Everyone had to wake up and this was going to be a harsh awakening when it eventually happened.

"You should get checked out, after last time you might develop complications, we should make sure you're okay at least."

Tears bubbled over in (Y/n)'s eyes but she did her best to push them aside and she took a large gulp of coffee. Relishing in the way it burned the back of her throat and ignited something in her chest and calmed down the panicked butterflies swarming to life.

She knew having an ectopic pregnancy before put her at risk of having other complications. She could have another ectopic pregnancy, although it was rare, it wasn't unheard of. But (Y/n) couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't care because she couldn't let herself believe this was happening. Ignoring this was the only way (Y/n) knew how to cope.

This was something she wanted. This was something she would choose, to have a baby, and to see Evan with a baby made (Y/n)'s heart do a funny sort of leap in her chest like it was agreeing with her.

But if she told him now and then she lost the baby, she would have given Evan unnecessary heartbreak and all for nothing. And if (Y/n) let herself indulge in this fantasy and believe she was going to have a baby, how bad was it going to be when the bubble burst?

"Not yet."

"Then… then can you promise me you'll get an appointment in what, two or three weeks? You need to look after yourself and you know the rules; if you are, you can't be on full duties." Hen lowered her voice towards the end of her words and ducked her head closer to (Y/n)'s as if to make sure only she heard those words.

They had rules at the station for a reason and (Y/n) had to look after herself. She had to make sure she was okay to be at work and that she wasn't struggling or having any complications that could put her at risk.

And if she was pregnant, she had to be on restricted duties to keep her and the baby safe. That wasn't negotiable and Hen didn't want to get to the point where she had to go and talk to Bobby for (Y/n)'s safety or find out (Y/n) was trying to hide this pregnancy from everyone and carry on working. She would put herself at risk and if she got hurt or she collapsed, they would all feel responsible.

Not to mention the fact that (Y/n) wouldn't be liable for sick leave or any compensation and could in fact be reprimanded if she was hurt while pregnant on the job and hadn't disclosed the news at the earliest opportunity.

"Two weeks, I swear."

It didn't feel like enough time. (Y/n) could feel her throat closing up and her head started to swim at the thought of a timer she had now set off in the back of her head.

Two weeks. That was barely any time at all, but it was the limit because (Y/n) knew she had to be two or closer to three months along by now. And fourteen weeks was as far as she had ever gotten before she lost the baby. She had to get checked out before that marker to see if she was in danger and then she would need to be careful.

She would need to wait for the inevitable.

In two weeks, she would make herself an appointment with her doctor and ask Hen to tag along with her so she didn't have to do this on her own.

"Are you going to tell Eddie? I think you should, you need support-"

"It's not Eddie's."

She couldn't help the sharp tone to her voice or the way she cringed as she spoke. Somehow, (Y/n) felt like she was making a scene of herself by admitting that fact, simply because it implied she had been with someone else. It wasn't as if she had ever cheated on Eddie and they had never been in a labelled relationship. It had simply been a fling when they both needed someone, and it ended on good terms.

But (Y/n) didn't like admitting that she had gotten into another relationship and hadn't mentioned it to anyone on the team. That she hadn't mentioned it to Hen, her best friend. It made her feel sleezy, like she had a secret that was too sordid to tell.

(Y/n) put her cup down on the coffee table and let her feet slide down to the floor. "I told you, we're just friends. Besides, that was almost two years ago."

She could see it. She could see in Hen's eyes that she wanted to ask. She wanted to be curious and ask if (Y/n) had met someone special or if she was finally happy with someone. Because for the last few months, she had started to notice a change in (Y/n). She was happier, more confident in herself and her work and she was starting to come out of her shell and go out after work.

There was someone that made (Y/n) happy and that was all that Hen had ever wanted for her.

But before Hen could ask, a familiar alarm blared out above them and both girls groaned and dropped their heads forward.

A new call.

Here we go again.

***

"He's coding, starting compressions." A deep grunt left Evan's lips as he pushed up from his seat in the ambulance until he was bent over the gurney.

His hands interlocked and pressed down against the victim's chest as he began CPR compressions. He tensed his back and pushed his knees into the frame of the gurney to keep steady when the ambulance swerved to the left.

His eyes glanced up to the right to check Chimney had the air bag placed over the victim's nose and mouth to give him oxygen while Evan kept pressing down. CPR never settled well with Evan after he had tried to save someone once and fractured two of her ribs. He could still hear the spine-tingling crunch and the way he felt the bone cave beneath his hands and he hadn't even applied that much pressure.

But he could see that Chimney had his hands full trying to stem the bleeding in the man's neck and give him a saline drip. There was no use Chimney moving round when Evan was sat right at the man's side and available to do the compressions.

This wasn't the direction Evan imagined today's shift going. The daily reports got heavier when they had to give CPR and if the man didn't survive that would mean triple the paperwork. This was the part of the job that always made Evan nervous. He could climb cranes and run into burning buildings and clip to a harness and go down into craters. But having to try and keep someone's heart beating and giving them each breath they needed, that didn't settle right with him. It was too panicking.

Why had he been the one to climb in the back of the ambulance? This should have been Eddie or even (Y/n), both of them were trained medics. Evan wasn't a medic. But they had been giving statements to the police on scene, Hen was driving the ambulance and that meant Evan had to be the one to move the gurney along with Chimney and look after their victim.

It was a relief when the ambulance screeched to a stop and Evan knew he could soon hand this patient over to the professionals. This wasn't part of the job he wanted to be doing, he would rather let the doctors take over.

"Still no pulse," Chimney locked eyes with Evan who paused his compressions to check for a pulse.

With a deep breath, he began pressing down again as Hen opened the back door. They had to keep going, he had only just lost his pulse, they could keep his heart going until the doctors got it working properly or pronounced him dead.

"We need to move him." Evan locked eyes with Hen and dipped his head towards the end of the gurney so she got his point.

He would continue compressions if they would move the gurney and get them into the hospital.

Evan glanced down, never pausing his movements as he stood onto the metal beams beneath the gurney that he prayed would take his weight. The grooves of his boots slotted over the metal and locked him in place while his knees bent and locked in place and he hunched forward to keep his sense of balance.

There was no way Evan could successfully continue compressions if he had to walk and rush beside the stretcher. He needed to be stood in place and the only way to do that was to climb onto the gurney too.

He continued compressions while Chimney and Hen carefully clicked off the brakes and slid the gurney down from the ambulance onto the floor.

Evan couldn't look up from his task, he was far too focused and intent on keeping a steady compression rhythm, but his arms were beginning to grow tired and his back was aching. They were supposed to switch every two minutes because continuous compressions was a hard thing to keep up.

Although he didn't look up, Evan could hear the sound of the fire truck's sirens before they were switched off and the rumbling engine quietened down. Bobby, (Y/n) and Eddie had turned up on scene.

A quiet "Oh Jesus," muttered beneath Eddie's breath and his hands clamped down on his hips when they climbed down from the truck and looked over towards the rest of the team. They were performing CPR. Thing weren't looking good for their victim.

The sight of Evan hunched over the gurney, fingers interlaced, shoulders squared up and back doubled over made (Y/n)'s blood curdle. Evan looked so engrossed in his task, so determined and desperate and she could see his lips were curled into a rabid look that was making his nose crinkle.

He never took it well when they lost people on the job.

(Y/n) bound her arms around her middle as she followed after the gurney, her eyes locked on Evan. She followed along behind Chimney who was pushing the gurney while Hen was at the other end, pulling and steering them in the right direction.

She could feel Eddie and Bobby hovering close behind, the sound of their footsteps bashing on the pavement echoed in (Y/n)'s head that felt like a drum being violently whacked until it was about to split like a coconut.

It took all her effort to stop herself from breaking out into trembles. They had been working all day without a proper break and (Y/n) hadn't managed to stomach any lunch. She knew that once they got back to the station she would have to try and have a protein drink and take a minute to rest and build herself back up before they went on another call.

"Come on, let's go."

The guttural sound of Evan's voice made (Y/n) shudder and she picked up her pace even though she knew he wasn't talking to her, he was telling Chimney and Hen to hurry with the gurney.

Reaching one hand out, Chimney pressed his palm down on Evan's back to try and steady him as they steered through into the paramedic entrance to the emergency room. He knew Evan wasn't about to fall off but the twisting corners was making it harder for him to keep his balance and perform the resuscitation compressions.

As soon as a free nurse saw them, she waved them along and the stretcher was moving again, setting Evan's body back to being tense and stiff as a board to stay composed.

"He coded on the way, no pulse for one minute, punctured artery in the neck."

"Someone needs to take over from me now." Evan continued his compressions but his own chest was heaving and his arms were aching. Not to mention keeping his balance was causing his knees to bruise against the gurney and his thighs were locking up from how tense he had become.

He was grateful when a nurse hurried over to the opposite side of the gurney and on the count of three, Evan pulled back to let her start the compressions instead.

His legs felt like they had turned to liquid and from his ankles up to his thighs he was trembling with pins and needles and excess adrenaline.

His hand tangled in the short curls at the back of his head and he took a few steps away from the stretcher that was already being guided away. While Chimney gave the full spiel to one of the nurses so they had all the information they needed.

"Alright guys, I think that's our part over."

Bobby's voice seemed to go in one ear and out the other for (Y/n). She heard him, but she couldn't register what he was saying. Each word sounded foreign and she could make no sense of them. All she could fathom was how horrid her heartbeat sounded pulsing through her ears and how it was making her chest feel uncomfortable to notice and feel each beat rock through her chest.

Her nose crinkled and her eyes scanned around the corridor they were blocking. Maybe she needed to go back outside and get some fresh air and sit down.

She didn't get chance to try and walk outside. (Y/n)'s legs didn't feel like they were under her control anymore.

When her head lolled forward, her body followed its sense of direction and before she could reach out or stop herself, her body crumpled to the floor like a puppet without its strings. Her chin tucked down into her chest and white static filled her ears when her head collided with the polished laminate floor.

Her arms flopped around her waist and (Y/n) barely had the energy she needed to scrape her arms along the floor and bind them around her middle. She wanted to curl her knees and bring them up to her stomach, but it was too much effort that she didn't have.

"Shit!"

"(Y/n)? Hey, hey what's going on?"

Evan's nails scratched into the back of his scalp so suddenly that he hissed in pain as he spun on his heels to look behind him. His wide eyes narrowed slightly when he looked at his girlfriend and he could feel his chest stutter and pause as he tried to take in what was happening and why she was suddenly flat out on the floor.

Evan tried. He tried to bottle down the panic and overwhelming sense of urgency that was making him desperate to rush over there and push his colleagues out the way. No one knew about their relationship yet and Evan didn't think this would be the right time to break that news.

They were only keeping things quiet so it didn't cause any speculation or drama at work. And for Eddie's sake. Evan knew Eddie wouldn't be resentful, but it might make things awkward if he learned that his best friend was now in a relationship with someone Eddie used to have a fling with. They didn't want work to become awkward or for their friendships to be strained in any way.

Shallow breaths stuttered past Evan's lips as he skidded against the floor and hurried after Chimney to crowd around (Y/n). Both of them leaned in close but it took all of Evan's willpower not to crouch down and take over. He wasn't a medic and he didn't want them to know how close he really was to (Y/n).

He swallowed harshly when he watched Eddie and Hen crouch down beside (Y/n).

Eddie whipped the pen light from his top pocket and carefully held (Y/n)'s temple, tilting her head back so he could flash the light across her pupils that were constricting and barely able to see a thing.

"She's burning up." Eddie flipped his hand over so the back of his hand was pressed against (Y/n)'s forehead, but he could feel the sweat that was sticking his hand to her skin. She was burning a fever and she looked flushed. Why hadn't she said something? Why hadn't any of them noticed this earlier?

Panic bridled through Hen but she did her best to calm herself down while she pointed one hand behind her. "Chim, medic bag."

Once the bag was in her hand, Hen rummaged through and found a blood pressure cuff which she slid up (Y/n)'s arm while Eddie focused on trying to get (Y/n) to form a coherent word and focus. And Bobby's footsteps could be heard retreating down the hall to find a nurse. (Y/n) would needed to be examined and checked out before they even thought about taking her back to the station.

Even if this was just a funny turn or a sickness bug, she would have to be seen by a doctor and then signed off for the rest of her shift.

"(Y/n), are you still with me? Does anything hurt?" Eddie clipped an oxygen monitor onto her index finger and watched to see what reading he got for her pulse. But his eyes continuously flitted up to (Y/n)'s face, waiting to see if she would or if she even could answer him.

Her eyes were rolling around and trying their best to focus on him but she was half unconscious.

A groan left her lips and her body jerked before she pressed her cheek and temple into the ground. But when her lips parted, her throat tightened and she spewed up a puddle of water. Not surprising since she hadn't managed to eat any lunch today.

"Okay, I think she's gonna be dehydrated." Eddie tried his best to be careful when he nudged (Y/n) back towards the wall so she wasn't near the water she'd just thrown up.

He edged closer to her, relieved when her eyes finally opened and she seemed a bit more coherent and like she was able to see him this time rather than stare right through him as if he were invisible.

"BP's starting to crash. She's either run down or caught an infection, she needs to be admitted." Hen rolled up the blood pressure cuff and folded it back into the medic bag and her hands braced on her thighs as she resisted the urge to sigh.

It wasn't her place to tell anyone on the team that (Y/n) was pregnant and that this could be due to morning sickness. And she certainly didn't want to think about this meaning (Y/n) might just be losing the baby. Hen knew (Y/n) was dead set on the fact that she believed this wasn't going to work out. She didn't think she could have a baby and she seemed to be waiting for the day that it went downhill and this dream faded into a nightmare.

Hen wanted to believe that this was simply (Y/n) being rundown or suffering with a bit of sickness rather than thinking. But in the end it didn't matter what Hen chose to believe or even what (Y/n) was thinking right now. All that mattered was getting a doctor to check her over and find out what was happening.

"Alright guys let's get her on the stretcher and someone will take a look at her." Bobby patted Hen's shoulder and indicated to the stretcher behind him where a nurse was standing by.

There were assessment cubicles free, the nurse would take (Y/n) into one of them and check her over. They couldn't stay here in case other ambulances came back and needed to come through. They were blocking the corridor.

Evan took that as his moment to weave in between Hen and Eddie so he could try and make himself useful. He didn't like standing back and watching, especially when it was (Y/n) who needed help. And Hen seemed to understand because she shuffled back and got to her feet to help guide the stretcher over, letting Evan take her place.

He tried to catch (Y/n)'s eye once Eddie eased her into a sitting position, but she wouldn't look at him. She wouldn't look at any of them, her eyes were trained on her trembling hands that were laid limp against her thighs.

He slid his hands beneath (Y/n)'s thighs, trying not to grip her too tightly while Eddie hooked his hands beneath her arms and on the count of three, they lifted her between them. They eased her onto the stretcher and Evan didn't like the way (Y/n)'s head lolled to the right like she was about to slide back onto the floor.

Evan quickly reached his hand up to hold (Y/n)'s shoulder, gently pushing her back against the stretcher to keep her in place.

The nurse and Eddie began steering the stretcher down the corridor towards the assessment cubicles with the team following along like an entourage. When Evan heard Chimney mutter to Bobby "Do we stay with her?" he turned in their direction and stood outside the cubicle that (Y/n) got wheeled into.

"I can stay." Evan knew it wasn't strictly protocol for everyone to stay, no matter how close they all were and how they all wanted to make sure (Y/n) was alright. The rest of the team would need to go back to the station to finish shift and handover to the next crew. And they were already a person down with (Y/n) now being here.

"Are you sure Buck?"

"My shift is technically finished anyway, I'll stay with her and when I know what's happening I'll call you."

He would be finishing in twenty minutes or so, there was no point everyone staying or someone else staying and Evan going back to the station for a mere twenty minutes. He may as well wait along with (Y/n). Plus, he was her partner. There was no way Evan could go back on shift and just wait around for news. He would finish and come straight back here anyway.

He didn't quite like the look of contemplation on Eddie's face as he stood in the doorway, hands on hips and one knee jutting forward. He looked like he wanted to interrupt, to debate and say that he wanted to stay instead. But when Bobby nodded and patted Evan's shoulder, Eddie seemed to relent.

He couldn't really argue when the rest of them needed to be back on shift and they all couldn't stay here.

A look of contemplation flooded Hen's eyes as she leaned over the bed (Y/n) had been transferred onto. She knew she would have to go now with the rest of the team, but she wanted to double check (Y/n) was okay with that. If she wanted Hen to stay or talk to the doctors for her, then she would.

Her hand slid down to hold (Y/n)'s. "Do you need me to call anyone for you? If you want me to stay-"

(Y/n) shook her head. It was hard to do when the movement made her eyes roll and sent her stomach churning from the unbalance it caused, but she continued to shake her head. She didn't want Hen to try and call anyone for her. The only person she needed was Evan and he was currently stood in the doorway with that determined look that said he wasn't going anywhere.

She just needed Hen to keep quiet for a little bit longer, to not mention the pregnancy to anyone. Especially not Eddie or Evan. Who knew, after today (Y/n) might not have to think about it again.

(Y/n) could barely keep her eyes in focus with the tears that were beginning to roll down her face.

She tried to focus as Hen squeezed her hand before she left the room, trading places with Evan.

Both her arms bound around her middle once again to try and settle her system. She felt a great urge to be sick, but (Y/n) knew there was nothing left in her system. The few drinks of juice she had tried to have earlier had been spewed in the corridor. She was probably running on last reserves and had over-exerted herself today.

Or maybe this was it. Maybe this was the end of the dream. Perhaps this was when she lost another pregnancy and reality finally came crashing back down on her like a tidal wave from the ocean. It didn't matter that (Y/n) had been telling herself this was going to happen, it still made her heart break all the same.

Her knees tried to coil up towards her middle but (Y/n) didn't have the energy to keep them tensed up and her heels scraped against the bed as her legs slid back down again.

She tried to tilt her head down when Evan walked into the room and when he sat down on the edge of the bed, (Y/n) didn't dare look up.

Her pulse was throbbing in her ears and her fever felt like it was raging the same heat as a volcano, especially when Evan's hand took one of hers and their fingers interlaced together. His fingers danced across the back of her hand and squeezed every few seconds and (Y/n) could feel his hip nudging her thigh, trying to gain her attention.

When she continued to stare down at their hands rather than look up at him, Evan gently leaned forward and pressed his free hand beneath her chin. His thumb traced along her lower lip and he aimed her head up so she was looking at him. But he still found it hard to catch her eye and get her to focus on him rather than try to look at anything else in the room.

Why was she avoiding him?

"The nurse won't be long… you didn't really eat lunch today, did you? You've probably been doing too much." The concern laced into Evan's voice made (Y/n) shiver and she couldn't keep eye contact with him any longer.

Her chin tilted down, nudging into his touch but a dozen more tears drenched her face. And when her lower lip began to wobble and quiet cries left her lips, Evan tensed up. He hadn't meant to make her cry. He wasn't trying to have a go at her or be rude, he was only trying to calm her down and make her feel better.

He had noticed her barely touch her lunch- not that they'd had a lot of time to sit down and eat with the constant calls they had been going out on today. But he noticed, and he knew she wasn't drinking as much as the rest of them either. Evan suspected she had just been working too hard, pushing herself too much without a break and this was the end result.

"Sweetheart, it's okay-"

"N-no it's not." (Y/n) hiccupped through her words and tilted her head down again so she wouldn't have to look at him and his sorrowful expression.

"What do you mean?"

Was she sick? Well, of course she was sick, but was there something more to it than that? Did (Y/n) have a condition or something seriously wrong with her that she hadn't told Evan or the rest of the team?

Evan didn't like the sound of that. A sceptical look flooded his face as his hand tightened around hers and he brought her hand to rest on his lap while his head inclined to one side once their eyes finally locked again. He didn't like the panic he could see building up in (Y/n)'s eyes. He didn't like the way her lower lip was wobbling and she was starting to sob and shake at the same time.

"Baby…" (Y/n) could barely keep her eyes open when her head started to spin and Evan started to blur before her eyes. Her hand squeezed his before she pulled their entwined hands from his thigh to move his hand against her stomach instead. "Baby."

She repeated the word again and pressed Evan's hand into her stomach until he got the hint. She didn't want to have to say the words out loud. She didn't want to tell Evan at all.

But he wasn't going anywhere and as much as (Y/n) would of preferred to have Hen witness this rather than break Evan's soul with this dilemma, he was here. (Y/n) needed him to stay here with her and she needed him to know because she would have to tell the nurse when she came in.

(Y/n) would have to tell the doctor so they knew to check if this was a miscarriage like (Y/n) suspected. And she couldn't hide this from Evan for long. She should have told him already; she knew that.

Evan let (Y/n) press his hand down on her stomach for a bit longer. He couldn't find the will to move, let alone the power to speak. He didn't know what to do with himself or now to comprehend what she was clearly trying to tell him.

"You're pregnant?"

A look of panic flooded Evan's face when (Y/n) nodded just as the door opened and a nurse walked in.

His blue eyes seemed to ignite and (Y/n) was sure that at any moment he was going to start crying too. Shivers coursed through Evan's body and his free hand moved to drag through his hair, catching the curls between his fingers and pulling until it felt like he was going to tear them from his scalp.

"Ooh (Y/n)!" Her name hissed past Evan's lips as he snapped his eyes closed and dragged his hand from his hair to run down his face.

Why didn't she tell him sooner? Why didn't she tell him when she found out? How long had she known and left Evan in the dark? He could see clearly that she was only telling him now because she didn't know whether her sudden collapse was because she was sick, or because it had something to do with the baby.

(Y/n) shivered when she felt Evan's hand tighten around hers and his nails pierced into the back of her hand as he turned to look at the nurse who was now standing beside the bed.

He could hear her mumbling 'high blood pressure' and 'fever' and 'collapsed' under her breath as she looked through the notes she had been given. The notes which had been written down in haste before the rest of the team had left to head back to the station.

"She's pregnant."

He watched the nurse's eyes widen before she added that to the chart. "I'll need to take some blood samples and send them to pathology."

Evan nodded despite the way (Y/n) turned her head away from the nurse and nuzzled her face into the pillow as she whimpered. She didn't do well with needles and having her bloods done when she felt like this would only make her feel faint. But she knew she didn't have a choice.

She was half expecting Evan to let go of her hand and walk away from her. She thought he might stand in the corner of the room and refuse to talk to her while he tried to wrap his head around this news. He had every right to be upset with her. (Y/n) didn't want to know how he would of reacted if he knew that deep down, she wasn't going to tell him at all if this hadn't of happened.

Her mind started to wander and when she closed her eyes, (Y/n) found that she didn't hold the energy to try and open them again. Maybe going to sleep might make her feel better. Maybe this would all be a bad, distant dream by the time she woke up. If only.

But she managed to hear what Evan whispered in that broken voice that made (Y/n)'s already aching heart pulse and throb.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #pregnant! reader #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck imagine #eddie diaz imagine #hen wilson #matters of the heart

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lupinqs · 4 hours ago

Text

RIVAL ━━ paige bueckers x notre dame!reader

☆ ━ summary: you and paige have been rivals—and a little more—for as long as you can remember.

☆ ━ word count: 8.0K

☆ ━ warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, oral (p receiving), fingering (r receiving), scissoring

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, inspired by this req

☆ ━ author’s note: bro im aware this was requested months ago mb. also this ain’t proofread so sorry abt that

THE CROWD is on its feet, the roar of Purcell Pavilion echoing like a thunder lap as the final seconds wind down. You stand at the top of the key, dribbling the ball slowly, deliberately, letting the clock bleed out. The scoreboard burns bright above you—79-68—an eleven-point win over UConn. Over her.

Your grin comes easy, the kind of unfiltered satisfaction that only comes from beating someone who brings out the worst—and best—in you. Sonia’s on you in a second, arm slung around your neck as she shakes you by the shoulders. “Three straight, baby!” she yells over the deafening noise, her laughter wild and bright.

You can’t help but laugh with her, your chest still heaving, lungs burning from forty relentless minutes of pure ball. But the ache is worth it. Wins like this always are.

Your teammates are already flooding the court, celebrating the win like it’s the last one they’ll ever get. Coaches clap backs, players smack palms, and there’s a hum of pride rolling through the group. But your eyes, despite everything else, sweep the UConn bench, finding her almost instinctively.

Paige.

She’s standing near half court, hands on her hips, jaw set tight. Her expression is unreadable from this distance—frustration masked with something colder, more controlled. The scoreboard’s glare reflects in her eyes, a harsh reminder of what she’s leaving with tonight.

You can’t help it—you smirk to yourself, just a little. Wins like this always feel good, but they feel so much better when they come at Paige Bueckers’ expense.

The handshake line forms, a conga line of sportsmanship stitched together by half-hearted mumbles of “good game” and fleeting eye contact. You shuffle into place, still riding the adrenaline high of a big win, but as the line inches closer to Paige, you feel your focus narrow, the noise dulling into a low hum.

When it’s finally her, you straighten instinctively, your chin lifting just slightly. Paige doesn’t say anything at first—she just looks at you, blue eyes sharp and unblinking, mouth pressed into a thin line. She looks pissed. She’s always a little pissed when you win, and, if you’re being honest, that might be your favorite version of her.

“Good game,” you offer, your voice low, casual, just for her.

Her hand grips yours harder than it probably needs to, fingers curling tight around your palm. “Yeah,” she says, curt, her tone clipped in that way it always is after a loss.

There’s a pause—half a second at most, but it stretches, full of something heavy and unspoken. Paige’s gaze flicks to yours, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you. The crowd fades, your teammates are ghosts in the corner of your vision, and the scoreboard’s garish glow feels a mile away.

You don’t say anything else, but you tilt your chin in a subtle nod, just enough to let her know you understand. That you’ll see her later. That, like always, this isn’t over.

Her eyes harden slightly—defiance, maybe, or something close to it—but she doesn’t let go right away. Not until the moment lingers long enough to be noticed.

When she finally does release your hand, Paige moves on, the line pulling her away, but you don’t miss the way her shoulders are still stiff, the way she walks off the court like she has something to prove.

She always does.

You stay there for a moment longer than you probably should, watching as she disappears into the tunnel, before Sonia’s voice yanks you back to the present.

“Yo, you good?” she asks, nudging your shoulder. “You spacing out on me, or what?”

You blink, pulling your focus back to her with a quick shake of your head. “Yeah, I’m good Just—” You exhale sharply, cracking another grin. “I just love beating them.”

Sonia laughs loudly, her voice echoing in the arena as the last of the fans begin to filter out. “You’re so insufferable.”

“Yeah,” you agree, slinging your arm around her shoulders as you head for the locker room. “I know.”

But the truth is, there’s only one person you love beating more than anyone else.

And you know she’ll make you pay for it later.

YOU’VE KNOWN Paige Bueckers for years, long before the media darling and All-American titles. Before the NCAA Tournaments, the SportsCenter highlights, the endless headlines that crowned her the future of women’s basketball.

Back then, it was just Hopkins and Wayzata.

Two high schools. Two teams. Two players who hated each other’s guts.

Everyone in the Minneapolis area knew the rivalry. Hopkins was a powerhouse, an unstoppable juggernaut led by Paige, the prodigy who’d been making headlines since middle school. You, on the other hand, played for Wayzata—a damn good team in its own right, but always the underdog. And you? You were the underdog that refused to back down.

You didn’t like Paige. Paige didn’t like you.

At least, that’s what you told yourselves.

Every time your teams faces off, it was war. Ever loose ball was a fight. Every possession was personal. The two of you went at each other like you were trying to settle something bigger than a basketball game, and the rivalry had anyone who knew Minnesota ball talking.

And yeah, sure, maybe that rivalry bled into other things sometimes. Post-game locker rooms, sideline trash talk, way too much adrenaline and pent-up frustration. You’d run into each other at some after-party, fresh off a loss or a win, and before you knew it, you’d be toe-to-toe again—snapping at each other, trying to prove something neither of you could articulate.

Sometimes, those arguments ended in a little more than words.

You don’t let yourself think about those nights often, but they happened. You against a wall, her pressed close, teeth grazing lips. Too much energy, too much anger, too much of everything. Paige always made you feel like you were on the edge of something sharp, like one wrong move would send you both tumbling over.

But then she graduated. Went to Connecticut.

And you were still stuck in high school, forced to watch as she became exactly what everyone said she would: the superstar, the golden child, the future. While you were still clawing your way out, Paige was climbing higher. National Freshman of the Year. National Player of the Year. First-Team All-American. All that stupid shit.

By the time you joined Notre Dame as a freshman, she was already Paige Bueckers. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t care. That what happened in high school was in the past.

But then you saw her again.

The first time you were meant to play her, at Gampel, you got COVID and restrictions kept you in South Bend. You’d watched on the screen as her knee buckled, though, and you’d sent her a text afterwards. You’re still not sure why you did.

The second time, she was in Indiana, but she wasn’t playing. ACL. You’d won, basking in it, and when you walked into the handshake line and saw her standing there, looking just as pissed as she always does, it all came rushing back.

That night, you ended up in her hotel room.

And it’s been the same ever since.

Which is why you’re here now, glancing at your phone again, double-checking the room number she texted you—just the number, no words, no punctuation, like you’d automatically know what she wanted. And, annoyingly, she was right. You always do.

Two sharp knocks. The sound echoes slightly in the otherwise silent hotel hall.

The pause that follows is long enough to make you shift your weight, suddenly aware of the way your pulse is thrumming in your ears. Then, the lock clicks, and the door swings open, and there she is.

Paige leans one shoulder against the doorframe, her expression unreadable, though the tight set of her jaw betrays her. Her UConn gear has been swapped for a loose white tee and grey sweatpants. Her hair is damp at the edges, curling slightly at the ends, and there’s a faint flush on her cheeks—anger, exhaustion, maybe both.

“Eleven points,” she says, not bothering with a hello. Her voice is low, and you’re not sure whether it’s meant to be an insult or an observation.

You raise an eyebrow, letting your lips pull into a smirk. “We’ve done worse.”

Which you have, last year at her home, in her gym, in front of her fans. It was a good night, to say the least.

But the comment earns you a sharp look, her blue eyes narrowing like she’s trying to decide whether to slam the door in your face. Instead, she exhales sharply through her nose and steps aside, leaving the door open just enough for you to slip inside.

The room is dim, lit only by the muted TV, playing some late-night SportsCenter recap. The air smells faintly like hotel soap and her shampoo, clean and sharp and so unmistakably her. You stand near the desk, leaning casually against it as the door clicks shut behind you.

Paige doesn’t say anything right away, just crosses her arms over her chest and stares at you, her gaze dragging from your shoes to your face, tracking every detail.

“You don’t waste time,” she says finally, the words clipped but not entirely unkind.

“Why would I?” you shoot back, shrugging. “You texted me, remember?”

The corner of her mouth twitches—annoyance, amusement, it’s always hard to tell with her. She takes a step closer, her arms still folded tight against her chest, her stance defensive even as she invades your space.

“You played well tonight,” she mumbles, like the words physically hurt to say.

“Better than you,” you reply instantly, because of course you do.

Her eyes flash, and the tension between you tightens, sharp and immediate. “You think you’re funny?” she asks, her voice soft and dangerous, a stark contrast to the fire in her eyes.

“I know I’m funny,” you tell her, leaning a little further against the desk. “And you know it, too. I mean, why else would you have texted me?”

She scoffs, the sound low, and takes another step closer. “I texted you because I didn’t want to go to bed pissed off.”

“And yet, here we are,” you reply, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Guess that’s what losing does to you.”

It happens faster than you can process. She closes the distance between you in a blink, grabbing the front of your hoodie and pulling you forward until there’s no space left between you. And then you’re backed into the wall before you know it, your breath catching as Paige tilts her head just slightly, lips hovering over yours, hand braced on the surface next to your face.

“You’re so goodman irritating,” she says, voice quieter now but no less biting.

“Yeah,” you mumble back, tilting your jaw up towards her a little. “I know.”

And then her lips are on yours, quick and rough and bruising, like she’s trying to steal the breath from your lungs. It’s not soft, not gentle—nothing with Paige ever is. Her hand finds your throat, not squeezing exactly, but firm enough to make your head tilt back, pressing you harder into the wall. The cool surface dogs into your shoulders, and the air between you is charged with something you don’t know how to name but feel in every nerve of your body.

It’s a fight as much as it is a kiss—messy and unrelenting, both of you trying to claim the upper hand. Her teeth graze your bottom lip, just enough to make you gasp, and she uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that’s both calculated and desperate.

Your hands tangle in her damp hair, pulling harder than you need to, just to get a reaction out of her. She groans against your mouth, low and guttural, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. You tug again, and she presses into you more, her knee nudging between your legs, her free hand gripping your waist like she’s trying to keep you exactly where she wants you.

But you’re not about to let her win that easily.

You push back, twisting your fingers in her hair to angle her head in the way you want, tongue clashing with hers roughly. Paige won’t have that, though, and responds by pressing her forearm against your collarbone, pinning you harder against the wall. The weight of it makes your chest heave, your pulse pounding beneath her palm where it still rests lightly at your throat.

And then she’s kissing you again, harder this time, like she’s trying to prove a point. Her teeth scrape against your lip once more, and you pull at her hair harshly in retaliation, dragging her closer even as you try to push her away. It’s a constant push and pull, a battle neither of you is ever willing to lose.

Her knee shifts higher, pressing against your clothed clit just enough to make you gasp, and you claw at her, nails digging into the skin of her neck. She pulls back, just slightly, her lips barely brushing against yours as she smirks.

“You need somethin’?” she asks, her voice rough and smug as she pushes her knee further up against you, just enough to give your cunt some friction. Her hand hand slides from your throat to your jaw, tilting your head up.

Your eyes narrow, and you tug her hair harder, forcing her head back so you can capture her lips again. It’s a messy clash of teeth and tongues, and her fingers dig hard against the side of your neck, hard enough that you’re sure it’ll leave marks, and the thought makes your blood run faster. She continues to bounce her knee up against you, giving you enough stimulation that your skin starts to flush.

She has the upper hand right now. But you’re not ready to give her that. Not yet.

So, your fingers wrap around her forearm, nails pressing into her skin as you wrench it off of you, breaking the pin she had against your chest. Paige stumbles back a step, caught off guard for just a fraction of a second, and it’s all the opening you need.

You grin at her, stepping forward so your chests are pressed together. You hum, sounding sickly sweet. “You good there, Bueckers?”

Her jaw tightens, blue eyes flashing with something dark and unyielding, and she opens her mouth—probably to say something sharp, something to cut you down—but you don’t give her the chance. Your hands find her shoulders, pushing at her chest, forcing her to step back. She resists at first, her feet digging into the carpet, but you push harder, guiding her backwards, step by step, until her calves hit the edge of the bed.

She barely has time to process before you give her one final shove, and she falls onto the mattress with a slight bounce, propping herself up on her elbows, staring up at you with a mixture of irritation and something else—something you recognize all too well.

Lust.

You let her see the smirk tugging at your lips, the way you’re taking your time climbing onto the bed after her, the deliberate drag of your body as you crawl over her. You straddle her hips, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of her, and you can feel the sharp inhale she takes, the tension coiling in her body beneath you.

“I fucking hate you,” she mutters, her voice low and rough, her hands twitching where they rest against the bed like she’s trying to decide whether to touch you or throw you off of her.

Your grin is nothing short of wicked as you lean down, your lips barely brushing against hers. “Feeling’s mutual,” you tell her.

Her fingers flex against the sheets, gripping them like she’s trying to keep herself from grabbing you, from flipping you over and ruining you right then and there. You can see the way her jaw ticks, the way her chest rises and falls beneath you, and it’s intoxicating, knowing you have her like this.

“You piss me off,” she says, but her voice is weaker now, her resolve clearly crumbling with every inch you close between you.

“Good,” you murmur, just before you close the distance, pressing your lips to hers again.

This time, it’s a little different.

The fight is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it’s wrapped in something more desperate, more aching. You kiss her hard, but she meets you with equal force, shoving her tongue into your mouth to tangle with yours. Her hands finally snap up to your waist, gripping at your sweatshirt like she’s been holding back for too long and can’t anymore.

You rock your hips slightly, just to tease, just to get a reaction out of her, and it works—she groans into your mouth, fingers sliding under your sweatshirt and tightening against your skin like she wants to leave marks. And maybe she does. Maybe you do, too.

You continue kissing her, messily, tugging at her lips with your teeth, sliding your tongue with hers. You feel some of her spit fall onto your chin but you can’t find it in yourself to care, too busy lazily canting your hips against hers, letting out barely-there sighs into her mouth.

And then her hands are at the hem of your sweatshirt, fingers curling into the fabric before she yanks it up and over your head in one swift motion. The sudden cool air against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, but the way Paige’s eyes darken as she takes you in, the way her lips part just slightly—it’s enough to replace the chill with a heat that spreads through you like wildfire.

She makes a noise, low in her throat, her hands pinching your waist before sliding up, kneading at your covered breasts through your sports bra. The pressure makes your breath hitch just slightly, and you drop your forehead against hers for just a second, just to ground yourself. But you don’t stay still for long.

Your lips begin to trail, dragging along the infuriatingly sharp line of her jaw before finding her neck. You nip at the sensitive skin there, sucking just hard enough to hear her exhale sharply through her nose, her fingers twitching against your ribs.

“Gonna leave a mark?” she mutters, tilting her head to give yo more room even as she tries to sound unimpressed.

You smirk against her skin. “Maybe.”

You bite again, a little harder, and she curses softly under her breath, her fingers pressing into your sides. It makes you grin against her pulse point, flicking your tongue out against it lightly. But before you can tease her again, her hands are moving, slipping beneath your sports bra, her thumbs brushing just below the band. The feeling has your stomach tensing, your heart pounding, but before she can get any further, you decide turnabout is fair play.

You find the hem of her t-shirt, and she lets you pull it up and over her head, tossing it to the side without a second thought. The moment you realize she’s not wearing a bra, a rush of heat pools low in your stomach. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, gaze trailing over her bare tits, small but perky.

Paige watches you, chest heaving a little too fast, a flicker of something teasing in her expression. “Like what you see?”

You scoff, dragging your nails down her toned abs, watching as she shivers beneath you. “You wish,” you say, though you both know that yes, you are definitely enjoying the view.

She grins, cocky and annoying, but it vanishes the second your hands roam up her stomach, fingertips brushing deliberately against her ribs before settling on her tits. Her breath catches, her smirk faltering for just a second, and you know you’ve got her.

“You were saying?” you murmur, leaning in again, your lips ghosting over the base of her throat.

She exhales sharply, and you feel it more than you hear it, the warmth of her breath rushing against your ear. Then, her hands slide down your back, gripping your waist with enough force to make your head spin.

She doesn’t respond to your question and it makes you let out a satisfied hum. You’re working your lips again now, trailing them down, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her collarbone before moving lower, tasting the salt of her skin. She doesn’t make a sound, though you can feel her heart racing against your lips. She’s too stubborn to do that yet, too determined to act like this doesn’t affect her the way you know it does.

But you feel the truth in the way her fingers dig into your back, just enough to send a thrill down your spine. Your smirk only widens against her, your lips brushing over the swell of her left breast, before your tongue darts out, sloppily swirling it over her pert nipple. She arches into you a little, even more so when your hand reaches up to tweak and pinch at her other nipple, making sure she’s evened out.

You hum once more, sucking on her skin as you glance up, only to see her already staring down at you, pale cheeks flushed red. The sight makes you smile, a little evilly, your mouth pulling away from her nipple with a quick pop.

And then you’re reaching down, your hands sliding to the waistband of her sweats, fingers hooking around them. You don’t pull them off right away, though. No, that would be too easy. Instead, you drag your fingers along the edge, just barely skimming her skin, watching the way her abdominal muscles tense, the way her breathing stutters slightly.

You glance up at her once more, and there’s fire in her eyes, that sharp, unyielding intensity that’s always been so distinctly Paige. Even now, even like this, she won’t back down. It makes your chest constrict a little, something equal parts frustration and admiration, though you’d never admit the latter out loud.

“Quit staring at me,” she mutters roughly, her hands gripping at your back like she’s not sure if she wants to pull you closer or push you away.

Your lips curl into the familiar smirk that’s been sitting on your face since the game. “Why? You don’t want me to see you blush, Paigey?” The nickname comes out of your mouth in a patronizing tone.

She glares at you, pinching your skin enough to make you twitch a little against her. You roll your eyes at that, finally reaching to tug at her sweatpants, pushing them past her hips, down her thighs, until she’s left in just her boxers. Your fingers linger at the waistband of those, tracing patterns along the edge before swiping teasingly at her clothed clit. You feel her tense beneath you, her breath catching in her throat, but still, she doesn’t break. She doesn’t give you the satisfaction of watching her squirm.

You bite your lip, watching her carefully, and—fuck—you’d be lying if you said you haven’t missed this. Missed the tension, the way you both toe the line between hatred and something else, something more. Missed the way she looks at you like she wants to tear you apart, missed the way she lets you have the upper hand just long enough to make you feel like you’ve won before she turns the tables on you.

Because that’s where this always ends.

At some point, you’ll be the one pinned beneath her. It’s inevitable. It always happens.

But for now, she’s at your mercy, and you plan on savoring it.

You lean down, your lips skimming across her stomach, pressing sloppy kisses along the lines of her abs. You feel the way her muscles tense beneath you, and you nip teasingly at her skin before soothing it with your tongue, swiping the wet muscle downward until it reaches the waistband of her Nike Pros. Now, finally settled between her legs, she props herself up on her elbows, watching you, tracking your every movement with those insufferably pretty blue eyes of hers.

She’s waiting, barely holding onto your patience, and you love it.

You hook your fingers into her boxers, slowly, slowly pulling them down, making sure she feels every agonizing second of it. You don’t break eye contact, gaze tracking the way her jaw tightens, her fingers twitch, her breathing grows uneven.

The second she’s entirely naked, you let your eyes rake over her. And then you’re leaning above her cunt, blowing lightly against it.

She grits her teeth. “Don’t fuckin’ tease,” she chastises.

You raise your eyebrows. “Don’t be so impatient,” you counter.

You think she’s about to protest further, but then you lean forward, pressing your lips to the inside of her muscular thigh, slow and careful. You drag your tongue along the smooth skin, back and forth. As you do so, she fists the bedsheets like she’s forcing herself to stay in control, her other hand reaching down to grip onto your shoulder.

You roll your eyes, relenting, “Jesus, fine.”

And then you shift your head so you’re right above her bare cunt. You poke your tongue out between your lips, letting it slide slowly along her folds. She lets out a quiet breath that you’re sure she’s been holding in for minutes now, her hand on your shoulder holding tightly to the band of your sports bra.

You lick your way up her slit, circling your tongue around her clit. Your fingertips press into Paige’s hips, holding her in place as you work, dropping open-mouthed kisses along her heat. Of fucking course, she tastes sweet as usual. She always does, and you slurp at her quicker to taste more of it, more of her.

You glance up to see her watching you intently, blue eyes holding a rare weakness in them that you’ve only ever seen when you’ve had her in a position like this. When you slip your tongue down into her entrance, feeling that spongy part of her before trailing her arousal back up to her clit, she finally groans a little. You watch as she tilts her head back, muttering, “Shit,” her hips canting up towards you slightly.

Continuing to lap at her wetness like a dog, you watch as she leans her head downward to see you again. You keep your eyes locked onto hers, and then you suck, teeth scraping over her clit in a way that has Paige’s fingers digging into your skin, telling you because she probably can’t help herself, “Fuuuck, right there.” You grin against her a little, complying, and then her hand is reaching to shove your hair out of your face and behind your head so she can look at you properly. You groan a little at the thought and at the taste of her, the vibrations berating through her pussy and making her tense up.

It’s then that you flatten your tongue against her, shaking your head, the wet muscle flicking against Paige’s bud harshly. Her hand on the bed smacks down on the mattress, while her fingers tighten in your hair, tugging enough to hurt. But you don’t mind. If anything, you double down, creating a suction against her clit again.

“Keep—God, keep doin’ that,” Paige stutters out, biting at her lip. She moves your head against her cunt the way she likes, the way that makes her feel best, hand holding onto the back of your skull. You let her, lapping her pussy with the rhythm, feeling the way her thighs begin to shake, hips rutting quickly up to your mouth.

You pull away just enough to ask, “You close?” Your breath flutters against her wetness, and she lets out a gruff noise, tightening her hold on you until it’s almost too painful. “Yeah—c’mon—” she curses impatiently, pushing your head toward her cunt.

But she’d be stupid to think you’d let her have that shit that easily. So you shake your head quickly, loosening her grip on you slightly. You lean down to nip at her thigh, gaze flicking between her swollen, puffy clit and the dazed, needy look swirling in her baby blues. “Eleven points,” you say smugly, reminding her. Because she needs to be reminded. You’d remind her every minute of every day if you could. “I beat you.”

Paige groans at the words, slamming her head back against the pillows. “Can’t you just shut up and make me cum?” she orders, pulling at your hair.

“Nah,” you say slowly, dragging it out. And then you lean down, letting a drop of your spit fall from your mouth down onto her pussy. You feel her body twitch a little at the sensation, not expecting it, before she’s sitting up on her elbows once more, clearly needing to watch you. “I wanna hear you say it,” you tell her.

“Say what?” she asks incredulously, impatient as her hips twitch in your hold.

You smirk, your fingers coming down to rub your saliva into the puffy skin of her clit. She lets out a little noise at the back of her throat at that and your grin widens, saying, “I wanna hear you say I beat you. That I’m better than you.”

Immediately, she scoffs, but the sound is cut short as you pinch at her clit harshly. “I—I ain’t sayin’ shit,” she spits out, shaking her head, her cheeks bright red, a sheen of sweat glistening across her chest.

“Then you don’t get to cum,” you deadpan, slapping at her pussy lightly before pulling your hand away and sitting up between her legs so your head is no longer near her cunt.

She lets out a noise between a groan and a whine at your words, tugging at you, trying to bring you back close to her. But you stand your ground, rubbing one knuckle across her wetness slowly in a way you know will have her frustrated. “Say it,” you order.

“I—” she cuts herself off, her gaze flicking back toward the ceiling as your fingers continue their torturous pace. She grabs at your wrist, attempting to quicken it, but you hold your ground. “I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can,” you encourage smugly, grinning at her obvious discomfort and frustration. “All you gotta do is say the words and then I’ll make you cum, Paigey. Promise.”

She’s silent for a long moment, probably deliberating. It seems she’s come to terms with the fact that she wants to finish more than she cares about being humiliated, so she groans, throwing a hand up over her head in frustration. “Fine!” she relents. “You beat me and you’re sooo much fucking better than me. That what you wanted to hear?”

Her tone is sarcastic, but it’s enough for you. You smile at her, showing all your teeth, and you ask, “Now was that so hard?” before diving back in.

Your tongue immediately pushes into her entrance and it makes her whole body shake, a throaty moan escaping her lips. You fuck up into her with it, one of your hands reaching up to toy with her clit. Your jaw damn near goes slack with the way you’re thrusting your tongue, but you don’t much care, because the sight of Paige looking fucked out beneath you, her control slipping, just makes you go faster.

“So close, ma,” Paige stutters out, her breath uneven. “Don’t stop, swear to fuckin’ God—”

“’M not stopping,” you tell her, pulling your tongue out of her to flick and swirl it around her folds, nearly rolling your eyes into the back of your head. “Come on. Cum for me. Cum on my face, Paige.”

She nods, a broken series of moans escaping her mouth as her hips lift against your mouth. Her cunt pulses once, twice, and then she’s gushing against you. You dutifully lap it up, licking all you can before slowly pulling away.

You sit back on your heels, watching as she lays there, sweaty and breathless beneath you, her chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale. Her eyes are closed, her arm resting over them so even if they were open, you wouldn’t be able to see them. You can see the redness in her face, the way her pale skin is flushed—all from you.

As you take her in, a dark smirk crawls onto your lips, which are still sticky with her. Slowly, carefully, you crawl back up her body, enjoying the view, enjoying the way her eyes stay closed as she tries to get herself together.

Now hovering just above her, you pause, letting the space between you two linger. Your breath is also shallow, from the sheer effort you had whilst eating her out. Nevertheless, you can’t resist the taunt that slips from your lips, the smugness seeping through. “You good?” you ask, your voice thick with amusement.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of her breath, ragged and heavy. But then she’s moving her arm and her eyes are snapping open. Blue fire swirls in them, renewed intensity blazing there—one you know you won’t be able to burn out. You feel her muscles tense beneath you, her eyes not just locked on you, but almost through you, daring you to challenge her.

And then, with no warning, she reaches up, her big hands gripping your body with an almost ferocity that leaves you momentarily stunned. You barely have time to react before she flips you over, the strength in her hands and the force in her movements surprising you—you thought she’d still be weak from her orgasm. One second, you’re above her, and the next, you’re flat on your back, staring up at her—Paige Bueckers, always managing to put you in this position, no matter the night.

Your chest heaves, but before you can even say anything, she’s already kissing you. Her lips slam down on yours, hungry, fierce, all teeth and heat. Her tongue travels over your lips and through your mouth, tasting herself on you.

“Can’t believe you made me say that shit,” she mutters against your lips, the words dripping with disbelief and disdain. “Fuckin’ insane.”

Of course, you can’t help the grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Your breath still shallow, you tease, “You said it anyways. Free will, PB.”

She lets out a low groan at that, and it almost makes you laugh—almost. But before you can, she’s pulling away from the kiss, her eyes dark and determined, and then, without any hesitation, she grips your wrists harshly. She pulls your arms above your head, pinning them there as her body presses down, her weight making sure you stay exactly where she wants you. She’s still a little sticky and sweaty, and the feeling of her bare skin against yours has you biting your lip.

“A’ight,” she basically growls, the edge in her voice cutting through the hotel room. You can feel the heat between you, building rapidly. “You had your fun. My turn.”

And then her mouth is back on yours, moving so quickly and fiercely that you almost can’t keep up. Her tongue tangles with your sloppily, licking inside your mouth, her hands digging into you wrists. You work your jaw almost as hard as you did whilst going down on her, doing your best to stay on pace.

You don’t have to worry about that for long, though, because Paige is clearly impatient (per usual), her lips breaking away from yours, trailing down to your throat. You suck in a sharp breath as she nips and sucks at the delicate skin there, her teeth grazing your pulse point. You ball your hands into fists above your head, trying to keep yourself still, keep your reactions in check. You don’t want her to have the satisfaction of hearing you, of knowing she’s getting to you—the two of you are similar in that way, just like how Paige was before.

Still, it’s difficult to stay quiet. It’s been a long time since she’s had you beneath her like this, and sensation of her mouth on your skin—hot, wet, relentless—is enough to make your body betray you, the tremors running through you despite your best efforts. You shift beneath her, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape, but Paige’s relentless assault on your neck only increases, the pull of her lips surely leaving bruises.

It’s then that she unpins your wrists, one of her hands slipping away to trail down your side. You can’t help the small, involuntary shiver that races up your spine as she moves. Stupidly, you think that she might be about to give you a break. But instead, her hands are at the band of your sports bra, pulling it roughly over your head in one, quick motion that leaves you almost gasping.

Before you can even really process it, Paige’s face is buried in your chest. Her lips press to the soft skin there, her breath hot against the swell of your breast. And when she speaks, it’s in a low, almost bitter tone, each word dripping with a mix of frustration and something else.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” she mutters, the words heavy, like they cost her something to say. “I hate how fuckin’ pretty you are.”

You sigh a little, and sigh even more as Paige’s lips wrap around one of your nipples, sucking in a way that makes her cheekbones pronounced. You watch as she continues heatedly, swirling her tongue around the bud before turning her attention to the other tit, doing the same there. You reach up to hold onto her bicep, more pronounced than you remember, her sweat sticking to your hand.

Then, she shifts back upward so her face is hovering directly over yours, her eyes boring into your own. “Take your pants off,” she orders, licking her lips as her gaze rakes over your face.

You scoff a little at her tone, rude and nagging. “Demanding, much?” you sass, staring up at her in a challenge.

It’s clear that she won’t have any of that, though, because her hand that was resting on your ribs reaches up to squeeze ruthlessly at your tit, pinching your nipple. “Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” she spits.

You decide that at this point, it’s probably in your best interest to listen to her despite the fact that you love doing the same. So, rolling your eyes but obliging, you reach down and lift your hips, sliding your leggings and panties off in one go, kicking them away and onto the floor.

Paige glances down at you, now completely naked before her. Her eyes rave across your figure, probably committing it to memory since these moments don’t happen too often. When her gaze lands on your pussy, they take in the glittering arousal coating it.

“Shit,” she mutters, and then repeats the curse as she swipes two fingers through your folds. They come out soaked, and then she’s offering them to you. You do as she wants, taking her digits in your mouth, sucking on them, tasting yourself. She watches you intently, her jaw tightening.

Eventually, your lips unwrap her fingers and she pulls them away, trailing them down your stomach before sliding them right back between your wet folds. Almost on instinct, you spread your legs wider for her. She smirks and glances from your pussy back to your face, saying teasingly, “Didn’t know I made you this wet.”

You shake your head, averting your eyes from hers. “You don’t,” you deny, and she just laughs in response, because it’s clear as day that she, in fact, does.

Her fingers drag across you teasingly slow, circling. You feel your heart begin to race and the heat within you start to rise, despite the fact that she’s barely touched you. You and Paige both watch, heads tilted downwards, as the pads of her fingertips press against your clit before trailing down to tease at your entrance.

Paige leans over, using her other hand to push your thighs open even wider. She continues teasing you like so, never fully pushing into you like you need. “Two’s good for you?” she asks, looking over at your face.

You feel your jaw go slightly slack as two of Paige’s long, slender digits slowly slip inside you. You don’t answer her question, which annoys her. She pauses her movements, asking sassily, “Hellooo?”

You roll your eyes, shifting your hips against her hand, rushing your words out hurriedly. “Yes! Fuck, two’s good.”

“Hmm,” Paige hums, pumping her fingers in and out a couple times. You sigh at the feeling, head lolling to the side a little, tongue swiping over the swell of your bottom lip. “Don’t care. Take three.”

And then she’s shoving a third finger in you, not giving you any time to get used to it. The stretch hurts, and you make a face, nails digging into Paige’s bicep, gripping at the muscle. You whimper as she pulls all three digits out before thrusting back in. Your hips grind against her hand of their own accord, and you tilt your head back, trying to keep your noises at bay.

Her fingers continue pumping inside you, curling, too, and it’s such a mix of pleasure and pain. You feel so full, and when all three of her digits meet that spongy spot, you can’t help but cry out, “Paige!”

She grins at the sound of her name escaping your mouth, all desperate and needy. She leans down, her lips ghosting along your jaw and across your cheek, asking, “You like that?”

You don’t answer, any and all words stuck in your throat. Instead, you grind harder against her, the squelching sound of your pussy unmistakable. You moan a little, a broken noise, and shift your head to the opposite side of where Paige is, unwilling to lean on her.

Paige just hums, nodding against you. “Mmm, you do like that.”

She’s thrusting her fingers faster now, and you nearly sob at the stretch and the feeling. You should’ve known she’d be like this—should’ve prepared yourself better. Instead, you’re completely at her mercy, chewing on your bottom lip enough that you taste the metallic tang of blood, trying to do anything but quite literally scream.

“God—” you manage to get out breathlessly, shaking your head as she continues her movements mercilessly. “Paige, it hurts—” you whimper.

Paige doesn’t care. Clearly. Instead, she just laughs, pushing her fingers in harder, faster, deeper. “Not so full of yourself now are you, huh?” she asks smugly, watching you intently. You can’t meet her gaze, squeezing her eyes shut. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

“I can’t,” you tell her, feeling tears pool beneath your closed lids. And, fuck, it’s embarrassing to admit, but you really can hardly handle the feeling of so much of her, inside you like that.

“I know. You’re so tight. Stretchin’ you out so much, yeah?”

You nod, body trembling. But it doesn’t matter because Paige just keeps going, giving it her all. And then you feel her lips on yours again, tongue sliding against yours, her body sinking against yours.

“I’on care that it hurts, ma,” she mutters against your mouth, curling her fingers inside you once more, making your back arch into her. “You’re gonna take it, ’kay? Fuckin’ take everything I give you.”

She pulls her hand away for a moment and you don’t know whether you’re disappointed or relieved. Your eyes flutter open, watching as she leans over her fingers, spitting onto them. And then she’s bringing them back down to your cunt, pounding all three of them right back in. You cry out, fingers digging into the sheets.

“Yeah, take that shit,” she tells you again, voice husky. “Look at you, suckin’ me up like that. Slut.”

You do look, watching as her fingers disappear inside you over and over and over again. They continuously hit your g-spot, squelching loudly and filthily. You’re dripping onto her hand by now, getting the sheets wet, too. You throw your head back, mouth opening into a silent scream as the knot in your stomach tightens.

You buck your hips up, you dig your nails into Paige’s skin, you feel your thighs shaking. And then you’re snapping.

Your arousal pools out of you and onto Paige. Mercifully, she does what you need her to, slowing her fingers to help you ride out your high. You sigh shakily as she pulls her digits out of your still-pulsating pussy. Your eyes flutter shut, thinking that’s the end of it. That Paige will collapse next to you and the two of you will lay there for a moment, breathless, before you inevitably get up and dressed, leaving her alone.

But, when you feel Paige move, pulling your leg upward and settling between your thighs, you know you’re mistaken. And then she’s positioning herself, her clit bumping against yours. “Mmm, fuck,” she mumbles at the skin-on-skin contact.

Immediately, your eyes shoot open and you shake your head. “Wait—” you try weakly, pushing at her abs, because you’re still so sensitive and what already hurt before hurts even more now. “I can’t yet—gimme a sec—”

But Paige doesn’t give you anything but the sensation of her scissoring against you. “Just chill,” she tells you slowly before groaning as she continues fucking herself on your pussy. “Feels good, c’mon. Feel it wit’ me.”

You struggle to for a moment, but slowly, as Paige’s hand comes to play with your tits, and the overstimulation begins to fade, you do feel it. And, fuck, she was right. It is good. You moan a little, and Paige leans down, swallowing your sounds with a kiss. Her palms land on the mattress on either side of your head, digging into the sheets as she grinds faster against you.

You buck your hips up to match the blonde’s pace, sighing as her wetness continuously meets yours. Your arms reach up to wrap around her neck, needing something to ground you. You pull her impossibly closer and she lets you, still to fucking against you.

“Th—That’s it,” she stutters, letting out nothing short of a pornographic moan as your cunt grinds sloppily upwards on hers. “You don’t get it—this fuckin’ pussy—”

You don’t ask what she means, too busy chasing your high again. You pant erratically, holding onto Paige tightly, so close.

“I—God, Paige—I—” you can’t get the words that you need to out, your brain short-circuiting at the feeling of her cunt pressing perfectly against yours, like that’s where it belongs.

“I know,” she mumbles breathlessly into your neck, pressing a sloppy kiss to the skin there. “Fuck, I know. You almost there?”

You nod, pressing even closer. “Almost,” you manage to get out. You gasp, the heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Me too,” Paige breathes, grinding downwards desperately, chasing her orgasm. You chase it with her, needing it. “Baby, I’mma come. Shit, I’mma come.”

And then her hips stutter against yours, the pleasure mounting. Paige bites into your neck, letting out a muffled groan as you feel her gush out her release on your pussy. You finish, too, moaning Paige’s name right in her ear.

The blonde collapses against you, your thighs sticky with her, hers sticky with you. You lay there, breathless, heart racing, chest constricting. You feel her taking ragged breaths against your neck. Eventually, she rolls off of you so that you’re side-by-side, trying to gather yourselves.

It takes you a long moment, but then you’re sitting up, fishing for your clothes. You find your sports bra and sweatshirt first, slipping those on. And then you stand, reaching down by the end of the bed to grab your underwear and leggings. You don’t look at Paige, who you can feel watching you, until you’re completely dressed. She’s still naked, somehow looking both nonchalant and entirely fucked out at the same time.

“Well,” you say slowly, clucking your tongue. “See you in March.”

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #wlw smut #wlw #wcbb x reader #ncaa wbb

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xxsteveharringtonxx · 2 days ago

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Eddie Munson x Reader

It hadn’t taken you long to adjust to having Eddie around.

Steve, Robin and yourself had formed a comfortable friendship, it was easy, peaceful and despite everything you all went through you melded back into reality once again.

Except this time, Eddie Munson melded too.

Right as if he’d been there the entire time.

For the last two years his loud and unapologetic presence had become a normality in your life, and the two of you couldn’t be more different.

He had the same cautious prejudgments of you from High School, and having ran in the same crowd as Steve for a while, you couldn’t exactly blame him for his weariness around you at the start.

But High School was a long time ago.

Well it felt like a long time ago.

While Eddie was all leather jackets, heavy boots and loud music, you were somewhat shyer than when you were younger and more reserved now. Not wanting the attention anywhere near you, a quiet life in the shadows was exactly what you preferred now.

And it took Eddie a while to get used to you too.

He wasn’t sure why you were so quiet around him to begin with, it put him on edge but as time went on he realised actually that’s just how you are, and he’s more than happy to speak for the both of you, often spending time together in the group you would rarely get a word in between him and Robin.

It was a nice balance and having him around to be the loud outspoken one was a comfort.

And you grew to love it.

And him.

It was funny because you weren’t even aware of your feelings until Robin pointed them out, Steve catching on to her words too.

“Oh shit honey, I actually see it.” He had informed, realisation dawning on you.

While that was about a year ago now and while Steve and Robin loved to tease you about it, you obviously weren’t going to actually do or say anything about it.

He probably still thought you were preppy and stuck up like back at school.

Which bought you to now, present time and currently stuck on the side of the road just outside of Hawkins and glaring at your car.

It was smoking a little and you tilted your head in thought as to whether it was a real issue or if you could just wait it out, but considering it had broken down, and was literally smoking you concluded it probably was a real problem.

Looking around you spotted a phone booth just down the hill so with a huff and eye roll you headed over. This really wasn’t what you needed after the day you had just had. All you wanted to do was go home and watch some movies, maybe hang out with Steve or the whole gang.

Sighing heavily at your evening plans dwindling away you dialled the number you knew by heart.

And it only rang twice before you heard him.

“Yeah hello?” He barked down the line and despite the gruffness in his tone his voice made you smile.

Actually it made you grin.

“Hey Eddie it’s me.” You announced and there a bit of a scuffle on the line before you heard him more clearly.

“Hey Pretty, what’s up?” Blushing at the nickname he had called you which he’d given you years back, having probably forgotten your actual name at the time, but for some reason it stuck.

“I kind of broke down, well my car definitely did.” You told him cringing at your own sad tone.

“Broke down? Where?” He asked worry woven into his tone and the burst of excitement you felt seemed odd at a time of crisis like this.

But he really sounded like he was worried, biting down on your bottom lip to stop the smile you hummed trying to think of where you were.

“Just on the way into Hawkins I guess, as if you’re heading to Hoppers cabin before town.” You heard him clutch some keys on the other end of the line before barking orders at you.

“Don’t move and stay in your car.” He instructed.

“Eddie! No it’s smoking I don’t want-“ he cut you off with an impatient sigh and a firmer tone.

“Get your pretty ass in the car Y/N and stay there until I find you. I’m on my way.” And then the dial tone.

Following his instructions you did as you were told trudging back to your car. Sighing heavily as you say patiently in the drivers seat.

You could be home by now.

Out of your stupid dress and makeup wiped off.

But then maybe ten or fifteen minutes later you saw Eddie, he was in Wayne’s tow truck and you could make out his navy overalls were a little smudged with oil but he gave you a grin and sarcastic wave through the windshield.

He jumped out and you rolled your window down to pout up at him.

“Need a hand?” He asked teasingly poking his head through.

With a playful eye roll you turned to him with pursed lips to really show your sadness at the situation, but instead goosebumps prickled at your arms at the closeness of the two of you. The freckle on his nose visible to you he was so close, but he cleared his throat before standing up and opening your door.

He about melted at the sight of you pushing your bottom lip out, yours eyes looking up at him for saving.

And saving he could do for you.

“I think she’s dead.” You told him and he gave you a sad smile.

“I can fix her, come on go get in the truck there’s AC in there.” He told you helping you out the car and up the step to the truck.

He licked his lips as he took you in, bare tanned legs in front of him as you climbed up, a baby blue summer dress and white little heeled shoes. Not your usual attire these days and it reminded him of High School.

Remembering only then that you had mentioned a lunch at your grandmas house a few towns over.

He made a mental note to ask you about it.

Seeing your patents wasn’t something you usually ever wanted to do.

You watched as he popped open the hood of your car took a look around, tried a few things and then tried to start her up but nothing came of it. But no matter what he tried within 30 minutes he had latched her up to the tow and joined you in the truck.

“I’ll take her to the shop, Wayne can have a look. He usually figures out what’s wrong pretty quick.” His tone was easy and you nodded at him suddenly aware that the two of you would be spending time together alone.

There was rarely an occasion you’d hung out without Steve or Robin also present. And even if you weren’t used to it there was still a comfortable warmth around you. You felt safe and it was easy being in his presence.

“Thanks Eddie.” You told him with a sweet smile, head lolling to the side to look at him, tugging your dress down when you noticed it had crumpled higher than usual.

Eddie’s eyes flicking down at your movement before focusing back on the road.

“It’s my job.” He fobbed off with a chuckle and you frowned.

“I didn’t call you because you’re a mechanic or anything, I called you because well you’re you and I knew you could help me.” Your words made his cheeks go a little pink, he huffed out some air from his nose before beaming over at you.

A proud glimmer in his eye.

“Well aren’t you a little charmer today.” And it was your turn to blush because as he said he reached his hand over from the stick to squeeze your knee.

But after driving back to the shop in peaceful silence, Eddie’s music playing from the radio keeping a comfort, you finally pulled up outside the garage and followed Eddie to the office where Wayne was sat.

“Uncle Wayne, we got a case of an over heated cooling unit and low battery.” Eddie diagnosed as Wayne looked up giving you a friendly smile.

“We’ll get her fixed right up girly.” Wayne reassured making you roll your lips into your mouth at the expensive sounding issues. “Don’t you worry about nothing.” He barked in a tone sounding familiar to his nephew’s and you saw where Eddie got his kindness from.

“Thanks Wayne but I can talk to my dad-“ you started to try and offer but he gave you a stern look. Probably knowing first hand what an asshole your father is.

“Take her home Eddie.” Were his next words as Eddie began ushering you out to his van, one hand on your lower back and the other grabbing his keys off the hook at the door.

“Wanna go grab some burgers?” He asked as you put your seatbelt on.

“From Benny’s?” You perked up in excitement making him chuckle with a sideways glance at you.

“Yeah from Benny’s, what they didn’t feed you at your grandmothers lunch?” He teased trying to broach the subject and still be a little light hearted but you groaned and closed your eyes.

“It’s not polite to over fill your plate or eat more than two quarters of a sandwich.” You informed him and then looked over. “Apparently it’s not lady like.” You added.

Your parents were from the same cut as the Harringtons, it’s how you and Steve became friends. Forced to sit in boring itchy outfits at the country club every Saturday and Sunday as your parents paraded you around like trophies.

It’s also why you live in a studio above the coffee shop on the high street and why Steve lives in a one bed two buildings down. Neither of you having much of a relationship left with your parents.

“It’s not polite to go hungry either, besides that little dress makes you plenty lady like.” His tone was flirtatious and you knew he was trying to cheer you up while making fun of you.

“And don’t worry I’ll even get you a milkshake so I know you’ve been fed through the night.” Grinning at his words you looked over at him excited for the evening again.

“I love Benny’s.” Was all you managed to say.

“I know Pretty, that’s why I’m taking you to Benny’s.” He assured as if it was obvious but you didn’t think he paid that much attention to you, until now. And pulling into the parking lot he was happy to be with you.

Just you.

Not that he was brave enough to say that out loud.

Once you had both eaten and you were picking at his left over fries you hummed content. The conversation about Robin’s new love interest, or Steve’s latest dating disaster had died down and you had just been laughing at a story he was telling from his gig last weekend, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

“We should do this more often.” You told him bravely, dropping the fry and leaning closer by resting your chin on your hand.

“We practically live in Benny’s.” Was his blazè response as he watched you gulp and nod slowly, realising maybe you had meant more than just the diner.

“Sure but I mean just me and you. We should hang out more often, without Steve or Robin.” You said it so quickly he barely had time to recover but he’d caught your every word.

And he knew he had to think quickly before you took it back or changed your mind.

“Just me and you?” He echoed as if seeing what it sounded like on his tongue as well as getting confirmation before he got too nervous to bring it up again himself later.

“Yes Eddie, just me and you. I had fun with you this afternoon. It’s nice.” You looked away from him and down at the fries, your confidence fading. He took in how your cheeks were reddening and the tip of your ears were on fire.

“Steve and Robin are pretty annoying.” You laughed out loud at his response, and his way of making you laugh even in moments like this made your chest hurt.

You almost thought that was him rejecting you, softly and kindly.

But rejection nonetheless.

But when your hand reached over for the last fry he grabbed it gently with his own, placing the softest of kisses on the top.

You watched intently, lips rolled into your mouth trying to suppress a relieved grin.

“Just me and you huh?” He teased harmlessly and grinning at you like he’d just won the lottery.

“I like the sound of that.” He hummed happily.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #joseph quinn #stranger things fanfiction

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onceinablueberrymoon · 2 days ago

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i spy | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

scenario: after their “chance” meeting a couple months prior, pregnant!reader befriended gi-hun, and the two began meeting up occasionally for lunch, much to the salesman’s dismay. but now that reader’s gained gi-hun’s trust, it’s the perfect opportunity to gain some intel. setting: a few months after season 1; please read part 1 and part 2 first for added context! word count: 1.7k warnings: pregnant!reader; deception (poor gi-hun); no use of y/n; second person POV notes: i love domestic salesman so much (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) he will remain alive in my heart lol. there’s at least three parts left to this series, culminating in season 2 events. the next one should be coming soon, so stay tuned! this part is a big one, with lots of fluff, as always. please enjoy! borders by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics-archive!

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of your bedroom. You cracked open your eyes. It was morning.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw your husband, still asleep. His expression was peaceful. ‘Good,’ you thought, ‘he needs it.’ He rarely got a good night’s sleep as he was regularly plagued by nightmares of his traumatic past.

You sat up slowly, resting one hand on your back and the other on your large stomach. With the baby due in a few short weeks, you tried not to overexert yourself. Not that your husband would let you, anyway.

You picked up your phone from the nightstand and noted the time: 10:00 a.m. It’d been a long time since you slept in this late.

Most of your unread messages were spam, but one text caught your eye.

Message from Seong Gi-hun: Would you like to meet for lunch? I’ll be passing by your area today.

You’d been rather proud of your connection with Gi-hun. Ever since you first met him at the Incheon Airport subway station, you’ve maintained a casual friendship. While he had never spoken a word about the Games, he often told you stories about his daughter and his friends. You suspected he was quite lonely and isolated, and he had yet to use much of his winnings. Even so, you had somehow become his friendly confidante.

You put your phone to sleep and closed your eyes, leaning your head back on the bed’s headboard.

Your husband and you had agreed that you would need to start asking Gi-hun for information about the Games soon. Although you knew where Gi-hun was most of the time, you didn’t know what he was planning on doing if he found your husband. He seemed determined to interfere with the Games, but you weren’t sure how he would go about doing that.

The goal was to learn more from Gi-hun, and you would begin executing your plan today.

You felt a shifting movement from beside you, and you looked down to see your husband cuddling into your side. When he couldn’t put his arm around your large bump, he wrapped it around your thigh.

“Comfortable?” you chuckled. He nodded sleepily, pressing closer to you. You ran a hand through his fluffy, mussed-up hair. He lifted his head to softly kiss your belly. Your heart swelled – you loved him so much.

“While I would love to stay in bed and cuddle, I have to get ready. Gi-hun offered to meet me for lunch.” You gently unraveled yourself from your husband’s hold. This seemed to have woken him up more.

“I’ll send some guards to keep an eye on you.” He sat up, reaching over to his nightstand to make a call using the landline phone that was reserved for work.

You groaned, “I’ll be fine. Gi-hun wouldn’t dare touch me, not while I’m pregnant. And besides, I have a cover story. I’ll say I saw you playing ddakji with someone on the subway, but keep the details vague. Easy peasy.”

Your husband didn’t look convinced.

“I’ll tell them not to wear their uniforms. They’ll be undercover.”

You let out a big sigh. You weren’t winning this one.

“Fine. But I’m not bailing them out if they get caught.”

“So I saw something odd the other day…” You said nonchalantly, taking a bite of your sandwich. Gi-hun seemed intrigued as he dug into his own sandwich.

“These two men were playing ddakji in the middle of the subway station.” Gi-hun froze, mid-bite. You continued, “Can you believe it? I thought ddakji was just some kid’s game, not something played by grown men.”

You ignored his bewildered expression. “And to make it even weirder, one man slapped the other after he lost!” Gi-hun looked at you with a thousand-yard stare. You cheered in your mind – you knew you had gotten to him.

“Gi-hun-ssi?” You questioned, blinking your eyes innocently.

“...What station?” He whispered.

“I’m… I’m not sure. Maybe Yaksu? My mind’s been all over the place late-”

Gi-hun cut you off. “Was he dressed as a businessman? Did you see where he went afterwards?”

You nodded, “He was in a grey suit. My train came while they were still playing.” You paused. This was the moment of truth. “What’s going on? Do you know him?”

Gi-hun took a deep breath. “You may not believe me, but that salesman… He works for an organization that kills people by forcing them to play children’s games for money.”

You snorted. “Children’s games? Like what, hide and seek?”

His expression hardened. “Exactly. But it isn’t just games. People died. I was there.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “I won.”

He proceeded to tell you everything. About the pink guards, the types of games he played, the frontman in charge… Nothing you didn’t already know, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“And that man you saw, the salesman… He recruits players by playing ddakji. If you win, he gives you 100,000 won and a card to join the games.”

You did your best to look skeptical. Really, it wasn’t hard since most people would think he was out of his mind by this point.

But you gave him hope.

“I believe you, Gi-hun-ssi.” You turned to face him. His intense gaze softened. “If I see that man slapping people again, I’ll let you know.”

Technically, you weren’t lying, since your husband didn’t slap you at home (unless you asked, of course). You had both agreed that slapping people’s faces was strictly a work thing.

Gi-hun’s hand lurched forward to grab yours, but his grip loosened out of fear of hurting you.

“Promise me,” his voice shook, “promise me that you won’t approach him. Who knows what he’ll do… Especially in your condition.” Both your gazes wandered down to your swollen belly.

“I would never endanger my baby.” You placed a protective hand over your stomach.

Gi-hun gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I recently called my former loaner and he’s agreed to assemble a team to search for the salesman.” He let his head drop into his hands. “We have to find this man before the next games start.”

“This loaner of yours… How do they plan on finding the salesman?” You asked cautiously.

Gi-hun lifted his head. “They plan on searching the subway stations from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. The salesman will surely be out recruiting people during that period.” He turned to you again. “I didn’t mean to bring you into all of this. If you see that salesman again though,” he looked at you, his eyes pleading, “call me immediately. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

Again, you nodded, this time with more conviction.

The rest of your time together was silent for the most part, an uneasiness lingering in the air. All that mattered, though, was that you had fully gained Gi-hun’s trust. But how much longer would you be able to keep it?

Returning home from your lunch appointment, you open the front door to see your husband lounging on the sofa, his feet propped up on the low coffee table. Upon noticing your arrival, he closed the book he was reading and put it aside.

“I’ve got some key information!” You sang, waving your arm to greet your husband. He smiled, standing up to meet you at the doorway.

“What did my detective learn today?” He took your hand and led you to sit on the sofa. He helped you put your legs up, then sat near your feet and began massaging them.

“Lots. For one, Gi-hun calls you ‘the salesman’. Funny, isn’t it? You’re not selling anything, but with your devilishly good looks, I’d buy anything from you.” He chuckled at your comment.

“He also said that he hired his former loan shark.” You let out a giggle. “His loan shark! The guy that Gi-hun signed his physical rights away to! I couldn’t believe my ears.” You continued, “Anyway, the loan shark and his team will be searching the subway stations for you.” You grimaced. “It’ll interfere with your schedule. They start at 10 a.m. and go until 10 p.m.”

Your husband let out a heavy sigh and pinched his nose. “So, the entire day.”

You nodded. “I can find more prospects aboveground. Parks, markets… There must be some in the suburbs too.”

He seemed lost in thought as he continued rubbing the soles of your feet.

“Another thing… Gi-hun told me to promise I’d call him if I saw you again.” Your husband looked at you and quirked an eyebrow. You took your phone out of your bag on the coffee table. “Since I found you, should I let him know..?” You teased, your phone dangling loosely from your hand.

“Oh?” Your husband smirked. “If you did,” he moved his hands up your legs to massage your thighs, “What would you say?”

You shuddered when he massaged a particular spot on your thigh.

“I’d say… ‘Wow, that salesman is incredibly handsome.’” Your husband chuckled. You laughed, “Then, to really rile him up, I might say, ‘Maybe I will play a game with him after all.’” You cocked your head, a mischievous smile on your face. “Or do you think that’d give him a heart attack?”

Your husband laughed. He moved his hands back down to massage your ankles.

The conversation flowed between the two of you for over an hour, when your husband finally tired of massaging your aching body. He escorted you to your bedroom, where you immediately demanded that you resume your cuddling session from earlier that morning.

As you snuggled into him, you sighed. “I’m going to miss this.”

He nodded, one hand drawing circles on your belly. Just then, you both felt the baby kick. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a kick nevertheless.

“Well, maybe I won’t miss that.”

Your husband’s repetitive circles were making you sleepy. But before you fell asleep, you heard him murmur, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

As much as you also wanted everything to stay the same, you knew things were about to change. In your career, in your family, in your friendships… The next chapter of your life would soon begin, and boy, were you in for a ride.

#the salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #squid game #squid game season 2 #the salesman #the recruiter #squid game fanfic #gong yoo x reader #squid game x reader #squid game x you #reader insert #pregnant reader #the recruiter squid game #the salesman fluff #the salesman x you #squid game fluff

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thebarneschronicles · 2 days ago

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Closer To Home IV

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.7k

Synopsis: The storm changed everything. A week spent trapped together, moving around each other like it was second nature. Mornings spent wrapped in his warmth, nights spent unraveling under his hands. And now, the words you’ve been swallowing for months are fighting to break free and you don’t know how much longer you can keep them in.

You love him. And he knows it. But love has never been easy for Bucky. And if you say it—if you let yourself finally speak the truth—will it pull him closer, or will it send him running?

Trigger Warnings: Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels. Surprisingly no smut this time around... but their chance will come!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Author’s Note: The words are out... now we can focus on their other shenanigans. Loving to see your thoughts about this story and my ask box is always open if you wanna know more. P.S.: There'll probably be more updates this week, but I'm not setting it in stone. B xx

“Just kiss me. Keep my mouth shut, will you? Do it until I forget my name.”

The kissing had worked. The slow, lingering press of his lips, the desperate way his hands had explored your skin like he was learning you by touch alone—every moment had distracted you from the pressing truth of your feelings. And when he finally took you, when he split you open at your very core only to put you back together again with every roll of his hips, every whispered praise against your lips, it had done its job.

You hadn’t said it.

Those three little words that kept haunting you, lingering on the tip of your tongue every waking moment since Bucky Barnes had stepped into your life.

I love you.

They could cement everything you had built together or crumble it into dust. And yet, they pressed behind your teeth, growing heavier each day, aching to be voiced, desperate to reach his ears.

You loved him.

God knew when it had happened. Was it when you first read his files, when he was still just a name and a tragic history? Or when he first looked at you—really looked at you—after you were assigned to work alongside him and Sam? Maybe it was the day he effortlessly picked up the stack of reports you had been struggling to carry, flashing you that small hesitant smile he wouldn’t normally share with anyone.

Or was it that first night he offered to walk you home?

No. Who were you kidding? It had happened long before then.

It had crept in through stolen glances over mission briefings, through late-night talks over cups of coffee you always made for him without asking, in the hopes of stealing just a moment of his time. It had settled in the quiet, in the routine of his grumbled, "Morning, doll," when he found you in the communal kitchen, in the way his tired eyes softened when you gave him that worried look as he walked in, battered and bruised from a fight.

And now, it was torture.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The snowstorm had come and gone, the city slowly crawling back to life after nearly a week buried in ice. You and Bucky had spent those days together, and you had been blindsided by just how easy it had been—how natural it was to cohabitate. As if this was something you did all the time, as if domesticity had always been woven into the fabric of your relationship.

In the midst of unspoken feelings and a push and pull you actively ignored, you learned things. That he liked to watch you cook, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, incapable of hiding he was mesmerized. That he didn’t mind washing the dishes afterward, sleeves rolled up as he worked in comfortable silence, so long as you kept him company. That he’d rub your ankles while you lounged on the couch after hours spent bustling around the house, his strong hands kneading into your skin with practiced ease, relishing in the way your breath hitched when he squeezed just right.

He was the perfect boyfriend.

Except he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Because you couldn’t call him that. Could you?

You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, your head dropping onto your desk. Hours had passed, and you still couldn’t concentrate on anything. Your mind was consumed by the what-ifs, spiraling around the impossible tangle of your relationship with a 1940s super soldier who carried more trauma than you could count on both hands.

Fantastic. Just great.

The faint scuff of boots outside your door jolted you back to reality. You lifted your head just as Sam Wilson leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He held a file in one hand, but the amusement in his eyes told you he had other priorities.

"Well, did I just catch you napping on the job?"

You snorted, leaning back in your chair. "I wish. And good morning to you too, Sam. How can I help you?"

"Mission stuff," he said, tossing the file onto your desk. "Figured I’d go over it with you before Barnes shows up to derail our day with his useless questions. Also, wanted to check in—how was your week harboring a former assassin cyborg in your apartment?"

You pressed your lips together as memories of those days surged through your mind—his touch, his warmth, the way his eyes held you like you were something he never wanted to lose, the hunger in them when you straddled him. You hesitated, caught up in the memories, which was enough to set Sam off.

"Did you talk about it yet?" he pressed.

"About what, exactly?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I don’t know—your big ol’ feelings? The fact that you two have been dancing around the subject for months? Did you ask him to be your boyfriend yet?"

With the playful lilt in his voice and the mischief dancing in his eyes, it was hard to believe this man was a war veteran—let alone Captain America.

You rolled your eyes, tapping your nails against the desk. "Don’t you have aliens to fight, Cap? Kittens to rescue? Children to kiss?"

"I’m Captain America, not a politician," Sam shot back, dragging out a chair and dropping into it with a pointed look. "So, that’s a no?"

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temples and urging the flush on your cheeks to go away. "We didn’t really… talk much. Not really."

Sam let out a long whistle, shaking his head. "Damn. Didn’t think Barnes had it in him."

"Sam—" you groaned.

"Oh, come on. You spent a whole week holed up with Terminator, what do you expect me to do? Just sit back and not pry?"

"You are way too invested in my love life for someone who has yet to offer a single useful piece of advice."

Sam grinned, leaning forward. "Alright, spill. What happened during the storm?"

You hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure Bucky was nowhere in sight. When the coast was clear, you exhaled, shoulders sagging. "We stayed at mine for most of it, but one night, we went to his place, and… I kind of lost it."

Sam’s smirk faded. "Lost it how?"

You swallowed hard, fingers twisting together. "I broke down, Sam. Full-on sobbing, ugly crying—everything. He wanted to know why, and I just—" Your voice caught, and you forced yourself to push through it. "I told him. That I know about Hydra. The torture. And... I saw the way he lives, like he’s punishing himself. Like he doesn’t think he deserves anything good. It wrecked me."

Sam’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed level. "And how did he handle it?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "I didn’t give him the chance. I was about to say ‘I love you,’ and I panicked. So instead…" You sighed, dropping your gaze. "We slept together. More than once. And now everything’s a mess because I’m—" The words caught in your throat, heavy and terrifying. "Because I’m in love with him. And he knows. But I haven’t said it to him yet."

Sam blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. Maybe I should start brooding—chicks love it."

You shot him a glare, but your heart wasn’t in it. He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. So you’re in love with him. What’s the problem?"

"Everything," you whispered, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. "I love him, Sam. And I haven’t told him because… I don’t even know if I should."

Sam’s teasing faded, his voice softer now. "Why not?"

You swallowed hard, staring out the window as if the answer was somewhere out there. "Because I don’t know if he’ll stay. He’s lost so much already. People, time, parts of himself. What if I tell him, and it’s too much? What if it pushes him away? Or worse—what if he doesn’t feel the same?"

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "You really are in your own head about this."

"That’s helpful," you shot back, voice thick with sarcasm.

He leaned forward, forearms braced against the desk, voice steady and certain, that way he usually got when he was about to drop some wisdom. "Look. This is Bucky we’re talking about. Yeah, he’s been through hell. More than anyone should have to survive. But you know what else? He’s still here. He’s choosing to be here, with you. And if you love him, and he already knows—because trust me, he knows—then saying the words isn’t going to send him running."

Your chest ached, emotions clawing their way up your throat. "How do you know that? Because this… this is eating me alive, Sam. I just want him to stay. I want to love him. And I’m terrified he won’t let me. There have been so many times I almost said it, but I had to choke it back because…" Your voice cracked, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. "Because I know this will either be everything or it’ll be the thing that breaks us. And I don’t know if I can face it if it’s the latter."

Sam’s expression shifted, his voice unwavering yet gentle. "Maybe you should let him decide that."

“And what if he decides it’s not worth it?” The words barely made it past the lump in your throat. You dropped your gaze, unwilling to let Sam see the way your lips trembled, the way your hands clenched into fists against your lap.

“He’s had enough people deciding everything for him to last a lifetime,” Sam said, his tone edged with something firm. “Don’t be another one on that list just because you think you know what he'll do. Maybe, if you actually ask him about his feelings, he’ll surprise you.”

“You sound awfully sure of something you know nothing about,” you muttered, but the usual fire in your retorts was absent. It was just exhaustion now, doubt curling into your bones.

“Who said I know nothing?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Sam... What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly, the picture of innocence as he shrugged, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Samuel, I will call your sister.”

Sam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, but you caught it. He clicked his tongue, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, about that—maybe don’t. You know Buck had a thing for her back when we were in Louisiana, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “He what?”

Before Sam could respond, heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway. You barely had a moment to process the revelation before Bucky strode into your office, his expression mildly suspicious, his vibranium arm clutching a pastel pink bag. The contrast of the bag’s soft color against his all-black ensemble was so stark it nearly gave you whiplash.

“There you are,” Sam boomed, standing with a grin as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “What’s in the bag, Barnes? Something sweet for your sweetheart?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look before his eyes landed on you, and his features softened instantly. “Breakfast. For her, not for you,” he clarified, lifting the bag slightly. Then his brows drew together, scanning your face with quiet concern. “Why are you crying? What did he do?”

“I’m not crying,” you rushed to say, though the evidence of your damp cheeks begged to differ. “It’s allergies,” You quickly wiped them with the back of your hands, forcing a smile. “What did you get?”

“I got you a bagel from that place you like,” Bucky said, stepping closer, his voice laced with something almost hesitant. "They didn’t have coffee, so I got you, uh… a strawberry matcha? The girl at the counter said you'd like it." He shifted slightly, as if bracing for your reaction.

You froze for a second, staring at him. The idea of Bucky—gruff, no-nonsense Bucky—standing at a café counter and listening to drink recommendations was almost too much. But then the weight of it settled in your chest: he’d gone out of his way. Remembered your favorite bagel. Chosen something new just because he wanted to bring you something—God, you were in too deep.

“That’s really sweet, Buck.” You pushed yourself up from your chair, unable to stop yourself from leaning in, rising on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, his stubble rough against your fingers. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“I wanted to,” he murmured, echoing something you had said to him so many times before it almost felt like second nature now. For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, his blue eyes tracing your face like he was trying to decide on something. Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he shifted slightly, tilting his head, and brushed a kiss against your lips.

It was soft—so soft it almost didn’t feel real. But it was enough to send your mind reeling, your breath hitching in your throat as a jolt of electricity raced through you. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, and you were too stunned to speak. Your fingers gripped the paper bag, anchoring yourself to something, anything, to help you process what had just happened.

And then Sam’s voice shattered the moment.

“Ah, look at the two of you. My favorite couple,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Your entire body stiffened. “Sam,” you hissed, heat flooding your cheeks.

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Right, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly, a tell tale sign of his annoyance that only you seemed to notice.

“Sam, we haven’t even—” You started, grasping at some semblance of control over the rapidly unraveling situation, but Sam cut you off with an exaggerated groan.

"For the love of God, Barnes, put her out of her misery already," Sam groaned, nudging him with an elbow. "Tell her she’s your girlfriend. Tell her she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Do us all a favor."

You wanted to die. Right there. Spontaneously combust and vanish from existence.

“Anyway, that’s my cue to leave,” Sam said, grabbing the file he’d initially dropped on your desk.

“But we haven’t even discussed—” You started, grasping at the one thing that could spare you from the awkwardness sinking into your chest.

“We can discuss it later. Right now, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone to talk.” Sam said with an infuriatingly knowing look before turning toward the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Oh, and by the way… I told her about Sarah.”

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling in a long, put-upon sigh. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, annoyance now evident. “Sam…”

“Consider it payback for flirting with my sister. And what’s a little jealousy? It adds spice to the relationship,” Sam teased, stepping just out of Bucky’s immediate reach.

Bucky turned fully toward him, which only made Sam laugh, hands up in mock surrender. “She threatened to call her, man! I had no choice.”

Bucky turned back to you, groaning softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, he lives to torment me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “So… Sarah?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

His head shot up, his blue eyes widening, genuine worry flickering across his face. “Nothing happened,” he said quickly. “With Sarah, I mean. There’s—there’s nothing to tell.”

You bit back a grin, warmth curling in your chest at his obvious distress. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Relax, Buck. I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m just shocked you had any interest in anyone besides that waitress before I threw myself on you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as your words landed. “You didn’t force me into anything,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. His thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“Good,” you teased, pulling the pink drink bag closer to you with a smirk. “Now let’s try this strawberry matcha you so lovingly procured for me.”

You did it. You got over the awkwardness by skillfully dodging the subject. You nearly sighed in relief—right up until Bucky let out a noise, half scoff, half laugh, before his amusement faded into something else as he stepped closer.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he mumbled, moving behind you with a calculated slowness, his presence looming but never overbearing. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you back against him, and your breath hitched as his chest pressed against your back. “And it won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice unsteady .

Bucky held you in place, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Why were you crying?” he murmured, low and insistent, his lips trailing down to press the faintest kiss to the curve of your neck.

Your knees felt like they might give out, your eyes fluttering shut involuntarily. You sent a silent thank-you to the universe for the secluded corner your office was tucked into, sparing you the humiliation of anyone catching you like this—being thoroughly undone by your super soldier.

“Sam told me I suck at my job,” you lied, barely managing to string the words together.

Bucky chuckled, the vibration of it reverberating against your back. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, finally twisting you around to face him. His arms circled your waist, holding you securely, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to.

“And your interrogation tactics are crap,” you shot back, trying to mask your flustered state with sarcasm. Your hands instinctively slid up to rest on his shoulders, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll see about that,” he warned, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering as it flicked over your face.

You took a moment to really look at him, letting your eyes trace over every detail—the softness in his gaze, the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the roughness of his stubbled jaw that you knew would scrape deliciously against your skin. Your heart raced as you took him in, suddenly overwhelmed by how effortlessly gorgeous he was. “God, you’re handsome,” you blurted, your voice quiet but sure. “It’s unfair.”

His smirk deepened, though his expression remained serious. “Compliments will get you nowhere,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I will make you tell me.”

You considered his words, tilting your head as you let your nails trail lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe,” you said, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Maybe we can do it over dinner?”

Bucky’s brows raised slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face before he recovered, the smirk returning in full force. “Are you asking me out, or is this another attempt to dodge the question?”

“Maybe both,” you quipped, tugging him just a little closer, your noses nearly brushing.

His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Dinner,” you confirmed, your heart thundering as the word hung between you.

The look in his eyes told you he was already on board, but his voice stayed teasing as he finally replied. “Fine. Your place. I’ll bring the food. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his, but your insides twisted with the promise of the conversation that awaited you.

–

Instead of leaving work together, Bucky had, surprisingly, let you fend for yourself. You walked the few blocks back to your apartment with a jittery sensation that only grew more restless as you thought about how the night would unfold.

There was no avoiding it. Tonight, you'd have to talk about it, define your relationship once and for all, and you had no idea how it would play out. Or if you were prepared for it.

By the time you reached your door, you were wound so tight with nerves you were unable to sit still. You headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to lose yourself in the steady rhythm of baking. Soon, the rich scent of cinnamon and apples filled the small space, wrapping around you like a hug. The pie had barely cooled and you had just gotten finished spritzing your perfume when Bucky’s knock came at the door. You smoothed your hair one last time, and opened it with a breathless smile.

There he was. Casual, but devastating in his dark Henley and leather jacket, black jeans hugging his frame in all the right places. He had a bottle of whiskey tucked under one arm and a stack of takeout bags in the other—Thai food, from the place you’d offhandedly mentioned wanting to try. How did he remember it? You had no idea.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice soft, warm, and entirely too casual for the buzz of energy humming between you. His blue eyes swept over your frame, lingering just a second too long. You had thrown on a simple outfit after your shower—soft jeans and an oversized sweater that slid teasingly off one shoulder—but the way he looked at you made you feel like you were naked and exposed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your cheeks heating as you lifted onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He tilted his head slightly, deepening it for just a moment, accepting the way your hands cupped his cheeks to keep him steady, before pulling back with a sigh.

He couldn’t resist giving you another once over, before he got distract. “What’s that smell?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“Apple pie,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I figured I’d take care of dessert since you were handling dinner.”

His brows lifted. “Apple pie? That’s awfully domestic…”

You shrugged, feeling the blood heating up your cheeks. “Thought it might remind you of home—or, you know, simpler times.”

Bucky hummed, setting the food and whiskey down before reaching out and tugging on the hem of your sweater. “Looks good on you.”

“Domesticity or the sweater?” You joked, closing the door behind you and leaning on it as you watched him. It never failed to catch you off guard—how effortlessly he settled into your space. Dropping the bags on the counter, peeling off his gloves and jacket, rolling up his sleeves. He moved like a man who belonged, who knew he was home, as much as he refused to call it home. The sight of it stole your breath.

His lips quirked. “Both.”

Dinner was easy, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. He teased you about the mountain of spring rolls you’d pulled onto your plate (“Is that all for you, or am I allowed to have one?”), and you ribbed him right back for always stealing bites off your plate instead of sticking to his own. The laughter came easily, and for a while, the tension simmering under the surface felt like a distant echo.

That was, until Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from playful to intent.

“So,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Ready for the Spanish Inquisition?”

You groaned, your head dropping into your hands. “Oh, come on. Can’t you let me off the hook?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice laced with humor but his eyes sharp. “I already let you off. Twice.”

The covert mention of the night you broke down didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your head, you rested your chin in your hand, meeting his steady blue gaze with a pout. The stare-off felt like a challenge—like you were daring him to back off while he silently willed you to break. The only question was who would give in first. And you had no doubt—it would be you.

You’d do anything Bucky Barnes asked you to. Sighing, you pushed back from the table and stood. “Fine. If you’re going to interrogate me, we’re at least going to make it fun.”

"Fun?" His tone was doubtful, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. "In my experience, interrogations usually involve dark rooms and torture."

"Not this one. As tempting as it’d be to watch you try all that Winter Soldier stuff on me—" You cut yourself off before saying too much. This was already giving away enough. "We’re playing Truth or Drink." You nodded toward the whiskey he’d brought. "Grab your liquor, Sergeant, and meet me in the living room."

You plopped down on the soft rug in front of your couch, crossing your legs, an arm leaning over the soft cushions as you settled in. The rug’s texture was a comfort beneath you, grounding you for what you suspected was about to be a very revealing game. Bucky followed, setting the whiskey and two glasses down on the coffee table before sitting across from you, all the way down the other side of the couch.

“You’re so far away,” you complained, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s on purpose,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t let you distract me. I’ve got a mission here.”

His teasing tone made your stomach flip, but you masked it with an exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes as you reached for the whiskey bottle. “Fine, Barnes. Let’s get this over with.” You poured a generous amount into each glass and handed him one. “You wanna go first, or should I?”

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly. Ever the gentleman—even when he was expertly deploying psychological and emotional blackmail.

Resigning yourself to your inevitable demise, you pretended to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “Alright. Tell me a story about you and Steve.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine. Would you please tell me a story about you and Steve?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of whiskey. “What kind of story?”

“I don’t know... Something interesting. Something no one else knows. Something fun.”

For a moment, Bucky’s gaze drifted, lost somewhere in memories you’d never be able to touch. Then, a small, genuine smile pulled at his lips, and your chest ached at the sight of it. “Alright… Before the serum, before the whole ‘Star-Spangled Man with a Plan’ schtick, when he was just a scrawny kid, Steve used to put newspapers in his shoes to make himself look taller.”

You grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, well, not so adorable when it rained and he forgot to take them out.” Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “One time, we got caught in a downpour on the way to a dance. Steve walks in, shoes squelching, and suddenly the whole place smells like wet dog and cheap ink.” He chuckled, eyes shining. “God, the way people looked at him. I had to convince the bouncer we weren’t trying to stink up the joint on purpose.”

You laughed, watching the way his shoulders eased, the usual tension in his frame loosening as he let himself revel in a memory that didn’t hurt to hold onto.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Do you think Steve would’ve approved?”

Bucky blinked, confused. “Approved of what?”

“Us,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Me. Being with you.” You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the couch cushion. “I mean, we only met a few times before… y’know. And from everything I’ve heard, he was pretty protective of you.”

For a second, you thought he might deflect, but instead, Bucky’s answer was firm. Certain. “Yeah. Steve would’ve approved.”

Your heart did a little flip.

“He would’ve liked that you take care of me,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now, the burn of his unvoiced gratitude not going unnoticed.

Something inside you melted. “See, this is why you need to sit closer.” You scooted forward, shifting toward him. “I need to kiss you and I can’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, doll, but you’re not getting out of your turn that easily.”

You groaned. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“When was the last time you dated someone?” His eyes glinted with something unreadable, but his tone was casual. “Before... this.” He gestured again, this time between the two of you.

You scoffed. “That’s what you wanna know? Out of all the things?”

“Just answer the question, sweetheart.”

You groaned, pulling at the fluffy rug beneath you. “I don’t know, four, five years ago? I lost count. Last real relationship I had was before I got into this whole ‘girl in the chair’ thing. And it didn’t go well.”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“Communication issues,” you said vaguely, then sighed. “And the fact that he had a habit of sleeping with anything that breathed within a three-mile radius—except me. Which included both his best friends. And my roommate at the time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up before he could school his expression back into something more neutral. “What do you mean ‘except you’?”

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “Exactly what it sounds like. He thought I wasn’t... good enough. Or at least not good enough for him.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes, but before he could open his mouth, you cut in, “You’re overextending your turn, Sergeant. I’m the one asking questions now.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, visibly annoyed that he couldn’t dig deeper into that revelation, but he nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, eyeing him. “Did you really have a thing with Sarah?”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch, exhaling like a man who’d just been handed a life sentence. “I knew you wouldn’t just let this go. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Sam.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh. “That’s not a no.”

Bucky rolled his head to the side to glare at you, but there was no real heat behind it. It made you want to kiss him. But then again, everything made you want to kiss him. “There was no thing,” he huffed, shifting so he was facing you more fully. “We flirted. That’s it. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though the way you hugged your knees closer and half-smothered your smile into your arm made him smirk.

“Sure. You’re jealous, though.”

You wrinkled your nose. “So what if I was?”

Bucky hummed, his smirk widening as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something infuriatingly smooth. “It’s cute.”

“Ugh. Shut up.” You stretched your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot to change the subject. “Your turn.”

Before you could pull away, Bucky’s hand wrapped around your ankle, firm but warm. In one effortless motion, he pulled your leg over his lap, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed absently against your shin as he settled back, casual as ever. But the way his fingers found the muscle of your calf—slow, deliberate, kneading just right—was anything but casual. A shiver ran up your spine. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.

He stayed quiet long enough for your nerves to start creeping in. Then his grip tightened, just slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate. “Did you ever think we’d be a one-time thing?”

Your breath hitched. “Us?”

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your calf—deceptively nonchalant. But the way his touch set every nerve in your body on fire? Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “This… thing we’re doing. Did you think it’d last? Or did you go in thinking it was just for one night?”

You hesitated. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, this hadn’t even been on your radar.

“I…” You exhaled, shifting slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. How warm his hands were against your skin. “I never thought of it as a one-time thing.”

His gaze flickered—sharp, assessing, unreadable. “Why?”

You huffed, trying for annoyed, but it came out breathier than you wanted. “Why what?”

His smile was slow, knowing. “Why’d you think it’d be more?”

Your throat tightened. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading me.”

“Why?”

“Because some things need to stay a secret.” You swallowed. “Some things… you don’t need to know. It’s too much.”

His grin widened, dark amusement curling at the edges. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You curled your fingers into the rug beneath you. “Fine.” The word felt heavier than it should. “Just don’t be mad if you don’t like it.” You pressed on before he could interrupt. “This, you… it was never something I could walk away from.”

His fingers stilled—just for a second—before resuming those slow, maddening circles. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You scoffed, mostly to deflect. “For me? Yeah.”

His thumb pressed deeper into your skin. “Why?”

You sighed, dropping your head back against the couch before meeting his gaze again. "Because I got attached. One kiss, and I was already in too deep. And now? Now, I don’t know how to want you halfway. If you had only ever wanted me for a night, I would’ve taken it. Even if it broke me.” Your voice quieted. “And now we’re here, and it’s been months, and if this goes wrong—” You swallowed hard. “If you suddenly realize you don’t want this, or me, or that it's all too much— I don’t think I’d come out the other side in one piece.”

Bucky didn’t speak right away. Just watched you, unreadable as ever. Then, his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of your knee, sending another shiver down your spine. “I know”, he said after a moment. Then, softer—raw, stripped of bravado:

“That’s what scares me.”

His words burned, low and true, cutting deeper than you expected. It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t doubt. It was something else entirely.

It was honesty.

And in that moment, you felt it—the shift. He was cracking open, piece by piece, letting you see the soft, bleeding parts of him that no one else had ever touched.

He let you see him. All of him. Let you peer in for as long as you wanted, as if he had made peace with it. That there was no wall you couldn’t bring down, so he just accepted it.

And maybe that was the real weight of it. Not the sex, not his past, not your willingness, but this—this terrifying, aching certainty that he could ruin you. That you’d let him. That if he asked, you would lay yourself bare at his feet and never ask for anything in return. He knew that if he asked, you would give him everything. Every last piece of yourself, until he was whole and you were the one bleeding.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, searching, waiting. And you realized—this was the test. Not the chase, not the tension, not even the words you hadn’t yet spoken. The test was whether you could hold his gaze, whether you could sit in the weight of this moment and not look away.

Your breath came shallow, chest tight, but you didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

Not when his fingers curled just a little tighter on your thigh, like he was feeling the way you trembled. Not when his gaze flickered down, tracing the shape of your lips, the quickening pulse at your throat, the way your body betrayed you in ways your words refused to.

His voice was softer this time, but no less intense. “You know… I don’t do halfway either.”

Damn him.

The air between you turned electric. Your pulse hammered against your ribs, a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Bucky…” Your voice barely cleared a whisper, but he heard it. His fingers slid a little higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh.

“What?” His tone was laced with challenge, teasing, but his eyes—his eyes were dark. Intent.

You let out a shaky breath. “Don’t… don’t play with me, okay?”

His smirk faltered, something shifting in his expression. “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel the same way? That this is some kind of game?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m easier than you think.”

You shook your head. “I can’t read you right now.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head slightly as you shifted, letting your arm rest against the couch behind him, seeking another point of contact. Your fingers slipped into the soft strands at the nape of his neck—an experiment, really. His lashes fluttered shut, just for a second, and your stomach flipped. Gravity, that’s what he was. A force pulling you in, impossible to resist. God, you wanted to climb into his lap and devour him whole.

“You can read me,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re just scared you’ll see something you can’t ignore.”

Your heart pounded. “You always say that… Like you’re so sure I’ll wake up one day and decide you're a monster.” Your voice was quieter now. “That I'll finally see you the way you see yourself. It's not going to happen, Bucky.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He finally looked at you, his voice quieter now, but no less sure. “I mean… you’ll finally let yourself believe I feel the same way about you as you do about me.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe right. His words settled deep, threading into places you weren’t ready to touch—places that made you want too much, feel too much. It was too honest, too real, and if you let yourself linger there, you might drown in it.

So, you did the only thing you could. You swerved.

You sucked in a breath, forcing a smirk. “You really gotta stop saying things like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… things that make my heart feel like it’s about to explode.” You made a vague, fluttery motion near your chest. “It’s very inconsiderate. You should warn a girl before you go throwing around words like that.”

Bucky huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, but he didn’t take the bait. His gaze stayed steady, unyielding, like he was waiting for you to actually sit with what he’d just said.

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you let a wicked grin curled at your lips, a lifeline in dangerous waters. “Okay, I have a good one.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, wary but intrigued. “Go on.”

You bit your lip, leaning in like you had a secret too tempting to resist. “That first night we had sex… was that your first time since the ’40s?”

For half a second, he just blinked at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually left your mouth. Then, with a groan, he tipped his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ.”

He laughed, but you caught the way the tops of his ears tinged red, his cheeks following suit. “That bad, huh?”

You gasped, swatting at his chest. “I never said that.”

He smirked, reaching for his drink. “Can you get me another one? I might not recover from this.”

You laughed, fingers curling tighter in his hair before dragging down the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivered under your touch. “If I tell you the truth about it, your ego will get so big we’ll both suffocate in this room.” You tilted his chin up with a knuckle, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. “Come on, tell me.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, but you saw through him. He was stalling, rolling the words around in his head, figuring out how much to give away. Your heart picked up pace, watching the way his jaw worked, the way his fingers flexed.

Finally, he exhaled. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter. “It was.”

You swallowed, lips parting, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I didn’t even remember how good it felt. Not until—” Bucky sighed, leaning back into your touch as if it steadied him.

“Until?” You urged him on, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

“Until I had you naked under me, wrapped around my fingers.” His eyes darkened, and his voice dipped lower, sending a shiver down your spine. “You were so wet and so… warm. When I—”

“I remember,” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper, pressing your mouth to his shoulder to ground yourself.

And you did. You remembered the way he had frozen, realization crashing over him like a wave, the way his breath had hitched when he finally understood what it would feel like to be inside you. The memory sent a delicious shudder through you, and when you glanced down, you found his hand still on your leg, fingers tracing absentminded circles over your skin.

“So do I,” he admitted, his laugh coming out breathy, almost disbelieving. “Thought about it more times than I’d like to admit.”

You bit your lip, sliding your palm over his stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You don’t have to just think. You can do it again,” you murmured. “Anytime. Anything you want, you can do it to me. You know that, right?”

His breath hitched, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t letting you slip away. Every dodge, every joke, every attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere, he unraveled it effortlessly, guiding you right back to where he wanted you. "Why do you offer me so much?" His voice was low, edged with something unsteady. "Your body. Your trust. Why do you give yourself to me so freely?" The illusion of a lighthearted game shattered, the bourbon forgotten on the table, its amber warmth abandoned in favor of something far stronger—the charged air between you. It pulsed with the weight of everything you refused to admit, with the inevitability of what came next.

It felt like being caught in a storm’s eye, a vacuum where time stretched and condensed, where the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this moment, this man, and the unrelenting gravity of his presence. You could either surrender and give him the truth he was so keen to obtain, or wait for him to relent, to spare you, to step back and let you escape once more.

But you knew—God, you knew—he wouldn’t. His gaze was unwavering, his body coiled with the kind of patience that promised he could outlast you. He would outlast you. He had outlasted every single person in his life, why would you be any different? He wasn’t just waiting; he was chasing, methodical and unshakable.

And you? You were already lost. Because deep down, past all the resistance, you knew there was only one ending to this. You would give in. You would tell him what he wanted to hear.

Because how could you not?

Your chest tightened under the weight of his stare, each word peeling you open. "I want you to take it. To have me." The confession felt too vast, too exposed, but you forced yourself to continue. "You always hold back. Always deny yourself of everything good. I don’t want that for us. If you—if you don’t want this, it won’t be because I never gave you the choice."

His expression didn’t waver. “Is that the only reason?”

“I—” Your inhale was shaky, your eyes searching his.

“Do you only want this because you think I need something to hold on to?”

“No.” The word ripped from your throat, immediate, your head shaking, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “No, Bucky. That’s not… I don’t want to be some rehabilitation for you. I want to be with you. All of you.”

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to the fabric like a lifeline, like letting go would unravel you completely. “You don’t understand… I chose you, even when you never asked to be chosen.” A breathless, humorless laugh escaped you, sharp and fragile all at once. “But I couldn’t help it. With you, it’s like I finally—” You exhaled shakily, searching for the words, for air, for him. “Like it’s finally right. It fits. We fit. It’s like I was always meant for this. Meant for you.”

The confession scraped against your ribs, raw and aching, and you blinked hard, forcing back the sting behind your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Never trusted anyone enough to—to let myself be claimed, to be theirs” Your voice barely held, a whisper on the edge of breaking. “But with you, it just… happened. You looked at me and it was over. I want you to be the one I belong to.”

Bucky’s lips parted, his breath shallow, but his voice was firm. Certain. “Because you love me.”

The moment he said it, you felt it—the trap snapping shut around you with perfect precision. You had to hand it to him; he was a damn good interrogator. You hadn’t even suspected that this was where he was leading you. Your breath hitched, emotions rising too fast to control, clawing at your throat like something primal, something desperate. His hand was still on your ankle, grounding, waiting. But he let you move, sensing the shift, the way your body coiled like a spring, the way your lips trembled as you fought against the inevitable.

“You’re not being fair,” you choked out, voice cracking as you turned your face away from his unwavering gaze.

“I just want to hear it, doll.”

Your chest ached. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers curling into the fabric of your own sweater like you could hold yourself together if you just squeezed hard enough. “You know why I can’t.”

“I actually don’t.”

“You’ll leave. It’ll be too much…” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You’ll run. And I don’t want to lose you because of my stupid feelings.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating. The air felt electric, charged with everything you weren’t saying. When you finally dared to look at him, his expression was unreadable, something soft, something searching. And then, just the slightest tilt of his lips—sad, knowing.

“Doll…” His fingers trailed slowly up your calf, not teasing this time, but tethering. A lifeline. “I’m here.”

“Until when?” The question was a wound, raw and bleeding. The first tear slipped free before you could stop it. The second followed before you even realized it was there. Bucky’s grip faltered, his fingers tightening—then loosening—like the words had landed somewhere deep, somewhere fragile.

Then, he let out a rough, breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Until you’re done with me.” His voice was quiet, resigned. Like he already knew the ending to this story before it ever happened. “Until you don’t love me anymore. Until you realize what a mess I am and find someone better.”

Your breath stuttered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. “There’s no one better. No one else.”

You didn’t push him away when he reached for you, cradling the back of your neck with steady, careful hands. His touch was warm, unshakable. The kiss that followed was a collision—of fear, of longing, of too many unspoken things. It was salty with tears, but it tasted sweeter than anything you’d ever known. Bucky cupped your face, thumbs chasing away the stubborn wetness on your cheeks, lips moving slow, deliberate, like he had something to prove to you. And you let him. You let him tilt your head back, let him drag a hand down the length of your throat, let yourself drown in the sensation of him.

He tasted like bourbon and longing and home, and you drank him in like he was the only thing keeping you alive.

You couldn’t get enough.

Not when he pulled you onto his lap, not when he tangled a hand in your hair and tipped his head back against the couch, letting you take what you wanted—what you both wanted. Not when your kisses turned frantic, desperate, until your lips were bruised and swollen from the way you couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.

“You ready to tell me now?” His voice was a rasp against your lips, breathless, hungry. His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, his free hand dragging under your sweater, fingers mapping the heat of your skin. “I wanna hear it, sweetheart. Do you know how badly—” he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, “—how badly I’ve wanted to hear it? Since that night at my apartment? You were crying for me, and I—”

He was unraveling. And so were you.

You barely had time to react before he moved, pressing you down against the rug, his hands burning paths down your thighs as he spread them open, pressing himself against you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he hovered above you.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. “You want me to take what I want, don’t you? You want me to claim you? This is it, sweetheart. This is what I want.”

Your breath caught. This version of him—raw, unfiltered, pleading—it stunned you into silence. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his name barely more than a whimper on your lips as his mouth found your skin again, leaving bruises, leaving proof.

Your hands were trembling, your pulse a thunderous rhythm beneath your skin. Fear curled in your belly, a living thing, coiling tight around your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You had never been so afraid of words before, of the weight they carried, of the way they could change everything in an instant.

“C’mon, sweetheart, say it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you, as if touch alone wasn’t enough. “I already know, doll. I just—I need to hear it.”

His voice was softer this time, but no less commanding, no less desperate. His eyes searched yours, stormy and endless, as if he were trying to commit you—this moment—to memory, afraid you might slip through his fingers like sand.

His breath hitched, fingers tightening ever so slightly, his forehead pressing against yours. “Give me something real,” he rasped, his voice thick, aching. “Let me hold onto it.”

“James—”

“Say it.” His voice cracked, a raw, broken thing, like he was shattering before your eyes. “Please, doll. I’m begging you.”

Your lungs burned, your heart a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, an erratic melody of terror and longing. Your throat closed around the words, refusing to let them go, but you knew—God, you knew—you couldn’t hold them in any longer. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“I love you,” you finally breathed, the confession slipping from your lips like an exhale, fragile and trembling.

The effect on him was instant, visceral, breathtaking.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of disbelief, of something breaking and rebuilding all at once in his expression. His hand tightened at the nape of your neck, his forehead falling to rest against yours as if the weight of your words had stolen his balance. His breath was uneven, shuddering against your lips, and for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held you there in the space between heartbeats.

His lips parted, but no words came out—not at first. His breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly against your skin like he was afraid to let go. Then, finally, in a voice so raw it nearly shattered you, he whispered, "Say it again."

“I love you.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan barnes

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rollingeevee · 2 days ago

Text

Got this idea a while ago while listening to this song

Shadow Milk managing to muster enough strength inside the Silver Tree to reach out to one person. A cautious Witch child studying Dark Moon Magic, which draws its power from the Dark Side of the Moon, which Shadow Milk states is his home. Through his charisma and Deceit, he manages to form a bond with this Witch child as they grow older and older. He eventually convinces them to come down to Earthbread to aide him and the other Beasts in escaping the Silver Tree. As the Beasts were imprisoned long ago, the Witches likely no longer speak of them, and if they do, it’s probably through legend, especially since they existed long before the Ancient cookies and barely anyone on Earthbread knows of them anymore.

Very

“You… tricked me…”

“Tricked you? Oh, no, no, no, silly! No, I saved you! :)”

Vibes

Anyways, I also wrote a blurb that went along with that so I’ll add that as well YEET

You could feel yourself drifting away from the cookie. It’s likely the sun was rising. Your body was waking. “I gotta go, Milky.” You said sadly.

You didn’t notice the large blue cookie’s slit pupils further thin. Before he could stop himself, he blurted in a deafeningly angry tone, “N O !”

He realized his mistake when he saw you back away slightly, your face contorting in fear. Oh dear, he broke character! My, he really was out of practice, wasn’t he? Silly Shadow Milk. He placed his hand over his Soul Jam and bowed a bit in a gesture of apology. “Oh, I’m so so sorry, little witchlet! I’ve just been alone for sooooo long that the thought of you leaving terrified me to no end!” He whined dramatically, the back of his hand against his forehead as though he just might faint in despair. “Please forgive me!”

After a bit, you seemed to calm down. You still looked a little wary, but there was now sympathy in your eyes. You were rather emotionally intelligent for a child it seemed. “What if I come back tomorrow?”

Shadow Milk readily allowed the giddy expression to grace his face. Oh, this was perfect, perfect, perfect! He playfully tapped his chin in thought. “What if you come back… every night?” He suggested.

You giggled. “Okie!”

He held out his humanized hand, pinkie outstretched. “Pinkie promise?” He asked.

You locked your pinkie with his. “Pinkie promise!” You agreed with a smile. His eyes seemed to glow with delight at your answer.

Children were oh-so easy to trick.

Btw I’m sorry if I’m posting a bunch I’m just like- so excited that people have been liking the stuff I post AAAAAA

#yes I will tag this x reader but tis all platonic bc child #This was one of the first things I wrote for Shadow Milk #And when I found out how fun he is to write for #He’s so dramatic #I love it #Theatrical bastard #literally just an unhinged theater kid #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader

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agirlwholovesrockstars · 2 days ago

Text

liar

Summary : love is not an easy to admit, are you ashamed of it?

Warnings : MDNI 18+ Rockstar!Eddie Munson x FEM!reader, cursing, unprotected sex, self-sabotage, mentions of pregnancy, loss of virginity, slight sprinkle of readers uncertainty in her relationship, insecurity, low self-esteem, miscommunication, heated arguments, that's all! :))

What to Expect : SMUT, ANGST, FLUFF, the story goes back to past and to present, set in the 1980's and let's pretend Paramore existed back then lol

Note To Reader : I haven't made a Eddie fanfic with a Paramore song and I literally love them both, so, this is my chance! 🥰

Author Note : this been sitting in my drafts for way too long now, I have to cook this up and hopefully you will enjoy it! 🥺

☆ EDDIE MUNSON'S MASTERLIST ☆

❣ AGATHA'S MAIN PAGE ❣

1986 : The Record Label approves Corroded Coffin

"Where is she?!?" Eddie heavily breathes as he whipped his head everywhere to catch a glimpse of your figure but none seems to show

"She was here a minute ago- hey, what's going on?!?" Gareth wipes his beading forming sweat on his forehead

"Jeff!" He shouts out loud he did not mean to capturing everyone's attention in the bar

He looked at his panting friend who places his palms over his knees as he heaves air on his chest, confusion is written all over his face as he walks up to him

"Dude, are you okay-" he bend slightly to meet his gaze as he places his hand over his friend's shoulder as he dismissive his hand at him

"Y/N, where is she?" The desperation is clear to his eyes, this night was supposed to be eventful but it didn't worked out the way he thought it would be

"I-I saw her hopped into the taxi with a suitcase" Jeff stammers as he looked over at Eddie's shoulder someone is approaching them

"W-What?!? a suitcase?" He exclaims but before he could ask again, a familiar voice called out to him

"Eddie!"

"Harrington-" He furrowed his brows at him

"She told me to tell you-" he cuts him off, Steve took a deep breath before saying that could scarred his friend forever

"Tell me what?" He demands as he directly looked at him

"She's leaving" ❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦

1990 : Present Day

Fuck

Yeah, seriously fuck

It's been 4 years since the last time you ever laid eyes on him, is it just you or he looked like as if you're in the top of the world

Does he still loved you? until now?

Shit, you feel guilty for what you have done, selfish as it sounds, you save yourself first

But, at what cost? is it worth it?

.....if you could put down your pride, just speak the damn truth....no, it's not worth it

You regretted everything

and now, he's here accidentally bumped into your grocery cart in the dairy aisle at the supermarket

You discreetly put the milk slowly on the cart as you stop eye contacting to him, completely nervous to see him again

"Y/N? is it really you?"

You speak without looking at him, "y-yeah"

He quickly walks up closer to you as he tries to get your gaze back to him, you take a step back slightly as he spoke again, "I asked for this"

That's where you look back at him, "What?"

"I wished and asked that I get the chance to finally see you again"

He saw the guilt flicker in your eyes, you swallowed hard, the beating inside of your chest went fast forward

"It's been 4 years, Y/N, I-I just wanted to know what happened to...." He trails off as he sighs, "To us" he gestures his finger to you and to him

You know he deserves to know

It's your own goddamn fucking pride is what should be shut down

You just look at him and blink as you ignore his question as you move past him along with your cart

"Y/N! what-"

"It's nice seeing you, Eddie"

"But-"

"Goodbye"

You said it without sparing him a glance as he stare at the back of your head as he follows your figure walking away

He took a step forward as he hesitates to tail you, he sighs as he scratches the top of his head trying to understand what made you act this way

He doesn't even recognized you, it's like you changed

It may be 4 fucking years ago but still he is starting to get pissed off

Pissed off at the fact that you are simply trying to avoid him or get away from him as much as possible

He had rewind his memory to every moment that has happened in your relationship together, if he missed out on something that you displeased you

You could've addressed it to him not acting weird like this

He self-reflected but still there is this feeling that you're hiding about something but what is it?

But still, even the heights of this circus series of life events, he remains the same old Eddie, very patient and most of all very selfless

One of the workers at the supermarket asked him to move aside as they tried to place products on the shelves that made him snap out of his train of thoughts

He continues on his errands, once again, he saw you there, already at the check out, he deflated, you didn't react that way before to him like that and it confuses him

What the hell happened?

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1984 : Prom

"Eddie!"

"What?"

You rolled your eyes playfully as he brings you closer to him holding your waist gently

You always loved how unserious he was as he stopped peppering you kisses on your whole face

You both swayed to the slow music playing at the background as he spoke again

"I've never thought that I could attend something like this"

"Yeah?" He raises both of his eyebrows as he uses his freehand to caress your bare shoulder

"To be clear, I don't hate it until I met you, now I am getting to understand why everybody else loves this" you say enunciate your point as you look around in the gymnasium

"I have no plans either, everything changed when I met you too" he says with so much certainty

"Really?" You bring back your gaze to him with hopeful look on your eyes and his heartaches how you sounded so in disbelief

"Are you kidding? you should've been the queen of the night! somebody bribed the damn thing" he dramatically exclaims as he gestures at one of the popular girls who always won every year

You laughed as you push him by the chest as he heartily chuckles

It's true, everyone's eyes are on you, Eddie reassures that you look in fact absolutely mesmerizing, he knows that you're so self-conscious and you're thinking too hard about it

"Y/N, you're so freaking beautiful" he says without a doubt as he cupped both of your cheeks

Your high from your laughter slowly died down abruptly but the smile has never left in your pretty face

You melt within his touch as you close your eyes as you place your hands over on top of him

"I....I love you" he declares it as he happily chuckles, he's so certain of it by the tone of his voice

You open your eyes and the tears starts to prick, "E-Eddie"

He shushes you, "I just wanted you to know that, it's true, sweetheart"

You slowly blink as you try not to shed any tear as he hugs you

❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦

1990 : Present Day

"Y/N, what-" he abruptly stops as he saw your expression

The cold features are sitting rightly on your face as the man stood before you as he dart his eyes back and forth at you and back in the grocery store

He watches as you aggressively put the paper bags at the backseat of the car, he clears his throat, "Who got you so crabby all of the sudden-"

"Get in the fucking car, Steve, I'm not in the mood-" you say to him as he can feel your eyes stabbing him as if he's the one who got you pissed off

"Y/N!"

Steve furrows his eyebrows in confusion as he followed the familiar voice who is jogging on the way to you

"Oh shit"

"You can say that again" you say as you slam the door shut making Steve flinch in the process as he breathes out as places his hands over his hips

"Y/N, please, I just really need to talk to you-"

"Eddie, I seriously have to go now"

"Whatever it is that I've done back then, I am truly sorry!"

Steve looks at him in apologetically as he licks his lips, "Y/N, have a heart-"

"Don't start with me, Steve, get inside of the car!" You hit the hood of the car as you point an angry finger on him making Steve's jaw clench at your stubbornness

"Y/N, we've talked about this" Steve shakes his head as he motions to his old friend

Meanwhile, Eddie is puzzled to almost like sibling argument as he spoke once again, "What is it that you both talked about?"

That's when you both stop bantering at each other as you exasperated sigh as you and Steve share the same knowing look that you're trying to avoid for 4 years

"You can't escape this, Y/N!"

"Goddamn it! just drop it-"

"Give him a fucking chance!" Steve shouts back not giving a care to the people who are overhearing this conversation

Steve had enough of it, he is so done with being considerate with you, you need this confrontation

All he ever does is to be a good friend to you but he can't just fucking tolerate this behavior of yours especially when Eddie has never done anything wrong to you

Eddie didn't know that Steve was eating up a lot of conscience for keeping a very personal and delicate information about you

But, this isn't his problem, this is your life, but also he can't help but to meddle with your stupid decisions

"You gotta stop this, Y/N" Steve scratches his chin as he spoke through gritted teeth

"I am a little lost here-" Eddie shifts his foot sideways as he looks both of you for answers

"Your girlfriend is a fucking coward, that's what" Steve punctuates the word making his point as he exaggerates it

You glare at Steve who doesn't even give a shit about that look that you're giving to him

"Fuck you, Steve"

"See? What the hell are you even doing? You're running away again"

You're not going to be cornered not this time, not ever, you will put the pin back on the grenade, you can't say it out loud now

You fumbled with your keys as you finally get inside of the car

"Get out of the damn car, Y/N, we are not finished here" Steve says at the window of your seat as you stare at him

"Back off!" You yell as you flip him off as you ignite the engine, he surrenders as he looked at you in disappointment

You accidentally stare through Eddie's eyes, swirling in so much longing, longing for you

You almost faltered but you decided against it as you drove away

"This is bullshit, she's going to tell you the truth one way or another" Steve crosses his arms as he watches your car in the distance

"Tell me what?" Eddie appears in front of him with perplexed expression

"What happened back in 1985"

❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦

1985 : Making it Official

Mascara's running down, your lipstick is smeared, your eyes are watery, your hair is a fucking mess as Eddie got you folded into half as he thrusts into you like his life depends on it

Your clothes are scattered everywhere in his room and so does his, he is so sexy, aggressive and gentleman at the same time, the way he handles you, he understands what you needed and your wants, he prioritizes more of your enjoyment and pleasure rather than his

You don't know how absolutely you feel of the way he's treating you like this, you feel so freaking special like it's so uncommon for you and also felt wrong for you to be treated nicely

He always said that you deserve it, you're worth it, you're capable of being loved and you will always will be loved, he's trying to remove that thing out of you

That you're always telling yourself that you're unlovable

He will be the first and last to you, a few guys here and there before him trying to hit on you, it's a big no for you, the only man that can only have access to you is him and it makes you feel a lot of emotions, you feel euphoric but also you felt you're about to cry

One big loud moan escapes your lips as Eddie groans when you don't stop clenching around him

When he kept that same rhythm and motion over and over your moans started to stagger as your mouth hanging out as your eyes roll back as you lift your hips to catch that sensation

He grunts, "Fuck, Y/N" he looks down as he watches his member slipping in and out of your pulsating cunt so smoothly and easily sheaths back and forth as he kisses you hungrily making you squeal and writhe beneath him

He swallows your moans as he pants as he bottoms harder into your core, he lift your wobbly arms as he goes deeper to you as you bring your legs to lock him in place and pull him closer to you

"aah- Eddie!" You croak out as you breathy sigh and whimper, he moans as he says your name and praises you

Your eyes starts to feel heavy as you feel him everywhere, the sinful sounds of both of your bodies slapping and the squelch makes you even more wetter and you can't deny that it's turning you on

"Shit, you feel so good"

"Oh my god! Right there!"

"Yeah? You like that?"

"Don't sto-p p-please!"

He removes the hold from your arms as he lay it over his shoulders as you held him onto your dear life

He grips your hips tighter, you know you can't fucking walk for days or he will absolutely leave marks on there but you don't care, you feel like jelly

His eyes scans over the shades of purple spots are all over your neck and especially on the mounds of your breasts actually before he doves into you, you're already so worked up when he took a mouthful and kneaded your boobs so naturally

You chant his name when you tell him you're getting closer and does he as you arch your back as he lets out a guttural groan as your moans turned into high pitched tone as he sloppily kisses you, he rolls his hips once more spilling his load to your velvety walls

"Can't believe that you're my girlfriend" he says muffled as you can feel his smile at the crook of your neck

You chuckle as you try to reconnect with the earth

Both of you are breathing heavily as he collapsed on top of you as you instantly wrapped your arms around him, embracing him as you inhale his scent making you sigh in content

He gets up abruptly with the fear on his eyes, his eyes goes all over, you missed the way he looked at your stomach worriedly

You're not in the right headspace to find out what's going on as your brain feels like a mashed potatoes

"What's wrong?" You say lazily as you half-lidded awake

"I-uh- we should've used protection today, sweets"

"Oh...." you say as you take his hand in yours as you moved closer to him

The silence is deafening him and the nervousness grows even more bigger

"It's fine, Eddie, I loved how you feel inside of me"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Yes, Eddie, I do very much" you say as you yawn and he can see you're fighting off the sleep but still he needs confirmation that you're alright of what just happened

He blushes as he took a sigh of relief, "I-I am still sorry-" he immediately apologizes but you cut him off by saying

"I don't care, if you didn't pull out, I...love...you"

You left him with that as you fastly drifted to sleep, he is dumbfounded of what you just said to him, it's the first time ever you said that to him and he blinks one or twice he lost count but he just smiles as he admires you as he removes your hair out of the way from your face as he kisses your forehead

He pulls out of the covers as he carefully put blanket over to your body and his as he lift your head so you can lay over his arm as you mindlessly get comfortable from his warmth he smiles yet again when you lay your hand against his chest

"Oh, Y/N, how I love you so"

*Months later on that same year*

You feel nauseous everytime you eat, you didn't tell Eddie about it, but you've been like this for weeks now, you're having thoughts when you shouldn't be worrying about

But somehow, you're monitoring it, and it shows that you have possible signs of..... let's not go there

Eddie is so laser-focused on his music career and he's getting so well on it and you couldn't even more proud of him

A true artist, the attention to detail on every guitar chords that he's strumming and music sheets that are splayed all over his bed everytime you come over to his house, you've been so supportive of him and you always uplift no matter what happens, he works hard and he's saving up for everything that you both needed

He won't stop until he feels 100% satisfied with his work, he's very meticulous and the important of it all is that you're honest when he shows you a sample of his music, if you don't think it's a good record then he will write another set of songs, that's how much he trusts your opinion and it's like you're a part of his band, you watching them grow and help together, they're still act playful and being so goofy every so often when they're together but when it's about their goal? they're locked in with the mission to be recognized as real artists

Not some schmuck desperate rock band as the town would say

Yeah, you're brutally honest when it comes to this

But, what about your feelings?

"Eds, I'm going to take the restroom in a jiffy" you say as you swing your purse over your shoulder

He nods as he squeezes your hand, "You okay, sweetheart?"

You flash in a small smile, "Yeah, I'm fine, I think, I'm just tired is all"

He whispers, "Okay" he goes back canvassing music equipment in a department store

You finally have the restroom to yourself as you clutch in with your purse as you took a deep breath and you take out the oh-so-familiar device that indicates whether you think you are indeed carrying a child or not

You lock yourself in the stall and disinfect the toilet as you sat on it and pull down your underwear as you let your urine take a few drops on the mark

You clean yourself up as you get out of the cubicle and place the device on the neat surface of the sink as you wash your hands

You stare at it, you didn't take your eyes off it as you reach for the paper towel and you know it will appear for a few minutes

You see the one line already as you wait for the other one, you bit your lip as your knees start to bop out of your forming anxiety

The knock on the door startled you, a small gasp fell out from your lips

"Y/N? honey? are you done? I found the one that I like and I need your thoughts about it"

"Uh, yeah, just give me a second!"

You freshen up and keep it cool as you retouch your lipstick, you glance at the device and you did a double look on it

You picked it up as you slowly bring it closer to you for a better look, the second line is faded until it comes out it full color as you stumble slightly in your stance as you look yourself of your reflection in the mirror, it's positive

You're pregnant

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1990 : Present Day

"You're fucking insane"

"Trust the process, man-"

"She can't even just talk to me!"

Eddie mutters "sorry" to the people who are dining in the café

"It won't work" he whisper-shout to his old friend who is stirring his cup of coffee

"It will work" he corrects him as he takes a sip of his coffee

"When you say it, it sounded so easy-" Eddie scratches his head as he grumbles leaning backward at the seat

"You have to do it, Eddie, it's both for your own good" Steve tuts him as he states his point as he raises a finger at him

Eddie listens carefully as he sighs and nods at him to continue

"All you have to do is to corner her, she is strong-headed but I feel you're her weakness, she can't even stand you the moment you both just got reunited after 4 years" He throws his hands up as he scoffs as the scene earlier replays on his mind

"Harrington, I'm sorry-"

"What in the hell are you apologizing for?"

"For bringing you into this mess of mine" Eddie huffs as his eyes wandered around the diner as he watches people coming by

No, actually, it was you who brought up Steve into your goddamn business, but he didn't mind at all but a part of him is also feel like a bad friend for not saying the truth at all to his greatest pal that only to be reunited in this way when he wished it was other way around not like this

He also wants to fix this, it's been long overdue and he been keeping this for 4 years

"Hey, Munson"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens to you and Y/N, when you find out what really happened back then, if you did get mad at me, I understand and I deserve that and it's not my place to speak for her, she's the one must tell everything to you not me"

He listens intently as he tips his head slightly, "Well, I appreciate you for being honest"

He smiles then as his eyes lighten up, "Thanks, man"

Steve told him that you mostly walk at the park every Sunday at 8am, he said is the only peace time you have and then go back to your usual schedule

Eddie was sitting over a bench like half an hour until he straightens up seeing you there as you took in the sight of the river

He slowly get up and walks towards to you, he takes in a deep breath before he prays in his mind that this hopefully ends well

"Y/N?"

Your heartbeat stopped at the sound of his voice, you thought you're only imagining it as you slowly turn around to see the man right in front of you as he kept a personal space between the two of you

"What are you doing here?" You say as you look behind and sideways scarily

"I wanted to talk to you-"

"That's not gonna happen" you say plainly as you begin to walk off leaving him behind once again

Steve's right, you're a hard one to hold to stay put in place, "Y/N! you can't even give me a chance to speak!"

"What's there to talk about?!?" You argue as you continue to walk with the scowl on your face

He huffs with a laugh, "You can't get rid me off like this everytime-"

"Oh, yes I can!" You fight back as you stomp faster as he kept up with the pace

"Why are you dodging it?" The frustration on his voice is clear and it fuels you more

"You're fucking infuriating!" You reason with him, god, you can feel you're losing it, your time is out, you can't get away this time

He laughs in disbelief, "Wow? I am infuriating?!? and so are you!" He points to you as he breathes heavily

When you fall silent as he keeps following you, all you do is just briefly glare at him as you both walk past by people

"This is fucking getting out of hand, sweetheart, stop it" he says firmly as he shooks his head sideways

"Don't tell me what to-" you counter

"Stop it, I say!" He commands and before you open your mouth and he beats you to it

He goes right in front of you, blocking your path as you tried to get out of the way

"Look what the fuck what you're doing, scurrying away the moment when things get serious"

The tears began to prickle and sting behind your eyes as you try not to let him hold you, he hesitated everytime he really wanted to touch you, "Don't push me, Eddie-" you scoff

"Nah, I'm gonna push you once and for all, sweetheart, you're not going to win this time" your heart drops when he takes a grip tightly on holding both of your shoulders as you try to get out of his grasp but it won't budge

"Fuck you! Eddie, step away-" you cuss him out of your anger as the tears are threatening to spill anytime soon

"Stop being so difficult and just tell me!" His voice cracks and for a moment your face faltered, he saw it, all you need was a push

"I ain't got nothing to tell you!" One tear escaped from your eyes as you angrily wipe it off

"Oh yeah? What about what happened in 1985? you're not physically okay, I've never asked what's going on but I fucking know for sure something is up"

Your chest tightens when you look at him in the eyes and you can see he is determined to know what happened back there before

"N-No-" you stutter as you can't form any words after that, you have no more reasons to blew him off, you lose

He knew?

"I might be in a tight schedule in that timeline but I never overlooked of what's going with you, sweetheart, you can't fool me" he looks down at you with the same adoring eyes, it feels 1984 all over again and your stomach churns of what's coming

Your lips began to tremble as you look at him, you can't look away now, he's got you

"I know you still love me, Y/N, you're just being in denial"

"N-No, I don't-"

"What are you holding back from?"

You frown at him as the angry tears starts to roll in your cheeks as you hit his chest as he still kept holding you

"You don't remember it but I do, it was only one time you told me and I never stopped believing"

You know exactly what he's talking about

The night that you both made love for the first time

"I fucking hate you-" you cry out as you grab a fist from his shirt as you muffled sob in his chest

"We both know that's not true" he softly says as he pulls back you to look at you

The fire in your eyes has simmered down, only what's left is the fear in your eyes

"Why did you left in 1986?"

The words caught up in your throat as you gulped to his question

No, you can't lie to him anymore

"I-I was scared" another fresh set of tears cascading down as he wipes with his thumb

"Scared of what?!?"

"I was afraid!" You sniffled as you wept in front of him as you angrily ripped off his warm hands to your cupped cheeks

He looks at you as he waits for answer patiently, you try to muster up

"I was afraid of you finding out" you swallow as you duck your head down in shame

Before he asks again, in the corner of his eye, someone is running up to you

"Mommy!" the little girl with arms open wide as the small hands making a grabby action insinuating for you to pick her up

You whipped your head to scrouch down in front of your baby girl as you greet her as you manage to make a small smile as you kissed the crown of her head

Eddie knew his intuition but still he is taken aback from the revelation

You slowly meet his gaze, you thought you will see pure hatred towards you, but there was none

All you can see he is glad as you can see the corners of his lips turned upward to form a contented smile

The little girl is unbeknownst to the man who is looking at her with love on his eyes, she tilts her head as she waves at him, Eddie shyly waves back

"Okay, I'm done with cuddling" you chuckle as you put her down as she ran off playing with the other kids in the park

Eddie's eyes are fixed on his daughter and the giggle of her voice are such a blessing to his ears as he smiles at it

Your breaths are shallow as you can see him moving closer beside you

"She's beautiful"

"Yeah" you whisper

"Beautiful like her mother" he says as he looks at you as his eyes twinkle

The guilt creeps into your eyes as you're the one who takes his hand into yours as you became stunned when he gently squeezes it

"E-Eddie, I am so sorry, I know it's unforgivable for what I've done, I-I'm just so terrified-" you ramble as he dismissive his hand at you

"Of what? if I ever find out that you we're pregnant?"

You nodded and the hope is clear in your eyes, "I was mortified if you ever find out that you will..." you trail off as you shake your head

He lifts your chin up to meet his gaze once again, "I will?"

"In 1986, you brought the news to me that you're accepted in the record label and I tried to tell you so many times but I really couldn't bring it up to you and I didn't wanna be a burden on your dream, so, I just left" you sob as you close your eyes and you feel the weight of your shoulders finally eased out

"Oh honey, you will never be a burden to me" he kisses your hands as you let him embrace you

At that point, he understood what Steve meant to him at the diner last night and it doesn't matter to him anymore

All is forgiven, what's important to him that he's got you and you're back with him

The wait was worth it as he smiles down at you as he caressed your head

You pulled back with uncertainty in your eyes, "Do you hate me?" He knits his eyebrows at you

His eyes softens, "I can never hate you" he tucked a piece of hair into your ear

"Do you hate me?" He brings back the question to you as he pulls you impossibly close as you lock your eyes with his as he looks down at your lips anticipating his next move

"I lied to you, you always knew the truth" he lets you finish as he dives in

He captured your lips as you feel lushed pressing your chest against him as you throw your arms to kiss him back, melting as both your mouth and his collided to one another

"And that is?" He reaches back to peck another kiss to your lips as you smile at him, your heart is soaring as you both glance at your girl as you bring back your eyes to him as you confidently admit....

"I love you"

#Spotify #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem! reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson supremacy #eddie munson x reader #paramore #agirlwholovesrockstarsfics

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ruewritesoccasionally · 2 days ago

Note

hii my love, do u think u could do an Aaron pierre x reader in a couple's interview plss 🥺

pairings: aaron pierre x black reader

summary: Aaron and Y/N sit down for a couple’s interview, answering 30 questions that test their wit, patience, and love for each other. Playful banter, inside jokes, and stolen glances—this is them, unfiltered.

warnings: fluff, playful teasing, suggestive banter, excessive sweetness, and Aaron being absolutely smitten.

word count: 744

a/n: hi anon 🥰🥰 when i saw the ask, my initial thought was teyana and iman's gq interview so that was my inspo and i hope this was the kinda thing you were looking for and you like it !

Aaron Pierre & Y/N – 30 Questions with GQ

The video opens with Aaron and Y/N already settled on a plush couch, hands intertwined. A warm studio light casts a golden hue over them, and the energy between them is undeniable—easy, familiar, magnetic.

Aaron leans toward the camera with a lopsided grin. “So… we’re here to answer thirty questions about each other.”

Y/N chuckles, squeezing his hand. “Which means we’ll probably expose each other.”

Aaron hums, amused. “Oh, absolutely.”

Y/N smirks, looking directly at him. “You nervous?”

He pretends to think about it, then shakes his head. “Nah, I got you figured out.”

Y/N scoffs. “We’ll see about that.”

They turn to the camera, their hands still linked.

“Let’s get into it.”

Wholesome + Funny

Aaron picks up the first card. “Alright—who dies first in a horror movie?”

Y/N immediately points at him. “You.”

Aaron’s jaw drops. “Me? Nah, you gotta be kidding.”

She nods confidently. “Absolutely you. You’re the one who’d go check a ‘mysterious noise’ in the middle of the night.”

Aaron gives her a look. “And you wouldn’t?”

Y/N shakes her head. “Nope. I’d be halfway down the road, sprinting.”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, fair. But I feel like—”

“Nope,” Y/N interrupts. “Gone. Vanished. No final girl monologue. Just out.”

Aaron sighs, reading the next question. “Who is most likely to finish the milk and not say anything?”

Y/N side-eyes him.

Aaron sighs, rubbing his temples. “Why are you looking at me?”

Y/N folds her arms. “Because it’s you, Aaron.”

Aaron drags a hand down his face. “It was one time.”

Y/N raises a brow. “One time?”

Aaron stifles a laugh. “A few times.”

Y/N turns to the camera. “Multiple. Times.”

Aaron grins. “But I make up for it in other ways.”

She narrows her eyes. “Mm-hmm. Let’s move on before you incriminate yourself further.”

Aaron clears his throat. “Next question—what’s my favourite protective style to see you in?”

Y/N tilts her head, already knowing the answer. “Knotless braids.”

Aaron nods, smiling. “Correct. But it’s specifically when you have ‘em fresh done. Edges laid. Scalp on display.”

Y/N grins. “You really are obsessed.”

Aaron leans in. “You have no idea.”

Y/N swallows, suddenly shy, then quickly changes the subject. “Next section!”

Playful + Cheeky

Y/N reads the next card. “Who made the first move?”

Aaron smirks. “Technically, you.”

Y/N gasps. “Absolutely not.”

Aaron shrugs. “You lingered when we hugged.”

Y/N groans, covering her face. “That is not making the first move.”

Aaron laughs. “It was a long linger. An intentional linger.”

Y/N huffs. “Whatever. Next question.”

Aaron picks up the next card. “Who apologises first after an argument?”

Y/N immediately says, “Me.”

Aaron laughs, nodding. “Yeah. And I love you for that.”

Y/N side-eyes him. “Mmm, because you’re stubborn.”

Aaron leans in, voice softer. “Because you’re patient with me.”

Y/N pauses, then nudges him playfully. “Whatever, next question.”

Aaron reads it aloud. “Who’s more likely to initiate…?”

Y/N cackles, shaking her head. “You already know it’s you.”

Aaron tilts his head. “But is that a complaint?”

Y/N shifts in her seat, suddenly flustered. “Next section!”

Aaron chuckles. “Mm-hmm.”

Deep + Romantic

Y/N picks up a card. “What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Aaron exhales, smiling. “The way you make me feel like home.”

Y/N blinks.

Aaron looks at her, earnest. “No matter where we are, if I’m with you, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Y/N clears her throat. “That’s not fair.”

Aaron chuckles. “Your turn.”

Y/N looks at the card, then at him. “What’s something you’ve never told me?”

Aaron hesitates, then says, “Before we got together, I used to practice how I’d ask you out.”

Y/N laughs. “What?”

Aaron grins sheepishly. “I had, like… different scenarios. Different versions in my head. Some were smooth. Some were a disaster.”

Y/N shakes her head, smiling. “And which one did you end up using?”

Aaron chuckles. “None of ‘em. I panicked and just blurted it out.”

Y/N laughs, nudging him. “And look at us now.”

Aaron hums. “Look at us now.”

Final Question

Aaron picks up the last card. “What’s the one thing we’ll always have, no matter what?”

Y/N doesn’t hesitate. “Us.”

Aaron smiles, reaching for her hand.

Y/N intertwines their fingers. “No matter what happens, we’ll always have us.”

Aaron nods. “Damn right we will.”

The screen fades to black, leaving only the sound of their laughter lingering in the background.

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x black!reader #aaron pierre fluff #aaron pierre fanfic #ruewrites #rue answers

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nhlclover · 3 days ago

Text

PUSHING IT DOWN AND PRAYING QUINN HUGHES

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: ever since quinn's confession, the magnetic pull of your ex has lingered in both dreams and waking moments, forcing you to confront emotions you believed were long buried.

warnings: 18+, (not insanely descriptive but) p in v, oral (fem!receiving), cheating (in your head and in person!), kind of toxic behaviour from both you and quinn

wc: 3.54k

notes: based on 'pushing it down and praying' by lizzy mcalpine. technically a part two to my fic last christmas but not necessary to read before this one! this is my first time writing something that actually veers into smut and i kind of liked it 🤫🤭

Quinn was haunting you.

Ever since the holiday party, when he told you he missed you, his presence has plagued your thoughts. You had hoped at first that it was just the encounter that had your mind tangled up in him again. A fluke. An inconvenient memory dredged up by too much wine and the way the Christmas lights had cast a golden glow around his face, making him look as heartbreakingly beautiful as he always had.

But it wasn’t just a one-off. He lingered everywhere. Seeped into everything.

He was in photos your friends reposted on Instagram, him celebrating as he racked up points in what was set to be another Norris-deserving season. You walk down the street and he’s staring down at you from a billboard. Someone at work mentions his name in passing, and you have to grip your coffee cup just a little bit tighter.

Even in the most intimate, protected moments, he’s there.

You’re with Caleb, naked and tangled up in his sheets. His hands and lips take turns tracing patterns down your skin. You close your eyes, tilting your head back against the pillow, and then suddenly, Quinn is there, hovering in the space between your thoughts, intruding like he always does. It’s his hands gripping down on your thighs, it’s his breath that’s hot over your core. It’s his black locks that your fingers thread through, his tongue that pulls you close to completion.

It’s his name that nearly slips past your lips instead of Calebs.

The second you realize, your entire body goes cold with horror. You feel sick. You feel like you’ve betrayed something, even if you’re not sure what.

It should stop there. It should be enough to shake you, to jar you back into the reality of what you have — what you chose. But it doesn’t.

Quinn lingers.

Like a ghost with a vengeance, he refuses to be exorcized from your mind. You try everything to rid yourself of him, desperate to cleanse him from your system like a sickness. You delete his number from your phone. You block him on Instagram. You unfollow the team’s page, stop watching their games, turn off the TV when his name is mentioned. But it doesn’t matter. You still see him in flashes, in the shadows of your everyday life, in the places you least expect him.

You tell yourself that Caleb is enough. He’s stable, he’s kind. He looks at you like you’re his whole world. And yet, no matter how much you try to convince yourself, you can feel the guilt creeping in, poisoning what should be simple, should be easy. Because Caleb doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve a half-present version of you, someone who is always a breath away from slipping into a memory, a ghost of a love that still has its claws in you.

And you do love Caleb. That’s what makes this worse. You love him, but Quinn is in your blood, tangled in your bones. No matter how many times you try to wring him out of you, he stays.

You don’t mean to let him in, but Quinn is relentless. Even when you spend the rest of the night curled in on yourself, forcing your mind onto anything but him, he lingers in the edges of your consciousness, slipping in through the cracks you swore you sealed long ago.

You fall asleep telling yourself you won’t think about him. But the harder you try to push him away, the faster he finds you.

And then suddenly, he’s everywhere.

His hands, broad and warm, map your body, claiming you like he never lost the right. His mouth, hot and sure, drags across your skin, lips brushing over your jaw, your throat, lower. His voice, low and wrecked with want, says your name like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

It feels real. Devastatingly real.

You arch into him, gasping when his fingers dig into your hips, when his body presses you deeper into the mattress. His hips drill into you, overwhelming pleasure wreaking your body. You’re close, so close, his hands adding to the pleasure until finally—

You wake up in a sweat, your heart hammering against your ribs, sheets tangled around your legs like they’re trying to hold you down, keep you from moving, from running from the truth that’s finally caught up to you.

The dream was so vivid it may as well have been real. It wasn’t just a memory, wasn’t just another unwelcome reminder of Quinn’s existence — it was something else entirely. Something new. Something that felt so raw, so visceral, so devastatingly consuming that you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the weight of his name thick on your tongue. You swear you can still taste him, still hear the low rasp of his voice murmuring against your ear, still feel the way he held you, worshiped you, and took you apart like he had every right to.

And you wanted it. God, you wanted it so badly.

The realization sits heavy in your stomach like a lead weight, nausea curling at the edges of your consciousness. It’s not just some intrusive thought, not just a fleeting moment of weakness. It’s something deeper, something more dangerous. It’s the kind of desire that threatens to upend everything you’ve built, the kind that makes you question every choice you’ve made since Quinn walked out of your life.

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to block it all out, trying to push the images away. Caleb is sleeping beside you, blissfully unaware, his breathing slow and steady. He’s good. He’s steady. He’s the kind of love that doesn’t set you on fire, but keeps you warm.

But warmth has never been enough to stop you from craving the burn.

You sit up, legs swinging over the side of the bed, toes curling against the cold wood floor as you try to shake the dream from your mind, but it clings to you like a second skin. You know then, in that moment, that something has to give. Something has to change.

You can’t keep pretending that Quinn isn’t still under your skin, still a part of you. You can’t keep pretending that this is sustainable, that you can shove him into the darkest corners of your mind and expect him to stay there. Because he won’t. He never has.

You take a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the sheets. There are only two choices now. You either find a way to finally, truly exorcize him from your life for good — or you give in to the pull that’s been dragging you back to him since the moment he told you he missed you.

The clock on your side table reads a quarter past midnight. You know Quinn’s habits. You know how they used to contradict yours, the way his mind would keep him up until the early hours of the morning. He’s probably up. He’s probably thinking hockey. Thinking about how he can change, how he can improve, how he can lead better. You wonder if maybe his mind slips from hockey. Maybe it slips to you?

So you do something reckless. Something you swore you wouldn’t do.

You get up. You grab your vest and your keys, not bothering to change into proper clothing. You ignore the tightness in your chest as you slip out of Caleb’s apartment, moving through the cold, empty parking garage like a ghost yourself, drawn by something you don’t understand but can’t resist. Your internal autopilot takes you down a familiar route, your heart pounding with every turn you take.

You don’t know what you’re expecting as you approach Quinn’s building, but you hope it’s still the same one. Hope that, for all the ways things have changed, this one thing remains the same. Because if it doesn’t — if you get to his door and find a stranger behind it, or worse, nothing at all — you don’t know what you’ll do.

But when you step inside the familiar lobby, heart hammering against your ribs, your breath leaves you in a rush. It’s the same. The same floors, the same dim lighting, the same quiet hum of the elevator as you press the button for his floor. Your stomach twists as you watch the numbers climb, each one bringing you closer to something you might not be able to take back.

By the time you’re standing in front of his door, your entire body is buzzing with nervous energy, hands clenched into fists at your sides. The reality of what you’re doing crashes into you all at once, but it’s too late to turn back now. You’re here. You’ve already made your choice.

You raise your hand, knocking twice, sharp and decisive.

Seconds pass. Then more. And just as doubt begins to creep in — just as you think maybe, mercifully, he’s not home — the lock clicks. The door swings open, and there he is.

Quinn.

His hair is tousled, dark strands falling over his forehead like he’s been running his hands through it all night. He’s in a hoodie and sweats, and for a brief, excruciating second, you imagine how he must look underneath — imagine the way his body must still move, still feel.

His eyes widen when he sees you, surprise flickering across his face before something else settles there — something heavier, unreadable. His brow furrows as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the obvious signs that you’d been asleep before rushing over. The floral sleep shorts, the hoodie far too thin for the cold, the puffer vest thrown on in haste. The messy, low braid, the fuzzy slippers, the oversized glasses that Quinn always thought were too big for your face — but you looked so damn cute in them.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn's voice is rough, like he hasn’t spoken in hours, maybe even like he’s just woken up, though you know that not to be the case. Or maybe it’s just the weight of the moment settling between you, thick and heavy like fog rolling in over the water.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Now that you’re standing here, now that you’ve actually done this, the words don’t come as easily as they did in your head. But you didn’t come all this way to back down now.

“I—” you falter, inhaling sharply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I needed to talk to you.”

Quinn studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he steps back, pulling the door open wider. The second you cross the threshold, it’s like stepping back in time. His apartment smells the same — clean, but lived in, a mix of laundry detergent and something inherently him. The familiarity sends a pang straight through your chest. You shouldn’t still remember these details. You shouldn’t still care. But you do.

He closes the door behind you, and when you turn to face him, the air between you feels thick, charged. His arms are crossed, his stance guarded, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say.

“So?” His voice is quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounds like resignation. “What did you need to talk about?”

Your fingers tighten into fists at your sides. You remind yourself why you’re here. Why you needed to see him.

“You shouldn’t have said it.” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

Quinn’s jaw tenses. “Said what?”

“You know what.”

Silence stretches between you, taut and unyielding. He knows. You know he knows. And yet, he just watches you, waiting.

You exhale harshly, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “At the party. You shouldn’t have told me you missed me.”

Quinn’s throat bobs as he swallows. His arms drop to his sides. “Why not?”

“Because it messed with my head,” you admit, voice cracking slightly. “Because I was fine. I was moving on.”

He scoffs softly, shaking his head. “Were you?”

“I was,” you insist, even though your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. The words sound brittle, as fragile as glass. “I was happy, Quinn. I was growing. Moving forward. And then you—” You break off, shaking your head as the emotions rise, thick and suffocating in your throat. “Then you showed up and dragged me right back to where I was before. Heartbroken over you.”

Quinn flinches, but it’s fleeting. He schools his features into something colder, unreadable. You almost wish he wouldn’t. You almost want him to hurt the way you’ve been hurting.

“I’m with Caleb now,” you say, the name a tether, an anchor you cling to. “And he’s—he’s incredible, Quinn. Everything a girl would ever hope for in a boyfriend.”

Quinn’s eyes darken, but you barrel on, desperate to get the words out before they choke you. “He’s thoughtful. He listens. He shows up. God, he’s everything you weren’t.”

The silence that follows is deafening. For a second, you wonder if you’ve gone too far, if the bitterness in your voice has crossed a line you’ll regret. But then Quinn speaks, and his words slice through you like a blade.

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself that he’s enough for you.”

The audacity of it — the sheer nerve — snaps something inside you.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. Quinn doesn’t back down. His gaze is steady, unflinching, and it infuriates you.

“I mean, God! You’re haunting me, Quinn! Like some goddamn ghost with a vengeance.” The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “Ever since that stupid party, you’ve been everywhere. In my head, in my dreams, even when I’m with Caleb—”

You stop yourself, but it’s too late. The truth hangs in the air between you, heavy and damning.

Quinn’s brow knits together, eyes sharp with something knowing. “Even when you’re with Caleb?” he repeats, voice low.

You hate him for that. Hate the way he can see right through you, the way he always has.

“Forget it… You know you’re so goddamn infuriating the way you think you can just walk back into my life and tell me something like that!” you say, your volume raising with every word. You knew it was late and Quinns’ neighbors would probably have some choice words for him in the morning, but right now you couldn’t care less about his reputation as a tenant.

Something flickers in his gaze, something guilty, something hesitant. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, don’t,” you snap. “Don’t fucking say you didn’t mean to. You knew what you were doing.”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” You shake your head, laughter bubbling up again, but it’s hollow, bitter. “That’s all you have to say? No genuine apology, no explanation, nothing. Just… sorry. Sorry for what, Quinn? Sorry for being a coward, sorry for being a fucking asshole?”

Your voice cracks as you continue, the weight of your emotions finally breaking through the thin veneer of anger you've clung to. Tears blur your vision, hot and relentless, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

“Sorry for letting me fall in love with you and then walking away like it was nothing? Sorry for showing up at that party and throwing my entire goddamn life into chaos? Sorry for being in my head all the time, in my bed, in my fucking heart?” Your voice falters, raw and ragged. “Or are you just sorry because I showed up here and ruined your night?”

Quinn takes a step closer, his face tight with emotion, but you don’t give him a chance to speak.

“You ruined me, Quinn,” you sob, the admission wrenching free from your chest. “And I hate you for it. I hate that I can’t forget you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, you’re still here.” You press a shaking hand to your chest, where your heart feels like it’s splintering apart. “I should be over this. I should be happy. I am happy. Caleb is good. He loves me—”

Your voice breaks completely, and the tears come in earnest now, unstoppable and all-consuming. Your shoulders shake with the force of it, all the pain and confusion and longing spilling out in a way you’ve never let yourself feel before.

Through your sobs, you manage to choke out one final, devastating truth: “But I still love you, and I hate myself for it.”

The weight of your confession hangs heavy in the room, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of your ragged breathing and the thick, oppressive silence that follows.

And then Quinn moves.

He crosses the distance between you in two long strides, his hands coming up to gently but firmly grip your shoulders. You try to pull away, ashamed of your outburst, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace that’s as familiar as it is shattering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I’m so sorry.”

His words are a balm and a blade all at once. You press your face against his hoodie, the fabric dampening your tears, and you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. His hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back, grounding you in the midst of your chaos.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him, the comfort of his presence erasing everything else. His warmth seeps into your bones, and despite every rational thought screaming at you to pull away, you stay. It's dangerous, how easy it is to fall back into this, how simple it feels to let him hold you like he used to.

“I tried to move on too,” he admits quietly, his voice low and raw. “But it’s you, it’s always been you.”

His words tear through the walls you've built, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. You want to push him away, to tell him to shut up, but your body betrays you, leaning closer instead. It's infuriating, this pull he has on you, this gravitational force that drags you back no matter how far you run.

Then his lips find your temple, lingering there as if he's testing the waters, asking permission without words. You shudder against him, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His lips move down, pressing soft kisses along the apple of your cheek, until he hits the corner of your mouth. His hand tightens at your waist, and before you can think it through, his mouth is on yours.

It's everything you remember and more.

His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a hunger that matches your own. The anguish melts away, replaced by a desperate, aching need that leaves you breathless. His hands trace up your torso, holding your chest against his, and you let out a sound you can’t contain as he deepens the kiss.

It's intoxicating. Familiar and yet completely new. He tastes like everything you miss, everything you swore you didn't need but always craved.

And for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it.

But then the weight of reality slams into you.

You break away, gasping for breath, your chest heaving. Quinn's eyes are dark and dazed, his lips red and swollen, but you don’t let yourself linger on the sight. You push him back, putting space between you, your heart pounding so loudly you can hear it in your ears.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demand, your voice shaking with anger and confusion. “You can’t just— God, Quinn, you can’t just kiss me and expect everything to be okay!”

He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him. “No. Don’t. Just… don’t.”

The tears are back, blurring your vision, but you blink them away. “You don’t get to ruin me and then kiss me like it fixes everything. That’s not how this works.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with tension. Quinn looks like he wants to say something, but you don’t give him the chance. You’re already moving toward the door, your hands trembling as you reach for the handle.

“Wait,” he says, his voice desperate. “Please— don’t leave like this.”

You pause, your back to him, your shoulders stiff. “I can’t do this, Quinn. I just… I can’t.”

And then you’re gone.

You don’t look back as you walk down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps echoing in your ears. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your lungs struggling to take in air. But you keep moving, keep walking, because stopping would mean facing the truth you’re not ready to confront.

That no matter how much you hate him for complicating your life, for breaking your heart, for being the chaos in your carefully constructed world — you can’t fully hate him.

Because deep down, you still love him.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #vancouver canucks #`✦ˑ ✒️ 𓂃⊹ my works

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froztii · 2 days ago

Text

PILLOW TALK— A. Morgan

summary -> partnered up with Arthur was the easy part, falling asleep, was not. Thankfully Arthur had some plan in mind

warnings -> language, violence, death, age gap, smut! p in v, pullout method, fingering, handjob, finger sucking, praise, pet names, mentions of anal, mdni.

Tomorrow, you and Arthur would be heading out—just the two of you. Dutch had given the orders, said he needed a pair of riders who could handle themselves, and for whatever reason, Arthur had chosen you. Not that you weren’t capable—you’d proven yourself enough times—but Arthur was particular about who he worked with. You weren’t sure if it was trust, or something else entirely.

You weren’t sure when things had started shifting between you, when the looks had started lingering, when the air had started crackling every time he stood too close. But it was there now, pressing in, thick as the summer heat.

You tapped the cigarette against your knee, then finally struck a match, bringing the tip to the flame. The first pull was slow, smoke curling past your lips, settling in your lungs before you exhaled through your nose. Arthur watched you, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face, making his eyes look darker, more intense. "You ever get tired of this?" you asked, voice quieter now. "The runnin’, the killin’?"

Arthur considered you for a long moment, then reached for the bottle again. "Ain’t much time to get tired." He took a sip, let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. "You?"

You shrugged. "Ain’t never known anythin’ else."

He nodded like he understood, because maybe he did. You’d both been running for a long time, living on the edge of a knife, caught between lawmen and outlaws, between survival and something worse. There wasn’t any room for softness in a life like this—no room for dreaming of things you couldn’t have.

"You sure you trust me to watch your back out there?" You asked, flicking the ash from your cigarette.

Arthur’s gaze flicked up, sharp and unwavering. "Ain’t a question of trust." That wasn’t an answer. But it was all you were going to get.

A gust of wind swept through the camp, kicking up dust, making the flames dance wildly for a moment before settling. Arthur stretched his legs out in front of him, let out a slow breath, then reached into his satchel and pulled out his revolver.

He spun the cylinder idly, checking the rounds, his expression unreadable. "You ever been to Saint Denis?" He asked after a while. You shook your head. "Fancy place," he mused. "Too damn loud for my liking. Dutch, though—he thinks that’s where the future is."

His jaw tensed slightly, barely noticeable, but you caught it. "You don’t?"

Arthur huffed. "Ain’t never seen a future worth livin’ in." Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. There was something heavy in his voice, something that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to. You didn’t like it. You’d seen Arthur angry, seen him ruthless, seen him crack a man’s skull without a second thought. But this? This quiet resignation? It didn’t sit right with you. "You ever think about leavin’?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "Just… ridin’ off, findin’ somethin’ better?"

Arthur glanced at you, then back down at his revolver. His fingers stilled against the metal, his thumb resting against the hammer. "Ain’t that simple."

"Maybe it is."

Arthur laughed, but it wasn’t amused. "You got somewhere in mind, sweetheart?"

The way he said it, voice lower now, like the word itself had weight, made your breath hitch slightly. "Anywhere’s better than dyin’ out here for nothin’," you said, barely above a whisper.

Arthur’s expression flickered—just for a second, just long enough for you to see something break through that careful mask he always wore. And then it was gone, buried beneath that same unreadable calm. "You best get some sleep," he murmured, pushing himself up. "We got a long ride ahead." He didn’t look at you as he turned, didn’t wait for you to respond. You watched him disappear into the dark, the glow of the fire catching against the worn leather of his holster before he was swallowed completely. You exhaled slowly, dragging one last pull from your cigarette before flicking it into the dirt.

The wind howled through the trees, and in the distance, thunder rumbled, low and threatening. The storm would be here soon. The morning was cold, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and rain on the horizon. The fire had burnt out sometime in the night, leaving behind nothing but grey ash and the faint scent of smoke. You stretched out your shoulders, rolling the stiffness from your muscles, your mind still hazy with sleep.

Arthur was already up, working on the horses, adjusting the saddles and making sure everything was in place. He barely looked at you as you pushed yourself to your feet, but you could feel the weight of his attention, even if it was only for a second. "You leavin’ without me, Morgan?" you muttered, voice still rough from sleep.

Arthur smirked, tightening the straps on his bags. "Figured I’d let you sleep in, seein’ as you ain’t much good to me half-dead."

You rolled your eyes, brushing the dirt off your pants. "Real considerate of you."

Arthur chuckled under his breath, but didn’t say anything else. He was like that—always had been. He could talk when he wanted to, could spin a lie or a story well enough, but most of the time, he let the quiet do the talking. You didn’t mind. You mounted your horse, shifting in the saddle as Arthur swung up onto his own. He adjusted his hat, his eyes scanning the sky. "Storm’s movin’ in quick. Best we get a move on." The road stretched ahead, long and empty, the kind of silence that made your nerves prickle.

You rode alongside Arthur, the two of you keeping a steady pace, the only sound the rhythm of hooves against dirt. The mission was simple enough—ride into Lemoyne, track down some bastard who’d crossed the gang, and make sure he didn’t walk away from it.

You’d done worse jobs before, but something about this one had your stomach in knots. Maybe it was the way Arthur had been last night, the way he’d asked if you ever thought about leaving, like the thought had been sitting in the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit. Or maybe it was just that riding with him like this, alone, made you more aware of him than you wanted to be.

You didn’t like the way your pulse kicked up when he glanced at you, the way your fingers clenched just a little too tight around the reins. It wasn’t obvious—at least you hoped it wasn’t—but you could feel it, that stupid heat creeping up your neck, that second where you had to look away before he caught you staring. It was annoying. It was irritating.

And worst of all, you didn’t know what the hell to do about it. "You got a plan for this?" you asked, more to distract yourself than anything.

Arthur exhaled, shifting slightly in the saddle. "Yeah. Find the bastard. Put a bullet in ‘im."

You scoffed. "Real detailed."

Arthur smirked, but there was something sharp in his eyes when he looked at you. "You got a better one?"

You didn’t answer. Mostly because no, you didn’t, but also because you were too busy trying to pretend that the way he was looking at you wasn’t affecting you.

The town wasn’t far now, the road giving way to worn wooden buildings, the smell of smoke and mud hanging in the air. You could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way the people moved, the way their eyes darted toward you and Arthur before quickly looking away.

This place had seen its fair share of violence. They knew better than to get in the way of it. Arthur pulled his horse to a stop near a small saloon, barely more than a shack with a sign hanging half off its hinges. "Reckon he’s in there.” He muttered, jerking his chin toward the door.

You adjusted your gun belt. "How you wanna do this?"

Arthur swung down from his horse, dusting off his jacket. "Quiet. If we can." His gaze flicked to yours, steady. "If not—."

"I know," you muttered, already moving to follow him. Inside, the saloon was dimly lit, the smell of stale beer and sweat thick in the air.

Arthur led the way, his movements easy but deliberate, the kind that made people pay attention even if they didn’t want to. You let him take the lead, keeping close, scanning the room. It didn’t take long to spot the man. He was sitting in the corner, half-turned away, a glass in his hand.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. "Mister.” He drawled, his voice calm, almost lazy.

The man stiffened. That was all the warning you got before everything went to hell. He went for his gun, but Arthur was faster. The crack of a shot split the air, and suddenly, the whole place was moving—men scrambling, chairs scraping against the floor, voices shouting over each other. You didn’t think, just reacted, drawing your revolver as Arthur fired again.

The man dropped, blood spreading across his shirt, his fingers twitching once before going still. Arthur was already moving. "Come on."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You covered him as he pushed through the door, gun still in hand, heart pounding. Outside, people were moving, stepping back, watching. A few men had their hands hovering near their holsters, but none of them seemed stupid enough to make a move. You swung up onto your horse, Arthur doing the same beside you.

"That went smooth.” You muttered, kicking your horse into motion.

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, real smooth." The two of you rode hard out of town, the storm finally breaking, rain coming down in sheets, turning the road to mud. You could still feel the heat of the fight in your chest, the rush of it, the way the air had felt electric. And beneath it all, beneath the gun smoke and the storm, there was something else.

The way Arthur had looked at you. The way your stomach had flipped just a little too hard. The way this whole thing felt like it was building to something, something you weren’t sure you were ready for. And worst of all? You didn’t know if you wanted to stop it.

The rain hammered down, slicking your coat and dampening your hair as you and Arthur pushed through the mud, your horses sliding beneath you with each sharp turn. The storm had rolled in heavier than you’d expected, but you didn’t mind. It kept the town behind you at a distance, and for a moment, it felt like just the two of you—nothing else mattered.

Arthur’s gaze was fixed ahead, his jaw set as he steered his horse through the storm. You kept close, the wind whipping at your face, making it hard to focus. Still, something about the way he was so calm, so controlled, made you feel a little less unsettled. You shifted in your saddle, but your thoughts kept returning to that look—the one he’d given you in the saloon before the chaos had kicked off.

The way his eyes had lingered just a fraction longer than normal. You could feel that same tightness in your chest, that tension building up, and you hated how much it rattled you. "How far do you reckon we’re gonna make it before that storm gets worse?" You asked, trying to break the silence.

Arthur glanced over at you for a second, his expression unreadable. "Not far,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm. "We should find shelter soon."

"Great," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but the rain made it hard to tell if he heard you. You’d been out in worse weather before, but this felt different—more dangerous somehow, like the storm wasn’t just weather, it was a warning. The road ahead was barely visible through the sheets of rain, but Arthur kept pushing forward, steady as ever.

You followed close behind, your horse slipping slightly in the mud, but you managed to keep your balance. As you rode, the storm seemed to intensify, the wind picking up, making it nearly impossible to hear anything but the roar of the weather. You were beginning to wonder if you’d make it out of this mess in one piece when Arthur’s voice cut through the noise.

"Get ready," he said, his tone low, "we might have company."

Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively reached for your gun. Your eyes scanned the road ahead, but all you could see were flashes of lightning and the thick fog of rain. "How many?" You asked, voice tight.

"Not sure yet," he muttered, "but keep your eyes open."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were ready for whatever came next, but something gnawed at you, a feeling you couldn’t shake. The air around you had shifted, and now, you were on edge, expecting the worst. Then, through the rain, you saw them—figures moving along the side of the road, shadows in the mist, too close for comfort. You couldn’t make out their faces, but the way they moved told you everything you needed to know. They weren’t friends. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He spurred his horse forward, the sound of hooves against the soaked earth drowned out by the pounding rain.

You followed him, your heart racing as the distance between you and the figures closed rapidly. As you neared, you could hear the distinct sound of boots crunching against the wet ground, the rustle of leather. Arthur pulled his gun, his eyes never leaving the shadows ahead. "You ready for this?"

"Always.” You replied, your voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. The figures came into focus then, a small group of men, guns drawn, their faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed hats.

Without warning, one of them stepped forward, a grin on his face, though it was barely visible through the rain. "Looks like you two are lost.” He called out, his voice rough but loud enough to cut through the storm.

Arthur’s response was immediate—a shot fired into the air, a warning. "Get out of the way, unless you want trouble."

The man didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he took a step closer, his hand twitching towards his holster. "I think we’re past warnings, don’t you?"

You didn’t wait for Arthur’s signal. Your hand was already on your gun, drawing it smoothly, just as the first shot rang out. The fight was quick—too quick. The sound of gunfire, the crunch of boots on mud, the smell of gunpowder all mixed into one chaotic moment.

You and Arthur moved together, a seamless team, each shot calculated, precise. The men never stood a chance. In the end, all that remained was the sound of rain pelting the ground and the faint echoes of the struggle that had just unfolded.

Arthur holstered his gun, wiping the rain from his face, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting more. He didn’t speak, but there was something in the way his shoulders relaxed, something almost imperceptible, like he was finally allowing himself to breathe.

You exhaled, your own heart still racing, and turned your attention to the fallen men. "You alright?" Arthur asked, his voice quieter now, almost calm.

"Yeah," you said, though your hands were still shaking, just a little. "Just a bit too close for comfort."

Arthur nodded, but his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary, something unreadable in his expression. You couldn��t look at him. Not now, not when your head was still spinning from the chaos. "Let’s get out of here.” He said, his voice low, the sharp edge of command still present.

You didn’t argue, pushing your horse forward, following him as you both rode out of the danger zone, the storm still raging around you. But even as the rain poured down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm wasn’t the only thing you had to worry about.

You could feel it now, that unspoken thing between you and Arthur, the way his presence seemed to shift in your chest, like it had been there all along, waiting to crack wide open. And you didn’t know whether to run from it or let it consume you. The tension between you both had been building for days—weeks, even—and now, with everything that had happened, it was almost unbearable.

You tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes flickered over to you, his hand steady on the reins, his posture rigid yet somehow relaxed in that familiar way. It made you feel uneasy in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The campfire that had been burning bright hours earlier had now dwindled to a small, flickering flame, casting shadows across the tents. Arthur didn’t say much as you arrived, just a quick glance in your direction before he dismounted, tying his horse to the post with practiced ease. You followed suit, the dampness of the night air seeping through your clothes.

Arthur opened the flap of the tent, giving you a small nod before stepping inside. You hesitated for a moment, the thought of the close quarters making your chest tighten, but then you followed him in, the tent feeling smaller the second you crossed the threshold.

The rain outside continued to fall in a steady rhythm, but inside the tent, the sound was muffled, almost distant. The fire from outside barely flickered in, leaving the inside dim and quiet. You unbuckled your wet coat and set it down, feeling a shiver pass through you as you tried to warm up, your clothes still clinging to your skin.

Arthur was already sitting on his bedroll, his back to you as he untied his boots. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You hadn’t been this close to him in a long time—alone, without the chaos of the mission, without the noise of the camp.

There was something different now, something you couldn’t explain, and it made the silence feel heavy. You sat down on your own bedroll, facing away from him, though you could still feel his presence behind you, like a constant shadow in the corner of your vision. You tried not to think too hard about the way his broad shoulders looked in the low light or the way his scent lingered in the air. His voice cut through the stillness.

"You good?" It wasn’t a question he often asked, not like this. His tone was steady, but there was something softer about it now, something that made you hesitate before you answered.

You forced yourself to turn and face him, meeting his gaze for a split second before looking away again, your fingers picking at the edges of your blanket. "Yeah," you said, the word coming out quieter than you meant. "Just tired."

He leant back slightly, his arms folding across his chest, watching you intently, as if waiting for something more. You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze settling in your chest. "You sure?" His voice was still low, but there was a note of concern in it that you weren’t used to.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. You hadn’t realised just how much the mission had affected you, or how much you were still carrying with you. It wasn’t just the danger, or the gunfire, or the constant feeling of being hunted—it was everything. The unspoken things, the things that had been building between you and Arthur for so long now, things you couldn’t ignore any longer. You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed your own words. "Yeah. I’m fine."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken words, heavy with that pull between you. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, the way his presence made everything feel amplified, even the smallest movements. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run from it, or if you wanted to let it take you over.

Arthur shifted slightly, leaning forward, the space between you closing just a little more. His voice dropped lower. "You don’t look fine.” He said, his tone almost teasing but with an edge that was hard to ignore.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, even as your stomach twisted with nerves. "I’m not in the mood for your teasing right now, Arthur.” You said, your voice quieter than usual, but there was a firmness to it, a sharpness you didn’t often let slip.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and gravelly, but there was something in it that made your breath catch in your throat. You hadn’t realised how close he was now, how his presence had filled the space between you, how much you wanted to close that final gap, even though you weren’t sure why. "You never are.” He murmured, his tone softer now, but still carrying that same edge of familiarity.

There was no mistaking it now—the tension was there, thick between you. You could feel it in the way his eyes followed your every movement, the way his body seemed to lean just a little closer, his posture relaxed but still watchful. It was a game of balance, a dance neither of you had fully committed to, and the closer you got, the harder it was to stay steady.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the feeling of being too close, of being seen in a way that you weren’t ready for. "We should get some sleep," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, though the words felt far from convincing. Arthur didn’t say anything right away, his eyes searching yours for a moment longer, like he was trying to figure something out, something you weren’t sure you understood.

Finally, he nodded, but he didn’t move away. "Yeah," he said, his voice just above a murmur. "Guess we should." But even as he said the words, you could feel the pull between you both, the closeness that neither of you were willing to ignore, even as the night pressed in around you.

The rain fell harder outside, but in the quiet of the tent, with only the soft crackle of the fire and the sound of your breathing, the storm inside felt louder, more real. The night stretched on, the storm still raging outside, but it couldn’t drown out the tension inside the tent.

You couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, every time you tried to settle into the warmth of your bedroll, it felt like something was pressing in on you, making it impossible to rest. You fidgeted again, twisting onto your side, then your back, then your stomach, trying every possible position to find comfort, but it never came. You could hear Arthur’s steady breathing beside you, but the closer you were to him, the more you felt the weight of the silence between you. His presence was too overwhelming, too close.

You weren’t sure if it was his proximity or the way the air felt heavy with unspoken things, but you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your gut, like something was about to crack open.

You turned onto your side again, facing away from him this time, hoping that would ease the unease, but it didn’t. The more you moved, the more you felt like you were drawing attention to yourself, and it only made the tension worse. You could feel him now, like his eyes were boring into the back of your head, his presence so close that it was suffocating. You didn’t dare look at him, though, because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d see.

Maybe it was the storm outside, or maybe it was the damn tension building between you, but you couldn’t stop moving. You had to do something to keep from losing your mind.

"You done yet?" Arthur’s voice cut through the silence, low and gruff, but you could hear the irritation creeping in now. You froze, your heart skipping a beat.

You hadn’t expected him to say anything, and the sharpness of his tone made your chest tighten. "Just… can’t sleep," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You heard him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll rustling, and you knew he was watching you now.

"You’ve been moving like that for hours. You planning on keeping me up all night?" His voice was rough, but there was a hint of annoyance in it now, a sharp edge that made your pulse quicken.

You couldn’t help but feel a little defensive, even though you knew he was right. "Sorry." You muttered, though you didn’t know why. You weren’t sure if you were sorry for being so restless, or sorry that you couldn’t seem to get a grip on whatever was simmering between you two.

You felt him shift again, heard him let out a sigh. "You think that’s gonna help?" he asked, his tone now a little softer, but still firm. You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the glimpse of his silhouette in the dim light of the tent.

You could tell he was still awake, that he wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon either. The silence stretched between you two again, but this time it wasn’t as comfortable as before. It felt thick, charged with something that neither of you was willing to acknowledge. You swallowed, trying to push the feeling down, but it refused to stay buried. Your body felt like it was on edge, too aware of him, too aware of the way the space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

"Maybe you just need a little… distraction," Arthur said after a while, his voice low but deliberate, as if testing the waters. You frowned, not sure what he meant, but you didn’t have time to ask before he continued. "Something to tire you out," he added, his tone almost teasing now, a faint smirk in his voice.

You blinked, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You hadn’t expected him to say that, not like that. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You were suddenly aware of the distance between the two of you, how far you had been from each other just moments ago, and now how it felt like everything was getting just a little bit closer. "What… do you mean?" you managed to ask, your voice quieter than before, though you didn’t think it was out of curiosity. It sounded more like you were trying to hold onto control, trying not to let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory.

Arthur didn’t immediately answer, but you could hear him shift beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. You could feel his eyes on you now, though you didn’t dare meet his gaze. "I mean," he started, his voice rougher now, like he was taking his time with each word, "If you can’t sleep, maybe you need something to wear yourself out."

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you could feel the weight of his words settle between you two, making the air feel thicker, heavier. Your heart raced a little faster, and you couldn’t help but feel a small flutter of something you couldn’t quite place. You turned away from him, your chest tight, not sure whether to call him out for his words or to let them hang there, unspoken. He leant back against his bedroll then, letting out a long breath, as if he was satisfied with his suggestion.

"I don’t mind giving you a hand," he added, his voice low, barely audible. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening, but you didn’t know how to respond to that.

It wasn’t an offer, not really, but the way he said it made you feel like the air had shifted even further, like you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t fully understand.

You swallowed, your body feeling restless in a new way now. You knew he wasn’t being serious, not in the way you thought, but the tension that had been building up between you two made everything feel heavier, more intense.

You frowned, not sure where he was going with it. "What do you mean?" You asked, confusion making your voice sharper. You could feel him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll moving.

He was closer now, the tension between you two thick enough to make the air feel heavy. "I mean," he began, his voice low, "You’re wound up tighter than a spring. Maybe you need somethin’ to tire you out." The suggestion hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you couldn’t process it. You turned your head then, eyes wide, but you couldn’t read the look on his face.

It wasn’t playful, but it wasn’t serious either—it was something else, something between a tease and a challenge.

Your body felt like it was buzzing with energy, but it wasn’t the kind of energy you could work off easily. It was something deeper, something that ran straight through you when he was this close. "Arthur…" Uou breathed, your voice barely a whisper. You wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words didn’t come.

The space between you two felt impossibly small now, like you could reach out and touch him without even trying. "What’s the matter?" He asked, his voice low and patient, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent to it. "Can’t handle it?" The question stung, but you couldn’t deny that it struck a chord deep inside you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but you didn’t know what to say. You could feel the pressure building in your chest, like something was about to burst, but you didn’t know whether to fight it or give in to it.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you felt the pull between you two, like gravity. He wasn’t moving away, wasn’t backing off, and it was making everything inside you feel ten times worse. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were too lost in it to speak.

"You gon’ let me?" Arthur said, the words slow and deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for your reaction. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face him because you were afraid of what you might see.

The tension in the air was suffocating now, the silence hanging like a thread about to snap.

Arthur leant in slightly, his proximity enough to make your heart skip a beat. "C'mon," he murmured, his voice soft, almost a challenge. "You know you want this."

The words hit you like a jolt, and for a moment, your brain short-circuited, struggling to form a coherent thought. The space between you two felt like it was disappearing, the way his eyes softened, and how he seemed to wait for your move. You could hear your own breath now, loud in your ears, the storm outside pounding against the canvas of the tent, but all you could focus on was the way Arthur was looking at you.

"You think I don’t want this?" You finally muttered, your voice barely a whisper. But he heard it.

His smile was slow, a little crooked, and his eyes darkened with something more intense now. He didn't reply, instead, he reached out, a hand coming to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a gentle motion. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn't pull away.

"You sure about that?" Arthur’s voice was barely a murmur now, his face inches from yours. The tension between you two, thick and undeniable, was suffocating. He waited, giving you a moment, and that was when it happened.

You didn't lean away, you didn't hesitate.

You closed the space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and tentative at first, like neither of you were sure what would come next. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. You let yourself go, just for a moment, lost in the heat of it, the pressure of his lips against yours, the taste of him.

"Easy, girl." He growled against your lips, his prickly beard scratching at your chin. The rasp of his voice sent a shiver through you, the roughness of it matching the way his hands had tightened just slightly where they rested against you. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your neck, his touch firm but careful, like he was still testing, still giving you room to pull away. But you didn’t.

You leant into him, your breath shaky, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it.

Arthur kissed you again, slower this time, but deeper, more certain. His lips pressed against yours with a heat that had been simmering for far too long, a fire barely held at bay.

You could taste the whiskey on him, the faint remnants of tobacco, but underneath it was something distinctly him, something you had caught whiffs of before but never like this, never this close.

His hand slid from your neck down to your waist, fingers pressing into your hip as he pulled you closer. The bedroll beneath you rustled as you shifted, your hands coming up to his shoulders instinctively, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. "You always this restless?" Arthur muttered against your lips, his tone half amused, half strained. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a spark straight through your chest.

"Only when you're around.” You murmured back, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

Arthur let out a rough chuckle, his grip on you tightening for just a second. "That so?" His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw, the scrape of his beard making your skin prickle in the best way.

He took his time, tracing the line of your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he worked his way down, slow and deliberate. His free hand ran down your side, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your shirt, the weight of it making your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

You tilted your head without thinking, giving him more room, and he took it. His lips brushed against the pulse point on your neck, and you swore you felt him smirk when your breath hitched. "Ain't nothin' to be nervous about, darlin'," he murmured, voice thick, teasing. "Unless you want there to be."

You knew exactly what he meant, the words hanging between you like a dare, but you weren’t about to back down. You shifted against him slightly, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you breathed, "And if I do?"

Arthur paused, just for a second, just long enough to let you feel the weight of what you had said. His fingers flexed against your waist, his body tensing slightly, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker now, unreadable. "Then you best be real sure about it," he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher. "’Cause I ain't the type to stop once I get goin'."

You stared at him, heart pounding, feeling the heat rolling off him in waves. His grip on you was steady, grounding, but there was a restraint there too, a hesitation in the way he was holding himself back. You could see it in his eyes—the way he was waiting, watching, letting you decide.

Slowly, without thinking, you reached up and touched his face, your fingers grazing over the stubble along his jaw. His breath hitched, just barely, and for a brief second, you felt him lean into your touch. It was the smallest thing, but it sent a thrill through you, a rush of something you weren’t sure you could name.

"You ain't answerin' me," Arthur said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. His lips were still close enough to brush against yours, his hand still firm on your waist. "You really wanna test me tonight?" The way he said it sent heat pooling in your stomach, but you weren’t about to back down.

You let your fingers trail down to the collar of his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly as you whispered, "I think you already know the answer to that."

Arthur exhaled sharply, a rough chuckle leaving his lips before he muttered, "Christ, girl, you’re gonna drive me mad."

And before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, more urgent. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the sheer heat of him, the solidness of him, sent your head spinning. You barely registered the way you shifted, the way the space between you disappeared entirely.

All you could feel was the warmth of his hands, the slow, deliberate press of his lips, the way he kissed like he had been holding back for far too long. He wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic, but there was a weight to it, a slow-burning intensity that made your skin prickle with anticipation. His hand drifted up from your waist, trailing along your ribcage, not quite reaching too high, but enough to make you shudder.

Arthur noticed, of course he did, and the low hum he let out against your mouth told you he liked it. "See?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Told ya you were restless."

You swallowed hard, breath uneven. "And what’re you gonna do about it?" Arthur smirked, the kind of lazy, knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

His fingers traced over your jaw again, lingering at the corner of your mouth before trailing lower, lower—until he hooked his thumb at the edge of your bottom lip. "Open.” He said, voice rough, firm.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because the weight of it, the sheer intensity in his voice, sent a thrill down your spine. But then you did, parting your lips just slightly, just enough for him to press his thumb inside, resting against your tongue, testing.

Arthur let out a breath, low and deep, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good girl." And that was where you lost whatever composure you had left. Your breath shuddered against the thick air between you, the weight of Arthur’s gaze pressing down harder than his thumb resting heavy on your tongue.

His jaw tensed, and for the briefest second, something in his eyes flickered, something dark, something wild, but then he huffed a rough, low laugh, shaking his head like you had just made a mistake.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. His thumb dragged down, slow, tracing the curve of your bottom lip as he pulled back, leaving the ghost of his touch lingering there. He wiped his hand on his thigh, jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose. "You ain't got a damn clue what you're askin' for, do ya?" The words were teasing, but there was something else underneath them now, something strained, something barely holding together. You swallowed hard, your pulse still hammering as you reached for words that wouldn’t come.

Arthur watched you for a long moment, his eyes dragging over your face like he was memorising every reaction, every little shift in your expression. Then, with a quiet scoff, he ran a hand down his face, muttering something too low for you to catch. His fingers twitched against his thigh, his breath coming rougher now, uneven.

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours, his weight shifting between hesitation and something heavier, something you could feel simmering between you. He paused, lips just inches from your ear. Arthur’s breath hitched as you held his gaze, the weight of his hesitation heavy between you.

The air was thick, suffocating, and as his thumb brushed over your lip, you could feel the pulse of his restraint, each second stretching further than it should. You weren’t backing down now; the heat between you was undeniable, and every part of you was alive, aching for more.

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, the same conflict you had seen earlier returning like a storm rolling back in.

He pulled back, just enough to give himself some space, but his hand never left your waist. "You’re too young for me." He muttered, his voice gruff, but the way he said it made you feel something far different than what he intended.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. "So you don’t want this?" you asked, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he just stared at you, as if he was weighing his next move. "Never said that," he growled, his voice rougher now, his eyes searching yours for something. "Just... don’t know what the hell I’m doin’." He leant back slightly, but only enough to give you some room to breathe, his hand still tight on your waist.

You didn’t give him the chance to pull away completely. Your lips met his again, soft at first, hesitant, but then deeper, your body leaning into his as you pressed yourself against him.

His breath faltered, the tension between you growing thick as he let you guide the kiss. He didn’t pull away, but his hands remained still, like he was waiting for some sign, some permission to move forward. His thumb brushed over your lips again, tracing the curve of your mouth, as if he couldn’t help himself, but there was still something holding him back.

Arthur’s breath left him in a rush, and before you knew it, his hand was gripping your hair, his other arm pulling you tighter against him, as if he couldn’t stop himself. "Christ.” He muttered under his breath, his lips crashing against yours in a way that made everything else fade away.

His control was slipping, and you could feel it, the way his hands shook as they moved over your body, the way his touch grew more insistent, more desperate. He paused for a moment, his lips still on yours, but his breath was heavy now, his chest rising and falling against you.

"I ain't lookin’ to ruin ya.” He muttered, the words coming out like a warning, but you didn’t want warnings.

You wanted this, wanted him, and you made sure he knew it. "Pity.” Your voice barely a whisper, but it was all he needed. His resolve snapped.

His lips crashed down onto yours again, harder this time, and you could feel the heat of his body, the fire building between you. He kissed you as though he needed it, as though nothing else mattered anymore. The kiss deepened, more urgent, more hungry, and you could feel him pressing against you, his hands moving down your body, pulling you closer with each second.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. But just as quickly as it had all started, he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed heavily, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

"You’re gonna drive me mad," he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. You could feel his heart racing, his body tense as he fought to hold onto whatever control he had left. His hands moved to your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you back. "You’re too young for this, girl.” He said again, his voice almost pained as he looked at you, searching your face for something, anything that would tell him he wasn’t making a mistake.

You just looked at him, your chest still heaving from the kiss, and nodded. "Never said I was innocent.” You murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

He let out a strained laugh, the sound almost bitter as he ran a hand down his face. His eyes flickered with something—desire, regret, confusion—before he kissed you again, slow this time, like he was trying to remind himself of what he was doing.

His hand moved from your hair, down to your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse. The kiss was softer now, but the heat was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He pulled away again, his breath ragged, his eyes dark. He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to read the answers in your face. "You sure you want this?" He asked, his voice rougher, uncertain. You nodded, just once, but it was enough.

"God, yes." You whispered, and this time, he didn’t pull away. He kissed you again, his touch growing more insistent, but he still held back, like he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t undo.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, just the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. But as quickly as it had started, he pulled away again, his hands shaking slightly as he ran them through his hair. "You’re gonna be the end of me," he muttered, his voice low, like he was talking to himself more than you. You didn’t say anything, just stared at him, feeling the pull between you. "You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” He warned, his voice rough.

But you just smiled, the corners of your lips curling up slightly as you looked at him, knowing full well what you wanted, and what he wanted, too.

“Then show me, old man.” You thought you were being real cheeky. Arthur just clicked his tongue before he rolled over, now caging you between the bedroll.

“You gonna wish you ain’t runnin’ that sweet mouth.”

Like a man on a mission, one with hunger, his large hands went to the waistband of your pants, and tugged them right down, making you gasp in shock; both from his agility and the cold that kissed your thighs.

“Fuck, look at you, sweetheart. Could see that fucking wet patch from miles away. Ain’t you such a needy thing.” Arthur cooed, bringing a thumb to rub over your wetness.

You whined at the contact, hips jerking when his thumb managed to delve and kiss your clit. “Arthur, please?” You pleaded, raising your knees to be on either side of him.

“Huh, so now it’s Arthur,” he shook his head, though complied to your demands. He curled two fingers into your panties and pulled them down, exposing your sopping cunt, even through the dim moonlight, Arthur could well see your neediness. “Ain’t that something.”

“Need you real bad, Arthur. Can’t wait.” You sighed, hiking your hips up to get more of him on you.

“Quit your rushing, girl. You ain’t the only one who’s been needin’ this.” Arthur scoffed, using his forefinger to run through your folds, gathering slick.

His confession caused your heart to skip a beat. Had you been blind all along? How many opportunities had you missed?

“As much as I would love to get right to it, I need to stretch you out first, sweetheart. I’m a little to the hefty side, so bear with me.” You moaned out, eyelashes fluttering as he sunk in two, thick fingers.

“Oh, Arthur.” You felt unbelievably stretched, even though pain blossomed between your legs, it was easily overlooked by pleasure.

“Shit, darlin’. You’re real fuckin’ tight. This might take a while.” Arthur’s voice was wrecked, like he was talking through gritted teeth.

There was only so much the man could endure, and having the patience to not devour everything about you, was none of that.

“Arthur, please? I can take it, don’t need no prepping. I need you, Arthur. Don’t you need me?” You at this moment craved to feel him inside you.

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t need you, I sure as hell wouldn’t be knuckle deep in your pussy.” He chuckled, shaking his head. Arthur curled his fingers, the thick digits pressing against that sweet, spongy spot inside you, causing you to cry out. He twisted his wrist, fingers flipping with before he spread them inside you, prying you open more and more.

“Oh, fuck, Arthur.” You moaned, fingers curling against the thin blanket below you.

“Just relax. You’re takin’ my fingers so well.” He praised, feeling your juicing drip onto his palm. He lifted his thumb, the pad finding your abandoned clit, rubbing and flicking at it.

Your eyes tipped back into your head, your toes curled in your socks. Arthur’s fingers caused you to make sounds you never knew you could.

You clamped down on him, causing Arthur to his. “Shit, girl. Y’squeezin’ me real tight. Don’t even know if I could fit.”

“N-No! You’ll fit. Fuck! Have to…” you managed to get out, before your words melted to moans, something tightening and tugging in your lower belly.

“You’re pretty determined. Guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

At this point, your thighs were shaking, and your body was sweating, yet you managed, with trembling fingers, to reach into Arthur’s lap, and nudge at his belt, desperately trying to get it undone, but efforts were fruitless. “O-Off. Take it off.”

“Geez, darlin’. Buy me a drink first?” You rolled your eyes, more so than they were, at his joke. You sighed out when he complied, free hand meticulously able to undo his belt, and even slide it from its loops.

The rest was easier, you were able to pull his zipper down, and then reach his underwear, tugging in jarred movements, at the black fabric.

Your body shuddered as his cock sprung free. Arthur was not joking. He was huge, and had a brain melting girth to him, topped by an angry, throbbing tip. You had no idea how you were going to sit still tomorrow, or even mount your horse.

Your back arched, your cunt was making lewd, wet sounds fill the tent. You huffed and choked on moans, yet you were able to wrap your fingers around Arthur’s cock, finger tips barely touching.

Arthur hissed at the contact, as if you burnt him. “Yeah, girl. Stroke me nice ‘n slow. Don’t wanna cum too soon.”

Arthur wrapped his larger hand around yours, using yours to fist his cock as he thrusted his hips into your hand. He bent his neck, pursed his lips, before a thick glob and saliva dropped down onto the shaft of his cock, now coating your palm as you jerked him off.

“Mm, that feels pretty good. Good fucking job.” He sighed, a crease forming between his brow.

His fingers has slowed, too caught up in what you were doing, before he snapped back, vigorously rubbing at your clit, and thrusting his fingers in you.

“O-Oh, Arthur! Can’t hold on any l-longer! Oh! Oh!” You cried, fingers tightening around his cock. A rather loud moan tumbling from Arthur’s lips.

“Cum, sweetheart. Make a mess on my fingers. Shit, yeah. Let me see what you can do.” Arthur’s fingers curled once more, and that’s when white filtered in your vision, and you were cumming hard.

Your cum splashed onto his hand, dribbling down your ass, throat going raw from the sobs you were letting out. Arthur’s fingers didn’t stop until you finished.

“S-Shit, okay. Let go of me now. I think you’re ready f’me, aren’t ya, girl?”

You nodded, letting your fingers drop from his cock. Arthur shifted on his knees, now angling himself until his cock was prodding at your hole.

He wrapped his slicked hand around his cock, coating it further in your release until he was satisfied. He glanced up, waiting for you to stop him, to which you’d never.

His hand fell to your hip to squeeze it as he pushed in, slowly, letting you adjust.

You whined as he went, cunt fluttering around his veiny shaft as he sunk in, until the tufts of hair on top his balls grazed your clit. Arthur let out a long sigh, now fully sheathed inside of you.

He drew his hips back, cock glistening, under the faint moonlight that trickled through the tent, covered with your previous arousal, before he sunk back in. It was slow, he was testing the waters.

You shifted beneath him, silently telling him to hurry up, not that you wanted to get this over and done with, but you just needed more.

Arthur sniggered, he almost wanted to say ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you’ but he felt that would ruin the moment. Instead, he grounded his knees into the bedroom before he pulled out, then snapped his hips forward, hips rhythmically thrusting into yours at a toe curling pace.

Arthur’s lips were suddenly below your ear, grunting and groaning into the shell of it. “Y’know how many times I’ve imagined this, sweetheart? Enough times for me t’wonder if I was even gonna make it to heaven.”

You moaned, loudly, at his words. Fingers flying to his shoulders, even though they were covered by his shirt. “Thought you s-said I was too young for you.”

Arthur grunted, breath hot on your skin, hips pushing you up in small movements. “That’s the part that was gonna send me to hell.”

You tried to give a smile, though your lips wobbled, falling open as you moaned for him. “It didn’t stop you…n-now.”

“Should’ve.”

“Am I the best you’ve had?” You asked, with staggering confidence.

Arthur chuckled, though it came out ragged. “It’s not a competition, girl. Why? Am I the best you’ve had?”

You moaned, they slowly came out higher and higher as his fat tip nudged your sweet spot. “N-No. You’re like second bes-st.”

“Second? Guess we’ll have to change that, then.” Both of Arthur’s hands were on your hips, digging into the flesh before they spun you around, chest now meeting with the bedroll, cock slipping from you momentarily.

Arthur let out a low whistle at the sight of your bare ass. Rough palm immediately going to the ample cheeks, spreading them to see both your holes. “Y’ever gonna let me fuck you there?” Arthur asked, thumb barely grazing your tight ring of muscles causing you to gasp.

“What? No. That’s…dirty, it’s gross.” You coughed.

Arthur hummed, his cock pressing back to your cunt before sliding back in with ease. “Not t’me, girl. Not to me.”

Arthur moved his weight, now leaning forward until he was just about laying on top of you before his hips found their steady rhythm.

This new angle had him so much deeper, filling you up entirely. You didn’t mind when his rough patch of hair brushed the glove of your ass, or how your breath came out shallow as he slinked an around your neck.

Your face was smushed between his thick muscles, hair awry. This position had you leaking more.

You had no where to go, not as his cock bullied your hole, you were stuck between Arthur, all hot above you, and the bedroll. Arthur was murmuring sweet nothings to you, rolling his hips, sharing your moans. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy ever. Gonna get me greedy over it, sweetheart. Don’t know if I’d be able to go a day without it.”

You tried to get words out, but it was almost impossible with how your cheeks were pressing together.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

“I said…you don’t have t-to.”

Arthur grinned, hips pummelling harder into yours. “Givin’ up your pussy to this old man? How mighty generous. But don’t worry, darlin’, I don’t plan to go a day without fuckin’ you.” You clenched around him at the thought.

Arthur Morgan was going to ruin you, for good.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Drool dribbled from your lips, your fingers digging into whatever surface they could find. “A-Arthur, think I’m gonna cum again.”

Arthur sped his movements up, balls slapping into the front of your pussy as they swung. “Cum, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.” He grunted.

Your vision blurred and your brain melted, dribbling through you and out your legs as your cunt spasmed, and before you knew it, you were gushing around him.

“S-Shit, girl. Making such a big mess, good fuckin’ girl.”

Arthur pulled out, hand wrapping around his cock to jerk it before he was spilling his thick load onto your ass. He shuddered as he came, hips stilling when he finished.

Arthur groaned when he was done, chest rising as he sat up on his knees, staring at the faint sight of the mess he made of you. He sighed, pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his cum off you, before he was tugging your pants up your thighs, and his up his.

He slummed to the side, back to his sleeping bag while you shifted on yours. His arm found you and pulled you roght to his chest, lips ok your forehead. “Now y’better fall asleep. Don’t think I can do any more rounds.”

You snorted, though your eyelids fluttered in tiredness. “Bones can’t handle it?”

Arthur huffed. “I’ll show you what these bones can handle.”

And before long, you were sliding onto Arthur’s lap, shimmying out your clothes again, preparing for the long, long night ahead of you, even if we’re about to fall asleep.

#𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐙𝐓𝐈𝐈 #my works—★!#rdr1 #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut

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waynes-multiverse · 12 hours ago

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Am I excited for this? YES! How excited? VERY!!!

Gah, I've been really looking forward to this one! Love me some 40s and The Clock! 😍 (One of the reasons why I can't wait for Vought rising lol 👀)

Love how the first line of this story is an easter egg. You never cease to amaze me, Alex 🤓

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

*furrows brow* The Producers?? 🤔

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate. He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other. Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

Oh yes, we all remember that episode. Of course he would 😂 Poor Sam lol

If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

Uh-huh... Dear Lord he needs help 🙈

Btw, I've been doing my own 40s research for a fic and came across the contraception question. Idk why but condoms and methods of that time freak me tf out. Wondering what your experience with that was (if you came across it) lmao 😂

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Ooof so rough 😮‍💨 PTSD and seeing all the dirty shit that goes on during a war is really brutal 😢 (My grandpa was in WWII and told a lot of stories when he was still alive)

And then they were seperated too and didn't even know what happened to the other. Heartbreaking 😭

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

The sass! Already love her 😂🩵

He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair.

*vibes* 😍 (even though I know MMM is set in 1958 lol)

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

You don't know how fucking weak it makes me that he smokes in this. That vice will be the death of me 🫠🔥

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

Aww yeah, Sam's just doing his job. Not easy having a vagina in 1945 and dealing with dicks... 🙄

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

I get abusive vibes from shitty husband. There's more to it than cheating. Either he's emotionally abusive, physically or threathening to be. She seems like she wants to leave quick and quiet, fearing retaliation 👀

I loved how "damn" counted as cursing 😂 (Darn it!)

He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Yes, thank you!!! I knew Dean's spidey senses would turn on. (And I know that darn rat bastard can't hurt her now as long as soldier!Dean's around 💚)

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

Melted 🫠 (I legit die every time I write "Sergeant Shaw" in TCF, but I married a military guy myself, so makes sense I can't resist a uniform and a rank 😂🥵)

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

I love the 1940s cadence, by the way! You can tell it's a different time period the way the characters speak, the words they choose, and how they phrase things. So well done, my friend! 👏👏

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said. “Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

Mama's smelling mob activity... 🤌

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.

Such a Dean statement lol

I do hope he won't feel so hopeless for long ☺️

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.” Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.” You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Aww, they could've almost met. I love these little coincidences when people meet each other. It's fate 😍💕

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.”

I feel so bad for her. I hope Sam (and Dean) can help her soon and she can find happiness again 😢❤️‍🩹

“Hmm. No real loss there then.” Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.”

The fucking nerve of that man... 🤬

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.”

I'm too busy plotting a gruesome murder in my head to properly get into how much I despise that guy 😂🙈

This was such an amazing start to this series! The storyline is so intriguing and the world-building is, well... simply otherworldly. You really took me on a journey to the 1940s here. Speechless, honestly 🩵

I so can't wait to see what else you have in store with this, but I think there will be lots of yelling from me lol 😅

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut.

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said.

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?”

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap.

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once.

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?”

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said.

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks.

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly.

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.

His brows furrowed. “Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms.

“Why not?” he asked.

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.”

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.”

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.”

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff.

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so.

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly.

“Hmm. No real loss there then.”

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.”

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner.

“Excuse me?”

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.”

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.”

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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