#but it's just not a patch on the tv series

[vunblr]

The Trouble With Saturdays -Puesto-

Pairing: Thunderbolts! Bucky Barnes x Curvy! Female Reader

Tags: Fluff. Slight sprinkle of angst if you squint. Pinning.

Summary: Life at the Thunderbolts Tower is loud, chaotic, and full of questionable moral choices. Bucky’s used to keeping to himself, until one night, after one of those questionable moral choices was made, the guys got him high.

Word Count: About 7.6k.

They didn’t recruit her for the violence.

The Thunderbolts had enough of that. More than enough, actually. Three supersoldiers, a walking quantum anomaly, a man with literal god-tier potential buried beneath trauma, and Yelena, who didn’t need powers to make anyone cry.

No, she was brought in to patch what was left behind.

Civilians mostly. Collateral damage.

The ones caught in the debris cloud of a botched extraction, or buried under the wrong side of a knocked-over building. She’d move between the screams and the smoke, crouch in the rubble with her hands pressed to scorched skin or crushed lungs, and pull people back. Not metaphorically. Literally.

She didn’t stop death, but she slowed it. Called it off. Reversed it in some cases. No one liked to use the word resurrect, not even her, but she knew what it looked like when a rib cage stopped collapsing under its own weight, when air found its way back into lungs that had already forgotten how to breathe.

It didn’t take long for the team to realize she wasn’t there for them.

Mostly.

The first time Bucky came to her, it wasn’t after a mission.

It was late, the tower was in that in-between time when most of the team had gone to bed or passed out somewhere inconvenient. The common room was only lit by the flat screen, where Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth danced around each other in the 1995 Pride and Prejudice adaptation. She had a blanket over her knees and a mug in her hands. The night was ordinary. Unremarkable.

Then she felt him.

She didn’t startle, just looked up to find him standing by the edge of the couch. His eyes weren’t on her, but on the TV, and his arms were folded too tightly across his chest.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

“You didn’t.”

A pause. Then, quietly. “Could I… borrow your time?”

She tilted her head, studying him. He wasn’t bruised. No dried blood, no marred tac suit. But his posture was wrong. His left shoulder sat higher than the right, tensed and pulling across his collarbone.

“Is your back?” she asked softly, setting down her mug.

He gave the barest nod. “Shoulder and neck are acting up. Pulls when I use the arm too much. Been pushing it. And that strains my back, too.”

“Sit.”

He obeyed without question, sitting on the rug in front of the couch with a faint wince. She shifted to sit behind him, spreading her legs on each side of his shoulders.

When she laid her hands over the thick knot of muscle at his trapezius, he didn’t flinch but he tensed, just slightly. Then he exhaled. The heat under her palms was sharp and wrong, deep where metal met skin. She let the current of healing rise gently from her hands, coaxing away the ache like drawing poison from a wound. It wasn’t dramatic -there was no holy glow, no divine wind- just a flush of cool relief that sank slowly into his muscles. His eyes closed as he relaxed.

“Sorry to bug you so late,” he murmured after a while.

“You’re not.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d wait it out, but…” He trailed off, shrugged with his good shoulder. “Saw the glow of the tv. Damn, this helps.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m glad.”

“I love it,” she said. “It’s my comfort watch, wouldn’t trade it for any other version.”

He was quiet for a while. Let her work, let himself rest a little. Then, after a long pause-

“You like this series? I think there is a more recent movie.”

He hummed.

She smiled, pressing a little deeper into the heat at his shoulder. He made a sound then -not a groan, not quite- but something close. She felt him soften beneath her palms.

When she finished, he didn’t move right away. Just sat there, with his head bowed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

He stood up a moment later, with his shoulder visibly lower, freer, and his arm hanging loose again at his side. He looked at her then and nodded, padding back to his room.

----

She got along with all of them eventually. Yelena dragged her into a chaotic kind of sisterhood almost immediately; Alexei insisted on teaching her Russian phrases she didn’t ask for; Bob started helping her when she baked and apologized whenever he accidentally thew something panicked with the blender’s noise; Ava didn’t speak much, but once left a book outside her door with the title underlined in black. John well… he was an asshole, but a tolerable one.

But with Bucky… it was different. There was something in him that calmed her when he was near. She couldn’t tell. He kept a certain distance, like it were policy. She never took it personally. Still, there were moments.

Moments when he stood too close to her while scanning for exits, like he’d throw her over his shoulder if a ceiling caved in.

Moments like the night he sat on the other end of the couch, halfway through Pride and Prejudice, and watched in silence, asking questions with real interest, even when John heckled him for it, something about finally a period older than him.

Like the time he set aside a tupperware for her when she got back late, grunting something about how the “jackals already circled the kitchen.”

Like how he always lurked just close enough when she healed others, as if assessing what it might cost her.

That’s why she asked him.

One night, after a debrief, while everyone else argued over takeout orders and Bob tried to fix the busted kitchen fan by staring at it too hard, she leaned in at the counter beside Bucky and- ��Teach me how to shoot.”

“No.” He didn’t even look up.

She raised a brow. “You don’t even want to know why?”

“Don’t care.”

“Bucky-”

“You already help people,” he said, clenching his fingers around the cheap ceramic mug with Yelena’s printed face. “You do enough. Let us manage the other part of the job.”

She didn’t argue. Not out loud. Just stood there, with heat crawling up her neck, unsure if it was from frustration or the way he said it.

----

The next morning, she didn’t bring it up again.

Bucky had said no, flat and final, with a tone like he was trying to crush the idea before it had a chance to grow legs. She wasn’t one to beg, so she thought of an alternative and left him alone.

So there she was, helping Yelena to repot the herbs Alexei kept murdering by accident in the kitchen.

Feet away, Bucky and Alexei sat in the common area. A soccer match was running on the TV. Bucky leaned back, with socked feet up on the coffee table, silent as ever. Alexei was cracking sunflower seeds and muttering something in a mix of Russian and fatherly disappointment.

Then came the voice.

“So! Guess who I’m gonna teach shooting after lunch?” John swaggered over, like he’d invented testosterone. “As a hint,” he added, wagging a finger, “it’s not the guinea pig.”

Bucky’s face soured instantly. His jaw ticked. “The hell does that mean?”

Alexei perked up. “Bob? Oho! I knew the kid would want to jump into heroic deeds instead of making waffles!”

“Nope.” John popped the p with relish. “Our group’s walking panacea.”

Alexei blinked. “Her? Da. Makes sense. She’s not bad with her hands. Has calm eyes, like assassin nun. I approve.”

John grinned like he’d just won a bet at someone else’s expense.

“I’m the only one here who thinks it’s a bad idea?” Bucky asked, frowning. “She doesn’t need to learn that,” he muttered.

“Uh, yeah, she does?” John scoffed, raising his brows like it hurt to explain. “Let’s face it, she’s super cool with the healing mumbo jumbo, but couldn’t reduce-”

“That’s not her role.” Bucky’s voice cut him promptly.

He stood slowly in all his height, his shadow stretching over the rug. “She doesn’t go on heavy missions. She takes care of us. She assists when we’re with civilians. That’s what she does.”

“And what happens,” Walker shot back, closing the gape, “when none of us are there to save her ass, huh? What happens the day it costs her life, or fucks up a mission because we’re too busy babysitting her?”

The room went still. Even the TV dulled down, like it knew something ugly was about to happen.

Bucky’s fists closed. “You’re not teaching her.”

John took a step forward. “Oh yeah? And what- what assembly named you the fucking leader, Bucky?”

No answer.

“I don’t take orders from you. She asked me. She’s a grown-ass woman who wants to learn, so, fuck off.”

Bucky moved.

Quick. Sharp. Enough menace in that single step that John instinctively squared his shoulders. But before anything snapped, Alexei clomped forward, stuffing himself between them in his garish yellow AvengerZ tracksuit like a human foam wall.

“Look, mister soldier,” he sighed, hands up like he was negotiating hostage terms. “He has a point, da? And she did ask. Haven’t you heard about women’s rights and determination?” He wagged a seed-covered finger. “Maybe in your time -and I’m not saying it was wrong- women belong in the kitchen, but-”

Bucky stopped listening.

She’d asked John.

She wanted this.

And clearly, she wasn’t going to let him stop her.

He shut his eyes. Counted to three. Didn’t make it to two.

“She’s not learning from you,” he told Walker, calmly. “If someone’s teaching her, it’s gonna be me.”

“Oh yeah?” John tilted his head, smiling all wolfish teeth. “And why’s that?”

Bucky snapped the case on the remote shut.

“Because I’m the fucking Winter Soldier.”

----

The tracksuit didn’t fit.

Or more specifically, the zipper refused to participate in any fantasy where it might slide up over her chest without protest. She wrestled with it anyway, with stubborn fingers pulling and tugging, trying to wedge the metal teeth up over her sports bra and the too-tight cotton clinging to her skin.

Her breathing had picked up. The top gaped open, exposing the rise of cleavage as she tried to smoosh herself flat enough to force the zipper into cooperation.

A quiet mutter escaped her lips. “Goddamn tits…”

Across the room, the door opened.

Bucky froze just inside the threshold.

There was a second -a full second- where all conscious thought left his brain.

He'd been expecting a shooting lesson.

What he got instead was the kind of image that used to be currency in the field. Back in the war, a photograph like that -wide hips, full breasts straining against cheap blue polyester- could’ve bought a man a whole week of smokes. Maybe two, if she smiled.

She wasn’t smiling now.

She was squishing herself with both arms, muttering curses, oblivious to his presence. He couldn’t move. His brain short-circuited somewhere between don’t stare and holy shit.

She heard the footsteps, finally.

Didn’t look up.

She thought it was John. For some reason she couldn’t picture, he told her they were going to start with rifles.

“Hey there, teach,” she called, still focused on the zipper. “Ready to show me your long gun?”

Silence.

It hit like a brick.

She looked up slowly, dragging her eyes from boots to black pants to the unmistakable slope of a broad chest under a grey Henley. Metal arm. Stubbled jaw. And that face. Oh god. That face.

Not stupid John.

“Bucky,” she breathed. The horror crept up her neck in a heatwave.

He blinked.

She scrambled to yank the zipper up in panic, gave up when it snagged under her chest, then crossed her arms to hide the worst of it, which only shoved her tits higher and made everything worse.

“I- uh- ” she stammered, backing toward the bench like she might vanish into the wall if she just concentrated hard enough.

Bucky’s voice came late. Gravel rough. “You’re not learning from Walker.”

She blinked.

“What?”

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. His jaw clenched once. “I’m teaching you.”

Silence again.

She wanted to die.

He hadn’t even blinked at her joke. No snort. No teasing comeback. Just that serious scowl and the ghost of something unreadable behind his eyes.

“I thought you said-” she started, still not daring to lower her arms.

“I changed my mind.”

Another beat.

Then, under his breath, almost too low to catch: “He’s not careful enough with you.”

Her heart kicked.

He didn’t look away. Just moved to the weapon rack methodically, like nothing had just happened. Like he hadn’t walked in on a living pin-up girl wrestling her zipper, talking about his long gun.

But his ears were red.

She exhaled through her nose and quietly regretted waking up at all that morning.

----

He handed her the rifle like it was made of glass.

“Start with the stance,” he instructed.

She nodded, lifting the long weapon with both hands. It was heavier than it looked, and she nearly tilted forward trying to keep it level. Her elbows wobbled. Feet shuffled on the mat. Then, squinting down the barrel, she bent her knees and leaned forward the way she’d seen in action movies.

Bucky made a noise.

Not a word.

Not a breath.

A noise.

His lips pressed into a line. He looked like someone who’d just bitten into a lemon and was trying to hide it. She was too focused to notice. Which was good. Because from behind, the way she bent into the stance, with her hips back, thick thighs under the stretch of her track pants, spine arched just enough to lift her ass like an offering, was testing his military-grade self-control.

He cleared his throat and walked forward like he wasn’t dying inside.

“Okay- no. You’re compensating too much.”

“What?”

“You’re sticking your ass out,” he said flatly.

She looked at him, half mortified, half amused. “Oh, so that’s your professional assessment, Sergeant Barnes?”

His ears turned red. “I’m just correcting your form.”

“Right.”

“Look,” he muttered, stepping behind her. “Feet shoulder-width. Hips square. Don’t tilt forward like that unless you wanna throw your back out.”

She smirked but followed directions. He reached out, -hesitated- then touched her shoulders very lightly to guide them back. She tensed under his hands. Not from discomfort, but something else. Awareness. Warm and prickly.

“Better,” he said, stepping to her side. His metal hand touched her wrist now. “Elbow up. Relax your grip. You’re not strangling the thing.”

“I didn’t know rifles were so delicate,” she murmured, still hyper-aware of him in her personal space.

He didn’t reply.

Because the sight of her shoulders pulled back, chest forward, arms braced in that stance, it was just too much.

In his head, he was screaming.

Professional. Stay professional. She’s trusting you. She’s trying. You’re a trainer. You’re a sandbag with instructions. Do not look down. Do not-

He looked down.

Her chest, barely contained by the track jacket, rose with each breath. A single drop of sweat slid down between her breasts and disappeared under the zipper that still refused to close fully.

He stepped back.

Farther than necessary.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll get the smaller rifle. That one’s… too much.”

He turned on his heel and walked off, jaw clenched, neck red, pretending he wasn’t about to re-evaluate every decision that led him to this exact moment.

They trained three times a week after that.

She was better than he expected, quick to learn, surprisingly capable once she stopped overthinking every movement. He still didn’t like it. Hated it, actually. But the touch-starved part of him -the one that had been pining for months- thrived under the excuse of proximity. Guiding her hand to the trigger. Adjusting her shoulders. Watching the way her eyes narrowed when she focused, the way she grinned when she nailed a shot. He got to stand close. He got to see her.

And she let him.

It was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

Like every other Saturday, he was chewing through a leg of an aggressively over-roasted chicken, sitting sideways on the kitchen bench with his legs stretched out and one boot hooked on the rung. Bob was mid-scrubbing dishes, with his sleeves rolled up and humming some offbeat tune under his breath.

Then came the death sentence.

“You know, it’s cool Yelena’s taking Y/n out tonight,” Bob said casually, flicking soap off his fingers. “It’s good they get to chill. She deserves it.”

Bucky didn’t look up.

Didn’t blink.

Just kept chewing.

Harder.

The meat turned to ash in his mouth.

Bob, kept going, oblivious. “I think they’re hitting that new place near the pier. The one with the neon sign that looks like a melting martini. Or a fish. Dunno.”

Across the room, something cracked.

The chicken bone, under Bucky’s grip.

“Right,” he said, voice like gravel. “Great.”

John didn’t miss a thing. He leaned back in his chair, with his arms crossed, smirking like a wolf catching scent of blood. “What? Don’t like your girlfriend going out?”

Alexei perked up like a dog hearing a squirrel. “Oh? You sly fox! Had it all covered up! So it wasn’t shooting lessons, eh?” He gave Bucky’s shoulder a hearty slap. “Were other kind of action? Da? Oh, Mister Soldier, you are so cool.”

Bucky threw him a sideways glare sharp enough to skin bark.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said flatly. “And I don’t know what the hell you're talking about.”

Nonchalance didn’t suit him, his jaw was too tight, his voice too frayed. The tension sat around him like a storm cloud in a leather jacket.

John made a wheezing sound and shook his head. “God, you are so emotionally constipated, Bucky. One day you’re gonna blow up and take half the damn tower with you.”

Alexei blinked. “Ima… I am missing something in translation. Constipation and feelings do not go well in same sentence.”

Bucky’s eye twitched. His glare swept across both of them like a loaded weapon.

“I’m going out.”

No further explanation.

He dropped the bone-scarred plate in the sink with a loud clang and left the kitchen without a backward glance.

----

The kitchen fell silent.

“God, it’s painful seeing him like this,” John muttered, rubbing his face. “It’s not even fun anymore.”

“Da. I say, what if we do our Men’s Night here!” Alexei declared, triumphant like he’d cracked the formula for world peace.

“What?” John wrinkled his nose.

“We drink! We bond! We order from that new shawarma place with the 2-for-1 coupons I got as a special gift!”

“They give those to everyone. They hand them out on the street.” Walker muttered.

“They recognized me,” Alexei said, offended.

John gave him a look. “I’m not wasting my Saturday with you losers. Bucky brooding in a corner, Bob vacuuming in sweatpants, and you doing… whatever it is you do on Weekends.”

Alexei stared at him, unimpressed. “Oh, because you sure have a lot going on tonight, American Bachelor. Come on. It will be fun. Do it for Mister Soldier!”

“He doesn’t even like me.”

“Da. But he would. After tonight, eh? Alcohol and food strengthen friendship!”

“You do know we’re supersoldiers, right? We can’t get drunk. Or high, for that matter.”

“Uh-” Bob’s voice floated in meekly from the sink, one squeaky-clean dish still clutched in his hand. “I’m not proud of this, but… I could help you with that.”

Both heads turned toward him.

“See, Ava found… well, a lot of Asgardian ale once. Inside a wall. Don’t ask. She never told anyone.”

Alexei blinked. “Inside a wall?”

“I saw her disappear into the surface and come back with a bottle,” Bob shrugged. “That’s how I know.”

John frowned. “What wall?”

Bob pointed.

Without another word, John walked over and punched straight through it.

Plaster rained down, dust curled into the air, and nestled like a hidden altar, six bottles gleamed behind cracked drywall.

Alexei gasped like he’d just witnessed a birth. “I told you! Men’s Night! It is fate!”

John coughed through the dust. “This is stupid.”

Bob set the dish down. “We’re doing it?”

“We’re doing it,” Alexei grinned. “For Mister Soldier.”

“What if he doesn’t drink?” John asked after a beat, crossing his arms as the dust started to settle.

“Oh, he will,” Alexei declared, solemn and sure. “He is so manly. So cool. Like brooding tiger in small kitchen-”

“God, stop worshipping that asshole,” John groaned. “He’s not in the mood. Might not even show up.”

“Well…”

Two pairs of eyes slowly turned toward Bob.

“What if,” Bob began, twisting his hands, “we give him special muffins?”

“Da!” Alexei clapped. “With sprinkles and that Nutella thing stuffing! You’re such a good boy.”

“No- I… I meant a muffin that could, uh… make him a little merrier,” Bob clarified, dropping his gaze.

“Well Nutella muffins do that,” Alexei reasoned, proud of himself.

John ran a hand down his face. “Oh my god. He’s talking about getting Bucky high. Drugged. Doped.”

There was a pause.

John straightened his back with a pleased smile.

“And I’m so in.”

It was late afternoon when Alexei thudded into the common room, with blind optimism. “Bucky! Tonight we bond. Men’s night. Like real men. With food. And feelings.”

Bucky didn’t even look up from where he sat, sharpening a knife that didn’t really need it. “No.”

Before Alexei could plead, Bob shuffled in, all wide eyes, hands tucked behind his back like he’d rehearsed this exact moment in the mirror. “It’d be nice to chill a little,” he said softly. “Just… hang out. Please?”

Bucky looked up, met the kicked-puppy eyes, and his jaw worked like he was chewing gravel. “I’ll… think about it,” he said finally, voice low. “I’m tired.”

“You told me you don’t get tired,” Alexei pointed out smugly.

Bucky muttered without meeting his eye, “Emotionally tired.”

Silence stretched uncomfortably.

Then Bob, eyes lighting up with now or never, reached behind his back and presented something small and innocent, cupped in his palms. “At least take one of these. Y/n made them earlier. John and Alexei almost emptied the tin.”

He didn’t even get through the sentence before Bucky’s hand reached out and snatched the muffin like it might vanish if he waited.

“She made them?” he repeated, already halfway through the wrapper.

He bit in fast, like someone might try to steal it back. The sponge was warm, soft, sugary- but with something odd underneath. Something behind the sweetness, bitter at the roof of his mouth.

He frowned.

But then he glanced at the supposedly empty tin on the table and got distracted, scowling harder. “Should’ve saved me more,” he muttered, licking a crumb off his thumb.

Bob and Alexei shared a look.

Showtime.

----

It was already dark when she stepped out of her room, one heel on, one still clutched in her hand, the dress tugged halfway down her thighs as she hobbled to the hallway mirror. Short black dress, modest enough by most standards, but the V neckline dipped just enough to remind her why she always paired it with the golden earrings, something to balance the look. She only found one.

“Yelena!” she called out flatly. She didn’t even have to elaborate.

“Maaaybe I borrowed them?” the younger woman called back from her own room, with no hint of guilt.

“Yelena.” She sighed.

“And maaaybe I lost one in the kitchen or somewhere near the couch while dancing. But in my defense, I looked very good with them.”

With another sigh, she slipped on her second heel and made her way toward the common room to check. If she were lucky, Bob might have found it while doing his usual nighttime sweep of crumbs and inexplicably misplaced socks.

But as she turned the corner, '90s music hit her ears, loud, obnoxious, unapologetically nostalgic. High laughter. Male voices, overlapping and hollering. Glasses clinking. A plastic thunk against a tabletop.

She blinked.

What the hell-

The sight made her stop short.

Bucky, John, Alexei, and Bob sat huddled around the coffee table, with a half-collapsed Risk board between beer bottles and empty snack bowls. Bob looked like a benign god of war, deploying his little plastic soldiers across Asia while sipping from a glass of water. John was mid-yell, stabbing a finger at the board. Alexei was roaring with laughter, slapping his thigh so hard the couch creaked.

But it was Bucky who made her forget why she’d come.

He was laughing.

Not a scoff, not a breathy exhale of amusement, but laughing. Open-mouthed, with his body leaning back against the couch like he hadn’t carried the world on his shoulders for years. He made a circle with one hand and penetrated it with his index finger toward John in an unmistakably rude gesture, still chuckling as he stole a red soldier from the board and hid it behind his ale bottle.

She almost tripped.

What the hell were they drinking?

The three supersoldiers were clearly tipsy. No other word for it. Pink-cheeked, all glassy-eyed, loose-limbed. Whatever they’d found had bypassed their enhanced metabolism. She would bet Bob had something to do with it, but couldn’t prove it. But there he was, the only one completely sober, amused, controlling half the world map without a single drink. Still, it was a responsible thing to do, since no one knew what could make the void peek through some crack in his mind.

But it wasn’t Bob’s fault she couldn’t take her eyes off Bucky.

God. He looked… relaxed. Warm. Happy in a way she hadn’t seen before. It panged her chest in the worst -best- way.

Don’t look at him. You're here for an earring. She focused on Bob. Nice, predictable, unenhanced Bob.

Bucky’s eyes tracked her every move. Every sway of her hips. Every sparkle of skin not covered by the dress. His mouth parted slightly. His back pressed against the back of the couch as if he were bracing himself for a blow.

She stopped at Bob’s side and leaned slightly over the table. “Hey,” she said softly, “you haven’t seen one of my earrings around here, have you? Yelena borrowed them and thinks she left one in the kitchen or something.”

Bob blinked, like waking from a gentle trance. “Uhh- n-no. But I’ll help you look. Maybe it rolled under something?”

John caught Bucky’s expression and elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Dude, that's so uncool."

“What?” Bucky grunted, eyes not moving from her.

“Have some dignity, man. You're practically drooling.”

Bucky didn’t look at him. Just muttered, “I think it’s time to tell that cookie to take a powder and go cut some rugs.”

John stared at him like he’d finally lost it. “I don’t understand half a word you say. What powder? What rugs?”

Alexei slammed his pint down. “I think Mr. Soldier wants to invite her to dance.”

“No. No-no-no.” John’s voice lowered to a sharp hiss as he leaned toward Alexei. “As much as I love to see him crash and burn, I’m not letting him throw himself into the fire before he’ve even boarded the damn boat.”

He turned back to Bucky. “Maybe it’s not the best time, Buck. She’s going out. This is men’s night. You gonna ditch us?”

There was almost hurt there, buried deep under John's usual smugness, but there. Maybe seeing Bucky relaxed, laughing, not shadowed by silence or some kind of grief, had touched something vulnerable in him.

Bucky, still staring across the room, shrugged one shoulder lazily. “Well, yeah. Look at 'er. If someone’s gonna swag with her, it’s gonna be me.”

John reeled back. “What is this? His ‘40s casanova era? And what- don’t say swag. It sounds dirty. And old.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening. He was already shifting, gripping the armrest with one hand, the other adjusting the hem of his shirt. Calculating.

John reached out and gripped his wrist. “Don’t.”

“What?” Bucky finally turned to look at him. “You wanna make love to her too?”

John made a strangled sound. “Okay. Ew. Don’t say it like that. I’m not trying to fuck her, I just-”

“I think Mr. Soldier means… if you are interested in her, or like her. In that manly, old-timey way of speaking,” Alexei chimed in, grinning like a gossiping aunt.

Bucky raised a brow, slowly and deliberately. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business either way.”

And with that, he rose to his full height, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and turned toward her, toward the woman in black, who had just straightened, with her earrings forgotten, because now he was coming.

----

She looked at him like a doe caught in the road, because one thing was the usual Bucky: Serious, broody, dry, grumpy. But this?

This was something else.

This was Bucky Barnes with his hair tousled back in a calculated sweep, like he’d done it a thousand times in mirrors with lipstick on his collar. Like he knew he looked good, knew it with the finger-snap confidence of a man who used to leave dances with someone on his arm every single time.

And he was walking toward her like he owned every inch of the floor he stepped on. Chin up, loose shoulders. A sexy smirk blooming slowly across his face.

“The fellas tell me you’re steppin’ out with Yelena tonight?” he asked, his voice was velvet and low, laced in something that sounded far too close to a purr.

Her lips parted. Her throat forgot how to work.

Behind him, John made a dramatic groan and slapped a hand over his own eyes.

“Uh- yeah,” she managed, dragging her eyes away from the collarbone peeking out of Bucky’s shirt. “She’s taking me to some club I’ve never heard of. Girls’ night. More or less what you’ve got going here, but…”

“But more high-tone?” he cut in, lifting one brow like he already knew the answer.

“A little,” she conceded, suddenly very aware of her bare shoulders and the heat of his gaze. He was looking at her like a man who knew all her tells.

He tipped his head, just slightly. “Well, sweetheart, you show up in a swell little number like that, and those clubs’ll be thick with chiselers tryin’ to make time.”

She blinked. “With what?”

“Chiselers,” he repeated, solemn as a preacher. “Sharp-dressed fellas with quick grins and slick intentions.”

Behind him, John groaned again. “Oh my god, he’s time-traveling. Somebody stop him.”

But Bucky wasn’t done. His voice dropped lower, the charm coming out his lips like it had never left. “Lucky for you, I’m around to keep those lounge lizards in line.”

She blinked. “So… you wanna come with us?” she asked, trying to keep her tone dry, unaffected, casual, though her voice pitched up at the end like it didn’t get the memo.

“More like with you, but yes,” Bucky said, straight-faced and warm-eyed, like he hadn’t just rearranged the atmosphere around them.

A flash of heat bloomed up her face. She opened her mouth, fumbled. “Uh- but Yelena…”

Bucky turned, scanning the room like a man surveying a poker table before placing a bet. His gaze landed on Bob, sitting primly with his water glass, a solitary yellow pawn in hand.

“Maybe…” Bucky drawled, one hand finding his hip, the other gesturing vaguely toward Bob without breaking eye contact, “Bob can come too. And we four can go have a little fun. What d’you say?”

Her stomach dipped. What.

This was definitely not the quiet man with a staring problem she secretly admired.

Asking her out? Softly trying to ditch Yelena? Proposing some sort of double date?

Her eyes dropped instinctively to his mouth, then to the Risk party behind him, as if the answer were hidden somewhere between the scattered pieces and unlabelled bottles.

He was too close. That was the problem. He smelled like leather and woodsmoke. His pupils were wide, swallowing up the blue like he'd stepped out of a memory and into a daze. He looked like he wanted to crawl under her dress and make himself useful there.

She narrowed her eyes, dropping her voice. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” said everyone, far too quickly.

Alexei raised his glass like a shield. “Mr. Soldier here only wants to bond a little, eh? Have a nice ni-”

“Bucky, honey,” she said, turning back to him, her voice as gentle as her hand reaching up to fix the front of his shirt, “what did you drink? What did you take?”

“Maybe I wanna take you-,” he started, voice syrup-slow.

She pressed a finger to his lips before the rest of that sentence escaped his mouth. He went quiet instantly, grinning behind her touch like a smug idiot. His eyelashes fluttered. He looked drunk on her.

Fuck.

She spun toward the other two supersoldiers, stalked over, her heels clicking sharply across the floor. She leaned in close enough for Alexei’s eyes to widen and John to shift in his seat.

“Tell me what the hell is going on,” she whispered-hissed. “And don’t give me that ‘Asgardian ale’ crap.”

They both looked, for once, appropriately ashamed.

“Well…” Alexei rubbed the back of his neck.

John offered a shrug that could be described as some level of guilt. “Maybe… we kind of doped him?”

Her jaw dropped. “You what?!”

“Just to loosen him up!” John hissed. “Like- get him to chill a little! Maybe the combination of getting him high and drunk was a bit much, but hey- he’s smiling!”

“Oh my god,” she hissed, looking back at Bucky.

Who, by the way, was currently spinning her missing earring between his fingers like a prize he’d just won in a festival just for her, and winked when she caught him.

He Winked.

That’s why he’d cornered her with those warm, ruined eyes and soft, rakish confidence. It made sense now, so painfully obvious. It could’ve been her, Ava, Yelena, or a delivery person with the wrong timing. A warm body and a curious face.

She exhaled, slowly, willing down the disappointment. Right. Of course.

He was intoxicated. That was all this was.

She crossed the floor toward him, gently curling her hand around his wrist.

“Let’s get you some air,” she said quietly, tugging him away, ignoring how he let her lead him with that boyish smirk still playing at his lips.

She tossed a glare sharp enough to gut a man over her shoulder. The three still seated at the table winced like kids caught stealing candy.

Out on the balcony, the air was cool. Bucky leaned against the sliding glass door, running his hands through his hair, with a lazy grin stretching his mouth.

“Well, I wanted to dance,” he murmured, tilting his head toward her with a little shrug, “but I ain’t complainin’, dollface.”

“Bucky.” She kept her voice even.

“Hm?” he blinked slowly, eyes glossy and confident.

“You’re high.”

He scrunched his nose. “No, I’m not.”

“And drunk,” she added.

“Doll, you know I can’t.” His smile was crooked, defiant and soft.

“But you are,” she insisted. “So I’m going to sit with you a little, then see if I can purge it from your system. Yeah?”

“I’m not feelin’ bad.” He tipped his head back, eyes half-lidded as he looked at the sky. “In fact, I don’t remember feelin’ this good in decades.”

Her chest clenched.

That wasn’t fair. That made it worse. What was it to her if he wasn’t hurting anyone else? If he wasn’t hurting himself?

But he was. He was hurting someone. Her.

This -whatever he was doing- acting like he wanted something more with her, only now, only tonight, only when he was under some substance’s spell.

“Alright then,” she said carefully. “If you feel good… just stay with the guys, hm? I’ll go out with Yelena. Tomorrow you can tell me who won at Risk.”

He shifted visibly. His mouth fell open like he wanted to argue but couldn’t yet find the words. His brows drew together.

“If you don’t wanna go out,” he said slowly, “how ’bout a dance here?” His voice was soft again, tentative, hopeful. “Don’t make me beg, doll.”

Her heart stuttered.

“How about another day?” she said gently, stepping back just enough to put some air between them. “Trust me. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“For not acceptin’ a dance?” he asked. “You think I’m makin’ a fool outta myself?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just-” she began.

“Today’s the sixth of July,” he interrupted her. His tone shifted, serious, deliberate. “This mornin’ Ava ate the last of Walker’s sugar cereal and he pissed in her apple juice's bottle outta spite. We trained after breakfast. I taught you how to shoot a movin’ target with a Beretta, and you gave me three cherry candies you swiped from Yelena’s stash ‘cause you know I like the red ones.”

He took a breath. Didn’t blink.

“We didn’t see each other at lunch,” he continued, “but I know you went out to buy heels ‘cause you don’t own a proper pair and you were nervous ‘bout tonight.”

His gaze softened again. “I ain’t impaired, doll. Just-“ he reached up, combing his fingers through his hair, tousling it further, “uninhibited.”

She froze.

“Maybe I’m sayin’ the first thing that pops in my head. Maybe I’m talkin’ like a radio host from a bygone decade ‘cause I don’t give two shakes about findin’ the modern way to tell you what’s spillin’ out.”

He stepped closer.

“Okay,” she muttered, trying to sound stern, and failing. “One dance. And that’s it. But you’ll have to guide me, because-”

She didn’t get to finish.

Bucky caught her hand like he’d been waiting all night for the excuse, and in one smooth pull, he brought her against him.

His vibranium arm slid around her waist protectively. But it was the other hand -the warm one- that pressed low on the small of her back with possessive pressure. She barely managed not to gasp.

“‘Course I was gonna guide you, sugar,” he murmured, with mischief. He grinned, a flash of something old -young- too self-assured for the Bucky she knew. She pressed her hands on his shoulders, and then he started to move.

There was no music playing on the balcony. Just city sounds. Wind. The buzz of far-off traffic. The flicker of neon on glass.

But he was hearing something. That much was obvious in the way his head tilted, his shoulders rocked, and the cadence of his steps moved like an echo from another decade. The rhythm was slow, nostalgic. Something big-band, maybe, soft horns and a crooner’s voice threading the moment together in his mind.

Through the glass behind him, John, Alexei, and Bob were stacked like dumbasses at the edge of the living room, jockeying for a better view, faces half-lit by the apartment’s glow, whisper-arguing like overgrown kids at a school dance.

She looked away from them. Looked up at Bucky instead.

He was humming now. Not to her. Not even aware he was doing it, maybe. Just lost in whatever old tune was spinning inside his head, something warm, velvet-smooth. He had a ballroom behind his closed eyelids.

“You did this often?” she managed.

“Almost all weekends,” he said, words slurred not by drink, but nostalgia. His palm shifted slightly on her back. “Used to cut a rug like nobody’s business.”

“I bet you did.”

“Won a jitterbug contest in ‘39,” he said seriously, then laughed like he surprised himself remembering that. “Didn’t even plan on enterin’. Some girl pulled me in off the floor and said, ‘You got legs, use ‘em.’”

She swallowed.

He was… different. And not just because of whatever he took.

The natural charm. The half-smirk. The way he looked at her like she was a sure thing, and he was still the kind of man who could offer something worth saying yes to.

She felt her eyes go wet. Damn.

Because tomorrow he’d wake up with a predictable headache and maybe beat the shit out of John just for sport. He’d lecture Bob with that kind exasperation he reserved for people he secretly cared about, barking something about “drugging someone without their consent isn’t quirky, it’s a felony.” And he’d ignore Alexei entirely because you could never win against that man’s stupid arguments about good intentions and “power of friendship.”

But above all, he might not remember any of this.

Or worse, he would. And it wouldn’t mean to him what it meant to her.

That part was the sharp edge. The one she couldn’t dull with a smile or a healing touch.

One thing was secretly pining for him. She could survive that. She has been surviving it. It was almost fun, in its own pathetic way, watching him when he taught her shooting, stealing hours of intimacy disguised as routine. A hand on his arm as she guided him through a breathing exercise. The quick flick of her thumb across his temple to soothe him after a flashback. Getting to touch his skin under the guise of professional concern when she healed him.

That was her safe little corner of yearning. Controlled.

This was something else. This was another tier entirely. Pressed against his chest. Held by him. Stared at like a woman and not a teammate or a responsibility.

And she knew -knew- that it was going to cost her.

Because you didn’t survive someone like Bucky Barnes looking at you like that and walked away unburned.

Their bodies moved slowly, barely more than a sway. His breath warmed her temple, and the weight of his metal hand was solid at her waist. He kept humming that soft tune that probably hadn’t been on any airwaves in eighty years, and for a moment, -God for a moment- she let herself pretend.

That they were somewhere else. Somewhen else.

Her fingers pressed gently on his shoulders.

She didn’t want it to end.

But it had to.

She drew back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were still too bright, pupils wide and swimming in the low light from the tower. His lips parted like he was going to say something devastating again, something pretty and unfiltered, something he’d never say sober.

So she shook her head softly before he could.

“We should go back in,” she said, her voice barely louder than the city breeze.

Bucky’s brow furrowed, confused. “Already?”

She nodded, squeezing his shoulders lightly before stepping back. “One dance. That was the deal.”

He followed her retreat with a small frown, stumbling half a step like he wanted to close the gap again. “I could walk you out. Or tag along. You, me, Yelena, Bob-”

A smile tugged at her mouth, bittersweet and careful. “Not tonight.”

She reached up, brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips.

“C’mon, sit down,” she said gently, nudging him toward the cushioned bench tucked against the balcony railing. He obeyed, blinking slowly, draping his metal arm over the backrest while his flesh hand reached to one of hers as she crouched in front of him.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured, maintaining his gaze, “you’re gonna hate them for what they did. You’re gonna yell at John, probably kick his ass. You’re gonna scold Bob. You’ll try to ignore Alexei, and fail.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “That sounds about right.”

“And, about this…” She hesitated, vaguely motioning her hand between them. “You’ll pretend that it was nothing.”

“That’s not fair to say,” he whispered.

She nodded, swallowing the ache. “No. It’s not. But it’s how this works, right?”

His fingers caressed hers. “You think I’m gonna forget?”

“No,” she murmured. “I think you’re gonna remember. And wish you hadn’t.”

She stood before he could answer, slipping her fingers from his. Her voice was quiet but firm as she added, “Stay out here a little. Cool off. I’ll go find Yelena.”

But his hand caught hers again. Not tightly, just enough to hold her there.

“What if I ask again tomorrow?” he murmured. A too sober question for someone that wasted.

She raised a brow, trying to match his tone with a smirk. “With a massive hangover and the outburst of vengeance in your heart, as Alexei would say?”

“Yeah.” He said it without blinking. He licked his bottom lip, not quite smirking now. “Even then.”

And then she turned, walked back toward the glass door, ignoring the frantic scramble of limbs as Bob and John tried to act casual, as if they hadn’t been spying through the window like gremlins. Alexei didn’t even pretend to feel guilty.

It stunned her for a second. Just a second. She held his gaze, then slipped her hand from his slowly. Didn’t step back yet. Just stood there, close enough for his knees to brush the hem of her dress. Then, with the gentlest smile on her mouth:

“If you ask tomorrow… you’ll find out.”

She didn’t care.

Bucky leant back on the bench once she disappeared, with the city wind tousling his hair, and still feeling the ghost of her touch on his skin.

He smiled. Slow and crooked.

Because it hadn’t been a no, she would’ve said so if it had.

This way… she stayed unexposed.

It was a careful maybe. A thread left loose for him to pull, if he wanted to.

Because saying yes tonight would cost her if he didn’t follow through tomorrow.

Unless he reached. Unless he asked.

Unless he remembered.

And he would.

What a coincidence to find you right here

Qué casualidad fue encontrarte justo acá

Me so high, you so alluring

Yo tan puesto, vos tan apuesta

How sophisticated it was to invite you to flirt

Qué sofisticado fue invitarte a coquetear

Me so slow, you so elegant

Yo tan lento, vos tan regia

You're beautiful, you're beautiful

Sos hermosa, sos hermosa

Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @sophiemass @alagalaska

Dividers by: @/enchanthings

[sunbreathingcoward]

YIPPEE ty for the tag!!

Favorite color: Red and black(my entire wardrobe is red and black... my life kinda revolves around the colors at this point, though red is my favorite favorite)

Currently reading: fanfic right now... "The Gemini Paradigm" by Paryton, "Is there anyone out there?" by FieldsofRed, and "Robins Eternal" by Bekbek

Last song: Skin Hunger by Die So Fluid, genuinely one of the most slept on bands ever. (was listening to Deathconciousness earlier, as suggested by prev<3)

Last Film: I don't actually watch that many movies... it might have been when i rewatched "I Saw The TV Glow" for the millionth time?

Last Series: "The Apothecary Diaries" i think... i watch mostly animes, but also don't watch anything. I really prefer reading, i just watch animes at work to pass the time

Coffee or Tea: i absolutely hate coffee, i'm really sensitive to the taste... tea is so good, i love black tea mostly. I also love fruity tea, ofc

Working on: i've never done only one project at once... always fifty things together. making a patch for a hand me down jacket from my dad that has a huge hole in the back, making new patches for my patch pants, making a bone wind chime, processing more bones for other projects, learning to crochet by making a million tiny flowers, and once in a while doing random tiny side sewing projects

TAGS: i dont actually talk to many people on here... but @succuviiussy is super cool

Nine People I Wish I Knew Better

AAA TY @rose-margaritas for the tagggg

Favorite color: pink, all day every day

Currently reading: I just finished Sunrise of the Reaping (after binding the Hunger Games series for the very first time right before), so I think my next book is going to be This is How You Lose the Time War

Last song: Tough Luck by Laufey (it has been on repeat ALLLLL DAYYYYY)

Last film: genuinely cannot remember, I am not a film person

Last series: Etoile (working on my third rewatch, this time with my theatre friends)

Sweet/savory/salty: Salty, generally

Tea or coffee: Redbull or tea, or just straight up eating espresso beans

Working on: Does finishing my degree count? That, learning to play 2 new instruments, and I’m 100 words into a fic (for the first time in years) that I cannot promise I will finish

Tagging (no pressure): @twisted-tales-told @robyngoesrogue @cinnamon-notes @aslongasitistold @giyuulatte @justcallmeemily @annafromao3 @my-name-is-jimmy (because I miss you pookie) @skuzzinfish

[bairdthereader]

Intentional Touch, Respected Space: A By-Episode Study, Part 4.2

This is the space where their love grows in safety.

S1E4: Secret (Section 2 of 2)

[Analysis of the first part of the episode is here. Previous posts in series: S1E1; S1E2; S1E3]

Nick and Charlie have returned to their safe space together, and they understand, to some extent, the newest facet of what they are to each other. On the one hand, the relief of having their safe space reestablished is incredible; on the other hand, the outside world and all its challenges await on the other side of Charlie’s bedroom door. As he prepares to leave, Nick starts to ask a question that makes him visibly uncomfortable, so much so that he can’t even finish voicing it.

Charlie, his tentative, recently repaired smile faltering, knows exactly what Nick is trying to ask. He’s been here before. He responds with an (unfortunately) oft-practiced “yeah, it’s fine,” trying to reassure Nick even as memories of Ben’s secrecy must be plaguing him, and his own desires are shunted to the side.  

The difference here is that Nick clearly knows that what he’s asking is hard for Charlie. His face as Charlie turns to get the umbrella is full of remorse and distaste for the agreement he just exacted from Charlie. When Charlie hands him the umbrella—with just the slightest bit of attitude that recalls the “idiot” conversation from earlier, but nothing like his usual plucky sarcasm—Nick manages to find a way to laugh, though it’s shaky. The relief in that laugh and the gratefulness on his face isn’t just for the umbrella; it’s for Charlie’s understanding of what Nick needs at that moment, for the sacrifice he understands (incompletely, at this point) Charlie is making.

Neither of them is feeling sure-footed yet; both are attempting to figure out what kind of boundaries their altered shared space has and how it impacts their interactions going forward. They’re both trying to understand where touch comes into this scenario, in a semi-public space after Nick has just asked to keep their affection a secret. They both want a more tangible goodbye, a meaningful touch. It’s in Charlie’s toned-down smile and longing “bye,” and it’s in Nick’s aborted wave and slight downward look of regret. But then there’s Nick’s lopsided smile and his little huff of gladness and it’s clear he is also happy that he and Charlie found their way back to each other.

After a moment standing at the door looking dreamily after Nick, Charlie decides that, no, that goodbye was not sufficient after all. That they deserve something more authentic and reassuring to both of them. He rushes out into the rain—sans umbrella! These boys!—and calls after Nick.

Stopping under the incredibly insufficient umbrella, Nick and Charlie exchange hi’s (Charlie’s with a bracing gulp afterward) approximately 10 seconds after their goodbyes. After an initial moment of being happy to see Charlie (again, it’s been 10 seconds and they still want to greet each other), Nick asks if he forgot anything. He knows he didn’t, but Charlie’s brief silence has him worried, despite the fact that Charlie ran through the rain to get to him with a smile on his face. While Charlie glances around, carefully checking that their privacy and therefore Nick’s need for covertness are at least somewhat ensured, Nick gathers himself with a little, slightly panicked swallow. Is Charlie having second thoughts now that Nick has asked him to hide their relationship? Is he about to pull away, step out of their shared space?

But no. When Charlie turns back around, his intent is clear on his face, and Nick looks right down at Charlie’s lips—a silent, respectful request from Charlie and enthusiastic agreement from Nick, all in a second—and Charlie’s able to say with confidence that, yes, in fact, Nick did forget something.

Charlie knows what they both want, so he closes the space between them, holding Nick’s neck and face with one gentle, intentional, calming, claiming hand, watching as Nick’s eyes go once again to his lips in an unspoken language of both entreaty and agreement, and he leans in for a real goodbye kiss, eliminating the previously unsure space between them.

When they pull back, it’s like two magnets pulling apart—it takes force to separate them. Now that they’ve established that this kind of touch belongs in their relationship, parting is harder. To say Nick is stunned is an understatement, and this happy, confident Charlie knows it. He nods decisively—this is the goodbye they deserved—and says "okay" in a way that confirms for both of them that they're on stable ground together again.

And now Nick knows what it’s like to kiss Charlie when the terrain between them is mapped, when their safe space is secured, when he’s sure of Charlie’s affection. There’s joy and giddy euphoria and some disbelief on his face, an overwhelming recognition of the potential scope of this relationship and the completely staggering enormity of the emotions he’s feeling, as he turns back toward home and looks briefly up at the sky. He and Charlie are together.

Arriving at school the next day is a happy affair. Nick’s cheerfulness is so marked that Imogen comments that "something’s different." She attributes it to a hairstyle change, partially as an excuse to touch Nick (without permission), but what she’s really picking up on is that he seems happier and more contented than usual. Nick worries that Imogen knows he’s been kissing a boy. When it’s clear that Imogen suspects nothing, Nick’s carefree attitude returns and he endures the rest of her teasing good-naturedly, smiling to himself when she leaves. After all, he gets to see Charlie next.

Charlie, meanwhile, walks into school so fast he’s about to break into a jog, smiling exuberantly until he reaches the door to their form room. He pauses, taking a moment to gather and calm himself, to dim the smile just a bit, reminding himself that he and Nick are a secret to everyone but themselves.

He can’t tame that smile completely, though, once Nick is in view. Nick is waiting with poorly concealed impatience, looking at the door, sitting with his arms crossed to contain his exploding heart, characteristic lopsided smile in place. A smile that only gets bigger as Charlie gets closer. There’s a moment as Charlie is setting his things down, when Charlie is still trying to contain his own smile, and Nick’s smile falters just a bit in response as he watches Charlie intently, silently, waiting to make sure that things are still where they left them under the umbrella.

But when Charlie sits and looks at Nick, and his enthusiastic “hi” is out in the universe, Nick is comforted and reassured by the familiarity of their affectionate greeting. His “hi” is quiet, but filled with relief and satisfaction and simple gladness that Charlie is sitting next to him again; there’s even a deep breath followed by a small sigh of contented settledness. Charlie is nearly giddy with happiness, possibly recalling the way he felt the first time he sat down next to Nick months ago. Back then, the space between them was unknown and blank. Now that space is a sanctuary that, in public, conceals and protects their new private closeness. The familiar, comforting routines of friendship blend with the sparkling newness of their deeper relationship, setting that space between them aglow.

We next see a moderately concerned and suspicious Mr. Ajayi informing Charlie that there’s a “boy” waiting for him in the art room, giving Charlie a chance to let him know if this is a situation Charlie is not on board with (Mr. Ajayi, you saintly soul). But Charlie happily, even perhaps a little proudly (he is Charlie, after all, so this is muted) tells Mr. Ajayi that he’s meeting a rugby boy (code for straight boy crush). So Mr. Ajayi leaves Charlie and Nick with his tacit approval, and Charlie strides confidently into the art room, where Nick is sitting with the same barely contained eagerness he displayed in form. Now, however, they’re alone, and Nick can be true and honest; he can say “I missed you” with complete sincerity and unabashed enthusiasm.

Charlie, typically, responds with a bit of sarcasm, unable to fully accept the implication of Nick’s statement—that he likes Charlie enough to want to be with him, pretty much all the time, and that those four hours felt interminable. Nick has seen Charlie deflect positive attention enough times not to take this too personally (though we have to think he wishes that Charlie was able to verbally return or validate his feelings at least a little bit). Not only does Nick not take offense to this teasing, he then checks in with Charlie about his friends and whether spending time with Nick would upset them; he doesn’t want this hiding to cost Charlie more than it already is. Nick's also subtly confirming that Charlie would in fact rather be having lunch with Nick than with his friends. Charlie makes a bit light of this too, but he’s still reassuring Nick in his own way that this was a decision Charlie made willingly. Then, to make it all quite clear, Charlie reaches for Nick’s hand under the table, instigating the first intentional touch since their parting under the umbrella. It’s hidden from view—Charlie’s respecting Nick’s request, and honoring their understanding safe space, while still making grounding and affectionate contact. Nick returns the affection by swiping his thumb over Charlie’s fingers, confirmation that the touch is wanted and the meaning behind it understood.

With this reminder of the safe emotional space they have between them, Nick confesses (again) that he’s glad to be away from his usual friend group. That they’re nothing like Charlie. Yet again, Nick is offering Charlie proof that he admires and values the things in Charlie that make him different, proof that he’s choosing Charlie. (Note that there’s no concern over Nick’s friends missing him; it’s not even expected by Nick himself.)  Charlie clearly doesn’t even know how to respond to this, indeed can barely believe it or internalize it, but it’s good for him to hear nonetheless.

They continue to hold hands throughout their conversation, keeping that line of emotional connection firmly in place, bridging the physical space that the public nature of the school day forced on them. It has to be noted that this moment is different from Charlie’s meetings with Ben in almost every way that matters. There’s no skulking, no leaning against walls in dark corners, little, if any, real secrecy (open doors, Mr. Ajayi knows, anyone could theoretically come to the art block at any time), just a semblance of privacy. The room is bright and light, positive and filled with color. Charlie clearly chose the location and arranged the meeting, giving him more agency than he ever had with Ben. This is a safe and welcoming place for Charlie. Charlie’s comfort here is obvious, and his affection and respect for Mr. Ajayi make it clear to Nick that this is a safe space for him, too (despite Mr. Ajayi’s initial ‘evils’). With the comforting physical touch of the handhold and the knowledge of safety in both the actual space of the art room but also the safe space he’s built with Nick, Charlie speaks aloud about the bullying he experienced, which then leads, with a noted drop in mood, to talk of Ben and his "making" Charlie keep them a secret.

Charlie immediately realizes from the crestfallen look on Nick’s face, the slight additional slump to his shoulders, the breaking of eye contact, that Nick is reading more into Charlie’s comment than Charlie meant by it. Nick’s guilt over asking for secrecy is plain on his face, and the idea that he might be causing Charlie even a fraction of the pain Ben caused him is horrifying to Nick. It makes him feel like he’s tainting that trusted space between them, and he withdraws inward briefly. Charlie reaches out with his other hand and grasps Nick’s—which seems to have loosened a bit—in both of his, drawing Nick closer to himself, intentionally pulling Nick back into that safe space, making sure Nick is listening to him. Charlie tries to reassure Nick, both with this touch and with his words. As Nick’s fingers tighten slightly around Charlie’s hand in acknowledgment, Charlie states emphatically that their situation is different, that Nick is nothing like Ben.

In most ways this is true, and Nick tries to rally, but clearly, neither of them has managed to convince the other, or themselves, that the nature of their relationship is, in fact, completely different. Nick's responding "yeah" is stilted and unconvincing, but still he leans forward and, presumably, returns Charlie’s double handhold. Even if his own guilt is gnawing at him, and he still suspects he's harming Charlie in some way, he’s trying to stay connected and keep that space between them intact. Charlie’s subdued smile tells us he knows Nick doesn’t completely believe his own “yeah,” and that Charlie knows there’s little else he can say to improve the situation in the moment. He’s made sure that Nick knows Charlie still wants him there with him, and that they can take the time and space they need to figure out their new dynamic—how to be in the world—together.

---

The next space they have to navigate together is rugby, which has always held its challenges but now introduces an uncomfortable element of conflicting loyalties for Nick and added guilt for Charlie. Charlie’s been moved from reserve to active player for an upcoming match and struggles to work up the nerve to tackle other players in practice. This earns the ire and frustration of his teammates, who feel Charlie is letting them down. Nick has to walk a fine line between concern for Charlie, guilt at the knowledge that Charlie is going through this at least in part because Nick asked him to join the team in the first place, and some real sympathy with his teammates for their frustrations. At the end of practice, Nick walks back to the changing rooms with some of the lads, leaving Charlie lagging behind, and the space between them expands, becoming thin and brittle under the pressures of this environment. Charlie, likely feeling guilt about his performance and worried that Nick is more upset with him than he is in reality—again, Ben’s conditioning of Charlie to make him feel not only pathetic but complicit in his own humiliation asserts itself—internalizes the team’s (and Nick’s) frustrations and tries to work them out by practicing more. . . alone.

As Charlie and Nick jog around the track before the match, they’re ahead of the pack slightly and by themselves—apart, but not alone, as they often are—and there’s a socially acceptable bit of space between them as they talk. All of Charlie’s friends are supporting him, and while Charlie can’t seem to understand why his friends would choose to spend their time in this way—"I told them they didn’t have to, but Elle said they wanted to be supportive”—Nick is both pleased for Charlie and perhaps wondering if any of his mates would support him in the same way. But Charlie doesn’t recognize this, and instead interprets Nick’s slightly brusque response as concern about Charlie’s friends seeing them together and learning the secret truth. Charlie rushes to reassure Nick that he won’t tell his friends about their relationship, and Nick, who had not been thinking along those lines at all, responds with a brief head shake and gruff, offhand “yeah, good, thanks.” Nick then tries to check in with Charlie, to see how this is affecting him, asking “you sure it’s okay?” To which Charlie responds, almost automatically, “Yeah. Of course.” Nick frowns, once again not fully believing Charlie or at least continuing to feel badly about the situation. But before this (very needed) conversation can continue, Harry forcefully interrupts, as he is wont to do.

When Charlie sees his friends arrive, he gets out from under Harry’s grip and gives Nick a little (again, socially acceptable, rugby-laddish) back-of-the-hand tap to his upper arm to get his attention and let Nick know that Charlie is parting ways with the group. Nick stands for a while, indecisive, as the rugby lads peel off in one direction, and Charlie to his friends in the other, leaving Nick briefly (but sadly, not unusually) alone. Nick watches from behind a literal physical barrier, cut off from Charlie, as Charlie affectionately greets his friends, as Darcy blatantly asks Charlie about his relationship with Nick, and as Charlie struggles to hide the nature of that relationship from his friends with blatant and painfully delivered lies.

Charlie looks over at Nick and sees him frowning, then immediately checks in with Darcy to see if there are rumors circulating, the need to protect Nick and keep the secret always at the forefront of his mind. Charlie’s shoulders are pulled up, his hands tug at his shirt sleeves, and he generally gives off an air of intense discomfort as he has to deceive his friends with Nick nearby, looking morose and, from Charlie’s point of view, upset about how the conversation is proceeding. Nick is so focused on this interaction, on his position as an outsider looking in, on Charlie’s obvious unhappiness, that when his own friends walk by and greet him, he spares them only a brief wave and barely a smile, before turning his attention back to Charlie again. The whole situation is clearly chafing hard, and Nick is beginning to recognize that not only does it make Charlie unhappy and put strain on Charlie’s deeply important friendships, it makes Nick discontented as well. This is a moment when the space they have between them is involuntary, when it is required by secrecy and circumstance, and it no longer feels good or right; its shape is distorted and unfamiliar.

Once again, Nick and Charlie are standing together and apart from their teammates as they watch the opposing team file out onto the pitch. Charlie takes a completely warranted nervous step back and bumps Nick’s arm with his elbow, an unintentional touch from which he almost immediately recoils. It’s a touch that would look completely accidental from an outside perspective, but that represents, to Charlie, everything he thinks he’s not supposed to do and feel around Nick in public and even, to an extent, in private. His desire for comfort, closeness, and reassurance are all things he’s been taught he doesn’t deserve and shouldn’t want, and the rule of secrecy only compounds those suppressive feelings for Charlie. Nick is clearly a bit surprised and regretful that Charlie feels the need to apologize at all, but there’s no time for him to respond now.

Nick now has to navigate one of the most challenging instances yet of trying to walk the ever-thinner line between his rugby lad persona and the person he wants to be with Charlie. The space between Nick and Charlie is fully public right now, and in one of the least hospitable places it could be. All interaction between them here would be heavily scrutinized within a very narrow framework of accepted demonstrations of masculinity. So Nick, who is keenly aware of this in a much more visceral and personal way than he was before, is trying desperately to captain his team to victory (which requires equal attention to each of his teammates), keep an extra attentive eye on Charlie without appearing to do so, and manage lingering feelings of guilt about his culpability in Charlie’s pain during the game, all while a running loop of concern about how all his actions appear to everyone else—and to Charlie, who still often misinterprets Nick’s intentions—is running through his head. He doesn't quite manage to achieve all of these things.

At various points in the match we see Charlie’s concern for Nick—quiet, but visibly there. We also see Nick’s concern for Charlie, sometimes more vocal (certainly more vocal than with any other teammate) but always from a (necessary) distance, and often followed by self-suppressive facial expressions or body language. Charlie especially feels this distance, the stretching of the safe space between them and the lack of intentional, reassuring touch to ground him. He feels disconnected from this version of Nick who must be so many different things to so many different people. And while he feels this painful divide, he also knows that Nick has a lot of responsibilities outside of their relationship; he’s conscious of the secret they’re keeping and what kind of behavior Nick can display within that boundary; he’s aware, as Charlie always is, of their surroundings and how not only does he have to be a chameleon and become what he’s expected to be in this space, but now, because of their relationship, so too does Nick. While this act of blending in protects the space between them from the outside world, it also hides Nick and Charlie from each other; they can’t see each other clearly through the masks they’re both wearing. On top of and because of all of this, Charlie is harboring intense feelings of guilt for even wanting or expecting any kind of closeness at all with Nick in this scenario. His feelings that he’s not worth all the trouble Nick is going through intensify, and his spiral of self-blame and guilt continues.

---

When Charlie is tackled to the ground for the second time and injured enough not to get back up immediately, Nick is involuntarily, forcibly rooted to that line he walks. Charlie is hurting, and Nick feels trapped by his conflicted feelings about how he should act around Charlie in this arena, his own request for secrecy, and his misplaced guilt around Charlie’s injury. He wants to reinstate and enter the safe space between them, wants to reassure himself that Charlie is okay and to care for Charlie, but is held in place by the potential negative perception their audience would have of that kind of action.

These separate and equally misplaced guilt spirals continue when Nick visits Charlie in the infirmary after the match is cancelled. Charlie is happy to see Nick but almost entirely self-restrained, completely still, while Nick pauses in the doorway, already looking a bit chagrined and waiting for Charlie’s acknowledgment. Their exchanged “hey” is muted, with none of the usual enthusiasm, but Nick enters the room fully after Charlie greets him in return. Yet again, they’re having to reestablish the boundaries of their safe space, but now they’re doing it blindly, unaware of the silos of guilt they’ve each been in, with an incomplete understanding of the ways they’ve each been stretched thin by the pressures of not just the match but all the limits they’ve put on themselves; they only know that something isn’t right.

Nick scans Charlie’s body a couple of times, looking for additional injuries, asking Charlie if his nose is okay. When Charlie says he doesn’t know, Nick’s hands clench briefly before he carefully sits very close to Charlie on the infirmary table, intentionally allowing their legs to touch, showing Charlie that he wants to be near him in this way, that he wants the closeness back, that he cares more than he felt he was able to show on the pitch. Charlie, meanwhile, sits nearly completely still, hands clenched together in his lap; he wants that care and affection from Nick so badly, but he doesn’t believe he should want it, or that he deserves it, so he keeps his hands—and everything else—to himself.

When Nick has inspected Charlie’s nose and said, with relief, that he thinks it looks fine, he looks for another way to keep showing Charlie care and affection, another way to bridge the divide that has grown between them. Even though both boys are quite literally covered in mud, Nick tells Charlie, with a tiny huff of laughter, that he has mud on his face. Charlie returns the tiny laugh, as they both try to edge back to a place of ease together. As Nick wipes the mud off Charlie’s face—something Charlie could have done on his own but which Nick clearly chooses to do himself—he swallows repeatedly, opening and closing his mouth like there’s more he wants to say (or do). Leaves float around them, and the same pink glow surrounds them as during Charlie’s daydream about Nick declaring his eternal devotion. Nick is clearly feeling some of the things Charlie had hoped he would a few months ago, and for a just a little while, Charlie watches Nick’s eyes and enjoys this moment of tenderness. The physical space between them has closed, and they’re close, possibly, to entering their safe emotional space together as well.

But then when Nick is finished wiping Charlie’s face and his hand drops, the mesmerizing and comforting touch removed, Charlie’s compulsive guilt reasserts itself. He looks away, and down, breaking eye contact as he apologizes. Nick, clearly completely confused and thrown, says “What?,” frowning and looking intently at Charlie’s face. Charlie looks back, and as he begins to list all the ways he thinks he’s “messed up,” he rubs his hands together, repeatedly pinching his own palm, sinking into himself as he calls himself clingy and annoying.

Nick can’t understand how Charlie could think this—looking back at the day with any kind of objectivity shows a restrained, audience-conscious Charlie who did nothing to earn either of those adjectives. When he continues, “I’m making this so awkward,” Nick looks away, down at his own hands, frowning as Charlie continues “You wanted to keep us a secret and I’m messing it up.” Charlie is trying desperately to comply, to remain within the boundaries of their relationship as he perceives them, with all of his warped self-perception and negative expectations of Nick’s reactions based on Ben’s abusive treatment. He’s cracking under the self-imposed pressure, and the guilt comes flooding out. Nick, on the other hand, feels fully responsible for what happened to Charlie during the match, guilty that he didn’t help more both during the match itself and the practices that preceded it, and is now reminded again that his request for secrecy is causing Charlie distress.

Nick looks up toward the ceiling, just as he did after the kiss in Charlie’s room, preparing himself to say what’s on his mind, what he knows Charlie needs to hear. He shakes his head a little, at Charlie’s words and at himself. Charlie looks increasingly concerned at this gesture, steeling himself, but then Nick says “I’m the one who should be saying sorry.” There’s direct, sustained eye contact, a short, sharp sigh—this is intentional Nick—and extreme sincerity. It’s enough to at least get Charlie’s attention; there’s a blink and just the slightest hitch to his shoulders, a brief rising above his own thoughts, as he waits for Nick to say whatever else he needs to say.

Then Isaac walks in and the moment is broken. Nick is reminded immediately that it could have been anyone—a teammate, a coach, a medic—and though he’s clearly uncomfortable and shifts his body so it’s not turned toward Charlie anymore, he doesn’t actually get up. He decides to stay next to Charlie. As Isaac does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he knows exactly what’s going on between Nick and Charlie, both boys’ discomfort increases—Nick’s out of a toxic mixture of fear, confusion, and lingering guilt, and Charlie’s from watching Nick withdraw and believing that his self-accusations have been proven true; someone outside of their safe space now knows the secret, and to Charlie, it’s his fault.

As soon as Isaac leaves, Nick gets up with a marked throat clearing, saying he’d “better” go, followed by a gulp-filled pause. The outside world has intruded on their shared space again, and Nick’s reminded that his absence from the rest of the team might be noticed. Half of him worries about that, while the other half feels guilty for caring what they think at all and how that caring in turn affects Charlie. Charlie assures Nick that Isaac won’t say anything—half of him wanting to reassure Nick, the other half feeling guilty that Nick needs reassurance in the first place. Nick gives a gruff “yeah . . . okay” in response, and with a conflicted, self-focused frown and look down, he hurriedly leaves without a goodbye. Charlie caves inward; in some ways, this went exactly the way he thought it would.

They're back in their silos.

[If you'd like more infirmary scene analysis, I recommend @stopper-my-heart's post here.]

[causalityparadoxes]

The Fallout show was very fun im nglngl

[lov3lycosmos]

2:03 A.M (and everything feels right)

Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers

Summary: a late night convenience store run turns into a unexpected confession

Cosmos note: I lied I might post more instead of working on my new series, I'm procrastinating someone motivate me omg 😣

my library!

The soft blue light of your bedroom TV flickers against the walls, casting gentle shadows across the cluttered comfort of your space. A half-empty cup of tea sits on your nightstand, long gone cold, and a cozy blanket is curled around your body like a second skin. The sitcom playing is halfway through an episode you've seen a dozen times, but it keeps you company in the quiet hours of the night.

You hear a gentle knock, followed by a soft creak of your bedroom door opening. There’s only one person it could be.

Jeongin peeks his head in, hair messy and eyes squinting from the hallway light. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of joggers, and his sock-clad feet barely make a sound as he steps in. “You’re still up?” he asks, voice husky with sleep.

You glance up, amused. “So are you.”

He grins, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep. Kinda figured you weren’t either.”

“You figured right,” you say, patting the space next to you on the bed.

Jeongin makes himself comfortable, stretching out next to you with a soft sigh, legs tangled in the blanket. “Wanna do something stupid?”

You look at him, curious. “Define stupid.”

He grins wider now, eyes sparkling despite the time. “Midnight—or... okay, post-midnight—run to the convenience store down the street? Come on, I’m craving banana milk and those honey butter chips.”

You laugh quietly. “It’s literally 2 AM.”

“And?”

“You’re insane.”

“And you love it.”

You sigh dramatically, already pulling yourself out from under the blanket. “Fine. But if I get arrested for loitering in my pajamas, I’m blaming you.”

He hops off the bed with a victorious noise. “Totally worth it.”

The streets are quiet, blanketed in soft city silence. The occasional car rolls by, headlights washing over the pavement, but for the most part, the world feels like it’s yours. You and Jeongin walk side by side, your arms brushing now and then as your steps sync up without thinking.

He looks over at you, his hoodie hood pulled up now against the breeze. “Kinda nice out,” he murmurs. “Cool, but not too cold.”

You nod. “It’s peaceful.”

Jeongin looks ahead again. “Yeah. I like it. When it’s just… us.”

You glance at him, something warm fluttering in your chest.

The corner convenience store glows like a tiny beacon, its neon signs buzzing softly against the quiet. The bell chimes as you walk in, and Jeongin immediately veers toward the fridge for his banana milk. You go toward the snack shelves, picking up some ramen for later, a couple candy bars, and—after some hesitation—one of those triangle kimbap things you always mess up opening.

He meets you at the counter, arms full of sugar and salt and very little nutrition. “Okay,” he says, setting it all down. “I may have gone a little overboard.”

You look at his haul and snort. “You’re feeding a small army.”

He leans in, stage-whispering, “An army of one very hungry boy.”

You pay for your stuff, he pays for his, and then you both walk back out into the stillness. Instead of heading straight home, Jeongin nudges your shoulder. “Let’s go to the park.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to eat on the grass like gremlins?”

He grins. “Yes. Exactly like gremlins.”

The park is even quieter than the street, lit only by the occasional lamplight and the glow of the moon. You find a grassy patch under a tree and settle down side by side, your snacks spread out between you.

Jeongin cracks open his banana milk with a satisfied sound. “This is exactly what I needed.”

You take a bite of your kimbap—successfully opened this time—and hum. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“Midnight snack picnic? Kinda romantic, right?” he teases, nudging you.

Your heart skips. You laugh it off. “Romantic? We’re in sweatpants.”

Jeongin shrugs, suddenly quiet. “Still feels kinda romantic to me.”

There’s a pause. A long one.

You look over at him, and find him already looking at you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen. He looks like he’s thinking hard about something, like maybe this moment means more than either of you are saying.

So you ask, voice gentler now, “What?”

He takes a breath, then exhales slowly. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Jeongin picks at the corner of his snack wrapper. “How long we’ve lived together now. How you’re always… here. Not just physically. Like… here. In my life. Constant.”

You smile, heart squeezing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking up at you again. “And how sometimes I wonder if you feel the same way about me.”

Your stomach flips.

“I mean,” he rushes on, “I know we’re best friends. Obviously. But lately it’s been feeling like… I don’t know. More? Like I’ll be brushing my teeth and think about you brushing yours. Or I’ll hear a song and immediately want to send it to you. Or I’ll see something funny and I’m already smiling because I know I’ll tell you and you’ll laugh and—”

“Jeongin.”

He stops.

You shift closer, knee brushing his. “I feel it too.”

He blinks.

“I think about you all the time,” you say softly. “Not just as my roommate. Or best friend. Just… you. All the time.”

His eyes go wide, then glassy, like he wasn’t expecting to hear that out loud.

You add, voice small now, “I think I’ve been falling for you for a while.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence.

Then, without warning, he leans forward and kisses you. Soft. Tentative. Like he’s still not sure he’s allowed.

You kiss him back without thinking, tilting your head, letting it linger. It’s sweet and slow and exactly what you thought kissing him would feel like—warmth blooming in your chest and the feeling of everything finally clicking into place.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, still smiling. “Okay,” he says. “Good. That’s good.”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because now I don’t have to pretend I don’t want to kiss you every single time you smile at me.”

You nudge his shoulder, still grinning. “You’re a sap.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

You sit like that a while longer, under the tree, snacks half-eaten and forgotten, the world quiet except for the wind and the soft, giddy thump of your heart.

At 2:30 AM, the world felt perfect.

And for the first time in a long time, home didn’t feel like the apartment behind you—it felt like Jeongin, sitting next to you in the grass.

Taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @heechwe

(I'M STILL ADDING PEOPLE TO TAG! comment on any post, send an ask or a message if you want added!)

[johns-walker]

I never really cared for John Walker in the Falcon TV series, but after watching Thunderrbolts, I kinda need him, bad. So if you’re willing to write a request, may I request just John, devouring reader in a kiss? Like, hot and heavy, pushing her against the wall 👉👈

for some reason i never even got notified of this ask but guess what i saw it in fact!!! also yes. yes yes yes.

john walker/f!reader

cw; making out, almost smut (again LOL)

Rooming with a superhero probably wasn’t something that you anticipated, or something that you could have even tried to predict the outcome of. Or, you were pretty sure he was a superhero? He was an Avenger, but before that he wasn’t an Avenger and he was just depressed and also living with you because he was going through a divorce. It was just supposed to be a minor living situation because you were both kind of out on your asses, but now you were… friends? Friends, but you were attracted to him and also he came home covered in blood and three days late half of the time and sometimes you simply weren’t sure how you were ever supposed to feel about the situation. 

Tonight was no exception to the rule. 

You were sitting on your couch when he walked in, his face bruised and his cheek split open. It was the same thing that it always was, with you patching him up. Typically, though, he would go to bed right after and you would talk a bit in the morning. But he had become friendlier with you since he joined this team. His mental health was doing better, and you were becoming closer. Regardless of how nervous it made you, you liked it. 

“Why do you sit up waiting for me?” He asked, leaning against the kitchen counter while you fixed him a cup of tea. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I came home at midnight and you were ready for me to get here, even though I’m late sometimes.” Late often, was more like it. But that really only made you sound worse in terms of the situation, so you didn’t feel the need to correct him.

“Because I care about you.” It was a simple answer, but one that you fully meant. You cared about him, and you were worried about him not coming home. You knew it was more than that, but he had always seemed pretty oblivious to that fact. Until now, at least. Now, he was looking at you like he could see right through you, and it was making you incredibly nervous. 

What you couldn’t have known was that he had a very candid conversation with Yelena and Ava earlier about his feelings, about the fact that he very clearly had a relatively intimate relationship with his roommate who they were certain was probably in love with him from the way that he described her. 

“Walker?”

He seemed to be pondering, moving closer to you. You held out the mug for him, assuming in your heart that was what he wanted. But he said nothing, and even though he took the mug, he simply set it down beside you. 

“John?” 

“Tell me to stop, if you want me to stop.” When you felt his hand on your jaw, cradling your cheek and tilting your face up so you would have to look at him, you knew there was some small part of your mind that was telling him that he should stop. You were friends, and you didn’t want to ruin that because of your complicated feelings toward him. But the way that he was looking at you told you that you had no reason to be so nervous, that your complicated feelings really didn’t need to be all that complicated anymore. 

When you didn’t tell him to stop, he didn’t bother hesitating as he pressed his lips against yours. It was experimental at first, neither of you really knowing what it was that the other person wanted. But when it became clear that what he wanted was you, and that what you wanted was him, neither of you really felt that need to be all too timid. 

It felt as if every single emotion that you had been trying to conceal within yourself was coming out. All of the passion that you felt toward him, the need to kiss him and be with him and tell him that you were painfully and obviously attracted to him and cared about him more than you were supposed to care about a friend. Everything came out, and he seemed to be enjoying it. The loss of tension, but the need to get somehow closer all-but consuming the both of you. 

His kiss became needy, and you were desperate for more. 

You didn’t notice that he had your back against the wall until you were there, his body trapping you between it and the flowery wallpaper that he had claimed he would change when you both decided to move into this apartment. Each second, it felt like his kiss got deeper. You could feel body pressed against yours, his lips against yours so roughly that it almost felt like he was trying to consume you whole. 

His teeth sunk into your bottom lip after a moment, a whine leaving your throat that almost embarrassed you. Walker’s bite was nearly enough to hurt, nearly enough to leave a mark on the inside of your mouth. You almost wished that he would, that his teeth would indent you so when he was away you could still feel him. He seemed to take note of that passion, of that lingering clinginess that you always tried to hide when he was away for prolonged periods of time. 

He didn’t mind that you grabbed onto his coat, pulling him tightly against you. I return, you didn’t mind when his hand snaked behind your head and tugged at your hair. He pulled your head back just enough so that he could trail his lips down your jaw, a needy sigh leaving your mouth as you felt his lips pulling your skin in between them. There was a desire building in your core that you couldn’t deny, a need to be even closer to him that was growing inside of you. 

After a moment, you grabbed his chin to pull his face back to yours. He let you kiss him with all the passion that you had been wanting to get out. The worry, and the desire, and the feelings that you had been trying to conceal. His hands moved to grab onto your hips, to keep you pressed against him as tightly as he could. You knew that you both wanted more. You could feel it in your stomach, in your chest, and in the way that he seemed to be subtly trying to get your leg up and over his hip so he could press against you even tighter. 

At some point, you would need to discuss this, but perhaps the moment wasn’t when you finally gave him what he wanted – when you could feel the evidence of his arousal against you. With one movement of his hips against yours, you knew that you would give into your desires before either of you even considered having a serious conversation about this. 

“We’ll talk-” He stopped talking after a moment, his voice rough, needy – breathless. “When I’m done with you.” 

It was as though he was reading your mind, but it wasn’t a surprise that you were both seemingly having the same thoughts about this situation.

With a smile, you pulled him back down to your level, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. “Sounds good to me.”

Of all of the long nights that you had since Walker became an Avenger, this was certainly the best one to date.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 05. ANGEL OF SMALL DEATH

a/n: i am apologizing now and a chapter early because this will be the last bit of happiness before the real angst settles in. i'm talking absolute pain. but for now we get to indulge in logan being content and happy with having his honey exactly how he wants. this chapter wasn't supposed to be this long, but i'm feral for this man. so here we are. enjoy the equivalent to a beach episode in a tv show before the real pain begins!

summary: when the world grows silent and time seems to stand still, you and logan find a reprieve in the serenity of your apartment.

OR nasty fucking him all over the small space until he sees god.

word count: 8k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (m receiving), sloppy toppy to the highest degree, p in v sex, choking, cumplay, spitplay, dirty talk, wade being a peeping tom, just wade, squirting, slightly dom!logan, accidental edging, face fucking, creampie, logan being a freak and his honey matching him entirely.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He slept. For the first time in near a decade, he slept long after the sun rose in the morning sky. He resided in a vast emptiness of nothing but darkness. No nightmares, no screams, no fear that ate his heart bit by bit until all but a shell remained. Merely the echo of your breaths as you lay sprawled across his chest—naked skin pressed intimately atop his.

The curtains on your bedroom window remained open from the day prior—allowing the sun to stream in. Catching across your face and forcing your eyes to open with a squint of displeasure. You stirred gently, a sigh pressed to the hard chest against your cheek. The one that rose and fell in time with his heart beat.

Surprisingly he didn't snore as often as you expected. The first night he spent in your bed he was rigid. Unsure of where to lay, or how to curve around your body. Now he remained a heavy mass that slumped into your soft mattress, one arm spread to your side of the bed and the other a weight on your back.

Even in sleep Logan was adamant on keeping you right there. Pressed tight enough to feel every shift, every deep and sated breath.

A sore ache built between your thighs as you turned your head to look at him—admiring the way his face was devoid of a frown. After the fifth orgasm (three around his cock and two from his mouth) you had no choice but to shove him away. The promise of more on the tip of your tongue—as long as you got a chance to rest.

Although you were positive if he tried to fuck you right away you'd be screaming. And not from pleasure. The raw pain of your still leaking cunt is what kept you from shuffling up his body to sit on his now hard cock. It stirred against your stomach, pressed deliciously on your warm skin. You could feel it begin to drip, pooling against the trail of hair that led downward.

Moving slowly, you managed to maneuver yourself down his body—checking with each shift to see if he remained asleep. The sight made you smile; knowing he felt safe enough to find some solace in a dreamless night here in your bed. You watched him toss and turn on Wade's couch long enough.

For now he’d get a chance to actually breathe peacefully. His body no longer at the ready for a fight that would never come.

"Pretty," you sighed, eyes trailing down his stomach to the patch of hair nestled at the base of his already hard cock.

A pearlescent drop slipped down the vein, his chest a steady rise and fall even as you carefully peeked your tongue out to lick it up. You froze when his body shifted, a heavy sigh falling past his lips. Waking him up was the last thing you wanted—given the state of unrest he found himself stuck in for two weeks—but the thought of finally getting to taste him kept you going.

The salty tang of him spread along your tongue as you licked at his cock again. This time less afraid of feeling his body shift. He seemed to be on the very precipice of consciousness. But sleep would hold him captive for just a bit longer.

You moaned softly when your lips wrapped around him fully—hand gently holding what you may not be able to fit in your mouth. If last night told you anything, it’s that James Howlett was not a small man. In fact you had proof to uphold that statement. Yet that alone wouldn't deter you from taking him as deep as you could; even if you choked.

The stuttered breath that left his chest made your heart race the further you went. Pulling off quickly, you let your spit drip out of your mouth, coating his length to help you slide down a bit easier. The wet echo of your hand filled the room—his breaths deep and raspy as he started to feel the tendrils of pleasure take hold in his body.

Biting back another whine, you swallowed him down until he hit the back of your throat. Your hand a steady rhythm along what you couldn't fit. He pulsed on your tongue; precum dribbled down the back of your throat. The taste made your head spin—his cum now leaking from your spent cunt. Coating the inside of your thighs with a combination of you and him.

A match made in the entanglement of two universes. Colliding into one another without mercy.

"F-fuck," he groaned, hips shifting forward and choking you on his cock. You spluttered for breath as he caused you to gag—spit leaking down to his pubic hair.

Even through your gasps for air and soft breathy whimpers, he remained asleep. Lost in a dream of you sucking his cock greedily back into your mouth. Eyes overflowing with tears and lungs begging for just a bit more oxygen. He fucked your mouth gently, hips thrusting unconsciously to stay in that wet heat. To feel just a bit more of a white hot ecstasy you helped him chase.

Cupping his balls, you felt your spit coat them in a sticky layer. You wanted them in your mouth. Ached to feel them on your tongue. And with a gasp of the crisp morning air, you shifted—sucking on them with a soft moan of need.

Your hand pumped him rapidly, building his high until there was no denying what was happening. Scraping your teeth along the soft skin of his balls, you felt them draw up tightly. Logan's eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of air, his face tilting to see you between his thighs—your chin and mouth covered in a mix of your spit and his precum.

His mouth opened to speak, to give you a filthy comment you'd no doubt feel down your spine. Only for you to take him down your throat in one swift thrust. Tugging sharply on his pulsing balls to draw him right over the edge.

He came with a raw shout of your name, spilling into your mouth with enough cum to choke you. Until it began to leak out around your spread lips—trailing the sticky mess down your hand. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe—head pushed back into the pillow and back arched with the force of his release. And you kept going.

You licked up every trace of his spend with an eager tongue and sighed out moans. A hand yanked you up his body, fingers gripping your chin to keep your mouth open as you looked at him with eyes glazed over—your body covered in a sheet of sweat.

"Share," he rasped, tugging you closer.

Smiling, you cupped his chin and guided his open mouth towards yours. Allowing whatever cum remained on your tongue to drip down onto his awaiting taste buds. The shiver that ran down his body caused you to clench around nothing—empty and aching for this to continue.

He moaned, pulling you in for a kiss that had you clambering into his lap. Your tongue sliding against his and fingers delving into his bedhead of hair. The passion from last night still lingered in your veins. A silent plea for his touch to drag down your naked form; for him to consume you entirely. Yet you remained content like this—in his arms, lazily kissing until you had no choice but to come up for air.

"I can make us breakfast," you murmured, running your thumb along his cheek—your breath a warm caress on his face.

A hum purred in his chest, hands cupping your ass and kneading the flesh with a sleepy grin. "That sounds good."

"Got anything in mind?"

His eyes trailed down your throat to the way your breasts were pushed up against his chest. You felt your nipples tighten at the heat from his gaze. The want in his touch that left you craving for more. Vanessa really wasn't kidding when she told you he'd lock you in this apartment. Ravishing you every way he knew how; showing you everything he learned in his two hundred years on Earth.

"I do," he replied, voice low and thick with sleep.

"Yeah?" He nodded, an air of serenity lighting up his eyes. The sight felt new—unlike the Logan from last night—but you could feel the warmth of it slide down your spine. Encasing you in a cocoon of domesticity that thrived in the afternoon sun. "Pancakes?"

"Mm." Lips trailed along your jaw, tracing the line of your neck with gentle bites that were soothed by his hot tongue. "I've got somethin' else in mind honey."

Heat pooled between your legs, slicking your skin with a fresh wave of arousal. You felt his nostrils flare—your scent thick in the air and drawing out a side of him that begged to take a bite out of your plush form. He wanted to eat you alive. It sent a thrill of fear through his body.

You longed to explain that you felt the very same way about him.

A low growl emanated from your stomach, pulling him free from the shackles of lust that clamped on his neck. The flutter of your heart was only furthered by his soft laugh; hazel eyes now a bit clearer as he listened to the cues of your body.

"Actual food then," he said, tapping your ass lightly to shift you when he clambered out of bed. Searching for the jeans that were thrown to the side.

You tried to swallow the flare of disappointment that soured your stomach and Logan could tell. He knew you wanted to stay there tangled beneath the sheets. Your bodies stuck to one another long enough to cause discomfort. Fuck he'd never wanted anything more. He could sense the danger in letting his heart be filled by you—the fear of this going a different way.

Silencing it was near impossible when all he wanted to do was listen to it.

Pressing a kiss to your furrowed brows, he handed you his flannel. Watching in adoration as you struggled with the buttons. Similar to him twenty four hours prior.

Not bothering with his belt, he walked out into your living room—seeing the trail of clothing left in your wake of need. He gathered what he could, tossing your robe to the back of the couch. His boots placed by the foot of the coffee table. While you stumbled behind him on unsteady legs that still shook from last night's activities.

Pride flared hot in his chest at the sight; his cock twitching in interest at your messy state.

"I can make the pancakes," you announced, trying your best to walk to the stove without your knees buckling beneath you.

He laughed, reaching an arm around your waist to tug you back and into his chest. "I know how to make pancakes bub."

"And if I don't believe you?"

His lips pressed to your ear, teeth biting at the lobe. "I used to be a teacher honey. Who do you think kept those kids fed most of the time?"

"The other X-Men," you huffed, though the smile on your face told him you were more than happy to stay in his arms. "Weren't they professors too?"

"Yeah right," he scoffed. "Jean was considered a fuckin' fire hazard and forget Scott. He couldn't even find the kitchen if he wanted to." He walked you both towards the counter, turning you to sit you on it with a messy kiss that had his teeth digging into your lip—pulling at it gently with a groan. "Storm was better. She knew how to handle the little shits when they came up with strange food demands."

You smiled, curling your arms around his waist. "I like hearing you talk about them."

A flicker of grief filtered through the joy, reminding him of what he once had. But as usual, he smothered it with a puff of air—craving the taste of a cigar between his teeth he could bite down on. Something to let his pain sink into other than you.

"It's been awhile."

"Well you should talk about them. They're your family Logan."

His body went stiff, hands pressed flat to the counter, and you let the words sink into his skin. You watched his mind come to life with old memories long past. Good memories. Ones that involved cooking in a kitchen full of students and jokes with the people he loved most. He felt the weight of grief begin to lift off his chest with each moment of laughter, each piece of love he once forgot.

All the horrors he'd endured buried the good under a wave of bleak nothingness.

To have them back brought a light he forgot once belonged.

"They uh..." He cleared his throat, moving to grab a mixing bowl you stored somewhere deep in your cabinets. You weren't one for cooking often; the dinner with Logan being an exception. "I forgot how it feels."

"What?"

"Havin' them back. Even if it's just through this." He smiled—more to himself than anything—and flicked the stove burner on.

A part of you knew that was the end of the conversation for now. After spending decades avoiding his past mistakes—his trauma that might never heal—he finally felt safe enough to open the door. Even if it barely remained cracked enough for you to peek through. This was him taking a step towards keeping true to the promise he uttered against your lips last night.

The intent of staying no longer an echo of words that held no weight behind them.

There existed—between you and him—a sense of fulfillment that sprouted from the seeds of the you he knew before. A version that was capable of handling his grief, because you shared in it. You mourned his family for one sole reason: they were your family too.

If you could give that to him now, you would. Offering him a place of serenity despite the chaos he lingered in was enough. You could see it on his face—the peace he'd been searching for...now in his grasp. He'd be damned to let even a sliver of it go now.

The scent of batter being poured onto a grill filled your apartment, setting the hunger in your body alight with a new vigor. He moved with such fluidity and ease. As if he already memorized the layout of your kitchen from the last time he was here; his hand reaching for things in drawers you forgot were there. You traced your gaze along his bare back, down the curves and sinews of his muscles that rippled beneath his skin.

Skin you clawed at with need; that ripped beneath your nails and healed over seconds later. You longed to place your mark on his body, to see a trail of hickeys lead down into his jeans. But that remained a disappointment you could live with. As long as he let you try over and over again.

"Careful honey." His hand pressed to the counter, back hunching as his nostrils flared. "I gotta feed ya before anything else can happen."

"I'm not-"

He turned, eyes narrowing at the way your thighs pressed together to alleviate the growing ache. "Then spread 'em."

Your breath grew heavy, eyes lidded as lust washed over your body with a demand you couldn't fight again. The sight of you practically panting at the sight of his grin—so sure that he'd find you dripping onto the marble counter—left you clamoring for some semblance of control. Surely you could wait until he'd finished cooking. You needed food more than him.

But the longer he watched you—scrutinizing every part of your trembling form—began to shift that truth to something else entirely.

"C'mon bub. Show me the mess you're makin'." A whine echoed in the small kitchen as he flipped another pancake onto the plate. "Be good and I'll reward you."

Fuck.

Your legs parted, flannel pulled up, as you revealed the slick lips of your cunt that begged for his attention. A groan rumbled in his chest, his eyes greedy in the way he devoured the sight of you so ready for him to slip right in. The spatula nearly bent in his hand—the smoldering scent of a forgotten pancake became an afterthought as he stepped closer.

"Logan the stove," you breathed.

He flicked it off without looking, the small pile of pancakes slid beside you with a fork. "Eat."

"But-"

The pointed look shut you up within seconds, his hands parting your thighs to spread you even further. Until he was standing before you with intent hammering in his heart. Cutting through the pancakes, you moaned at the taste as it hit your tongue. Only for Logan to drop to his knees—his thumbs pulling you open for your slick to pour out right onto the counter.

"What are you—oh-" you gasped, a hand digging into his hair as his mouth sealed over your cunt with a husky moan.

He watched you while his tongue licked over every part of you. Plunging into you as you swallowed down the buttery pancake—your mouth parted with another heady moan of his name. The challenge was clear enough for you to understand without further questioning. You were meant to eat. As he indulged in devouring a breakfast of his own.

The tip of his tongue flicked at your clit, drawing a whine from your throat—the fork nearly slipping out of your hand. Only for him to grasp it and drag it back to the plate. He stopped, keeping his mouth directly over your throbbing center, yet never touching you. The action was enough to drag even a sane person to madness.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, the burn of tears stinging your eyes as you cut another piece and placed it on your tongue.

He continued with a growl. Sucking at you lewdly until all you could hear was the echo of his mouth moving over you wetly. His thumb rubbing quick circles over your clit, tongue thrusting deep enough to drink down every drop of you that poured out.

Having managed to eat two of the smaller pancakes, you felt the tendrils of pleasure begin to rush through your body—pulling and tugging at each nerve with a familiar heat you'd grown to love. He moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he ate you with a drunken hunger. An urgency to feel you pulse around his tongue.

"Logan I'm gonna-" You gasped, fingers yanking on his hair.

The fork clattered to the counter—your hips dragging along his mouth with a cry as you broke for him. Unlike before this felt like a rush of fresh air. An echo of love that lingered in his tongue, in his promise to keep you. Your chest heaved, legs trembling over his shoulders, and the ache of want still stuck to your skin like the humid air of summer.

He didn't quell your hunger.

He merely lit the match for something stronger.

"Good job," he murmured, catching your lips in a kiss that had you wrapping your body around him, arms twining around his neck. "Mm. Think I found somethin' better than fuckin' syrup."

The skin of your cheeks burned hot as he smiled; his tongue licking at your open mouth. Words were lost as you kissed him with an eagerness that threatened to break you. This is what you longed for. The promise of a life overflowing with small bits of joy. Pieces of a future that echoed with what you built together.

Certainly not a perfect Polaroid, but you supposed that's what made the sun spots so endearing. It captured the truth of what still had to be figured out. The pain that you'd one day have to face head on. But as he kissed you slowly, hands grasping gently at your flesh, you felt certain that things would be okay.

Because he would be there, standing beside you with his hand in yours, ready to face it with you.

The midday sun cast shadows along your living room, turning dark spots into shade you now lounged in. Logan sat at your kitchen table with a plate of food you'd made an hour after your kitchen escapades. The quiet of having him there, watching you with a warmth in his eyes that burned lovingly against your skin, left you craving more of this.

"I like you in my shirt," he said, pushing the now empty plate to the side.

You smiled, leaning against the edge of the table as he kissed your bare thigh. "I like you in no shirt."

"Yeah I bet bub," he chuckled.

The heavy press of his palm to your leg kept you still—even as you continued to burn from an hour ago. You didn't rush him into the act, because if anything you had an excess of time. One more day off from work left you with the knowledge that you would have Logan more times than your body could handle.

He was quickly turning into an addiction you held no intention of kicking. How could you? When the sweetness of him spread along your tongue like the finest whiskey known to man. When you were so devoted to a relationship that barely started to bloom. Yet you felt as if you'd known him your entire life. Your heart was waiting for him to appear—claim you without question—and you could do nothing but respond with a desperate yes.

"Still needy for me honey?" he teased, standing to his full height with a soft grunt, his hands spreading along your hips.

You scoffed, pushing at his chest; even if he did resemble a brick wall. "You're imagining things Howlett."

"Oh it's Howlett now huh?" He nipped at your jaw, smiling at your soft bubble of laughter that burrowed its way into the depths of his heart. "Thought you liked callin' me James."

The breath caught in your throat when his tongue slid along your throat, heat pooling in your stomach. "Logan," you sighed, fingers tangling in his hair to draw his face up.

"That's better," he growled, cupping your chin to connect his lips to yours.

The raw needy ache of last night reared its head in your body, screaming out for him as he licked into your mouth with a purr. One you felt reverberate through your chest and down to the very tips of your fingers. He was yours to kiss, yours to love, and without knowing it you managed to tame the lonesome Wolverine that begged for a hint of your affection.

"Can't fuckin' get enough of you," he mumbled against your neck, sucking at the tender skin as his hands kneaded at your ass. "Got me goin' feral honey."

"I don't mean to."

"I know." He pushed his hips into yours, dragging you along his jeans with a stuttered breath. "'M gonna fuck you."

Your eyes met his gaze—a pool of slick now staining the dark denim he leaked into. "Here?"

He nodded, teeth bared in a ravenous smile. "When you eat dinner here without me..." Tugging the flannel open, he sucked at the top of your breast. "You'll remember me bending you over this table."

No words could counter what he just uttered as if he was reading straight from a novel of your life. His hands guided you to turn around—your palms flat on the wood and breath heavy in your chest. The audible echo of his zipper sent a flare of want through your body. Slick now coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down for him to see the slight shine of it in the sunlight.

He grunted palm sliding along your cunt and jolting you with a shuddered breath. Though he'd already eaten—twice—he was intent on indulging in a dessert so sweet he would go to the grave thinking about it. His cock—hard and throbbing—slid along the lips of your cunt. Coating him in your slick with a soft puff of air that blew across the back of your neck.

"Press your cheek down for me honey," he said softly, hand gripping your neck and guiding you until your back had no choice but to curve—ass presented to him with a soft moan. "There we go. Lookin' like a damn goddess."

"Oh fuck-" you sighed, the ache between your legs now a searing burn that could only be put out by him.

"You want my cock?"

You nodded, a stray tear falling to the table. "I do."

He huffed, lips pressing to the shell of your ear. "Begging so sweetly for me. Can't believe you thought I'd leave willingly."

The comment was more for himself than you, but you mewled for him, hips pushing back into his until the head of his cock tapped your clit. Drawing a high pitched cry from your parted lips still shiny with his spit.

"Please," you gasped, nails scratching along the wood. You'd see the marks later and be placed back into this memory with a visceral shove. As he intended

"I know, I know."

Lining himself up, he pushed forward with a broken gasp—his face buried against your shoulder. The stretch was divine. Last night's pain dispersed the second he slid into you with one thrust, your walls clamping down around him tight enough to choke a moan from his throat. The breathy grunted fuck had your head spinning, another gush of slick pouring out of you until it leaked between you.

Yet he held himself there, panting against your back as his cock twitched inside you. Begging him to move. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, to find something in your mind to latch onto. Yet what remained when he already sent you to the stratosphere? What could you attach yourself to when you were floating above the clouds?

"Need you to move," you whined.

He kissed your ear, grinding against you with a rasped grunt. "So fucking tight bub. 'M tryin’ not to cum."

"But I want you to-"

Pulling back he thrust into you with a stunted shift of his hips—cutting off your words as you moaned. Your eyes rolled back when he began to move in earnest. His hips slapping against your ass and hand bunching the fabric of his flannel to pull you back along his cock. And you took it.

You were reduced to a moaning wet mess when he fucked into you with a growl. Searching for the place that would draw you over the edge with ease. The cry that wrenched from your throat—your body trembling in his grasp—told him he'd struck gold. A smile curved over his lips as he kept that angle. Thrusting into you with a needy growl you heard bounce off the cabinets and walls.

"That it?" His hand gripped your throat, pulling you up and off the table. "That's the spot huh bub."

A sob fell past your parted lips, tears spilling down your cheeks when his other hand found your clit—fingers pulling up the hood to press right against the nerve. A burning sensation began to build in your stomach. Unlike what transpired in the times before.

This felt like more. All encompassing and treacherous enough to split you right down the center.

Your fingers scrambled to clutch his wrist. Unable to discern if you wanted to push him away or keep him there.

Logan merely chuckled, going faster with ease. You choked on your spit, your knees buckling, but he merely clutched you tighter. Keeping you right where he wanted as he fucked you within an inch of your life. The wet squelch of his cock plunging into you only made the fire burn brighter. You swore you could feel the flames lick along your skin—eating you alive.

"Got no words for me honey?" he grunted, teeth biting at your jaw. "Don't tell me I fucked 'em all out of your head."

"Hngg-"

"What was that?"

Nails dug into his skin and a cracked sob ripped from your raw throat when you came. Your walls pulsing around him as something wet gushed down your thighs. It splattered against the table, causing Logan to feel as if all the breath was punched from his lungs. His fingers still moved, spreading the mess and pulling every last drop from your spent body.

Even as he fought to ram his cock into you without mercy—desperate for his own high. You whimpered with each shift of his hips, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open with gasped breaths. And Logan had never seen a prettier sight than this.

He felt his heart clench, breath aching for lungs, as he fucked you through it. Until your body sagged against his with a sigh—eyes fluttering open to reveal your dazed expression. His heart twisted at the sight, cock throbbing with a needy ache he could no longer ignore.

"Y-Your turn," you panted, reaching up with a shaky hand to draw his lips to yours.

"Yeah?" His hips shifted forward and your mouth dropped open. "You want me to fill you up honey?"

The quick nod was all he needed to start chasing the built up high that threatened to strangle him. But the shrill echo of your phone across the table killed him like a shot to his head. He bit back a snarl of rage when your eyes lazily dragged to the face down device. Your heart picking up speed at the thought of who might be trying to contact you.

"I can ignore it," you mumbled.

The temptation to murder whoever was on the other line built up like bile in the back of his throat. But like a better man, he swallowed it down with a grunt. Pulling himself free with a hiss as his cock slapped against his stomach—covered in the sticky white cream that was your cum and aching for a release that would have to come later.

"Might be your work." He tapped your ass, carefully placing himself back in his jeans with a pained grunt. "Go on bub. I'm okay."

A glimmer of disappointment flared to life in your eyes before you were answering without checking the screen. The soft hello barely audible over the rush of blood that blared in his ears. He knew he wouldn't die from this. But fuck if he didn't feel like his body might combust at the sensation of being edged so hard his chest hurt.

"Wade?"

His head whipped towards you—a look of blistering fury crossed his face as he ripped the phone from your grasp. "You motherfucker," he snarled.

"You should really fuck with your knees Log. Save that adamantium skeleton." His voice was light, cheerful, and Logan had never wanted to rip him to shreds more.

"Are you watching us?" Your eyes widened and before Wade could give a snarky response, you were facing the still open window.

Wade stood across the street in his living room, waving with a knife. "Gotta give you pointers peanut. I've never been so hard in my life."

"Oh god," you sighed, covering your face. You reached for the phone; Logan gave it over before he could crush it in his fist. "Wade!"

"Whoa sweet angel! Don't go screaming my name after your man just made you see Natasha Romanoff in the afterlife. Did you tell her I said hi by the way?"

"It's rude to spy on people Wade Winston Wilson." His face fell as Logan snickered behind you. "Now I want an apology. Or I'm calling Nessa."

Though you couldn't see him well, you caught the way his face paled. "Right. I'm sorry. I won't be a perv next time. Even if you do have your window open and are screaming Logan's name so loud they can hear you on Knowhere."

"I wasn't-"

"And for your information FYI, I didn't spy. I just happened to see him and you bent over a table and assumed." He smiled, toothy and proud. "Can't fault me for being right on the money."

In an attempt to control your breathing (so as not to ask Logan to cut off Wade's limbs) you smiled through the flicker of annoyance. He was your friend. The person who was there for you in times when you needed someone. You couldn't really stay mad at Wade—even if the actions did call for the anger.

Especially not when you were still in the throws of recovering from the greatest orgasm of your life.

"I'd say I could do better, but now I'm not so sure angel face. I think Logan's won this round."

Surprisingly, you laughed. "He definitely won this round."

Logan stepped in closer when he was mentioned—his head dipping to hear Wade's voice through the phone. Unconsciously you found yourself leaning into his warmth—your body seeking out the gentle aftercare from the man who held your heart in his hands. His arm went around your waist, lips placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, and Wade groaned audibly in completely disgust.

"Would you get a room. God it's like watching an episode of WandaVision. Only this time it's the deleted scenes where they were allowed to actually fuck." He smiled, fingers forming a faux gun as he winked.

"We all know the robot dicking her down extravaganza exists Marvel. Don't lie."

"Your fault for peeking in on the show Wade," you replied, eyes fluttering shut as Logan fixed the flannel to cover as much of you as possible.

"I get it. I'm an unpaying customer. Therefore not wanted." He sighed, gesturing to no one in particular. "I mean what about those guys? They get a free show!"

"Wilson," Logan bit out, his claws sliding free to cover the top of your thighs.

Another weary (yet dramatic and totally Oscar worthy) sigh came through the phone. "I'll just dance the Lonesome Tango tonight. Don't mind me, taking all of the domesticity in so I can vomit."

You smiled when Logan nudged your cheek with his nose. "Goodnight Wade."

"Hardly good! Ness is out for the day and what about me? Don't I have needs? Am I not just a boy looking at the couple he's going to third wheel someday saying: please save some pancakes for me?"

The gasp that flew from your mouth was loud enough to be heard through the open window as Logan ripped the phone from your ear. Cussing out the man who stared at you with a Cheshire grin big enough to fill up an entire room. He waved, tossing his phone to the couch as he leaned out the window.

"Turns out you are gonna dance again peanut!"

Before you could shout a response, Logan was slamming the window shut with a growl. His claws slicing through the already fragile wood at the base of it as the lock slid into place. The middle finger he offered was all Wade got before Logan was dragging you back towards the bedroom; the decision to buy you some fucking curtains now solidified in his mind.

"Favorite movie?"

He groaned, dragging your legs over his lap as you curled into his side. "I've been alive too fuckin' long to choose honey. Tell me yours."

A wince overtook your features as Logan ran his hand up and down your bare leg—his gaze determined to trace every detail of your face a thousand times over. Hoping that over time he'd find new things to fall in love with. New pieces of you he'd grow to cherish. He settled on the shape of your lips—watching them move with each words you spoke.

"Okay don't laugh at me. It's a good movie." You toyed with his fingers, thumb tracing the spaces between his knuckles where his claws broke the skin to come free. "The Mummy."

His eyebrows pulled together. "Isn't that the one where they...fight a fuckin' mummy?"

You nodded, laughter falling on his perked up ears. "Listen! She's a librarian who gets to go on an adventure and fall in love. I'm an archivist who...well meeting you has been an adventure and..."

You fell in love.

Saying the words out loud felt wrong. Misplaced. Yet you'd never felt something sit in your chest so perfectly and feel like it belonged. Love had always been a complicated formula that felt impossible to crack. After all, no real theory ever mixed well with something so convoluted.

But nothing else could possibly make the same amount of sense with you as those three words did.

Logan watched every thought cross your face; every problem you struggled with now on full display for him to see. He willed himself to say them aloud. To simply let them fall free and settle in your heart with ease. But the last person he said them to now hated his very existence. They held an entirely different heart yet wore the exact replica of your face.

That only seemed to complicate the matter further.

So he pressed a kiss to the space between your eyebrows until the skin smoothed, and pulled you out of the internal battle you seemed to be losing.

"Tell me about your family bub."

You perked up, eyes alight with the joy that lingered from hours before. "My sister?" He nodded. "Oh well she's a teacher. Works at a high-school in the city."

"Guess you were bound to have another teacher in your life huh?" His heart twisted when you laughed, your fingers curling into his hair—toying with the sides without even realizing it.

"I guess so." You sighed, settling against his body. "It's funny, because I'd have never met Wade if it wasn't for her. This used to be her place before she—ya know—got married and stuff. Wade actually sold her the car I borrowed the day I met you."

His hand traveled higher, slipping to the curve of your hip. "Sneaky little fucker," he muttered.

"Although I think nearly killing me in the street is what really made me like him."

Logan jolted, his hand pinching your chin to face him. "What the fuck do you mean nearly killing you?"

The smile on your face did nothing to appease the fresh wave of anger that filled his body. If anything he only felt it eat away at him faster. Like a parasite with no cure. You were so calm about the entire situation. So nonchalant as you explained to him what actually happened.

That alone terrified him.

What if one day something like this happened again? What if the person who would cause you harm was someone he couldn't save you from?

Dread weighed heavy on his stomach like a rock he never intended to swallow. Even as you spoke he could feel the way it pulled at him. Dragging him into a darkness he'd never escape. He endured it once before, swam to the shore and climbed his way out, but to lose you was to put an end to his existence in this universe.

Logan couldn't die.

But he'd sure as hell find a way to if you were no longer by his side.

"I know he didn't mean to almost hit me with his knife. He was aiming for the guy behind me." You placed a kiss on his wrist, right above his pulse point. "Anyways we laugh about it now. Wade calls it fate. And since I met you...I kinda feel like he's right."

The breath caught in his chest. "Honey you got no idea..."

Lips trailed up his arm, sending chills down his spine as you placed kiss after kiss along his body. Right to his chest. Your tongue licked along his nipple—sucking it into your mouth and drawing a stuttered moan from his parted lips. His cock twitched in his jeans, the lost orgasm from earlier now raring to life with each delicate brush of your mouth on his skin.

Scraping your teeth on his pec, he felt his hips shift in an effort to find even a brief second of relief. You smiled at the feeling of him hard and aching against your thigh.

"You didn't get to cum earlier," you murmured, kissing along his jaw, nose brushing his cheek. The slight brush of your hand dipping along his stomach and down into his jeans drew a ragged groan from his chest. "Fair's fair baby."

Soft skin of your palm met his still leaking cock and the surprise that flickered across your face at the knowledge that he'd been dripping all night for you turned his mind numb. His kiss seared your entire being as you stroked him slowly. Logan shoved his jeans down the best he could with you blocking his way, simply to feel your palm drag down his length to cup his balls still covered in your sticky cum.

A breathy whine you never heard before slipped past his lips—his head falling back when your mouth latched onto his throat. Teeth and tongue sucking a mark that would fade within seconds. But catching a glimpse of the purple bruise made your heart flutter.

The wet slide of your hand filled the room with each pump. His hips canted up into your fist, fucking the slick hole you formed around him with panted grunts of nonsensical words.

It didn't build steadily like before where he held the capability of holding out. Now he felt helpless to the burn that forced its through his veins. The tension pulling taut in his stomach.

Only for you to pull away.

"W-What?" he rasped, his eyes flying open to see how you fell back on the bed—fingers popping open the shirt button by button.

"Come here," you breathed, hooking your foot around his hip. "Don't you wanna fuck my face baby?"

His mind went blank. Eyes dazed and mouth open as he watched you smile up at him—mischief shining bright in your gaze. You were an angel sent from who knows where bestowed upon him like a gift. An apology for all he'd gone through.

If the light he saw as he took his last breath was your face, he'd die a happy man.

Beckoning him forward with your hand on his thigh, Logan knelt above your chest. He could see how you longed for him to press weight against you—the feel of your palm against his ass telling him enough. But risking it would never be an option. He knew how much his skeleton as a whole weighed; you would not survive five seconds of it atop your body entirely.

"So pretty," you cooed, wrapping a hand around his cock as he shuddered. "Can I taste you Logan?"

He nodded dumbly, hand cupping the top of your head to keep himself grounded. Only for his soul to leave his body at the feel of your lips sucking him in. The wet heat of your mouth felt like a death to his heart. He'd never recover.

Yet one truth remained ingrained in the back of his mind.

He didn't want to survive.

"Fuck," he breathed, canting his hips down and into your waiting mouth.

The second his tip brushed the back of your throat, Logan knew he'd never last. He was a man lost in the depths of your body. Finding his way back to himself was never an option. You suckled on him with a whimper, letting him slowly thrust into your mouth as your fingers dug into the flesh of his ass.

Moans fell from his mouth with ease; words eventually following suit. "You fuckin' like this huh? You like me sitting on your face?"

Another muffled sound vibrated against his cock. His balls began to draw up slightly—thighs practically numb with the pleasure that consumed him. He sunk deeper, fucking your throat with a wet gasp, his body curving over yours and hand pressing to the mattress for stability.

"Fuck your mouth is heaven." He panted through the flames that licked at his spine, fighting to stay with you. "Gonna make a mess of you."

A jolt of lightning echoed across his skin when your hand slipped between his legs to fondle his balls, massaging the tender skin as tears dripped down into your hair. Whatever sanity he held left would wither away with the tendrils of his oncoming orgasm. But this isn't how he wanted to finish.

Ripping himself away, you barely got out half a question of what he was doing, before you were yanked into his lap—his tongue invading your mouth in a messy kiss. Spit spread across his cheek, but you seemed to get the hint when he grinded up into your dripping cunt.

"I promised to fill ya honey," he grunted, guiding your hand to wrap around his pulsating cock. "I don't break my promises."

With a sigh of his name pressed to his mouth, you guided him to your entrance, sinking down slowly to engulf him into your throbbing walls. A rough noise tore from his throat at the feeling—his body barely giving him enough time to comprehend that he'd been on the edge for far longer than he realized.

"Shit!" His thumb found your clit, working you over with quick circles that had your body curving into his. "'M not gonna last. Need you to fuckin' cum for me bub."

"Let go," you mumbled, dragging yourself up and off his cock. Only to sit back down hard enough to make him go blind. "Fill me up baby. Make it spill out."

His teeth set into your shoulder, claws sinking into your already ruined mattress to steady himself. He clutched you to him with a hoarse shout of your name as he came. Rope after rope of his spend spurted into your waiting body, drawing a soft breathy moan out from your swollen lips. You held him close, lips sliding along his neck, and talked him through it.

"Thank you baby," you sighed, grinding your hips along his lap. "Feels so good. So warm."

The lilt of your words bled with the adoration you felt for him in the center of your chest. The fact that you didn't finish didn't feel necessary when you had him like this. Entirely wrapped around you—face pressed into your chest and soul desperate to brush against yours.

"One of these days I'm gonna die like this bub."

You smiled, dragging your lips along his temple. "Would that be so bad?"

"Mm." Teeth scraped your skin as he slowly fell back onto the bed, taking you with him. "Probably not."

What lingered in the space between was a silence you reveled in. A peaceful kind of calm that created a bubble of warmth for the both of you to exist. Not completely in the world, yet never out of it entirely.

His body practically overheated beneath your skin, but you didn't mind the closeness. In fact, you found that you craved that above everything else. How he held you, allowed you to see the soft side of him that would normally be withheld.

This was the memory you'd hold close to your heart over the years. The one that'd always remain to give you a sense of peace in an otherwise crazy world.

"I'm really happy I met you Logan." The words weren't exactly what you wanted to say. But they felt close enough to exhibit the same emotion—the one that clawed at your heart, looking for a way to break free.

He hummed, dragging a hand down your spine. "Me too honey."

Settling atop him fully, you rested your ear where you knew his heart lay beneath layers of muscle and a cage of adamantium. The steady beat lulled you into a tranquil state. Where time no longer felt real and comfort became your only option.

Oh how you longed to remain here with him. Bound to nothing and no one, but each other.

note: i'm so sorry for what's about to befall these two.

[igotanidea]

Too hot to handle: Jason Todd x reader

SMUT MDNI!

As usual sorry for all the typos, grammar mistakes etc. I really had to post it XD

***

Y/N was fuming.

For no reason at all, falling down the internet hole, she found herself on some stupid forum for stupid horny women who couldn't keep it in their pants.

Clearly those bitches were getting hot and bothered for Red Hood, shamelessly sharing their dirty thoughts and comments on some parts of his body and the things he'd let him do if--

Fuck.

She could have Tim or Babs trace their IP addresses in a second and could pay them a visit of a very possessive, angered and super jealous girlfriend.

Her hands were almost itching to write a few spicy comments herself, spilling the beans of whose body Red Hood was touching almost every night. Whose lips he was devouring. Whose most sensitive parts he was tasting with his tongue, begging for as much as a drop of sweetness. Whose moans and gasps he got to hear, whose voice was his drug, whose curves he was worshiping on his knees.

Obviously, she couldn't do that, but the thought of Jason's muscled body on top of her, his hands tracing her skin and joining her in the intimate dance had a side effect seeping through her panties. 

She needed him. 

With the need that could not be satisfied with her fingers or even the toys she had stacked safely in the locked bottom drawer.

Jason ...

Come home...

Can't you sense how much I want you now...

She almost prayed to the moon on the sky to bring her lover back to her. 

***

That little tingling on his skin was something new and as much as he hated to put the thought into words, it was like a spider-sense. The one of Y/N’s second favorite self-appointed hero – spiderman.

Y/n…

Was that feeling because she was in danger?

Did someone hurt her? Did anyone dare lay a finger on his precious girl?

Jason gritted his teeth, clenching fists, anger at a purely potential enemy flooded his brain.

It was a quiet night either way, giving him a perfect opportunity to take a quick detour and check on his angel. Just a look and assurance that she was safe, to help him keep going and push him through all the shit and doubts.

Y/n….

***

He did not expect her to sit in front of Netflix at 2 am. She had work in the morning so why on earth was she watching the series?

“Hey!” he called, probably a little bit too loud, causing her to jump on the couch and almost drop the mug. “Sorry…”

“Next time give me a heads up, will you?” she muttered with a pout.

“Um- okay. What’s with the attitude?”

“Nothing.” Y/N scoffed angrily, turning back to the TV.

“Can I please get my girlfriend back? You know, the other one? Nice and caring? The one who would ask me if I’m hurt or maybe need patching or a post-patrol kiss?” Jason teased moving in front of the screen, successfully blocking it from her view. “Wait… Y/N, are you watching “Too hot to handle?" His laugh filled the room, because honestly that might have been the funniest thing in the whole week. His serious, a bit reserved, goody-two-shoes girl had her eyes on the show about horny singles.

“Shut up…”

“Oh, I will most definitely not shut up about it. Are you hinting at something, here? Cause you know, you don’t need a show like this if—” he switched a little, coming closer and leaning over her silhouette on the couch

“Shut up, Jason!”

“Whoa!” his hands raised in feigned surrender “someone’s feisty today, aren’t you?”

“I’m not feisty. I’m furious!”

“At what?”

“Girls!”

“Wait, what?” Jason frowned “I am confused.

“Girls! Women! The ones who are trying to bang and –”

“I thought you liked banging?” he sent her a knowing smirk

“Jason!”

 “Come on, sunshine, you cannot hide that blush.” He pointed out, brushing fingers over her reddened cheeks, raising her head so she had to look into his eyes “What’s gotten into you? Tell me the truth.”

“Stupid internet.”

“Mhm. Okay. Care to elaborate?”

“Did you know the girls are getting hot for the Red Hood on some stupid forum?”

“Nope. Did not. But… did it make you jealous?” he smirked, expecting her to deny and squirm in embarrassment that he accused her of such low feelings.

“Yeah…” Much to his surprise, she decided to be honest. It truly was a strange night. “Yeah, I was. Jealous and furious. Hence the “Too hot to handle” marathon.”

“Hm? Can’t see the correlation.”

“It’s so shallow and selfish and mean, but – the show is so silly and most possibly fabricated. I may, or may not have been trying to diminish women who are openly horny….?” Her voice became barely audible at the end, as if she was ashamed to admit her own .

“Oh, you silly little one.” Jason laughed, pulling her onto his lap and brushing hair out of her forehead. “You could have led with that.” His lips brushed over her forehead

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“You should have told me, that coming across girls leching over me-“

“Over Red Hood!” she interrupted and he only laughed again.

“Over me” he underlined  “- got your knickers in a twist.”

“It did not!”

Great, now she was trying to deny it. Too bad it was too late and he was in the mood for the games anymore. He felt the need to assure her that she was the one, though also expressing appreciation for said open horniness and for a little bit of jealousy. It made his ego soar.

“Didn’t it?” he teased, grabbing onto her waist and laying her on her back, hovering over her, moving fingers up her leg, until it reached the hem of her sleeping shorts. “Maybe I should check myself then?”

His hand brushed over the inside of her thigh, causing her to let out a sharp exhale.

“Oh, right… My little minx is not wearing panties at all. So it seems like you have been telling the truth after all. You did not get them in a twist…”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her, a sudden sweet distraction allowing him to yank those silly little shorts down, exposing her want without any care in the world. Opening her legs and wrapping them on his waist, without breaking the kiss for even a second, Jason pressed his weight on her, distributing it evenly on his forearms, to not crash her.

“Mmm. Tease.”

“And you love every second of it.” He smirked, grinding against her core, sacrificing his favorite tactical pants to her warmth and wetness. Not much of an exorbitant price for what was waiting at the finish line.

And even though it was just the beginning of the marathon, they were already gasping heavily, grasping onto each other, pulling each other closer and closer. She was so needy and he loved it. The more bothered she was, the easier it got for him to end on the winner’s podium. His cock was hardening by a second, making it almost painful to be kept in the pants, but he was holding back.

“Jason…” she moaned, reaching down his torso, sneaking hand under the waistband.

“Not yet, baby.” All she got in return was her hands pinned above her head in a very vulnerable position, completely at his mercy. And to add to it all, Jason lips attached to her pulse point, sucking the sensitive skin, making sure to leave a dark purple hickey. The one she wouldn’t be able to cover easily. “Not yet…” the grip on her wrists faltered for a second, but not enough to allow her to break free.

Jason was skillful and knew exactly what he was doing.  Feeding her with the false hope of freedom only for a second, only to grab her hands in one hand, using the other to roll her sleeping shirt up, exposing her breasts, but not taking it off fully.

“Hello, lovelies…” he muttered, before diving between her tits, getting the arching back and multiple sounds of pleasure in return. “Yeah… keep those sounds coming, baby…”

His lips traced a scorching path down her cleavage, making her want skyrocket, smirking upon the feeling of her legs tightening on his waist and her hips grinding against her jeans.

“Not yet.” He commanded again, pressing her back flat onto the couch. “Not yet…” his eyes flashed with something primal and animalistic. There was something devilishly turning on with having her naked under him, while he didn’t shed a single piece of clothing. And he was going to exploit that opportunity to the maximum.

With a quiet laugh that sounded almost sinful, Jason bent down and traced tongue over the flesh of her soft, warm breast, purposefully avoiding the little pink button that was begging for his attention. Yes, his ego was skyrocketing upon hearing her cries of pleasure and broken gasps of his name on her swollen lips, followed by the flexing of her body against his touch.

Yes, he might have been acting a little dominant, but they both knew it was not going to go on forever. 

Deep inside Jason was sweet and romantic, definitely putting soft, tender lovemaking over hard and rough sex.

And really, it didn’t take him long to give in to her pleadings and entreaties, moving lips to her nipple, sucking and biting on it gently.

“Oh yes!” she cried out, closing her eyes and from that moment things started taking on the pace. Jason groaned from the sensation of her breast in his mouth, letting go of her wrists, allowing her hands to tangle in his hair, only adding to the feelings burning inside his chest and groin. Abandoning lavishing attention on her chest, he guided her hands to the hem of his shirt and with  interlaced fingers and eyes never faltering from each other’s face they pulled it over his head, exposing his toned upper body, covered with fresh bruises and cuts.

“So you are hurt…” she whispered, touching the pads of her fingers to the newest purple mark on his pec.

“I didn’t notice…” his voice was deep, calming and full of adoration “All I notice right now is you…” he grabbed her hand pressing it to his lips, kissing all over her knuckles.

“Then come feel me too…” she moved upwards, pressing her lips to his, wanting to feel that chapped warmth on hers. And once their mouths met it was a sensation incomparable with anything else. Ironically (or not) making out like this, with their entwined bodies, separated only by the material of his pants, slowly, tenderly, focused only on each other, leaving the whole world behind was turning her on more than actual penetration.

Which did not mean she didn’t want to go all the way.

“Is it time yet?” she whispered, with a little bit of teasing in her voice, breaking the kiss only for a second.

“You are ruining the moment, sunshine.” He chuckled, tracing kisses up her cheek, all the way to her ear, softly biting on her earlobe, causing more tickling than actual pain. Y/N responded with a little chuckle as well, cupping his cheek, bringing his lips back to hers once more. Without breaking the making out for even one second, Y/N removed his belt and undid the button on his pants. Then, with a few kicks and swings of legs, they managed to set him free from his confines, finally feeling each other from head to toe.

“How’s your jealousy doing now…?” he teased, guiding himself to her entrance, grabbing onto her waist, rolling his fingers in tiny circles on her sensitive skin.

“Who’s ruining the moment now?”

“No idea. Who?” he chuckled. It was so good being with her like this. In the moment of intimacy, that was meaningful but deprived of the seriousness that could ruin the tenderness. Perfect mix of softness and love, seasoned with a bit of well balanced humor and  sarcasm that bonded them in the first place. “You ready for me, baby?”

“So ready.” She smiled, shifting and squirming to allow him to slide inside better and maximize the pleasure of unity for them both.

“Mh. Hello there…” he smirked and without missing a bit started to move inside her. Slowly, but intensely. Building up and drawing the tension. Moving hands on her body in time with the thrusts, fueling the fire that was meant to warm but not burn. “Is this what you wanted?” he looked at her face searching for the answers behind those e/c eyes, filled with longing and devotion.  

“Yeah… Good thing you helped me realize what it was that I wanted…” she started matching his movements, kissing him again.

The tension between their bodies was building slowly and steadily. There was no rush. They had all the time in the world, that suddenly shrunk to only them two.

Jason and Y/n.

Y/n and Jason.

Together.

Connecting seamlessly, with bodies joined and heart beating only for one another. Creating their own bubble of beauty and wonder in the darkness and danger of Gotham.

“I love you…” he muttered, leaning forehead on hers, needing to say those words before everything turn into the blur and haze due to the slowly approaching tidal wave of climax.

“I love you…” she responded, feeling the exact same need, knowing well enough that those three little words exchanged before the post-bliss was far more meaningful and far more true.

***

“How’s the hate on horny women doing now?” he muttered against her hair, some time later. It could have been minutes as well as hours cause once they busted the pleasure door open time suddenly became relative and meaningless.

“Hm? What women? Wait a second. Are you really trying to tell me there are other women somewhere?’ she looked at him with a tease, raising an eyebrow playfully. “I am fairly convinced there are only you and me. No other men or women anywhere.”

“Hm… What I’m hearing is that I’m the only guy in the world for you?”

“It depends on—”

“Because sure as hell you are the only woman for me.” He added quickly, knowing what her condition was. “And no silly internet forum or contestant of so-called hot, naughty Netflix show could change it.”

“You got soft, Red Hood.” She smiled, nuzzling into his chest and placing a little kiss on his chest, close to his heart

“I can be hard when it counts, though.” His heart picked up the pace as her lips touched his skin “Honestly I can be anything you may need from me.”

“How about we both stay ourselves?”

“Works for me.”

Jason's arms wrapped around her pulling her to his chest for more and more aftercare and cuddles. It was a quiet night after all and he could indulge in some time with his beloved Y/N.

[cuppajoel]

Rating: E 18+ only MDNI | Pairing: modern-day! Marcus Acacius x fem!reader Word count: 1.8k CW: modern day!Marcus Acacius, light brat-tamer vibes but not really, mostly just smut, v fingering (hey! Bring back fingering!!), one (1) p slap, p pronouns, Marcus likes roleplaying?, slight anal play, Marcus spits on ittt, grinding, he calls her my lady, legal age gap, no physical description of reader apart from she has a vagina and some pubic hair?

Summary: You start being a brat about how Marcus is old and he shows you why you should respect your elders.

a/n: hey! This is the first one shot from my “Where my Lore Started” series. This is an age gap fic based on the relationship between Monica and Richard from the TV show Friends. (See here & here for my inspo) If you’d like to take part in this wee prompt/ challenge pls do and tag me so I can see where your lore started!

graphics: @saradika-graphics

tysm to @iknowisoundcrazy for beta-ing this. This is my first fic back after like 5 months and I am real nervous to start posting again and you were so kind and encouraging! <3

Read on A03 | Fic challenge | Main Masterlist

“How’d you get this one?” you trail your finger back and forth across his collarbone, your head resting on his chest, the thump thump thump of his heartbeat soothing your relaxed body. 

He exhales softly, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at the healed, raised skin. “Ummm…” His chest rumbles. You can tell he’s nearly sleeping but wants to answer your questions, just because you are the one asking them. “That one was when I broke my collarbone after jumping off the peer… the water was more shallow than first expected.” He kisses your head, his worn hand trailing up and down your arm. 

“Ouch…” you chuckle on an exhale, nuzzling your face into the patch of greying hair across his chest. You let your fingers trail circles around his bare upper half, noting which spots are more sensitive and which make him twitch. “You go peer diving a lot? I guess there wasn’t much else to do in Ancient Rome…” you shift, glancing up to his face with a smirk of defiance, and begin to brace for the consequence of your teasing comment. 

His eyes are still closed, the greying curls crossing over themselves around his ears. A steady, soft chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Let me tell you something about Ancient Rome…” he starts muttering into your hair, the hand that was soothing your arm stopping on your hip, his grip pulsing. “You see in Ancient Rome, people at my old age would be seen as knowledgeable… respected…” Marcus rolls off his back, flipping you both so that his weight and size hovers over your own. 

“I would probably be in a position of power…” He grabs your wrist and lays it above you, pinning it to the pillow. “A position of authority- a politician… a general, maybe.” He grabs the other wrist, repeating his actions and holding them together in one of his giant hands with ease. You watch as his breath becomes heavier, his pupils dilating so that his brown eyes somehow seem darker. Your breathing deepens, chest heaving up and down. You clear your throat, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

“And yooooou…” he draws back, his eyes raking down your naked form, stopping at your now stiff nipples, down to his hardening cock which rests against your stomach, and then back up to your face. “…you would be my lady, waiting for me to get home each night…” He pumps his hips slowly, the sensitive pink crown of his dick dragging across your belly button. 

”And when I get home…” he releases your wrists, dragging his blunt fingernails down your forearms, down each of your shoulders and palms you heavy breasts in his hands. He stops there for a moment, feeling the weight of them before pushing them together, fitting his head snuggly between them. “You would have ached for me. You would’ve felt so empty without my mouth and cock… and I would be famished after a hard day saving the empire.”

He flattens his tongue, dragging it slowly across your right nipple before sucking and then tugging with his teeth, only to switch and repeat the action on your left. You open yourself up, pushing your breasts further into him, causing him to exhale with a chuckle. 

Using his teeth he forges a path down your sternum to the softness of your stomach, his fingertips continuing to caress your ribs, hips and pelvis, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So being the kind and considerate person that you are…” he presses a kiss to the curls of hair on the mound of your pussy. “…my lady would feed me…” 

He draws his cheeks together, gathering the saliva in his mouth before spitting directly on your clit, using his middle finger to spread it around in deep, deliberate circles. Your body tenses, all feeling and concentration now pulled to your swollen bud. Your breathing deepens, as you stretch your arms further above your head, savouring this feeling.

“Marc-“

He stops, moving his fingers away from the spot where you need him the most, causing your brows to knit and a pathetic whine to fall from you. You crane your neck forward to meet his arrogant expression. You stick out your bottom lip, hoping to appeal to his charitable side. “Nuh, uh, uh, my lady… I’m the general. Let me hear you say it.” 

“Please, baby…”

Smack. A tight, sudden, sting rings through your wet cunt, sending waves of warmth through your legs and hips as Marcus smacks your pussy.

“Who am I?” He demands with a deep rasp in his voice.  He cocks his head to the side, his eyes twinkling sadistically, as he tries, and fails, to hide a chuckle. Asshole.

“General, please…” you exhale, raising your hips to try and meet his mouth which hovers just above you. 

“Please, what, my lady? Hmmm?” He wears a shit-eatting grin. “You need to tell me what you need. You need to feed your general. I’m starving.” He places the pad of his thumb on your now pulsing clit, not moving it, just placing an even pressure. His fore and middle fingers circling your entrance but not entering. They hover and torture. 

You open your eyes and shift, placing your hands on the bed behind you and pushing yourself up onto your elbows. You steady your gaze to meet the eyes of the man who’s enjoying this way too much. “General, I need you to eat me like I’m your last meal, please…” 

Without a word, Marcus begins moving the pad of his thumb, side to side like a joysick. He spreads his spit all around your clit as he groups his first three fingers together and pushes them inside you. You moan from your chest, your elbows buckling from under you, your head and neck crashing into the plush pillows below.

Marcus’ thrusts are steady, not fast and not slow- almost painfully regular but they’re deep; every time he enters, he curls his fingers to reach that spot inside of you that makes your bellybutton tingle. Still holding your gaze, Marcus lowers himself so that his face hovers above your aching core. “Ohhhh she’s so pretty.” He places a wet, opened-mouthed kiss on your clit, suckling it into his mouth. 

As he pulls away, he pulls at your clit with his mouth, swirling his tongue in short, lazy circles. You plant your feet on the bed, pushing off to lift your hips, trying to follow his mouth. 

With his free hand, Marcus grips you hip, pushing you back down to the bed. The three fingers inside of you still, him flexing them slightly which brings a deep, hot burn, making your stomach flip. With a whine, you stop wriggling, knowing you’ll get what you need if you follow your general’s rules. 

With deliberate slowness, Marcus withdraws his fingers from you, the sounds created signalling how unbelievably wet you are for this man. One at a time he sucks your wetness from his digits, eye-contact unwavering. 

He hums, eyes fluttering and smile growing before scooching himself down the bed. He lays flat on his stomach, adjusting your legs so that they hook over his shoulders, and drags you by your hips closer to his mouth. “You get so fucking wet for me, my lady… you’ve made such a mess already.”  His hot breath coats you, right where you need his mouth, causing you to writhe. 

Marcus flattens his tongue and licks up one side of your outer pussy and down the other side. Using the grip of your hips as leverage, he pushes his face further into you. His nose brushes your clit as his tongue circles the opening of your cunt. He holds it tense, pushing and pulling it in and out of you. 

You try gripping onto the sheets by your sides to keep grounded. Don’t cum yet, don’t cum yet. It’s so good that you can feel yourself clenching around his tongue. Shifting, Marcus holds your clit in between his lips and licks using the tip of his tongue. You gasp, your hands releasing the sheets and grabbing two handfuls of his hair, pushing against him more as your orgasm comes to its peak. As you clench, you roll your hips against his face. He again finds your fluttering opening, enjoying the fruits of his labour.

The earth feels like it’s stopped and like it’s moving too fast at the same time. You lift your neck to see the artist at work just as he lifts his gaze too. He gives you a wink and you feel him smile against you before returning to his feast. “Shit Marc- general…” His eyes lock to yours, dark and still full of amusement. “I don’t know if I can keep going…” you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling so that you might have a moment to recover. 

His brows furrow as he gives a simple shake of his head. “I’m still hungry… one more at least my lady.” He returns licking and sucking at your clit and you tug harshly on his locks to which he quickens his pace.

Looking past him to his tight, round, ass you can see his narrow hips shifting up and down as he grinds his cock against the bed. You feel his thick, grouped fingers push slowly into you again. They’re quick and move at the same speed as his hips. 

Marcus shifts, one of your legs falling from his broad shoulders as he uses the strength of his full arm to fuck his fingers into you. 

“Yes, General Marcus…” you almost laugh, the heel of the foot around his shoulder digging into his back.  This seems to inspire the general. Using his pinky finger, he slowly strokes the tight muscle of your asshole, causing you only to keen further into him. 

Faster and faster, Marcus thrusts his fingers deep into you whilst lightly teasing your ass. You can feel his thrusts on the mattress below you, his rhythm becoming more choppy. As if you weren’t already floating, he again sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth and your ears begin to ring. Your hips raise and you push your man further into your pussy as you fall further and further into bliss. 

Marcus continues to suck as you come down from your high. Then shifting, he straddles one of your legs as he strokes his swollen, weeping shaft slowly as he cums all over your spent pussy. He wets his lower lips with his tongue when he comes, savouring your taste as he brings himself to the brink.

You shift up onto your elbows once again, looking down at the mess he’s made. You now wear your own shit-eating grin that rivals the one staring back at you. You cock your head to the side and shrug softly. “Not bad for an old guy…” you let yourself fall backwards again, ready for another lesson in respecting authority.

[monstertreden]

✦ BE(E) MY DATE? ✦

-Reader: FEM reader -TW: none, just an adorable bee -Character: Bumblebee (Transformers movie 2018) -Summary: Bumblebee is trying to get accustomed to earth traditions in order to impress his favourite human -Word count : 1448 A/N: This was an anonymous request of a while back. I went with the Fem Pov, but this could be read with a GN reader too. What a way to open this 2025! Wish you all the best things in the world!🍀

The evening sky was starting to feel more alive as stars emerged one by one. With no light pollution ruining this view, the atmosphere felt so relaxing, a quiet peak for living in such a peaceful town. Your home garden was glowing, illuminated by tiny star-shaped lights strung around the tree branches. In the middle of it all stood a cheerful, giant yellow bot. He fumbled with his radio, playing different romantic songs as he tried to find justtt the right one to set the perfect mood. Bumblebee was buzzing with excitement, unable to wait another hour until you got home from your job and spend the rest of the night with him outdoors. Today had been a little different. It had been hours since you’d left for work and you’d insisted on taking the bus to work, much to Bumblebee’s dismay. He’d watched you wave goodbye as he beeped sadly…but once you were out of sight, his little antennas perked up and twitched like bunny ears: if he couldn’t spend all day with you then he would make that night unforgettable! The thought had driven him all afternoon as he kept carefully arranging what he had gathered, it had to be perfect because you deserve nothing less!

A jazzy love song hummed through his speakers before he quickly cut it off again, second-guessing his choice, followed by an upsetting beep.

Postponing his final decision on the special song, Bumblebee turned his attention to the messy setup he had previously sprawled on the flower-patched blanket… one he might have “borrowed” from her bedroom through the window…ops, but it was one of his favorite too, one you often shared with him while watching some movies back in the garage, other than being soft, it fitted the romantic vibe he was striving for. Smothering the blanket again, having spotted a small wrinkle,  his digits fidgeted slightly with the patch of wildflowers he had directly plucked from the ground earlier, ensuring they looked intentional rather than, well… stolen. Were there enough flowers? Or were they too many? He tilted his helm as if reconsidering his choice, before turning to the unplugged microwave, that somehow contained various cookies inside and the carefully inclined projector screen propped up against the white wall of your home. The screen’s angle had been adjusted multiple times until he was satisfied, though he still glanced at it every few moments to make sure it hadn’t shifted.

It had taken him ages to figure out how humans got their movie setups just right, and, even now, he still wasn’t sure he had nailed it. Beside it, a wicker basket was overfilled with treats he’d seen you enjoy: chips, candies, and a variety of drinks, so many you wouldn’t go hungry... though he had no idea what half of them tasted like...Would you notice the missing bags of sour candies? He might’ve… tested one or two. For science. Did you have that many treats in your kitchen cabinets though? Of course not, the truth was that some, well, most of the items inside weren’t “exactly” yours. The yellow bot had borrowed, again, okay, maybe taken a few things from the local store storage without paying, but only because he still didn’t understand how human transactions worked. Plus, wasn’t food meant to be shared? You loved snacks! And he wanted the best ones for you!

“Cool and smooth!”. He echoed the phrase to himself, with the enthusiasm of a DJ who knew what they were doing. Excitement and anxiousness coursed through his circuits, he had seen countless Earth movies and TV series with you, how your face lit up when romantic picnics were on-screen. “Aren’t they adorable, Bee?” you’d sighed, smiling softly at a scene where a couple sat under the stars, and he was determined to give her exactly that.

The wildflowers kept sprawling all over each time Bumblebee tried to grab one, he didn’t bring a vase since he was scared of accidentally breaking one, so he decided with clumsy digits to open a soda can, yes..maybe that would do.. “Careful...”  Tipping the can towards his faceplate, he fussed over not being able to open it. Shaking it, hoping it would loosen, and when it seemed he had made it, it sprayed all over his faceplate, making him stumble over with a distressed beep. A wrong footing and there was a loud crunch. Bumblebee froze. Slowly looking down, he realized his foot had landed squarely on a package of cookies, reducing them to crumbs. “Dang it!” he buzzed through the radio, frustration laced with nervousness. He frantically crouched and scooped up the squished wrapper, already berating himself.

But Bumblebee wasn’t one to back down so easily. He straightened up, the crumpled pack of cookies still in his hand. Carefully, the bit tucked it back into the end of the basket, there were so many after all. Next, he picked up the empty soda can and went to toss it in the garbage bin, only for his gaze to land on a small empty glass jar you’d had left for recycling. That was perfect! It was risky managing glass, but it was his only choice. After arranging the wildflowers in the jar, he stepped back to admire his work. The bright blooms stood proudly in their makeshift vase; A triumphant beep escaped his radio.

However, waiting for you to get home from your job was the worst part. Bee leaned on the side of the blanket staring at the darkening sky, his pedes shifting restlessly against the ground as his optics traced the constellations beginning to shine above.

ᯓ★

The distant hum of the bus made Bumblebee buzz with anticipation as he scrambled quickly to double-check the lights and blanket one last time, his excitement nearly spilled over. Tonight was truly special, and he couldn’t wait to spend it with you, just the two of you, under the stars.

When you reached the garden, Bumblebee greeted you enthusiastically, using a series of radio clips to invite you, his favourite human, to sit down. “Isn’t She Lovely by Stevie Wonder” played softly from his speakers as he immediately handled the microwave, shaking its contents inside, beeping excitedly for you to open it.

A mixture of surprise painted your face “Aww Bee” You gently lowered down his servos so he couldn’t accidentally destroy your microwave and reached for him instead, your hands lightly cradling his side faceplate. His optics blinked rapidly in surprise, and his helm tilted curiously to the side as if trying to process your gesture. “This is..nice, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Thank you” For a moment, Bumblebee froze, his circuits whirring as if he’d been short-circuited by your words. His servos twitched at his sides, unsure whether to move or stay still. His radio crackled before settling on a slightly awkward but heartfelt clip. “You’re welcome my darling!!” Bumblebee immediately winced at his choice, but you only chuckled.

Your hands slipped away, and he missed the warmth almost instantly. You took a step back to take in everything he’d prepared, from the spread blanket, the slightly crumpled flowers, and the crookedly angled projector screen. You took a mental note to maybe teach him not to pluck bunches of flowers from your garden next time

“You went through all this… for me?” you asked, to which Bumblebee gave a small nod, his frame shifting nervously. His radio played hesitantly, “-It’s no big deal-” but the way he was fidgeting said otherwise.

“No,no ! it’s a huge deal,” Your smile grew as you crouched to fix the corner of the blanket. “Heck! You even got my favorite snacks.Look!” Maybe it was best not to ask him where the hell he took all of these goods, eyes lighting up when you spotted the assortment. “Bee, this is amazing. Seriously! After an exhausting day, this is all I need”

He melted at her reaction and his optics softened. Gathering his courage, he turned on the projector with a flick of his servo.  Soon, the screen lit up, casting a warm glow against the wall.

He beeped as if to ask “Shall we?”

Your grin widened. “We shall.”

Once you finally settled onto the blanket, patting the spot beside you Bumblebee carefully maneuvered himself, trying to sit without squishing anything else. He adjusted his position until he was beside you, his large frame curling slightly to fit in the cozy space. As the movie began to play, you leaned against him, resting your head against his cool plating. He was happy to start the first days of the new year with you like this.

“Next time, we’ll organize a date together”

[bisexualiteaa]

could you write something where cooper is talking the reader through it, but like, super sweetly and lovesick?

Talk Me Through It, Baby

Cooper Howard x Fem Reader (SMUT!! And some domestic fluff)

CW: NSFW MDNI!! Established relationship, lingerie, flirting, cursing, reader being all enticing, 🤭 p in v, unprotected sex, p0rn w/o plot, domestic Cooper, irradiated cream pie, fingering, oral, (fem receiving) praise, Cooper talking you through sex and making love to you, slight OOC Cooper, slight deviation from TV series

AN: the creative juices are flowing people! I’m loving it, thank you all to have given me asks, it has been so much fun getting to write stuff for you guys! I think i may be done posting for today and have a busy rest of the week ahead of me but keep a look out within the coming weeks for those whose asks I have not done yet! I haven’t forgotten you lovelies, I promise ❤️ hope I did your ask justice, Anon! Enjoy some smut and domestic fluff! 🥰🤠

It’s days like these that made you remember just how nice it was to live a domestic life back in the day. No worries of murderers at your doorstep, no worries about food supply running too low, radiation sickness, it was just perfect. You could bake, you could cook whatever you could get your hands on, but the best part? Was when Cooper walked through that door after a long day to see the beautiful smile that would light up your face when you would greet him. You’d come up to him, greet him with a “welcome home, honey!” Followed by a sweet, soft kiss as his hands would fall to your hips once he’d make it through the door of your home in the settlement. You wished it could be like old times, but this was the closest to that that you’d gotten and you were proud of it. You had a nice home that almost was completely patched of all holes, working appliances thanks to the electricity you got going, clean water, food and some furniture to really spruce things up.

It was the activities that transpired after dinner however that left you both the most excited for when we would be home. You smiled cheekily as you returned from the bathroom, sitting against the doorway clad in a nightgown that you had made for yourself from collected fabrics. It was soft and silky, yet slightly see through, adorned by lace cups and lace around the bottom as it flowed out yet also hugged your frame. One where it left very little to the imagination of what lay underneath. “What do you think?” You asked excitedly yet with a sensual calm tone, making Cooper look up at you with a grin. He whistled as his eyes roamed your figure, loving the way it hugged your curves just right and let your pert nipples poke through the lace. “What do I think?” He asked, standing up and walking towards you, meeting you half way as you sauntered into the room. “I think you look like a dream come true, sweet pea” he said, his hands coming to rest on your hips as yours looped around his neck with a smile. “You like it? I made it myself” You asked, knowing by the tent in his briefs and the smirk on his lips that that answer was obvious. “Oh I love it” he said genuinely, trailing his hands along the smooth, silky fabric as he looked down at you with a soft smile before pulling you in for a kiss. You hummed contentedly into it, removing his hat from his head and placing it on your own with a chuckle into the kiss. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were propositionin’ me, little lady” he said, making you grin up at him with that half lidded look of mischief and love in your eyes that he just couldn’t get enough of. “Maybe I am” you answered as your eyes flitted between his and his lips, your hands coming to rest against his chest softly, just enough touch to tease, yet enough to make him chase after you for more. “Then let’s take it for a spin, hmm?” He asked, making you giggle softly before a light gasp left your lips as he leaned down, planting sweet kisses to your neck, making your eyes flutter shut in bliss. Your arms held him tighter, pressing your chest against his as his teeth found all your weak spots, being sure to exploit them to work you up even further and hear those beautiful sounds he loves so much. “Cooper…” you sighed, your head falling back at the feeling of his rough hands running along your body, grabbing at anything he could get his hands on. Between kneading the pleasantly soft flesh of your ass, to fondling your breasts, he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Always look so pretty for me, sugar” he said, making you smile at his heartfelt compliment as he worked at the straps of your hand-tailored nightgown. “I always do my best for you” you replied, making him chuckle. “Don’t need to, you’re perfect as is” he responded, watching as it fell off of you with ease, the fabric pooling at your feet as he kissed you. He felt your hands smooth over his shirt as his tongue invaded your mouth, tasting the gin and sweet cherries you had with dinner, making him groan. You always tasted so damn sweet, so addictive. Sugar-Bombs be damned, you were 100% of his daily value of sugar and he wouldn’t want it any other way. When he noticed you had nothing on underneath, he couldn’t help but grin. “Look at you, you’re just so damn gorgeous, what’d a bastard like me ever do to get so lucky?” he complimented, making you smile giddily at his continued compliments. “By being you, Mr. Cooper Howard. Wouldn’t want you any other way” you replied, making him give something between a groan and a chuckle as your lips came to his neck. “The bed looks awful empty, what’dya say we change that?” You asked, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bed as he chuckled. “I like the way you think, sugar” he replied, watching as you sat down on the bed before him, looking to him expectantly. “C’mon don’t be shy now, tell me what you want” he said, but rather than speak your mind, your hands spoke for you, finding their way to the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up to where he’d take it off. He chuckled. “How ‘bout these? Want these off too, sweet pea?” He asked with a grin, knowing the answer before you even shook your head yes to confirm it. “Go on, take ‘em off for me. I know you like it more when I let you do it” he said softly, bringing your dainty small hands to his belt buckle, watching and helping you undo it and the button to his pants before taking a hold of his zipper with your teeth, and bringing it down. He groaned watching you toy with him, his fingers gliding through your hair, scratching your scalp before moving down to your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. “Eyes up here, darlin’” he teased, a grin on his lips as your pretty little doe eyes squinted with your smile, completely love drunk. He watched as you placed your fingers to his hips, helping pull down his pants and briefs as you looked him in the eyes the entire time. “Good girl, so good at it you ain’t even gotta look” he said, making you bite your lip and giggle as excitement was nearly tearing you apart, but you were being good. Patience was key, he loved drawing things out with you to where you were left absolutely crazy for each other.

“Sit your pretty self back some, let me have my dessert” he said, making a pleasant tingle flow through you straight to your throbbing clit. You did as you were told, scooting back a little and resting back on your hands as you spread your legs for him. “There ya go, nice ‘n wide for me, perfect. Look at you, so pretty for me. ‘f I had film in that old camera I’d snap a picture just to keep around of this sight” he said, making you grin up at him, the look in your eyes full of need as he got down on his knees at the edge of the bed. His lips trailed searing hot kisses up along the insides of your thigh, getting closer and closer to where you needed him most before placing the most feathered light kiss to your clit. Your hips bucked up involuntarily out of need and anticipation, a moan leaving you before you whined as he lavished the other thigh with kisses. He gave an amused chuckle. “Patience sweetheart, you’re doin’ so good for me. I promise it’ll pay off” he said, trailing back up to your soaking cunt where he’d placed soft, searing kisses to your clit, making your eyes flutter shut once more and your head drop back with a moan. He groaned at your taste, at the way one of your hands rested on his bald head to tell him how good he made you feel. He looked up at you as he let his tongue lull out, running it up your slit to your clit, flicking the tip of it against your sensitive nub. You keened at the sensation, your chest rising and falling drastically with the harsh inhales and exhales of your pants and moans, a small smile turned the corners of your lips as your eyes were shut. “Cooper…” you moaned, and it was music to his ruined ears. “Taste so good sugar, I swear it’s like you’re made of it” he said, placing a playful bite to the inside of one of your gummy thighs, earning a louder, surprised yet pleased moan in response. “Fuck…” you panted, making him chuckle as one of his fingers prodded your entrance, sliding in all the way to the knuckle as his tongue flicked against your clit in a rhythm that had you bucking your hips to meet his mouth. “Feels s’ good, please..” you begged, feeling him curl his finger inside of you to rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves. He was going to be the death of you one of these days, you swore it, he was too damn good at this. He watched as you looked down at him, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of him eating you like a man starved. He gave a wink at you as your gazes met, smirking into you as he felt you get closer and closer. “That’s the spot, ain’t it sugar? That’s it, doin’ so good for me, I know you’re close. Let go for me honey, I’ve gotchya” he said, keeping that delicious pace with his tongue and fingers rubbing that spot inside, it didn’t take long for you to do just as he asked. With a moan you came on his fingers and his tongue, a low, feral groan leaving his throat and rumbling his chest as you did. “Good girl” he praised, making you whimper as he withdrew his fingers. his mouth and chin shining with your slick and his spit. He used his fingers to wipe it off, looking you in the eyes as he sucked on his fingers to remove it, groaning at the taste as he licked his lips clean.

He climbed up on the bed over top of you, leaning down to kiss you which you graciously accepted, unbothered by the taste of you on his lips and tongue. “Ready sweetheart?” He asked, making you shake your head yes at him, enjoying how desperate you were for him. He leaned back to rub his tip through your slit, collecting your slick and mingling with the pre-cum that beaded out from it. “Don’t tease, Coop..” you begged, making him chuckle. “I know, I know, just makin’ sure I don’t hurt ya” he said, before easing his way into your tight cunt. Didn’t matter how many times you two had sex, the stretch always burned at first but subsided into nothing but absolute bliss. “Doin’ so good for me, doin’ okay sweetheart?” He asked once he was fully sheathed inside you, waiting for you to tell him when to move and making sure you weren’t in pain. You looked up at him, that smile that he swore was the brightest thing in the universe eased all his worries. “I’m good, Coop. You can move whenever you’re ready” you said, making him chuckle as he leaned down to kiss you again, starting a soft, slower pace. He didn’t want to fuck you tonight, didn’t want to have sex with you, no. He wanted to make love to you, show you how much he loves you, show you how much he worships the ground you walk on. He wanted to give you everything you ever wanted and more just to see that pretty little smile in return, it’s all he ever asked for. You both moaned into your shared kiss, his one hand holding yours by your head, fingers intertwined with each other as the other rested on your hip. Your free hand roamed along his scarred back, your head tipping back as his thrusts were deep and calculated. You shut your eyes as his lips roamed your neck, once again abusing the sensitive skin to hear your voice sing for him. “Feel so good honey, like you were made for me” he said, making you hum at the thought, you certainly liked to think so. “Maybe I- hah~ was” you said between moans, making him chuckle dryly. “Maybe you were” he said, his lips attaching to one of your breasts, his tongue laving over one of your nipples as his other hand toyed with the other between his thumb and finger. You moaned as your head fell back against the pillows, hair fanning around your head like a halo. You were ethereal, he swore it. His perfect little angel to keep him out of too much trouble, but just naughty enough to keep him on his toes.

“I love you so much, darlin’. Love everything you do for me” he said, making you smile warmly. “I love you too Cooper, and everything you do to- I mean *for* me” you said playfully, making him laugh at your witty joke, feeling the way your gummy walls hugged him tight, fluttering around his cock as he kept a good steady pace. “Felt you tighten around me, go ‘head, let go for me baby. I’m here” he said, bringing his thumb down to rub tight circles against your clit, leaving your back arching off the mattress and a wide O shaping your lips. “Fuck…Cooper, cum with me, please…inside” you said, making him groan into your neck as he buried his face there. “Anything for you sweet pea” he replied, moaning into your shoulder as you held onto him for dear life, knowing your orgasm would hit you hard. And that it did. You saw white stars flash in your vision, as your body arched up from the mattress once more, pressing yourself to him as your walls clamped down around him, milking him of everything he had to offer you as he painted your walls white. You panted as you rode out your highs, his lips coming to yours for a sweet, gentle kiss before resting his forehead against yours.

As you both lay there, basking in the after glow, he couldn’t help but get lost in your eyes. “What’s that look for, hmm?” You asked teasingly, making him chuckle. “Just that I found the love of my life” he said, so casually as if it were common knowledge, making you give him that beaming smile he loved so much. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, rubbing the irradiated skin with your thumb as you closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his once more. “Good, because I’ve been lookin’ at mine for a few months now, wondering when you’d finally admit it” you said, making him laugh along with you as he pulled out, got you both cleaned up and hooked you up to some RadAway. “Maybe I’ll go down to the market and getchya that ring you were eyein’ last time we went” he said, making you look at him astonished. “Oh Cooper, you ain’t gotta do that! You know how many caps that’ll run you?” You asked, making him laugh. “Does it look like I care? Besides, if it’s that ridiculously expensive, no one ever said anythin’ about spendin’ the caps if the person sellin’ it ended up missin’ somehow” he said with a grin, making you grin as you kissed him, only he could make murder look so good.

[shogunish]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟰]

synopsis. you got your period & satoru bought too many pads.

words. 996

warnings. reader cusses like once

note. i got my period and thought, hey why not turn this into some cute fluff for the series 😔🤞🏻

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! <3

previous || next

odd.

no calls, no text messages and the ones satoru sent you all remained on delivered.

usually, you’d ask satoru how megumi was doing, ask for pictures of the dogs, but this time it felt like your very presence was erased from the face of earth aka the display of his phone. a coil of worry sat in his abdomen like a snake, just waiting to crawl up his neck and slowly suffocate him before it’d eventually eat him up in one go.

“are you still alive?”

after thirty minutes of no reply, satoru got up from his seat on the couch and made his way over to your apartment. with a spare key — which you’d given him for emergencies — he unlocked your door with a quiet creak. “[name]?” he called out carefully, but got no reply. satoru swore he heard a shuffling of blankets from the living room.

with the curtains half-drawn, only a few sunrays dappled the living room. on the coffee table rested an empty pack of painkillers, a half-empty bottle of water and an empty bowl of chili chips. the tv was still running on the lowest volume, playing some movie satoru didn’t care about; not when you laid on the couch curled in on yourself and buried underneath a fluffy blanket like a hedgehog.

“satoru?” you raised your head from the pillow and rubbed some sleep from your eyes. you’d been taking a nap, satoru guessed.

taking a seat on your couch, satoru peered into your tired eyes and the pained expression painted across your face when you moved. “you look like shit,” he deadpanned, “what’s up? you haven’t been answering any of my messages.”

with a little hiss slipping through your teeth, you sat up on the soft cushion. a hot water bottle was stuffed in the waistline of your sweatpants. “sorry. i got my period and i’ve been feeling like shit all day. thanks for pointing it out, by the way.”

there was a little tug at satoru’s heartstrings when he saw your face so unusually pale and the discomfort in your body. he knew there was little he could do, yet he still asked. “is there anything i can do for you?”

satoru was too good for his own good. he didn’t have to check up on you and make sure you were alright. after all, you were supposed to be nothing but his son’s babysitter. or nanny. or whatever satoru called that arrangement. yet, here he was, in your home and looking at you with eyes that betrayed the worry in his abdomen. how could you refuse such an offer? you couldn’t, that’s how.

“actually..could you fetch me some pads and painkillers? i’d go myself but– oh fuck.”

as another cramp seemed to stab your womb, satoru gently put his palms on the slope of your shoulders and pushed you back down onto the soft cushion of your couch. to see you so out of commission tugged at his heartstrings in way it probably shouldn’t. “say no more. you just rest. i’ll be right back.”

all you managed was an affirmative grunt and a nod of your head before satoru made his way out of your four cozy walls to fetch you some pads and painkillers.

about half an hour later, he came back with a bag of the things you asked for and some salty and sweet snacks as well as some heat patches for your lower back.

“..why’d you get so many pads? these are enough to last me a year.” a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you pulled out item after item.

satoru shrugged his shoulders, a sheepish smile on his handsome face. “you didn’t specify which pads you needed, so i asked the lady in the aisle for help. well, in the end, i wanted to be sure and bought a little bit of everything.” he filled the bowl on your coffee table with some salty chips and stole one or two chips for his own before letting you have a taste. “i think i did a good job. i made sure all of them have wings, too!”

laughter bubbled in the back of your throat and for a moment, you forgot that your uterus was made of knives – or maybe it was thanks to the painkillers you had swallowed. “yeah. you did the best job.”

when your praise went in his ear like sweet honey and you looked at him with those sweet eyes, satoru swore his heart skipped a beat under his ribs. a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long, but it wasn’t too bad. at least, it was better than the snake of worry in his tummy.

“you didn’t have to buy all these things though,” you said and turned around so satoru could reveal the skin of your lower back. with careful fingers, satoru stuck the heat patches to your skin before pulling your shirt back down.

“you’re right. i didn’t have to, but i wanted to,” satoru replied, sitting back on the couch and casually draping his arm over your shoulder to pull you a bit closer to him. “besides, you looked so miserable that i took pity on you.”

“..i’m gonna pretend like i didn’t hear the last part,” you grumbled and snuggled up to the taller man who took up half of your couch, but you didn’t mind. in fact, you appreciated the warmth he radiated and so willingly shared with you.

satoru found a piece of home as you were cuddled into his side and watched the movie running on tv. how sweet it was to have a pretty woman in his arm, finding amusement in the silly lines of the characters and eventually snoring away on his shoulder like it was where you belonged.

satoru made a mental note to come by in four weeks again when your period would start just so you’d let him cuddle you.

taglist. @risuola, @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon, @ayanominitrash, @lordbugs, @phoenix666stuff, @hotvinimon, @stevenknightmarc, @sukunasleftkneecap, @erigaur, @lu-lynds, @staryukis

[sturns-mermaid]

KISSES 💋

read at your own risk, I'm not responsible for what you consume on the internet!

more of them here | this part of my valentines series find more here

❥ wc: 1k | proofread by Sofia 🍒

warnings; oral (m receiving), praise, slightly sub chris?, use of nicknames "sweet girl", reader referred to as "Cherry" - lmk if i missed any (stand alone)

The TV’s soft glow illuminated the dimly lit room, its light complemented only by a small lamp on your nightstand. You and Chris returned to your apartment after shopping at the mall, you dragged him to many stores and even stopped at the record shop on the way back. You had gotten a record from your favorite band and put it into your record player, the sound of music flowing through the room.

The soft sheets crinkled under you as you straddled Chris, your hands resting on his shoulders as you left kisses along his jaw. After dragging him through your favorite makeup store and purchasing three lipstick shades, Chris insisted you try them out. Little did you know he had a specific idea to help you, subtly suggesting for you to try them out on him. “Cherry...” he murmured as your lips continued to leave kisses on his skin, causing him to squirm beneath you under the overwhelming attention. You giggled, your hands moving down to his hands as you intertwined them together, feeling him squeezing them. Tints of crimson red, burgundy, and ruby scattered across his hot skin, leaving the outline of your lips all over him. Trailing your fingertip ever so slightly across them, admiring your work, watching his every move as his eyes fluttered shut and his head leaned back against the headboard of your bed. Chris’s hips shifted from under you, his arousal growing by the second as he felt your plump lips press onto his skin, he swore he could fall apart right then and there. He gave your hand another squeeze, his other hand lingering on your hip as you continued to kiss further down, he loved the fact that you were marking him in the only way you knew how.

Your voice broke him from his trance, your signature red nails tracing along the fabric of his shirt. “Stay still,” you whispered, leaning close to his ear as you gently placed a kiss by his pulse point. He tried, he did, but the way your lips were pressing against his skin and how your hands found their way under his shirt, he couldn’t help but grind his hips upwards towards you. “More, need more,” he rasped out, his hands gripping your hips and bringing you closer to him, mimicking his movements as he slowly moved you along with him.

You chuckled, your fingertip moving a stray hair from his face as you smiled down at his flustered state, his lips forming into a slight pout. “Aw, you want more? More what, kisses?” you teased, leaning down to kiss his cheekbone and feeling him squirm from under you. Chris nodded, feeling too pathetic to form a coherent sentence, his eyes big and pleading for you to continue.

You found yourself shifting down the bed, your fingers slipping under his sweatpants, your eyes widening at the shape of his boxers. Your red nails traced along the fabric seeing the slight wet patch, making your lips form a grin. “All this from a couple of kisses?” receiving a grunt from Chris, his hips bucking upwards as if silently pleading for more of your touch. You cooed in return as you dragged his pants down further along with his boxers, watching as he hurriedly kicked them off. “Cherry please,” he whined as you placed kisses near his hip bone, your tongue poking out to trace his skin. You loved teasing him, seeing him a whining mess and so desperate for your kisses, your touch, just you in general. You wrap your hand around him finally as he bucked his hips forward, begging for more than your painfully slow movements.

Your eyes never leave him as you take him between your plump crimson lips. Chris let out a low groan, his hands scrambling at his side to stop himself from grabbing your hair and pushing you further down his length. His body arched off the bed as you took him deeper. Curses fell from his lips as his hands finally made their way to your hair. Tugging gently as he started to control your movements, his eyes rolling in the back of his head from the overwhelming pleasure. “Fuck…just like that” he mumbled out his mouth falling agape as he finally peaked down at you, looking at him through your lashes.

He could not hold it back any longer. It was too overwhelming, the way your warm mouth felt around him, your eyes looking into his deep blue ones. He tried to warn you, but hearing your soft gags pushed him over the edge, his grip on your hair tightened as his head fell back once more. Without another word, his release spilled into your mouth, shooting down your throat as you greedily swallowed every drop. When you finally came up for air, you let his member drop from your mouth with a soft plop. You watched as it hit his stomach, seeing it twitch slightly. Both of you panting and trying to catch your breath, he sat up, moving over to you, while you rested on your knees, his hands cupping your face as he peppered kisses along your flustered skin. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered in between kisses showering you with love. “You did so well, my sweet girl,” offering plenty of praise and loving care as he kissed your lips, causing you both to break out in a smile.

You both laid in your bed covered up by your satin sheets resting in his embrace. After you both had calmed down, you lay close to him, his hands making their way down to your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Should I return the favor?” he whispers in your ear, causing a shiver to go down your spine. You looked up at him grinning, your cheeks as red as your smudged lipstick, you nodded, tracing your fingers along the kiss marks across his jawline and neck. “As long as I get to leave kisses on you whenever I want,” you whispered, snuggling closer. His arms snaked around you, holding you against him as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “Deal,” he replied, smirking.

dividers; @enchanthings-a , @anitalenia

tags; @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @brianna-grace12 @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @courta13 @mattsplaything @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @sturnshood @stxrsniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @angelic-sturniolos111 @leeeeree @pair-of-pantaloons

@ribbonlovergirl

[irradiatedpiratebooty]

fallout tv show ghoul discussion

the only thing i dislike about the show is their retcon of ghoul lore- everything else is a banger i had a great time but the lore changing the ghouls baffles me, as it retcons and changes literally every other game in the franchise. its funny, im not mad about it, im ok with the show having different lore than the games. i just hope they make it clear that its an AU kind of thing haha mainly because if someone gets introduced to the series from the show, and they go off to play the games, theyre going to be confused. so, what are the changes? well-

in fo3, theres an entire side mission involving the underworld, where the ghouls there really hammer in that the rumors like; that they regen and so can only be killed by headshots, that they eat people, that they can go feral at any point, and that they're zombies.

all of this is just propaganda spread by the brotherhood and bigots to justify murder and genocide.

none of it is true. they bleed and die like anyone else. but in the show, these things are not rumors, and they are completely true. cooper constantly has to take this drug from a vial that prevents him from going feral. theres no explanation on where this medicine came from, who makes it, whats its made out of, etc.

so, while in the game, turning feral is unknown, seemingly at random (theories range from genetics, lack of socialization, insanity, radiation exposure, and time) and ghouls dont just- randomly turn feral. but in the show its enevitable and therefore the hate towards them is justified. the only things that are special about them is that they; age much, much slower than non-ghouls, that they can heal faster using radiation. (to my knowlege, they still need to be patched up. they do not just regen. they can still get shot to death, or maimed. they just heal a little faster.) and they need more potent drugs, as it doesnt affect them as strongly (mentioned in fo3 by some ghouls in a subway) the changes made in the show heavily changes the stories of a few characters and places in the entire series.

for fo3: changes the entire underworld. these ghouls cannot leave this place. if they do, they're shot and killed immediately by the brotherhood nearby. they discuss how they're discriminated against. in the fo3 dlc, point lookout, the ghoul there presumably hasnt left the manor he lives in for well over 200 years. he wouldnt have access to these vials. tenpenny tower. their ban on ghouls would be justified then. the entire narrative involving the water purifier and putting the serum in that will kill off all mutants. with the changes the show makes, the decision whether or not you do this has no weight and eradicating mutants becomes justified. for fallout new vegas: dean domino. he hasn't left the Sierra Madre in over 200 years. he wouldnt have access to these vials either and would have probably gone feral a long time ago. for fallout 4: diamond city. diamond city's ban on ghouls wouldnt be an issue anymore. since in the show, ghouls cant die aside from headshots, the ghouls being thrown out into the wastes to the elements wouldn't really be as heavy of an issue.

(i cannot comment for fallout 1 and 2, as i am not as knowledgable about the ghouls in those two games. feel free to add on in reblogs if you know more about them than i do)

i love the show, i think its awesome. im basically consuming it now with the idea that its canon -within its own story and lore- and is separate from the game itself. cooper is a badass and the changes work for the show itself, not so much the entire series. which is fine in my eyes.

[raygirlramblings]

When I say Angel hare is the best analogue horror I do realise it's perhaps not as 'scary' to lots of people (I'd agree it's more eerie, a mystery story) but it NAILS the analogue part so perfectly.

It's not just some shitty VHS filter over creepypasta OC's and a story about yet another dead kid. It's not about cop cameras or PSAs or Emergency broadcasts, which by themselves can already be unsettling without needing to be part of a horror series. The East Patch team invented AT LEAST 3 different pieces of animated media (2 different TV shows and a game) to build their mystery and the whole project is a love letter to VHS technology, glitchy game tech and the decay of physical media.

They managed to make a cute little moral cartoon about a hare and her badger friend unsettling without having to draw the main character with a warped face or blood dripping eyes. That alone is a mark of quality writing and world building for a series like this.

As someone old enough to remember the golden age of VHS Angel Hare is the ONLY analogue horror series (in my experience) which has absolutely captured the magic and surrealism of that era. And sure I will praise the likes of The Mandela Catalogue, Monument Mythos and Mystery Flesh Pit for what they do so expertly, but Angel Hare still holds it's head up high for the sheer amount of work put into making it feel real and substantial. It feels like a series made by people who lived and loved the VHS age, not a bunch of kids trying to capture a feeling they've only experienced second hand.

[wileys-russo]

lessi as the godmother!!!! 🥹🥹🥹 no rush but please may you write a mini pt 2 where reader has given birth and less meets the baby for the first time<33

sequel to this and part of the a date to remember universe series

godmother II m.earps

"lets fucking go baby!" you yelled at the tv, clapping your hands happily as your wife saved another attempt on goal. it was mid WSL season and since you were so far along now at your doctors advice your wife had promptly banned you from leaving the house for anything not completely necessary, like appointments or your pre-natal classes.

you'd been trying to argue for the last few weeks that to you watching mary play was necessary, but she would just shut you up with a kiss and a firm shake of her head, ending any chance of an argument right there and then.

your wife had always been protective of you by nature throughout the entire time you'd known her, however given you were now pregnant she had become over protective. which meant you found yourself regularly having to bite your tongue not to tear her head off with how she fussed over you.

thats not to say you hadn't snapped.

pregnancy hormones were no joke and some days your wife found herself walking on eggshells, cautious that one wrong word or action would cause you to tip over the edge, your volatile moods becoming incredibly unpredictable.

though she knew it wasn't your fault and more often than not the moment you'd finished yelling you'd burst into tears and apologize, your wife assuring you over and over with soft and loving kisses that she wasn't mad and she understood it was out of your control.

but despite how much mary over worried, she was also your saving grace.

if it was holding up your stomach to allow your back a few brief moments of reprise from its dragging weight, rubbing your very swollen feet, massaging your back and shoulders, putting up with your mood swings, going to the shops at all hours of the day and night to satisfy every little pregnancy craving, if there was any way at all she could make your life easier in any possible way, she was there in an instant, and you adored her for it.

"get in tooney!" you yelled with a cheer, struggling to your feet and pumping your first in the air as the girl scored the equaliser in their match against liverpool, watching with a proud smile as she celebrated with the team, alessia the first one to pull her up and into a tight bear hug.

you heard a strange sound and grabbed at your stomach as a wave of pain suddenly rolled through you. "oh fuck. not now, please not now!" you begged, looking up at the ceiling with your eyes squeezed closed, in denial of what you know you had just heard.

sure enough looking down there was a large wet patch on the carpet and you groaned as another wave of pain rocked your body. sitting down and taking a deep breath you grabbed your phone, hands shaking as you unlocked it and flicked through your contacts to your mother in law.

"hi julie! um no everything is fine...but i think my waters just broke?"

~

"i'm here! i'm here! i'm here! no one panic!" you breathed out a sigh of relief as the door to your room smacked open and mary stumbled inside, still clad in her keepers kit, face blotchy and red as she squatted down, baby hairs clinging to her forehead which was matted in sweat.

"give me a minute babe oh my god that elevator was taking ages so i ran up like six flights of stairs. jesus!" mary puffed out as she struggled to catch her breath, bent over with her hands on her knees.

"you missed the birth mary." you stated quietly, the woman almost falling to her feet at the news, eyes as wide as saucers. "what!? why the fuck did no one call me?" your wife spat angrily, beginning to pace around at the foot of your bed.

"nah only joking. we've taught her well babe she waited for her mum to finish her game before arriving!" your face broke out into a grin, the colour returning to marys as she collapsed into the seat beside your bed, pincing the bridge of her nose.

"i swear on my life woman if you weren't pregnant i'd punch you." "excuse me darling which one of us in labor right now?"

"right! sorry my love. how are you? how far apart are the contractions? whats the pain one to ten? have you seen a doctor? is there a nurse nearby? have-"

"mary baby breathe!" you laughed, struggling up and gently grabbing her face, your thumbs stroking her jaw affectionately.

"i'm okay, just uncomfortable. its hard to explain but everything just feels really tight and sore? its still early stages, the contractions are about nine minutes apart when they timed them. they said my water broke prematurely which though rare does happen and doesn't mean theres any complications before your mind goes there." you explained as your wife placed her hands over yours, bringing them to her mouth and tenderly kissing the tips of your fingers with a nod.

"the doctors not been in yet and he won't until the contractions are closer together, but the midwives have been great. they should come back around in a few minutes actually so you can talk their ear off with your questions then. your mum just popped out to call my mum, she and my dad are getting on the first flight they can." you continued, smiling and giving your a little nod to show you were finished.

"thank god she picked up when you called. baby i told you i shouldn't have played today, what if no one was there to bring you to hospital!" mary sighed with a frustrated shake of her head, resting her chin on your intertwined hands, you almost having to lock her out of the house in order for her to leave this morning.

"then i'd have called an ambulance my love. you did play, and from what i hear you won so im glad that you did. i got here safely, you got here in time, everything worked out best as it could have. so stop being stroppy!" you smiled, gently pulling away your hands and teasingly flicking her ear before settling back into the hospital bed.

"i'm not bein stroppy!" "your moody little pout says very differently." "i'm not! i just love you and our daughter very very much and i worry about you both, you know that." "i know love, but you know at your age you have to be careful about worrying so much, you'll get grey hairs." "i'm hardly two years older than you are!" "I know you're ancient, should be criogenically frozen in a football museum somewhere." "baby i pray every day she doesn't inherit your sense of humour, i don't think i could handle two of you it would drive me to insanity." "mary!"

~

"sit love! i'll get it." your wife remanded as the doorbell rang, rolling your eyes with a small smile as you sat back down, hearing her footsteps hurry off toward the door.

"where is she? where's my little niece? her favourite aunty is here!" "you wish you were her favourite tooney, she won't even pay you a second glance once she see's her godmother is here!" "she's one month old she won't care about either of you, and she's finally been sleeping for more than twenty minutes so shut up, the pair of you!"

you heard the girls before you saw them, hearing mary harshly shush them and a loud smack echo out where she'd clearly whacked one of them, ella whining as she entered the room.

"muuum she hit me!" the midfielder pouted in your direction as you chuckled and opened your arms, the younger girl collapsing into them as you wrapped her in a hug. "stop hitting the kids babe!" you teased your wife, alessia lifting your arm and tucking herself into your other side.

"i'm too young to have three kids." the woman mumbled, rubbing at her temples with an overdramatic sigh. "aw great now she's disowned us!" ella continued sending you a cheeky grin. "baby thats not very nice, say sorry to the girls. you know you love them!" you wound up your wife who shook her head, biting back a smile.

"i am going to check on our actual daughter." mary announced with a roll of her eyes, disappearing out of the room. "i love you babe!" you sung out after her with a smile, hearing her grumble as her footsteps faded away.

"so how are you feeling? we've missed you!" alessia asked as ella nodded eagerly, the two of them not moving from where the three of you were wrapped up together in a hug. "yeah mary runs a tight ship! told us we wasn't even allowed to facetime you until she said so." ella pouted with a huff as you ruffled her hair.

"i feel heavy, tired, fat. i haven't slept properly since she arrived, the bags under my eyes have bags, and i think this is the only jumper i currently own which doesn't have sick or some sort of bodily fluid on it." you paused to chuckle and look down at the faded red material covering your body.

"but she's also the best thing that has ever happened to me. i love her so much i would die for her in an instant, her tiny little fingers and toes and her squishy little cheeks man. she's got me and mary by the throat!" you teared up, overwhelmed by the love you felt for your daughter as both girls either side of you aweed and hugged you tighter.

"speaking of, look who just woke up." ella and alessia's heads whipped behind them with wide eyes as mary returned, gently cradling your new born daughter in her arms. "oh my god she's tiny." alessia whispered with a small squeal of excitement, marys face melting into a soft smile seeing the obvious excitement from the two girls.

"do you both want a hold?" your wife offered, eyes flickering toward you as you nodded encouragingly, knowing how much it worried her to have anyone that wasn't the two of you to do so, but you were working through it together.

"shit but how do you do that? don't they have like no bones? and their heads are soft like jelly? their skulls are like-" ella began to panic, rubbing her palms on her shorts. "language around the baby el!" you warned, shoving her shoulder as she hastily apologized.

"yes they are very fragile, but if you want to hold her i'll show you how." you smiled reassuringly, watching the cogs turn in her head. "less can go first!" she decided as you glanced to the blonde on your other side who was busy staring adoringly at the little bundle of limbs in your wifes arms.

"less?" "hm?" "do you want to have a hold?" "oh yes please."

"okay, sit back and get comfortable." you ordered softly as you stood and mary carefully handed you your daughter, pressing a kiss to your cheek and tenderly stroking your daughters hand with her thumb.

"are you okay? its fine if you need some time, they say it normally takes around five minutes to be properly comfortable with holding a newborn baby." mary checked in with the younger blonde who nodded that she was ready.

"so the most important thing is to support the head and the neck." mary started to explain, taking a seat beside alessia who nodded, following her every word. "so very carefully take her-" mary continued as you gently handed over the baby to the striker.

"breathe less." you chuckled as she exhaled shakily, almost trembling as she very gently took your daughter from you, mary shuffling closer to help her adjust.

"so you want her stomach to always be angled toward you, and her back will rest on your forearm. then you'll support her head in the crook of your elbow and your hand can rest there-" mary gently moved alessias arm as ella watched on in awe.

"-and now you're holding her less." mary smiled proudly, squeezing her shoulder and shuffling back a bit as alessia looked up at you in shock. "wow!" ella breathed out in shock. "you're a natural less." the girl complimented as alessias eyes dropped back down to the newborn cradled in her arms.

"this is so weird, like im holding a whole human right now." "yeah its a bit overwhelming at first but you're doing great less."

"hi gorgeous i'm alessia. i'm your godmum but you can just call me aunty lessi!" the blonde smiled as you sat down on marys lap, feeling her arms wrap securely around you as she pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder before resting her chin there, both of you watching on fondly as ella began to interact with your daughter who was tucked up securely in alessia's hold.

"have you accepted we've got three daughters now?" you quietly murmured to your wife with a teasing smile, pecking her lips and feeling her body vibrate under yours with a soft chuckle.

"yeah, i think i have."