#certainly not since being with buck

[redgoldblue]

for the love of god someone add tommy to the 118 group chat

[journeythroughtherain]

Unpopular opinion about Evan Buck Buckley

That man is not blond.

[poughkeepsies]

ahh you're totally right about not making the convo about buck's sl because its definitely about buck/maddie and chim/hen and the strength of their bonds. maybe I didn't frame my thought correctly? I more meant that it seemed hen was a bit like "I know you love maddie but you love chim too so maybe you can see why I'm worried about him and maybe he's not ready to marry her" but he was very focused on maddie and chim and their happy ending that he couldn't fully see hen's worries for what they are (chim and maddie love each other but maybe they're not ready for that step) and buck just thinks hen disagrees that their happy endings are with each other (which is also maybe reiterated in the last hen/buck scene "you dont want them to get married" "i was expressing a concern"). but the hen/buck convo was so intense and (my read was) hen was intense because chim was being so erratic and I just thought buck was maybe intense bc of the dream. but those feelings can totally exist outside the events of this episode/6x11 too! they've both always been very protective of chim and maddie (i feel like this ask still sounds like I was making it about buck but really it was just a thought on why the convos were the way they were and less about why buck reacted that way bc him wanting maddie to get a happy ending would exist without the coma dream! tbh I'm probably just overthinking it, 6b has just been very good and I have a lot of thoughts about everything going on all the time) (also feel free to ignore to avoid discourse I just wanted to elaborate :) )

No no, I definitely get what you're saying! I didn't mean to say you're making it about Buck, you aren't, you're just offering a new perspective on it which is actually really well thought out

[chaoticbiguysblog]

For the love of GOD, Tommy Kinnard is not historic lgbt rep. White gay characters with no personality are a dime a dozen on network tv. Even Buck's bisexuality storyline, while is groundbreaking for queer firefighters, it's also not historic since "older guy discovers he's bi" was already done in Crazy Ex Girlfriend. Even Eddie's queer awakening wouldn't be historic, as there have been a few "formerly straight-identifying guys with religious trauma coming out later in their lives" storylines on tv. Not to mention, Michael's journey on 911. 

Now, Buck and Eddie's relationship would ABSOLUTELY be historic lgbt rep bc we've never had a slowburn same sex romance on network tv, especially with two firefighters (don't just take my word for it, go Google and see it for yourself, we don't have anything like that yet), if they were to go canon, they'll certainly create history. As for what we have right now, a boring relationship with the characters saying one or two lines to each other every third episode, is hardly historic.

You wanna know what's 911's contribution in historic lgbt representation, it's our own Henrietta "Hen" Wilson.

A badass lesbian firefighter+paramedic, who's also been an interim captain, she's strong despite the severe workplace discrimination she had to endure and she's a great mother, she almost became a doctor too, what is it that she can't do? As for her relationship, it's one of the three front and center relationships on 911, her wife Karen is a rocket scientist, and one of the most emotionally mature character I've ever seen on tv, and even though their relationship hit a bump in the first season, they managed to get past the cheating and after that they've had a relatively healthy and happy marriage, and we don't see a lot of that on network tv, especially with two Black women. Hen and Karen never get their dues for being a wonderful queer+wlw representation, and it has only gotten worse since EvanTommy fans have joined the fandom.

[hanasnx]

Just found your Noir content. Glad someone is writing for him. Noir and breeding kink? Been thinking about Noir fucking me in a mating press ever since he attacked Starlight in season 2. He can hold me down and choke me out like that any day.

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: babe that fuckin mating press goes hard doesn’t it? goddamnnnnn. noir putting you in a mating press <333that whole thing with starlight was fuckin crazy i was clawing the walls

Rough grunts expel from BLACK NOIR’s nose with each sharp thrust, plowing into you from the angle the position provides. Folded up over yourself with no regard to your comfort, he’s got you bunched up in a way that pleases him. Heavy body leans over you, harsh hands on the backs of your thighs keeping you good and spread from him. You’ve certainly gotten more flexible since you’ve started fucking him. The edges of his armor dig into you, but you can’t even register it over the overwhelming sensation of being filled. Fat cock drives into you at a reckless pace, forcing air from your lungs as if its piston defines your diaphragm’s every move. You can barely breathe from being crushed.

There’s something different about his angle, not only is it mind-bending, tremors wracking through your body as your eyes roll so far back in your head they ache, but it’s the way he handles it. Grabbing you like he owns you, redirecting your body in any way he desires, muscling you into submitting underneath him so he can fuck your hole in peace when you squirm too much. Your cervix gets kissed by his tip occasionally, but he wants you to be still and take it. For his dick? You’ll do anything.

You let him mate with you. The way he’s fucking you reminds you of an animal. Pinning you down as if you’ll escape at your first chance, growls escaping him, possessively filling up your cunt with the wet sounds of a cock finding its home. Usually, you’re the dirty talker in the bedroom, but he’s effectively silenced you, yanking you into his bucks with his firm hold on your thighs.

It used to be difficult to tell what he’s thinking, but he can’t be more clear now. The stutter in his hips is a dead giveaway to his impending load, and usually this would be the point in which he’d pull out and fist his cock to cum on you. Stomach, face, ass, he loved to paint you. Instead, he’s keeping it in, not only that but he’s still moving. Like he wants to fuck a baby in you.

“Noir— Noir!” you scold, but he continues. Swollen cock bullying your insides as it twitches with need to cum. “Don’t you— don’t you dare—“ you’re able to get the words out, concentrating hard on forming a sentence when your brain is so empty. The idea of him cumming in you is appealing, but you don’t know how Supes work. You’ve never had that conversation with him. What if he’s not sterile?

Lips slot against your ear, and if you weren’t mistaken, you could’ve sworn they form and mouth the word “baby.”

[thewritetofreespeech]

A Gift from Madam Sylvi

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond wants to be a good husband. So he goes to the only person he can trust for education on the topic.

tags: heterosexual sex, cunnilingus (f!oral), readers first time for that, antiquated medieval views on sex & relationship styles, platonic Sylvi/Aemond relationship, he's a good man savannah

words: 2.4K

Ao3

-------------------------------⚔️-------------------------------

“I want to make her happy.”

Aemond rested with his head on Sylvi’s breast. The madam’s fingers combing through his long silver tresses. Lulling him to just the borderline of sleep, and this heart felt confession.

“Your lady wife?” He hummed in acknowledgement. His marriage to the lady had been recent and tactical. It was a marriage for allies, not love. Still, his chosen spouse was a much better candidate than that moon eyed doe from the braying buck they had originally tried to bind him too. His now wife was much prettier, sharper, sweeter. She didn’t seem afraid of him, although cautious like any two people amongst strangers. They were trying to get to know each other. But with a war going on there was not much time for long strolls or quite evenings of conversation. Or whatever it was that newlyweds did.

“Well, I think, the fact that you want to make her happy is an excellent start your grace.” Sylvi told him. “Most women don’t even get that much effort in a lifetime.”

“I do not want an ‘effort’. I want to do it.” Aemond had always been a man of results. She should know that by now.

He curled further down to rest his head in her lap now. Fully clothed, and him with his breeches still on. Since his marriage, his visit to the Street of Silk had been infrequent and always like this. He felt…wrong laying with another woman when he had a sweet wife at home in his chambers waiting for him. Aemond wasn’t sure how his brother or other men did it. How cheap was their cost of loyalty if it could be swayed with just a little cunny?

No, he came to Sylvi for something else. Comfort. And advice. He certainly couldn’t ask anyone else on how to be a good husband. His brother would laugh at him, and also was probably only a good candidate on what to not do as a husband. His mother would tell him something about duty. Criston hadn’t and couldn’t take a wife. So, who was he to ask, except the woman who traded in love for a living?

“Well, listening to them helps. Finding out what they like. What they don’t like.” The madam’s fingers in the prince’s hair stop. “Your grace…do you mean to make your wife happy…entirely.” The prince’s long body curled up further into itself. Small as it would go. “Is that what this is about then? You want to make her happy that way.”

“I don’t think she likes it.”

Sylvi chuckled softly. “Most first timers do not. I’m sure you were gentle with her. You were always gentle with me.” Her hands resume stroking his hair. “But you’re worried she won’t like you if she doesn’t like it.” He doesn’t answer, but his shoulders make some manner of motion next to her knee stating the affirmative.

“Does she say no when you ask her?”

Aemond shook his head.

“Does she fight you?”

Aemond shook his head again.

“Why do you think she doesn’t like it?”

He paused, then finally answered. “She does not make the noises like they do.” ‘They’ being Sylvi’s girls. ‘The noises’ being the faint orchestra of pleasure heard just outside the curtain and over the music.

The madam laughed. “Yes, well, they are paid to make the noises, my prince. Just because a woman makes those noises does not always mean she is truly feeling them.” Aemond’s head turned up towards her. His good eye glittering daggers up at her as much as his sapphire. Clearly contemplating if all his sexual experiences in the past had also been a lie for coin. “But that does not mean you can’t make them real.” Sylvi added quickly. “A woman’s body and pleasure is more complex than that of a man. It takes a skilled hand and sharp mind to master it properly.”

The prince sat up from her lap. Sylvi’s heartbeat quickened as she wondered if perhaps her gambit to his ego hadn’t worked and she had suddenly, finally, crossed the line with him. “Show me.”

The fire hearth crackled a sweet tune in the background as you read for a bit before bed. A gift from Aemond.

You had been cautious in telling him you enjoyed reading, as not all men & lords liked their women educated, but he had taken the news quite well. Or you assumed well, as you were not beaten and instead presented with books.

Your new husband was much harder to read than these books, however. He was an enigma. Besides not being able to read his facial expression like most, due to his eye patch and also the fact that he hardly had any tell at all, he wasn’t the best conversationalist. You carried most of them between you, but the parts you could glean from what he offered back was that he was very smart, very dedicated, and that he liked apples. You made sure to have them in your shared quarters now at all times.

You wanted to be a good wife for your husband. It was all your life had been leading up to. As a lady, your duty was to marry well, give your husband children, and serve his house well with your talents for the next generation to past the torch. You never imagined that torch might be one made of dragon fire. Nor that the children you raised might be the crown jewel of the realm.

Your head perked up and your book closed when you heard the door open, and the sound of heavy boots follow in. You stand up to greet your husband, knowing it was him before you turned around and saw him. “Hello husband. Did you have a pleasant evening?”

He hummed in acknowledgement of your question. You do not ask where he has been. “Have you eaten?”

“I did.” You told him. “I had dinner with your mother.” The dowager queen seemed committed to making you feel welcome since your arrival and marriage. Perhaps it was because she was fond of you. Or perhaps it was the simple fact that she remembered what it was like to be a young woman alone in a strange place. In any event, you were glad for her company. “But if you haven’t eaten, I can call for something and sit with you?” Though you appreciated the former queen’s company, you suddenly wondered if you were supposed to wait for your husband.

Aemond shook his head. Then reached out to cup your cheek and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were cool from being outside, but quickly warm against yours. You moan a little. Still a bit shy in kissing a man when it had been forbidden to you for a long time, but unable to deny that you found great pleasure in Aemond. “I am not hungry for food.”

Your cheeks flush. Your eyes cascade down shyly. But you cannot help the smile that pursed against your lips. “Alright. Shall I call my maid to get me ready for bed?”

“I think I can manage.”

He took your hand and led you from the sitting room into the inner chambers of your bedroom. The torches unlit. Aemond preferred it that way as he liked to sleep in complete dark. The moonlight flickering through the curtains your only guide.

He does more than manage as he was able to get you out of your lacings and ties rather quickly. The fragile garment pieces are no match for those nimble fingers trained for years to peak dexterity. “Lay on the bed.” He told you. You were a little confused, as that was your intention, but you realized he meant on top of the bed. So, you did just that.

Feeling a little exposed, you watch Aemond undress as well; then feeling a little embarrassed at ogling but then realized if there was anyone you should ogle it was your husband. He climbed onto the bed and on top of you once he was naked. Your legs spread open for him. To give him space and access. You were familiar with this part by now, so knew the part you were expected to play by heart. But you were surprised when Aemond’s lips left from kissing you to down your neck, over your breasts, down your stomach…. “What are you doing?”

The prince stopped to look up at you. His chin hovering over your navel. “Just trust me.”

You did trust him. However, this was not how you were instructed on how love making was supposed to go. How was he to give you children when his thing was all the way down there? You were suddenly a little nervous, remembering some of the stories, not fit for virgin ears that had still made their way to you, of husbands who humiliated their wives in all manner of ways in the bedroom. You didn’t think Aemond would that too you, but you hadn’t known each other that long. Still, you lay prone and let him go on with whatever he was doing.

His kisses continue. Down your stomach to the seam where it met your maidenhood. Your whole body flushed when he kissed your mound. Squirming at the feel of hot breath on your most sensitive parts. This was….odd. This was wrong.

Aemond seemed to sense your distress and held your legs still & open for him. He looked up your body at you, not saying anything, before he dipped his head down again and licked at your center. A jolt shot through your body, and you could see now why he was holding you. It felt odd. Wrong. His tongue brushed against you again and this time it tickled. A giggle bubble out of your mouth at the feeling before you tried to squirm out from under him again, before the ticklish feeling gave way to something more.

Your body felt warm as his tongue continued to lap at your core. As if his tongue were actual tongues of fire, licking white hot heat in little pin pricks and cracks of flame over your skin. “A-Aemond..s-stop…this isn’t…this isn’t….hn!” Your back bent unbeckoned as his tongue slithered inside you. Where his cock should be. That was the only suitable thing that was supposed to be inside you. Or at least that was what you were taught.

You began to pant as Aemond’s tongue lashing continued. Coiling inside you. Slinking back out to tease just your entrance. Toying with your nub like it was a marble or piece of hard candy in his mouth.

Your fists grip the fine bedding under you. White knuckled to match the white-hot heat inside of you. “A-Aemond….Aemond stop! S-Something is happening…!” Something felt like it was building inside you. It felt similar to the feeling of you were about to fall, and you were scared that you were going to fall off the bed, or fall through it, or…something! You didn’t know what was going to happen but you knew it was going to happen if Aemond kept going.

“Aemond please…please….mmmhm…I can’t…I’m scared…Aemond I….Aemond!”

The feeling of falling consumes you. Your body still while your mind tumbled through the darkness to a bright white light before landing in stars. When it fell back into your head, in the space fit for it in your body, your limbs felt heavy and weak. Your mind supple. What just happened?

The prince lifted from his position between your legs. Politely closed them for you. Then came to the head of the bed to lay beside you amongst the pillows. His hand wiping at his mouth along the way. “What was that?”

“A gift for you.” His eye watched you. Looking at you in a way as if for some kind of tell. “Did you not like it?”

“No. I mean….yes. I don’t know…” The experience had left your world much changed. You didn’t like it at first, but you didn’t not like it. You were confused yet enamored and still a bit tingly all over. “Where did you learn that from?”

“A friend.” That was his only answer, before he reached out and touched your cheek.

You know enough about men to not ask where they get their sordid information from. Men liked to pretend they didn’t gossip as much as ladies, but that wasn’t true. Instead, you just coiled your cheek into his hand affectionately and turned to face him side-by-side. “Shall we…I mean…did you want to…the regular way?”

“Hmm…not tonight.”

He leaned in and kissed the top of your forehead. You were surprised. You thought all men wanted to lay with their women once the sun went down. But perhaps that was another assumption you had been told. You could feel Aemond’s persistence against your thigh, however, when he wrapped himself around you under the covers. You asked him again, but again he said not tonight and seemed to fall asleep behind you not long after that.

You stayed awake a little longer. Focused on making out the cracks in the stone through the dark as your mind was reeling. Trying to make sense of what happened.

On the one hand it had been…wonderful. Confusing to be sure, but now that the shock was wearing off you realized how incredible of a feeling it had been. But why didn’t Aemond want anything in return? Why give you a ‘gift’ if he didn’t want anything in return? When he didn’t have to give you anything in the first place? You were his wife. It was your wifely duty to lie with your husband. And it wasn’t as if it was a chore like other ladies described. Did he not find you satisfactory? Surely not. Otherwise, why give you a ‘gift’?

Your mind kept reeling, until eventually the carousel in your mind slowed down as it refocused not on the stone but the breathing at your back, and you eventually fell asleep. Perhaps it was just best not to question a gift when offered. You were just happy you had a husband who was interested in making you happy. Most women don’t even get that much effort in a lifetime.

[tyunniez]

sugar

oc x bttm m reader // smut

" my, look at you~ " your eyes flickered up to gaze into ji woon's eyes. " xin hui made a real mess of you, huh? " the teasing tone in his voice made your tip stickier than it already was.

seeing you tied up, a vibrator shoved up your ass with your own underwear stuffed inside your mouth was certainly a sight to see.

he slowly approached you while loosening up his tie, a hungry look in his eyes.

a low moan escaped your mouth as he dragged his finger down your exposed cock, making sure to run his finger nice and slow to feel all the veins around it.

" i wonder how many times have you cum, yn? by the looks of it not that much hm.. " what he said was indeed true.

xin hui being the fucking sadist he is decided not to let you cum even once, ripping away that sweet sweet release as soon as you were nearing it.

" poor baby, don't worry i'll help you, okay? " ji woon grinned while slowly stroking your cock. a choked grunt muffled from your mouth, tears brimming your eyes as you could feel your release soon.

" ah-ah, not now though. let's see how long you could last, sugar. " ji woon ripped his hand away from your aching cock, a look of betrayal clear in your eye. since when did this bastard become a sadist too?!

ji woon ran his hand all over your thigh, purposely caressing your inner thigh to get a reaction out of you. meanwhile, his other hand toyed around with your hard nipple, mouthing and sucking on the other one.

" mmh yn.. come on, cum already... " he whined while sucking on your adam's apple. his hand that was roaming your thigh now held onto the vibrator, pushing it in and out of you slowly.

this caused your pupils to go wide. a loud muffled moan flew past your mouth as you tried to close your legs, which failed knowing that ji woon was literally between them.

he started slowly, dragging the silicone toy in and out of you. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you try to process the amount of stimulation you are receiving.

ji woon however got impatient and immediately sped up with no warning whatsoever, shoving the toy inside your abused hole before pulling it out only to shove it back in again.

strings of moans and whines muffled in your mouth as you try to beg ji woon to slow down. he on the other hand only sped up, seemingly desperate to see you cum untouched.

you feel the coil in your stomach about to break as your thigh began shaking. " that's right, cum for me yeah? " ji woon whispered into your ear, trailing kisses down to your chest.

you shut your eyes as your cum shot out of your cock, loads after loads coming out seeing as if there was no end to it. you bucked your hip as a way to ride out your high, the orgasm itself so intense causing tears to come streaming down.

" look at you, cumming untouched. how cute~ " he teased while lapping up some of the cum that landed on your stomach which led to him sucking the one on your cock.

the sheer overstimulation made you almost pass out but not before a harsh slap to your thigh woke you up.

" hey now, we're not done yet! "

this is absolutely filthy my gawd. btw the two oc (ji woon n xin hui) are actually from a fic i made a long time ago. should i post it here lolz?

[divinesolas]

LURKING !

monsterfuckertober day 2

summary: your life is completely shit. but one day you decide to do a good deed and clean a gravestone. and the ghost is very thankful towards you. maybe a little too thankful

w.c: 1.5k

c.w: ghost!jace, more plot than smut, fingering (fem), reader has a very depressing life, but dont worry jace is there to cheer her up, going based off my own ghost lore, talk of death, not proofread.

monsterfuckertober masterlist

taglist (open) @chimmysoftpaws

you were going nuts. you were so sure of it.

Your life had taken a massive downward spiral within the last two years. Both of your parents had died in a horrible car accident, then you found out your boyfriend of five years was cheating on you with your best friend and the rest of your friend group had chosen them over you and had left you all alone, you had been demoted in your barely paying retail job and could barely afford your bills.

Life was completely shit. spending most of your time alone in your apartment barely being able to afford groceries eating some shitty cheap takeout. You cried and you cried but your life never changed.

Yet it took one day for strange things to start happening to you. The worst thing had happened, after a long grueling shift dealing with annoying customers and shitty managers your car wouldn't start no matter how many times you tried. You cant even bring yourself to cry anymore, simply too wore down from everything going on and knowing you definitely cant afford to fix it or call a mechanic you simply leave it there to deal with another day and start the long walk home.

You end up stumbling across a graveyard you had never even noticed before. A particular gravestone catches your attention, you should just keep walking, go come and take a cold shower, since the heating in your apartment hasnt been working, and cry yourself to sleep but you cant take your eyes off of it.

its so dirty, like someone hasnt visited it in decades, you cant even read the words on it. You dont know what compels you to drop all your stuff next to it and spend your last 15 bucks on some supplies to clean it at a store nearby.

Suddenly you're on your knees scrubbing down the old stone until your wrist grows sore. after far too long and far too much sweat builds up on your body you can finally read the words on it.

jacaerys velaryon

1875-1896

beloved son and brother

you trace over the name with your dirt covered thumb as a sloppy attempt of pronouncing the name leaves your mouth. You don’t know why but a cold chill runs down your back, its almost as if a hand comes to caress your face and you jump back. Youve spent far too much time here you fear you’re starting to hallucinate. You head on your way home, sure you’ll regret the money you’ve spent tonight later knowing youll not be able to afford dinner tonight and sigh.

When you wake up the next day your apartment is warm. It's unusual, knowing the heating in your apartment is broken but when you go over to it you almost burn your hand at the heat of the radiator. did they fix it while you slept? That would be strange wouldn't they need to come into your apartment.

You try not to think about it maybe it was a problem with the building? you try not to think about it and walk towards the kitchen to eat. You freeze when you see a basket of fresh fruit sitting on the counter. you certainly cant afford that, and you get even more scared when you open up your fridge and cabinet and see them packed filled with your favorite foods and snacks.

You think maybe you just blacked out and went into debt buying yourself a bunch of stuff but when you check your account it looks normal. Now you worry, maybe you were still dreaming? but it seemed as real as it could get.

Your eyes hit a bouquet of flowers, red roses contrasting the bland apartment walls. you walk closer to it and notice a small note attached to the top and your breath hitches.

thank you.

now you’re even more lost. were you genuinely going crazy? who would even be able to do this and who would even be thanking you? when was the last time you did something worth thanking.

no. theres no way right? ghosts arent real. and they certainly dont have the ability to be able to do things like this. Maybe whatever higher power was out there was playing tricks on you. It started to feel less and less like a trick when you walked outside to go to work and saw your car there, perfectly fixed up without a scratch.

It grew harder to ignore the strange things that were happening in your life when people seemed to no longer bother you at work, it seemed like your bank account never dropped even when you would buy take out or have to pay rent for the month, the food in the fridge would stay stocked. You actually began to enjoy life, you smiled a lot more, without the troubles of bills or annoying customers and coworkers you actually felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

It also grew harder to ignore the presence that felt like it had entered your life and you didn’t want to. It was a welcome presence to you at this point, you had no clue what it even was, but you could feel the soft caresses on your face, the slight tingle of arms wrapping around you. Its strange, you should run in fear, be scared for your life but you cant help but revel in the airy affection. Its never touches you too strongly though you know it can after some ‘accidental’ grips and strokes onto your skin.

You later on learn its a he, further confirming your idea its this jacaerys though he never outright confirms it. he leaves you little notes along with a fresh bouquet everyday. It was romantic. or maybe you were just so touched starved that you had begun losing your mind and none of this was even real.

one day the tides in your relationship completely change. as your feelings for the mysterious figure in your home grows the more your desires grow. knowing he’s lurking in your home you’ve never taken the liberty to pleasure yourself as your imagination runs wild in the nights you spend in your apartment feeling his hands on your arms. you cant take it anymore.

Its been an especially long shift after work, your clothes are stuck to your skin from sweat, you cant even be bothered with eating right now as you toss of your clothes with a wicked fast pace as you make your way to the bathroom not bothering to check if there were any notes or gifts from him waiting for you.

You sigh as soon as you step in and allow yourself to soak in the steaming water for a good while. you soon enough notice a heart in the steam covered glass and your breath hitches. hes probably seeing you naked right now, it never truly occurred to you he’s probably seen you naked all this time. The idea has your mind running rampant on a track you cant seem to stop.

You cant suppress the whine that creeps up in your throat and you decide to fuck it. Theres nothing he can really do right? hes always around, you have to relieve yourself one way or another.

you leave your back against the wall. maybe you can make it a show for him. Your hands run down your body, giving your tits a light squeeze before continuing to drag them down your body towards your awaiting hole. He makes no move for awhile, even as your hands toy with your aching clit, as you whine and moan out as your insert one then two fingers into you, pumping them in and out of you.

What causes him to finally show himself is when you breathily say his name in a whisper, calling out to him. your fingers suddenly stop as a harsh grip is forced onto your wrists and your hands are ripped away from you. you look up at the empty space infront of you, you almost go to whine and complain before you feel pressure on your clit and throw your head back.

His hand quickly replaces yours, making quick work to shove his fingers deep inside you and pump and press them against your walls. you eagerly accept this phantom like presence as your legs begin to shake, you call out to him like a siren, hangs gripping at your breasts playing with your nipples while he continues to bring you pleasure, releasing with a long shout of his name.

you stay in the shower for awhile longer before exiting with your skin pruned and shaky legs. You take a deep breath as you go to do your skincare in the mirror and your freeze. A man around your age, curly dark hair and stunning eyes looking at your affectionately in the mirror. you turn around but see nothing there.

looking back in the mirror it was odd. finally seeing the man who had been doing you so much good. he was far too attractive, you did not know if he was always naked but he certainly was right now and it bas you throbbing.

you feel him as you see him wrap his arms around you and tug down your freshly put on towel to expose you once again and you allow him too, but this time you wont be taking your eyes off him.

—

sometime during the month ill definitely write them actually fucking LMAO but take this for now lovelies later.

[serpentandlily]

Untouchable IX - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister!Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court’s spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he’d eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on—with Elain, your brother’s mate’s sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that—more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: angst, physical torture, violence

a/n: guys, I’m so sorry this part took a long time to come out. I hope this chapter is worth the wait! Part 10 will be the final chapter/epilogue :)

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part IX

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Days might’ve gone by…days…months…years. Time was an elusive being to you. Had been since the moment the mating bond had snapped between you and Azriel. Since that one last second you got to have with him—your mate. 

Koschei kept you strung up in chains, your wrist shackled above your head, your feet barely touching the floor. Your entire body ached with pain. Blood crusted on the white slip he had you put in. 

When he had shadowed you back to his small cabin on the lake, you had assumed he would turn you into one of the swans, like he had with the other girls. But apparently, none of you had ever learned the full story. 

Vassa had certainly never mentioned this part. Not that you blamed her. You wouldn’t want to talk about it either. How he liked to beat the girls he captured, break them in, before transforming them into one of his pets—forever tied to this lake. 

You didn’t want to give up but it was getting harder and harder each day. But you had to. You couldn’t let that day in the clearing be the last time you got to see Azriel…to see your mate. 

A few tears leaked from the corner of your eyes at the thought of him, of how he must be feeling with you gone. Everything you both had wished for had come true only to last for a mere second in time before the universe tore you apart once more. It was cruel. It was… no word could come close to describing it. It couldn’t be the end of your story. You couldn’t let it be. 

The door to the room you were confined in opened and you whimpered at the sight of the sorcerer. 

“Oh, little pet,” he purred, “Are you not happy to see me? And here I thought we were finally making progress.” 

“Fuck you,” you groaned, swaying on your shackles as you tried to distance yourself from him. 

He gave you a serpentine smile. “The stubborn ones are so much more fun to break.”  

You glared at him as he stalked over to you, a cup of water in his hands. You had kicked and bucked the first few times but after all of the torture he put you through the past hours, you had no energy left to do anything but dangle there. 

“Now, are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?” He held up the water to your mouth but you twisted your head away, slamming your lips shut. “Ah, the hard way it is.”

Excitement filled his eyes as he landed a punch straight in your gut, knocking the air right out of your lungs. You gasped and he grabbed your chin roughly, squeezing the sides of your mouth and making it impossible to snap your jaw shut. 

He poured the water into your mouth but you spit it back up, right on his face. You knew it was full of faebane because this was the third time he had come in here to give it to you.

He growled as he wiped away your spit before slapping your cheek hard enough that your head whipped to the side and blood swelled in your mouth. You heaved, letting it trickle down your jaw and onto the floor. 

He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to face him again, hooking his fingers over your bottom teeth and yanking your jaw open once again. This time when he poured the water into your mouth, he quickly slammed it shut and plugged your nose.

“Drink it,” he ordered. 

You glared at him defiantly but it did nothing to help you as you ran out of air and choked the water down. He let go of you and you greedily sucked in air. 

“Good girl,” he grinned. “See how much easier it is when you listen to me?” 

You said nothing. You couldn’t. Not as the faebane coursed through your body, extinguishing all the magic that had started to replenish as the last batch wore off. Not as your wounds and bruises stopped healing and pain slammed into your body. 

The faebane he liked to give you was partially diluted. Just enough to let it wear off quicker so you had time to heal in between his sessions but not enough to fully heal or get your magic back. He liked working with a clean canvas but didn’t let your magic linger enough to rid you of pain entirely.

Koschei circled around your hanging body and you heard him fiddling behind you. The sound of leather in his palm had you squirming.

“Now, where were we?”

The crack of the whip against your back rippled through your body and you couldn’t fight the scream that erupted from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push your consciousness into the deepest crevices of your mind, where you might find the tiniest bit of solace as one name constantly repeated in your thoughts.

Azriel.

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“I’m not waiting any longer,” Azriel growled at his High Lord. “I’m leaving. Now.”

Both Azriel and Rhysand looked worse for wear. Rhys’s face was littered with bruises and cuts and Azriel was sure he looked no better. But he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was that his mate was in the hands of that fucking sorcerer and he was going to rip that male apart limb by limb for ever thinking he could take her.

“We need to think this through, Az,” Feyre pleaded. “If you rush in, you’ll end up dead and be of no help to Y/n.”

Azriel’s hands tightened into fists. These past two days had been hell. Once Rhys had misted the Prince in the clearing, he had winnowed the three of them back to Velaris—to start planning their rescue mission.

He hadn’t even gotten two words out before Azriel pounced on him. He could barely remember those first few hours after she had been taken. All he knew was the anger he felt—the rage. The mating bond snapping into place. The bargain breaking. And her…his love being taken away from him, his heart and soul with her. 

And Rhys, the fucking asshole, had been at the center of his anger. For making him agree to that bargain with him in the first place. For making him stay away from her—his mate.

It had taken Cassian, Mor and Feyre to pull them apart that day. 

He had stopped starting fights with Rhys but his anger still pulsed under his skin, ready to strike at a moment's notice. 

"We've had plenty of time to think,” Azriel snapped at his High Lady, causing Rhys’s head to shoot up with a warning glare. 

“Watch your tone,” Rhys bit back at him.

“Fuck you, Rhys!” Azriel slammed his scarred hands down on the desk between them. “I’m going and I swear to the Gods if you try to stop me, I’ll rip your throat out!” 

“No, fuck you, Azriel!” Rhys yelled, standing up to his full height. “Stop acting as if you’re the only one affected by this! She was my sister long before she was your mate! Maybe if you hadn’t gone behind my back—” 

“Maybe if you hadn’t made us make that stupid bargain with you in the first place, we would’ve never had to! I could’ve had centuries with her. You stole all those years from us!” 

The second the bond snapped between him and his mate, Azriel swore he lived a whole lifetime. A whole lifetime they hadn’t been afforded. It had all flashed right before his eyes. His mate…His beautiful mate. She deserved so much better than this and as soon as he got her back in his arms, he would give her the whole world. He'd tear the sun from the sky if it would make her happy. 

“Guys, stop! This fighting between the two of you has only made things worse! Fight all you want once we get Y/n back, but you need to focus. Both of you. For her sake,” Feyre snapped.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, letting out a noise of frustration. His shadows swarmed around him like a monsoon—screaming his mate’s name over and over again in agony. “You don’t understand, Feyre. Every single time I feel her…during those tiny moments she slips through to the bond…all I feel is her pain. He’s torturing her. How am I supposed to sit here while my mate is being tortured?” 

He turned away from them, unable to look at Rhys any longer as a few tears slipped down his cheeks. He had completely and utterly failed his mate. Had let her get into the arms of an enemy. This was all his fault…all of it. She would’ve never even ran away from Velaris if he had never tried to move on with Elain last year. He put those thoughts in her head and there was nothing he regretted more in his life. He had never wanted Elain. He had never even wanted Mor. He had tried, when he thought Rhys’s sister was off limits, to move on. But he had never, ever stopped loving her. He had never felt anything for anyone other than her. 

And she had been ripped away from him before they could even have a life together. 

“That’s it,” Rhys whispered from behind him. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“What?” Azriel snarled, whipping around. 

“You said you can feel her sometimes—through the bond, right?”

Azriel nodded his head, crossing his arms. 

Rhys stroked his jaw in thought. “He must be drugging her with faebane. But not consistently. There must be small moments when it wears off before he gives her another dose. That’s why you can feel her sometimes.” 

“Where are you going with this?” Feyre asked.

“We can use the mating bond to tell us when to act,” Rhys explained. “When Azriel can feel her, we know her magic is regenerating. We should stop looking at this as battle and more like a stealth mission. We bait Koschei into coming to the water’s edge the moment Azriel feels my sister down the bond—act like we are declaring war. Keep him distracted long enough for her to get back most of her power. Meanwhile, Azriel can slip into the cabin, release her from whatever binds he has her in and get her out.” 

“What about the wards around the cabin? No one can winnow in or out. Even Az’s shadows might set it off.”

“I’ll have to get inside without using any magic,” Azriel said. “I can do it. I can get to her. As long as you keep him distracted and buy me enough time.” 

“Helion has given Y/n some lessons on setting and breaking wards,” Rhys added. “Once she sees you, once she realizes she’s being saved, she can start working on breaking them so she can winnow the two of you out.” 

“And you trust that she’ll be able to do that?” Feyre asked. 

Rhys let out a long sigh. Azriel knew how much it would pain him to have to force his sister to save herself. Rhys had always been the one doing the heavy lifting for their family, always keeping his sister as protected as he could, especially after she almost died. But he couldn’t save her this time. 

He’d need to have faith in her.

“She can do it,” Azriel declared, full of confidence in his mate’s abilities. “She is not that little girl in the woods anymore, Rhys. You’ve trained her. I’ve trained her. She is more than capable of this.”

“I know she’s not,” Rhys whispered. “She hasn’t been. Not for a long time. And I’m sorry, Azriel, I truly am. You’re right. I should’ve never forced you to make that bargain.”

“Save your apology for when I get my mate back,” Azriel spat out. Maybe it was unfair, but he was not ready to accept any apologies from Rhys. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be. 

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If their plan worked, Azriel would have his mate back in his arms, back in Velaris, safe and sound by tonight. It had to work. It had to work because there was no way he could go through another sleepless night in an empty bed. He needed her like he needed the air in his lungs; he simply could not live without her. He would either be back in Velaris tonight with his mate or six feet under because he wasn’t leaving this damn lake without her. 

The Valkyries are ready, Az. 

Rhysand’s voice in his head caused his fists to clench. He was not any closer to forgiving him than he was yesterday but that was a problem for a different day. Right now they’d have to work together to get his mate back and nothing would stand in his way, certainly not his own pride. 

The plan was simple in theory. They had decided to use Koschei’s weakness against him—females. Some of the Valkyries were willing to help and he trusted their training. If things went correctly, they wouldn’t even need to fight. 

Azriel was crouched, hiding and waiting for the mating bond to begin singing again. He hated that he couldn’t just rush in and take her. Hated that she was likely being tortured as they sat out here waiting for the right moment to begin their plan. Azriel was used to having to wait around like this. It was a part of his job, after all. But right now, it was excruciating. 

But finally… finally he felt it. That tiny spark. That gold thread reforming. 

It’s time, Rhys. 

Okay, wait for the signal. 

They had to lure Koschei out. He couldn’t see though because he was waiting behind the cabin on the other side of the lake, ready to fly to one of the landings so he could sneak his way inside. 

Alright, we’ve got his attention. Good luck, Azriel. Bring my sister home but make sure you come home too.

He couldn’t promise his brother that. He wasn’t leaving here without her, no matter what happened.

I will. 

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A noise caused you to look up despite the pain the movement caused. Your eyes widened in surprise as a shadowed figure stood in the doorway, blue light emitting from their form. Your vision was going in and out of focus, blurring everything. You blinked one…twice…

The person finally stepped into the light. 

“Az?” You wheezed out.

Azriel swore and rushed forward until he was right in front of you, holding your face in his hands. He was speaking but you couldn’t hear anything through the ringing in your ears. You must be hallucinating. There was no way Azriel was really here in front of you. It was not possible…

“—can you hear me, baby? Fuck, we’ve got to get you out of these chains.”

“Az,” you rasped again, “Is…is this real? Are you real?”

His beautiful hazel eyes met yours again, the emotion swimming in them threatening to tear your heart right out of your chest. Pain, rage, desperation, guilt. Your eyes flooded with tears of relief.

“I’m real. I’m here with you, baby,” he said, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m going to get you out of these chains, okay? And then I’m going to get you out of here.” 

“H-how?” you stuttered out because you had no idea how he was standing here in this cabin when it seemed like an impossible feat. 

“Later. I'll explain later. Do you think you can start trying to take down the wards around this place?”

"I'll try," you whispered but your magic had barely started regenerating. The wounds on your back weren't even beginning to heal yet.

The sound of a door slamming open rang through the house. You let out a whimper and Azriel’s eyes widened in fear as he looked at you but not fear for himself…fear for you. 

“Fuck, we’ve got to go. Now,” he said, frantically. 

The fear in his eyes faded to cold, hard rage and he grabbed the chains above your head and yanked them apart with his bare hands. You collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain, your legs unable to hold you. Azriel caught you on the way down, kneeling with you.

“I’ve got you, babygirl,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” 

You could still feel the wounds on your back bleeding, some ripping open as you curled in towards Azriel. Your head was still pounding, your body still in agony. Azriel wrapped his arms around you and helped you stand up, letting you lean your entire weight against him. Stomping footsteps were coming down the hallway, almost to the room you were being kept in.

“We need to get out of here,” he was frantically whispering, his hands holding you by the upper arms, your wrists still in cuffs with a bit of the chain attached. 

You stood on shaky legs, raising your head to see Koschei standing in the doorway, his face twisted into a grin that sent chills down your spine.

“Az!”

Azriel twisted around, his wings flaring out protectively to block you just as Koschei sent a blast of dark magic careening your way. It came at the two of you so fast, Azriel was unable to throw up a shield.

You were able to yank Azriel behind a stack of crates just as the wave of darkness clipped his wing. He let out a cry of pain, his entire body tensing as the darkness ripped through tendon and bone. You nearly cried out with him as the wing that was hit fell limp.

“Did you think you could fool me with your little plan, shadowsinger?” Koschei purred out as the two of you hid behind the crates. “Did you think I’d let you steal my pet? You’re a fool!”

Despite the agony he was in, Azriel twisted the two of you around, covering your whole body with his. Another blast of darkness caused the crates in front of you to explode to pieces, sending splinters of wood flying that pierced through any exposed skin and you let out a tiny scream of fear. 

Azriel pulled you up and helped you run further back in the room, unable to leave with Koschei blocking the door. Another blast of magic hit the both of you just as you ducked behind a rack of the weapons and tools Koschei had been using to torture you with. 

You cried out in pain, your jaw smacking against the floor with a sickening crunch. Blood filled your mouth as you pushed yourself up, your whole body aching, turning to make sure Azriel was okay. 

But Azriel had taken the brunt of the hit, shielding your body as much as he could. A deep laceration cut across his torso, blood seeping over his leathers. His body was tense, his wing still limp on the floor. You knew he was holding back his cries of pain for your sake. 

The sorcerer strided into the room, leisurely, as if this was at most a minor inconvenience to him. Darkness seeped from his figure, tendrils running along the floor towards the two of you. 

“I’m going to distract him,” Azriel whispered to you. “You need to make a run for it. The Valkyries will be waiting for you, okay? They’ll help get you home.”

“No,” you cried out, clinging to the front of his leathers. “I’m not leaving you behind, Azriel!”

Azriel stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re going to have to, princess. I need you to get out of here, do you hear me? Get out of here and go as far away as you possibly can. The others will find you, I promise.”

Tears filled your eyes as he held your face with such care and tenderness. His own eyes were filled with that same cold rage and a heavy resolve. You shook your head rapidly.

“I’m not leaving you, Azriel,” you repeated. 

“Why don’t you come on out, shadowsinger?” Koschei called out, his voice filled with amusement. “You can fight me for the girl. I’ll even let you make the first move.” 

Azriel was the most powerful warrior you knew but even he would be no match for a Death God. Facing Koschei would mean certain death and by the way Azriel was staring at you, he knew that. His eyes traced over your entire face as if he were committing it to his memory. 

“I’m so sorry, princess,” he whispered to you, his thumbs stroking away your tears. “I’m sorry for ever making that bargain that kept me away from you but I want you to know that even after all those years, it has always—will always—be you that I love. You were my first and only love and I’m so sorry that I can’t give you the life you deserve. I will find you in the next one, I promise, even if I have to crawl my way out of hell to get back to you. Even if I have to tear apart the universe, I will find you. You are my mate and even death can’t take that away from us. I love you. I will always love you.”

“Azriel,” you choked out, your fingers tightening on his leathers, but he simply placed his hands over yours and lightly tore them from him. “Az, you can’t—”

Azriel cut you off, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. A kiss full of love and despair. You tasted your salty tears through it, tears that kept pouring at the realization that this was the very first kiss the two of you shared that didn’t cause him any pain.

And it would be your last. 

Azriel stood up as much as he could, his right wing still dragging along the floor. Bruises were appearing on his jaw, blood still poured from the wound on his chest. 

“Azriel, no!” 

You reached out for him, to yank him back, but he stepped away, exposing himself to Koschei.

“Look at you,” Koschei said with a grin, “So ready to die for your love. I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of your mate.”

“Fuck you,” Azriel snarled as he spat out some blood. “If I’m dying here then I’m dragging you to hell with me.” 

Shadows exploded from Azriel in a swirl of never ending darkness that launched itself towards Koschei. But Koschei’s own darkness seemed to absorb it and grow in size before he sent it careening back to Azriel. It burned through the blue shield Azriel had thrown up and knocked straight into him, sending him flying through the room until he collided with the back wall which nearly buckled under the force. 

You screamed out for him, trying to stand but falling once again. You were dehydrated, starved, and beaten within an inch of your life but you pushed your body as much as you could, using the edge of the table to help you stand as Koschei stalked towards your mate.

Azriel had wanted you to disable the wards....If you could do that, if you could tear them down, you could try winnowing to Azriel so the both of you could winnow away before Koschei killed either of you. You were wheezing as you forced yourself to stand and concentrate. You had to do this. You had to get Azriel out of here.

Koschei descended on him once again and they began a battle of shadows and darkness. You could hardly keep track of either of them as they began to disappear and reappear in other places with their shadows, each taking shots at each other. You winced at every noise of their magic colliding, winced at every brutal hit Azriel took from the Death God. 

You could feel more of your magic renewing itself, the open wounds on your back finally starting to heal. As more and more pain wore off, you focused your energy into tearing down the wards, trying to drown out the sound of the fighting in the room for now. 

It was like an intricate spider web of silver light. One you'd have to disentangle carefully to not trigger. You had no idea what sorts of traps lay in the magic around this place. So strand by strand, piece by piece, you worked on taking it apart. It just had to be enough, enough to give you a small window of opportunity. 

You heard Azriel cry out and your focus slipped for a second. You frantically looked over your shoulder and screamed his name as Koschei slammed him into the ground a few yards away. His condition had worsened, his face had gone pale from all the bloodloss, less shadows seemed to be swirling around him as his magic weakened from all the use. You had to hurry. 

“Go,” he rasped out, glancing your way. “Y/n, go—run!”

But you wouldn’t…couldn’t. You couldn’t leave him to face this alone. 

You tried to remember everything from your lessons with Helion on spellcleaving. Tried to remember how to spot what strand to pull and when, as if the ward was a symphony of sorts and you were playing its violin. One after the other. Twisting and pulling each and every way until finally… finally, you were able to carve out a small hole. But it needed to be bigger. Big enough to winnow through.

Suddenly, something sharp struck within your chest and you fell to your knees in pain, losing your concentration. You clutched at your chest, your heart feeling like it was tearing itself into two. A feeling of dread and terror washed over you when you realized the mating bond that was beginning to fray as life was being sucked from Azriel. Another stab of agony made you crumble all the way to the ground, crying out.

You looked up to see Azriel on his knees in the center of the room. His breathing was heavy and slow, he was covered in his own blood, his leather armor torn to pieces and bruises decorated his beautiful face. His wings were slumped on the ground, the right one still nearly shredded. And above him stood the Death God, his darkness wrapped around your mate's throat, ready to squeeze the remaining life out of him. 

Time seemed to pause in that minute—like the whole world was about to collapse in on itself. The breath was sucked right from your lungs. The very fiber of your being was crying at the sight of your mate on death's door, ripping itself apart as you felt his pain like it was your own. Your hand inched on the ground towards Azriel as you weakly called out his name. 

His head turned slightly, his eyes widening as he realized you hadn’t ran away like he had hoped you did. That you were still here with him. He shook his head at you, unable to speak, trying to will you to get up and make a run for it before it was too late. But you would die here with him, because no part of you wanted to live without him. 

They always say your life flashes before your eyes when you're on the brink of death. 

But that is not what happened. 

Instead, a life you never lived did. 

A private mating ceremony with Azriel, declaring your love for each other as a priestess tied a ribbon around both your hands, linking you forever. Azriel painstakingly building a small cottage for you on the edge of Velaris with his own hands just because the ones you toured weren’t like the one you had dreamt of. A life where you and Azriel were together, mated and married, living in that cottage on the outskirts of Velaris. You and Azriel on a balcony watching starfall as he gently placed a hand on your round belly. Azriel with his arms wrapped around you, pressing kisses to your neck as you watched two children who resembled the two of you running through the tall grass in the meadow behind your home. 

A whole life that they two of you could've had. A life that was stolen from you because of a bargain made three hundred years ago. A life you would never get to live because this would be your ending. Two lovers torn apart for centuries, finally able to be together as they wished only to met their demise before their life together even began. 

No.

No.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, crawling on your hands and knees towards your mate.

No.

This would not be your ending. You wouldn't allow it. No, too much had been stolen from the two of you and this...this was not how your story together would end. 

You channeled all your magic, pulling from the depths of your soul, pulling from parts of yourself you didn't even know existed, all the way down to the core of your being. You were the Princess of Night—a child of night and shadow, for Gods’ sake. A child born with the darkside of the moon in her. A child blessed with magic. You pulled and pulled at your darkness until it was pouring out of you, seeping from your skin and bones. 

It lurched forward and slammed into the Death God, pushing him away from Azriel—away from your mate. 

Death would not have him today because he was yours. 

Azriel fell forward onto his hands, gasping for air. You stood up, limping over to Azriel and standing in front of him, glaring at Koschei. You didn’t have any armor on, still in the tattered night gown with your wrists shackled together, didn’t even have a weapon, but you had your magic back and it would have to be enough. 

Koschei chuckled, standing up and dusting himself off. Although he had brought Azriel to his knees, the Death God hadn’t escaped without injuries of his own, a testiment to Azriel’s power. 

“You know,” Koschei said, striding towards you. “I thought we’d have more time together—you and I. But it seems like you’re more trouble than you’re worth, child. So now, I shall end you and your mate. Hm, two mates dying together, how romantic.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled, your darkness curling around your form. Azriel was weakly calling out your name from behind you, his hand reaching to grab you so he could push you away but you didn’t let him. 

“You know, this is the most excitement I’ve had in a long time. I’m feeling rather charitable so I’ll offer you this—become one of my swans and I’ll let your mate go.”

Azriel let out a growl from behind you that nearly shook the room but you stepped forward, as if considering it. Koschei’s body relaxed, thinking the fight was over, like you hoped he would. 

But the darkness that was curling around you shot forward like a chain and wrapped itself around his neck before he could deflect it. You yanked on it, causing him to choke as he fell to his knees—in the same exact position he had Azriel in before. 

His hands clawed at the darkness but you didn’t let up, not for a second. Not as that life you dreamed about replayed in your mind over and over again. Not as you thought of Azriel, your mate. No, you wouldn’t let up. You sent all your hatred, all of your anger into that darkness. 

Your darkness spread around the Death God and started shoving its way into him from all orifices, his ears, his mouth. Everywhere until he was being consumed by it. 

“You should’ve never laid a hand on my mate,” you growled at the Death God who was gasping for air and then you yanked your rope of darkness tighter and tighter—ignoring the agony you felt as your magic burned through you until your well was drained entirely. 

Koschei’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over finally—crashing to the floor. He…he wasn’t dead. You could still hear his faint heartbeat but he was out cold. You let out a breath of relief.

“P-princess…” 

You whirled around as Azriel rasped your name. His hazel eyes met yours for a second, blinking lazily before they closed and he fell to the ground. You let out a cry of alarm and rushed for him, falling to the ground next to him. You wrapped your arms around his limp body, pulling him into your lap. His breathing was labored, heavy. His heartbeat barely audible.

“Azriel,” you cried, brushing some hair from his face. “Come on, baby. Don’t—you can’t…you can’t do this to me. Wake up, please!”

His eyes blinked open for a second and some of your tears fell on his cheeks. You pressed a hand to the deepest wound on his torso, trying to stop some of the bleeding. 

“H-hey, princess,” Azriel choked out, a soft smile on his lips, still in a haze. 

“Hey, shadowsinger,” you whispered, smiling at him weakly. 

“You’re…,” he coughed, a bit of blood dribbling from his lips. He was in bad shape. You needed to get him to a healer. Now. “You’re touching me.” 

“I am,” you choked on your own sobs, running your hand down his face. You tried to reach out to your brother through your mind. You didn’t have enough magic left to winnow the both of you out of here. 

Rhys…Rhys, please, I need you! 

“Y-you’re touching me,” Azriel repeated, his eyes closing. “And i-it feels like…heaven.”

You couldn’t help the bittersweet laugh that escaped as you wiped at the tears still pouring down your cheeks. 

Dove, I’m here! Are you okay? Where is Azriel?

“Az, I need you to stay awake, okay? Can you open your eyes for me? Please, baby, just for a little longer.”

He’s here with me but he’s in bad shape, Rhys. I don’t have any magic left. I can’t get us out of here. Please…I don’t know what to do.

“Mm…‘mm so tired,” Azriel slurred out. 

“I know, baby, but you’ve got to stay awake. Just for a bit and then you can rest as long as you want to, okay?” 

I’m coming, dove. Hold on. 

You let out a sob as Azriel’s eyes shut again and his breathing slowed. “No, you can’t do this! You can’t leave me, Az. Not when I finally have you. Come on, baby, wake up!” 

Darkness swirled around the cabin and for a second, you thought Koschei had woken up but you sobbed even harder as your brother finally emerged from it. Rhys glanced at the passed out Death God before he saw you holding Azriel on the floor. 

“Rhys, please! Please, he needs a healer,” you cried.

Your brother’s eyes widened at the sight of his shadowsinger. He rushed forward, falling to his knees beside you.

“Let me take him,” your brother whispered. You didn’t want to let your mate go but you knew you couldn’t lift him. “It’s okay, dove. Let me help him.”

You passed Azriel over to him, watching your brother take your mate into his arms and lift him off the floor. You stood on shaky legs, your own vision beginning to blacken as the exhaustion of all the magic use finally caught up to you. The last thing you remembered was Rhys winnowing the two of you to some makeshift camp away from the lake and crying out for Azriel before darkness consumed you. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

One week later

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The sound of the door opening stirred you from your slumber. You sat up with a groan, your back aching because of the way you had fallen asleep—hunched over in a chair, next to Azriel’s bed where he still lied unconscious, as he had been since the day he’d help you escape from Koschei’s grasp. 

You blinked the sleep from your eyes, taking notice of your brother in the doorway. He hesitantly stepped inside the room, closing the door shut behind him softly. You hadn’t spoken to him since you had woken up a week ago. Not when he was part of the reason for all of this, for ever making Azriel stay away from you. 

And he knew he deserved your resentment and had kept away for the most part. But you noticed how sometimes after falling asleep you’d wake up with a blanket thrown around your shoulders that smelled like him or there’d be food waiting for you on the bedside table that you knew came from him. 

You grabbed Azriel’s hand, squeezing it lightly. You felt comforted by his warmth. Madja wasn’t able to tell how long it would take for Azriel to heal. He had taken a lot of damage, all of it mostly internal because of Koschei’s magic, and that was taking far longer to heal. 

You were so scared he’d never wake up. So scared that you never left his bedside. You'd sit here for the rest of your life if you had to. 

Rhysand was staring down at Azriel’s limp body, his eyes swimming with tears. You could see the guilt he felt written all over him. He’d almost lost someone he’d considered his brother because of that stupid bargain he’d made him make. 

He came around the side of the bed until he was standing beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. Part of you wanted to cringe away from his touch but another part also just really needed him as a brother right now. 

“I am so sorry, dove,” he whispered. “Making Azriel make that bargain with me is something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. I’m so sorry I kept you away from your mate. I’m so sorry for ever thinking it was my right to control who you loved. I understand if you never want to talk to me again—if you hate me now.”  

A moment of silence passed before you stood and looked at him. “Rhys, you fucked up. You really did. I know you were traumatized after mother died—after I almost did, too. What you did has caused me and Azriel so much pain and maybe I’ll be mad at you for it for the rest of our lives but I Rhys, you’re my brother. I could never hate you.”

A small sob escaped from his lips before Rhys pulled you into a warm embrace. You crumbled into your brother’s arms, seeking a type of comfort only he could provide. Your own tears slipped down your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry, dove. I’ll keep apologizing until I can’t speak. When Azriel wakes up, whatever you guys want, it’s yours—all of it.” 

“I’m so scared, Rhysie,” you cried, burying your face in his chest. “I’m so scared he’s not going to wake up. I’m so scared I’ll never get to talk to him again…” 

“Azriel is the strongest person I know,” Rhys whispered into your hair. “He’s going to wake up, dove. As long as you’re here, he will fight his way through whatever is keeping him from you. He’s going to wake up.”

“I never even got to tell him how much he means to me. I never told him how much I love him or how ready I am to accept the mating bond. I never…I never—”

You fell into a fit of sobs again, unable to even speak. Rhys held you tightly, stroking your back. 

“He knows, dove. He knows how much you love him. And you’ll get the chance to tell him, okay? You will.” 

But all you could do was pray to the Gods that you would get that chance. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A few more agonizing days passed by. Days that seemed longer than the span of your entire life. Days spent next to Azriel’s bedside, praying each and every morning that this would be the day he finally woke. You didn’t lose hope, you couldn’t because just the thought of him never waking up would send you into a spiral so deep, there’d be no pulling you out of it. 

You let out a sigh and dropped your head into your hands. 

Is this how he felt while you’d been chained in Koschei’s cabin?

You still felt so guilty…guilty that you hadn’t trusted Azriel’s reassurances that there was nothing between him and Elain, guilty that you had fallen for the Prince’s cruel trap. If you had just trusted your mate, he wouldn’t be lying here after nearly dying for you. 

“P-prin…p-princess?” 

Your heart leaped to your throat and you looked up so rapidly, you almost cracked your neck. Azriel blinked at you in a daze. His eyes held confusion as he glanced around, realizing he was in his room back at the House of Wind. His beautiful hazel eyes met yours again, glowing gold in the soft faelight. 

“Azriel,” you breathed out, reaching forward to grab his hand. “You’re…you’re awake.” 

“I-I think I am,” he said, his words still slurring a bit. “But you’re touching me and I’m not in pain and normally this usually only happens in my dreams.”

You smiled through the tears sliding down your face, tenderly cupping his cheek. 

“You’re awake,” you replied. “You’re awake and I’m here, touching you and it doesn’t hurt because the bargain has been broken. You are my mate, Azriel.”

A dopey smile took over Azriel’s face. “I’m your mate.”

You nodded with a small laugh. “You’re my mate, Azriel. And I am yours.”

“You are mine,” he repeated softly, then lurched forward like all of his memories finally came back. You jumped into action, helping him sit up.

“Careful,” you said. “You’re still healing. You’ve been asleep for a little over a week now.”

“What! W-what happened?”

You brushed some of his hair from his forehand, running your fingers through it. Now that you could touch each other without causing him pain, you weren’t ever going to stop. He leaned into your touch, looking up at you with such reverence and love, it caused your cheeks to turn pink. 

“I kind of…lost it when Koschei was about to kill you,” you finally answered, your voice a mere whisper. “My magic erupted and I choked him out. I didn’t kill him but it gave us enough time to get out of there. I broke the wards like you told me to and my brother came for us.” 

“Are you telling me that my mate choked out a Death God?” He grinned at you and you lightly smacked his shoulder. 

“It’s not funny, Az. You nearly died! Do you know how awful this past week has been? I…I thought I might never talk to you again. I thought you might never wake up!” 

Azriel lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. “I know, babygirl. How do you think I felt all those days you were trapped with Koschei? I wanted to get you the minute he shadowed you away but Rhysand wouldn’t let me go.” 

Well, Azriel using your brother’s full name told you exactly how he was feeling towards his High Lord at the moment. 

“I’m glad he didn’t,” you said, sternly. “You would’ve died and I would’ve given up. The only thing that kept me going in there was the thought of you, Azriel. The thought that maybe, maybe I could find my way back to you.” 

Azriel wiped at the tears falling from your eyes, gently. “I’m so sorry, princess. I’m sorry for everything.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I wouldn’t change a single thing if it meant that the mating bond finally snapped between us…if it meant that I could have you now.” 

“I’m yours in any way you want me, princess,” Azriel reaffirmed, yanking you down onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you despite your protests because of his injuries. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’m yours from now until always.” 

You pulled away to look him in the eyes, your heart pulsing at everything you found in them. 

“And I am yours, Azriel,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

He smiled, fully smiled. “Good, because I’m never letting you go.”

And then he pressed a passionate kiss against your lips. A kiss free of pain. A kiss that was full of every single emotion he felt towards you—admiration, craving, devotion, but above all else, love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

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[panic-at-the-fiction]

A problem to work with

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a problem to work with. He’s annoying, snarky, hot headed and you don’t get along. And this has absolutely nothing to do with your thoughts about how big his arms are, or how hot he is when he’s mad. No this is only about how difficultly annoying he is.

Warning: Tension, banter, eventual smut.

A/N: don’t we all still enjoy pretending it’s 2012 and all the avengers are happily alive and working and living together in the tower. Like I miss that! Let’s put Clint back in the vent and go back to the good old days.

There was a lot of things you loved about your job, ok well maybe there was a few things, but certainly, Bucky Barnes was not one of them.

“Wow, that’s a good look on your doll.” He smiled as you walked down the stairs of the hotel into the Lobby where he stood waiting for you.

“Well I have got to say Barnes, you clean up surprisingly well for a man of your age.”

He scoffed, “It’s called having some class, they don’t teach it anymore.”

Now one might assume with banter so playful the two of you might have something going on, but you don’t. This was just a mission, you were just playing the part, not to be mistaken for anything real between the two of you.

In fact, just a week ago the two of you couldn’t stand each other, it was Tony’s idea to set you two up in such a long close quarters mission.

“You have to be kidding me Tony, you know how annoying Barnes is. We’ll tear each other's heads off before we even make it to the gala.”

Steve shook his head. “Yeah even I have to protest this Tony, I mean (y/n) and Buck in the field, no backup? Couldn’t we partner them with someone else?”

“We can’t rearrange all of our mission plans so that these two don’t have to interact with each other. You both are grown ass adults, suck it up and play nice.” He said with finality before leaving the room. Steve sighed and joined him out in the hallway.

You crossed your arms and looked over at Bucky as he reclined in his seat. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Thought I was annoying.”

“You are that's why I thought you would have something to say on the subject.”

He shook his head and clenched his jaw, and you felt your heart drop, damn him. “Tony’s right, we’re adults. You just gotta stop acting like a brat so we can work together.”

“Oh please, if this is anyone's problem to solve it’s yours. You’re the one who’s going to actually have to trust me on this mission if we’re to get anything done.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, I’ll trust you, you play nice, I'll do the same. One week, let’s play professionals.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

And you both had played nice ever since. He greeted you with a smile when he picked you up the next morning, carried your bag into the hotel, he even started the mission by letting you run point. Of course, it felt like a trick at first but once you realized he was being serious you returned the favor, bought coffee for the two of you as you staked out the location of the gala, let him do all the talking with the host you gathered information from, and made the two of your dinner the night before the big event. That night felt the most real, things shifted.

You set down a plate of food and a cheap bear in front of Bucky as he poured over the blueprints on the table in your shared hotel room. “So the two guards will be posted by each door in uniform, but two guards in disguise as waiters will be standing by these two entrances.”

“Barnes, I know, we’ve gone over the plan three times tonight, we know the layout backwards and forwards. You can take a break.”

He sighed heavily as he rubbed at the tightness in his shoulders. You stared, watching his arms flex with the movement, the expression on his face altering the chemicals of your brain.

“Thanks (y/n),” he said, taking the plate you had set in front of him.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts, reminding yourself what was important here. “Anytime Barnes.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me Barnes, what are you, my sergeant?” He laughed playfully. You hadn’t ever heard him laugh like that, his usual attitude toward you didn’t allow for that type of light heartiness.

“Oh, because you just love when I bark orders at you.” You laughed while taking a sip of your drink.

“Who says I don't?” He gave you that 1940s smile you just know won so many girls over back in the day.

You tried not to choke as you looked away from him, hiding the heat that crawled up your neck. “Well, I guess I just figured Bucky was reserved for your friends, like Steve and Sam.”

“Are we not friends?”

You studied him, you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “Are we?”

He leaned back in his chair, “do you want to be?”

“Do you?”

The room filled with silence as you both settled without an answer. Neither of you had an answer.

No, you would rather not be his friend, you didn’t think you could handle any more nice things coming from him. His smile made your stomach flip, and his proximity made your hair stand up, it was killing you the amount of alone time you were getting with him. But even worse the idea of it all being gone in 24 hrs and things going back to how they were made your chest hurt.

“I think I’m going to go to bed now, big day tomorrow.” You said excusing yourself from the table.

“Yeah” He sighed, taking a sip of his drink.

You paused at the door to your room before turning back for just a second. “Goodnight Bucky, get some sleep.” You smiled softly as you left him.

You didn’t run into Bucky much the next morning. He left a note saying he needed to double-check some things before getting ready for the gala tonight, but he promised to meet you in the lobby on time.

That leads you to now, standing in front of the mirror looking at the damn dress. Your heart pounded in your chest, you had forgotten about the dress. Originally intended for one of Tony’s galas that was canceled, you had never had a chance to wear this one. You had been excited to bring it along for the gala, but now it taunted you. It taunted you with its silkiness, its low cut, its backlessness.

All you could think was, would Bucky like it? It made you sick with nerves. This was not relevant. There was a high-profile target at tonight's gala, there were a weeks worth of snooping, and stake outs, and gathering information, months of research and tracking at stake here, but you were thinking of his hands on your back in that stupid dress if you were lucky enough to find an excuse to dance tonight.

You shut the thoughts out of your head and did your best to cool yourself down with some water to get your mind out of the gutter. This was just the two of you playing nice, being professional, this man despised you outside the walls of this hotel, outside of this mission.

You mentally slapped yourself as you got in the elevator heading down to the lobby, preparing yourself as you walked down the hotel's grand staircase.

You met Bucky's gaze from where he stood waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase. Damn he looked good. You could feel his eyes on you, every warning thought about the consequences of getting carried away leaving your brain. Was it getting hotter in here?

“Wow, that’s a good look on you doll.” He smiled playfully.

DAMN.

You laughed, shaking your head, “Well I have got to say Barnes, you clean up surprisingly well for a man of your age.”

He scoffed, “It’s called having some class, they don’t teach it anymore.” He offered you his arm as he walked you out to the car. “And besides what did I say about calling me Barnes. We’re not here for you to bark orders at me anymore, we’re here to play civil.”

You smirked as he opened your door for you. “Is that what you said? All I heard was that you like it when I boss you around.” You could hear him choke a little bit as he shut the passenger door before getting in on the drivers side.

“Now remember, we’re Mr. & Mrs. Laker, the rich real estate investors who just moved here from LA. We’ve been married 8 years now.” He said switching focus on getting to the gala.

“Kids?” You asked teasingly.

He smiled, “No, we're just waiting until things settle down with our work.”

“Aw I was hoping for a James jr.” He just shook his head. Your gaze shifted to his grip on the steering wheel where you almost lost yourself in THE thoughts again.

Damn get it together.

“Now you remember the layouts right.”

“Yes, I reviewed them this morning.”

“Good.”

He stopped as he pulled up in front of the venue you had scoped out just a few days prior. He put the car in park before walking around to your side opening the door for you and extending his hand for you to take. “Mrs. Laker.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laker.” You instinctively played your part and locked your arm in his.

“Here,” He tossed the car keys to the valley. “Not a scratch on it.” He added before leading you inside

As you entered the gorgeous high-class event waiters swarmed around you offering different champagnes, wines and finger foods, the room alive with rich people's conversations and music.

You smiled with your best rich lady smile as you let Bucky lead you around the party, choosing a table where you had a clear view of the event you set down grabbing a drink as you did so. You could feel your death grip on the glass as you forced yourself to keep your eyes on the dance floor where a few couples swayed and not on the very handsome man beside you.

Bucky placed his hand gently on your thigh as he took the glass out of your hand. He leaned in his face close to your ear in a way that made your brain short circuit. “We’ll have a better chance of bumping into Lestrade if we don’t stay in one place.”

You swallowed hard, “What do you suggest?”

He pulled away so he could look in your eyes, and you have to stop yourself from staring at his lips. “How about a dance,” He paused, offering you his hand and making sure the surrounding others could hear him. “Sweetheart.”

“Of course dear.” You smiled, kicking yourself for forgetting it all for the image of playing a married couple.

As you reached the dance floor his arm slipped around your waist, his hand on the small of your back causing you to stiffen. His metal hand gently held your right hand while your left hand rested on his bicep.

His steps were smooth with years of practice, his subtle pushes and pressure on your back letting you know where to step next.

“Now where did the soldier learn to dance?” You smiled as he shook his head.

“Like I said doll.” He licked his lips looking down at you with an ease in his eyes, you hadn’t seen before. “It's called class, they don’t teach it anymore.” He leaned in, pulling you to his chest so that he could whisper in your ear. “Trust me you won’t find anyone else who can do it like I do.” You could feel his smirk, “dancing that is.”

“Yeah, is that so Barnes? Show me your moves then.”

He didn't hesitate to spin you out and turn you around so that you swayed with your back to his chest. The heat pulling in your stomach where he now rests his metal hand over top of yours. You felt his lips on your ear. “Oh I’ve got plenty of moves.” You held in a sigh as you let yourself get swept up in the closeness.

“Lestrade, 10 o'clock, mingling at the drink table.” Your brain turned back on as your focused turned back to the mission, the song you had been dancing to fading out as it ended.

You pulled away from him, trailing off the dance floor. “You know sweetie, I think that dancing made me fairly thirsty. I need another drink.”

“Anything you want sweetheart.” He called as he followed suit.

It was going to be a long evening.

Part 2

[wintaerbaer]

seven storms (jjk) (m)

summary: As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: forbidden love, angst, a bit of fluff, also a bit of smut

word count: 9.0k

warnings: ambiguous time periods, oc’s mom passed away when she was a child, parental strain and turbulent relationships, it’s not explicitly stated but bang sihyuk is oc’s dad, find the ‘seven’ reference, BRIEF SMUT (in the form of missionary, cowgirl, and implied unprotected, which you should not do)

a/n: this one is for the obs discord server, who came up with this plot and then flattered me until i agreed to write it lol

MASTERLIST // Read on ao3

It begins with a clap of thunder.

The dark clouds had rolled in quickly during your morning ride, the rain holding off on its looming descent even as the wind picks up and throws strands of hair across your face. You try to cling to every minute you have left before the downpour, savoring your alone time and the peaceful quiet of the morning. It may even be worth getting a little wet, you think as you watch the new stable hand effortlessly sling a bay of hale over his shoulder, for the chance to savor every moment of your daily ritual before the weather inevitably forces you back inside.

You love the simple pleasures of fresh air and the soft rustle of the grass.

Jungkook glances at you from afar as he continues his work, and even at this range, you can see his muscles shifting under the fabric of his shirt. It’s been roughly a month since your father hired him to tend the stable on your family’s estate, and while he hasn’t been unpleasant, giving you a friendly but silent nod each day as you prepare for your ride, he’s mostly kept his distance.

Today, however, is a different story entirely as a boom sounds out above your head. Your horse, a young stallion named Bam who is still being broken, startles at the noise and begins to nervously pace, tamping down the dirt under his hooves. The reins wrap tighter around your fingers as you attempt to take firmer control, but when a second crack emanates through the sky, the horse begins to buck in an attempt to throw you off.

The laws of physics cease to exist, time simultaneously speeding up and slowing down as you work to maintain your balance, clenching your muscles around the horse's back. A particularly violent whip of his head rips the reins free, and all you can do is try to flatten yourself to his back and hold on for dear life.

A pair of unfamiliar hands shoots into your peripheral vision, stroking firmly at the stallion's head and neck until he's easing back down, his erratic motions steadying until you can safely sit back up and face your rescuer.

"Are you alright?" His eyes scan your body for injury, moving from your face all the way down to your toes and back up.

You use the time to perform your own appraisal. The first thing you notice is that while he had immediately struck you as handsome when you first saw him around the property, he’s even more attractive up close: all soft eyes, perfect lips, and a tiny scar on his cheek that only adds to his allure. Add to that strong arms, broad shoulders, and a section of clearly-chiseled chest peeking out of his shirt, and you have to admit to yourself that you’re already halfway gone.

“Y/N?” His eyebrows dip as he frowns, clearly suspecting some kind of head injury as a result of your silence.

“You know my name.”

His expression turns quizzical at your bizarre answer. “I work for you. Of course I know your name.”

“You work for my father.”

“And you by extension.”

Your spine stiffens with rebellion. “I have no interest in bossing men around.”

“Why not?” He taps his knuckles on the saddle. “I see you come out to ride every morning. I could certainly tack up a horse for you in advance.”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

His perfect lips curl at the edges. “I don’t doubt that.”

Your heart stutters a rhythm behind your ribcage, voice muted by the appearance of a dimple that dips into his left cheek. It’s not often you find yourself speechless, and the sheer unfamiliarity of it has you on the brink of a flight response; you begin to gently guide your horse back towards the stable, Jungkook walking at your side. To your surprise, he doesn’t stay quiet.

“So how long have you been riding?”

You peek down at him, but he’s not looking at you as he scratches the stallion under his muzzle. “Since I was five,” you say. “My father arranged for private instruction after my mother died. Thought I could use the distraction.”

You figured he already knew about your mother’s passing due to her absence from the estate, and his unfazed expression seems to confirm as much. Still, in a gentle voice he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t make her sick.” Another low rumble echoes through the sky, but Jungkook is prepared, already smoothing his hand over the Bam’s neck again. “What about you? How long have you worked with horses?”

He chuckles, and your belly warms. “Since before I could walk. I grew up on a ranch. Have probably spent more time around horses than people—not that I’m complaining.” A shrug pulls his shirt tight across his bulging shoulders. “Animals are better company, in my opinion.”

“You say while striking up conversation with a stranger.”

Pink blooms on his cheeks, but, to his credit, he recovers quickly. “Beautiful women are the exception.”

Heat rises to your own face, and you choose to ignore his comment as much as it has butterflies taking off behind your bellybutton. “I understand what you mean though. That’s why I’m out here every day.”

“You like the outdoors?”

“Very much,” you say. “The smell of the wind, the feeling of the sunshine on my skin and the earth under my shoes. I like to ride down to the sunflower fields and watch how they turn themselves towards the light. There’s a strange sense of kinship there.” You’re not sure what drives you to share all this with a man you’ve just met, but the way he nods along as if he agrees sets your heart at ease. “And the horses are, in fact, good company.”

He laughs again, tipping his head back to look at you. His dark hair brushes his forehead, jaw cutting so sharp a line that the temptation immediately hits to trace it with either your fingers or lips—you’re not sure which. You don’t even care if you’ll bleed.

It strikes you at that moment that you’re in a world of trouble.

The skies open up, the rain instantly pouring down in fat drops as you briskly rush your horse the rest of the way into the stable, Jungkook hot on your heels. You dismount once you’re inside and begin to untack the stallion, moving the reins up and over so you can remove the bridle first. Jungkook quickly steps in to help unhitch the saddle, and while you’d normally be inclined to make a fuss about how you can handle your own gear, you find that you much enjoy his quiet companionship. You like watching the way his gentle hands artfully work to simultaneously manage the equipment and relax the horse, giving the sense that he’s offering assistance only because he loves his work and not to patronize you as a woman (you’ve seen one too many men try to step in because they believe you to be incompetent).

Once Bam has been settled into his stall, you turn back to your companion and are met with big brown eyes already gazing at you, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Thank you for your help today,” you say. “I may be an experienced rider, but that also means I know enough to understand that you likely saved me from an injury earlier. So thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He looks suddenly subdued, nervous now without the horse as a buffer. “And if I may be forward, I hope I made a good first impression. I wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like yourself to think I overstepped.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned beautiful women now. You speak with them a lot?”

“Not recently,” he says, dimple making another appearance. “Only one.” His voice drops a decibel, flirtation giving way to sincerity. “But truly, I do just like to help. I am sure you are perfectly capable, but just because we can do something doesn’t mean we always need to do it alone. If I can help ease a burden, then I would like to do so.”

Warmth floods through you like the rain currently running off the roof, and before you can even think about it any further, you find yourself nodding. “Very well.”

The smile he gives you brightens your day more than a hundred miles of sunflower fields ever could.

“I won’t keep you then.” He begins walking backwards towards the troughs where most of the horses have currently congregated. “But I do very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You do, too. And when you show up to the stable the next morning (and the next, and the next), you already have a horse saddled up for you, a single sunflower resting on the seat.

Raindrops clatter in endless sheets off the metal roof of the stable, the ringing sound blending with the blasts of thunder and lightning overhead to mask your groans as Jungkook steadily thrusts into you.

It’s been three months since your flirtation culminated in you asking him to join you for a ride one morning.

Three months since he accompanied you down to the sunflower fields, pulled you into their depths, and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Three months since the rain became your closest friend, providing you the cover you need for your more intimate moments—such as this evening when you’d arrived at the stables to find him laying down a fresh layer of straw, the flex of his arm insisting that you needed him now.

The patter of the rain ensures his moans are for your ears and your ears alone.

“Do you think the horses mind?” he mumbles into the sensitive skin of your neck as he presses even deeper into you and steals your breath, his hands cupping your ass as he grinds his hips.

“I doubt it,” you gasp, digging your nails into his back. “They’ve kept secrets for me before.”

He laughs, and you relish in the feel of the vibration of his chest pressed to yours, as if the sound is being passed directly from his lungs to your heart. “Am I your secret then?”

“My favorite secret.”

He pulls back to look at you then with wide eyes. You don’t know when it happened, when he became the absolute center of your universe, but you also know that you’ve never been this happy in your life, never felt as whole as you do with him. So you stare at him right back, absorb every angle of his face as he brushes the hair away from your eyes and kisses you with an unusual delicacy in comparison to the rough pace of his hips.

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but your blood heats as if the words are brand new.

He rises up above you then, leans back so he can bend your knees to your chest and pound into you in earnest, and you’d swear the roof has disappeared and you can see every star in the sky. Galaxies swirl, planets align, and it’s not long before you’re falling over the edge and he’s following you with a deep groan—a harmony to the thunder that surrounds you.

The two of you collapse into a heap, and he pulls you into his side, your cheek pressed to his still-heaving chest. It’s serene, the consonance of his breathing alongside the tapping of the rain and the occasional snuffle from the horses.

“So, the horses are keeping secrets for you, huh?” It’s a quiet question, vulnerable as he gazes at you with tender devotion. The same stars you saw minutes ago twirl in his eyes. “Can I be told one?”

“Are you a horse?”

A breath of a laugh: “Well you’ve certainly ridden me before.”

He has a point there.

You hum to yourself as you think before asking, “What is your dream?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”

Calloused fingers trace patterns on your hip, a faraway look taking over his expression as he envisions some distant future. “To own my own farm,” he says. “I want to be my own boss. No more having to serve others.” A smile dances at the corners of his mouth. “And I’d be able to provide for my family—have a few kids and teach them the ropes, just like my dad did with me.”

Your brow dips in confusion. “You won’t inherit your father’s farm?”

“No, it’ll go to my older brother.” He squeezes your hip on a sigh. “If I want my own farm, it’s up to me to earn it.”

“You’ll do it,” you say, and you believe it with every fiber of your heart. “I know you will. You’re the hardest working man I’ve ever met.”

It’s not a lie by any stretch. You’ve spent plenty an afternoon telling your father that you’re going to read out on the veranda as it gives you an inconspicuous way to watch Jungkook work. He’s diligent, tireless, and you’ve often used the need to bring him water as an excuse to go down and spend time with him, seeing the sweat drip off his forehead as he single-handedly trains and cares for the horses.

His eyes become glassy, a gruff clearing of his throat as he pushes the tears back and grazes his lips over yours in a gentle kiss instead. “Thank you.” But before you can deepen the kiss and distract him, he shifts ever so slightly away, a glint in his eye. “Now you.”

You puff a sigh into his chest—bold of you to think you’d be able to sneak one past such an observant stare. Still, your secrets don’t usually come forth easily, buried deep within the cavity of your ribcage so even you don’t have to dwell on them too long.

Something about those doe eyes, though, render you ever vulnerable.

“Mine is similar to yours. I want to be my own boss.”

His brows pull together. “No one would expect a lady like you to work.”

“Not for a job, for my life,” you say, irritation forcing the words from your lips now. “I don’t want my father to dictate the path my life takes. I want to choose it, whatever it is, for myself. To be in charge of my own fate.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, teeth dipping into his lower lip as he considers your words. It’s something else you’ve grown to love about him, the way he stops and thinks before he reacts. So unlike your father who has always been nothing but big emotions and snap judgments.

“What would you choose?” is the question he eventually comes out with, and the pads of his fingers trace the jut of your hipbone like he’s memorizing it.

Well that’s another matter entirely. “I don’t know. Just not what my father wants for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“To marry one of the rich dandies in town,” you blurt, and his hands still. “That’s always been the expectation that’s been set since I was a girl—that my family would arrange a suitable match for me.” You’re practically spitting now, anger simmering through you. “Suitable, of course, meaning wealthy.”

“Is that so bad?” He asks it quietly, insecurity poorly masked in the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. “Some people would do almost anything to be in your position.”

You scoff. “There’s more to life than money.”

“Like what?”

“Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the morning dew.” You tap his chest with everything you list off, as if they’re all housed within the framework of his torso. “The sound of the rain bouncing off windows, the bright yellow of sunflowers after their first bloom, watching a foal get its legs under it for the first time. Love.” You press your hand to his heart with that one, feeling the strong beat of it under your palm. “That’s the greatest thing.”

He snags your fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing each one in succession before his hand slips into your hair so he can join his mouth with yours. The kiss is slow, thorough, his tongue trailing along your lower lip with determination as he drags you across his body until you’re straddling him.

“You’re right about that,” he murmurs before gripping your waist tightly so he can push back into you, the rain pouring on and on.

“No!”

Your father stands up so suddenly that his chair topples over with a crash, Jungkook sitting across from him wearing a look of even-keeled surprise; his eyes widen a fraction, but his overall posture remains resolved and confident.

“You dare have the audacity to even ask—“ He chokes on his words, spit flying from the edges of his lips, before pointing a finger towards where you stand stunned in the corner. “And you! You’ve been fraternizing with this riffraff? After everything I’ve taught you? Everything I did to raise you? You go and choose to associate with this—this—“ You’re worried his eyes might fall out of his head with the way they bulge as he grasps for a word, vein in his neck visibly thumping as he finds it. “Lowlife!”

“You’re wrong!” you scream as Jungkook continues to sit quietly at the dinner table. You’ll be damned if you’d just stand by and allow him to be spoken about in that way. “He’s an incredible man. He works hard, he’s respectful, and he loves me, Father. Not because of my money, but because I’m me.” Your steps echo off of the tall, looming arches of the ceiling as you move closer to Jungkook. “And I love him.”

“No, no, absolutely not. You’re only twenty years old. You don’t even know what love is,” your father barks before turning his beady eyes on Jungkook again. “You’ll never marry my daughter. You do not have my permission nor my blessing. That’s final.”

“Father—“

“You’re also fired,” he spits. “You can say goodbye and that’s the end of it. I want you off my property.” Then he’s storming out of the dining room, leaving you and Jungkook in heavy silence.

It’s only a handful of seconds before Jungkook is rising to his feet and striding from the room and out the front door, you hot on his heels. The steady drizzle soaks your clothes in a matter of moments, but you don’t even feel the way they cling to your skin, focused solely on the man in front of you.

“Jungkook!” you call, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn to face you until you manage to grab ahold of his hand and tug.

You thought he’d be distressed, angry, perhaps even crying. Instead, you’re met with intensity, a fierce determination simmering under the warm brown of his irises as his gaze bores into yours and almost has you faltering.

“Jungkook, I…” You wring your hands in front of you, watch the rain run in rivulets off the ends of his hair. “We can make it through this. I can convince him—“

“You can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “Then we’ll run away together! I’ll come with you and we’ll—“

“No, Y/N.” He stills the frantic movements of your hands with his own, drawing you towards the warmth of his body until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I have no savings right now, no way to support the two of us. We’d be out on the street in a matter of days.” He shakes his head, brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “No. You need to stay here for now. But this isn’t the end of us, I swear to you. I am going to work myself to the bone—until I have nothing left to give. Until I can buy my own farm, my own house, and give you everything you need.” Your foreheads press together, drops of water clinging to his lips and drawing your eye as he speaks. “I will provide for you someday, love you to the best of my ability. Just give me time.”

The heavens open above you, the relentless downpour backed by the cacophony of the skies as you finally move to kiss him. He tastes of rainwater and sweat, the fragrant aroma of sunflowers and nights spent tangled together in the stables. You savor the feel of his lips against yours, commit to memory the way his tongue begs for entrance, the way you grant it with a groan that feels like both a prayer and a curse.

With a final, resounding crack, he’s pulling away as you cling to the rough skin of his fingertips until the very last fraction of a second, arms stretched to their absolute limit. And when he turns his back on you, shirt plastered to his skin, you’d swear you can hear the horses raging in the stable, the rumble of hooves and agitated whinnies ringing in your ears long after he’s disappeared from view.

The first letter comes on a Wednesday roughly six week later, written on carefully folded parchment paper in small, neat handwriting. It surprises you, coming from a man who spends all day tending horses and tossing around hay bales. You receive the letter from the carrier quietly, rushing it up to your room and waiting to read until the concealment of night has fallen and you’re confident your father has gone to bed.

My Love,

I must admit that I am not quite sure how long it has been since I last saw you. Perhaps only a handful of weeks, surely, but every hour, minute, and second has felt like an eternity. I miss you, sweetheart. I miss the sound of your laugh. I miss the way you’d look each morning, strolling down from the house with a bounce in your step and the early sunshine bouncing off of your hair. Or perhaps you are just that radiant. I would believe it, you know, that light emits from your very smile, and I know I feel warmer whenever I am around you.

Look at me; look at the man you've turned me into. I've always considered myself a simple being, glad to indulge in the dirt and physical labors of the outdoors, and yet you have me waxing poetic like one of the men in those romance novels you would always pretend to read on the veranda. (Yes, my dear, I noticed. Your stares are not so subtle.) I am lovesick, homesick, and it’s all because of you. Because my life truly began the day I looked up and saw Bam struggling with you on his back and just knew I had to help you (tell that dear beast that I miss him by the way).

Now, I must live my life forlorn, but not without purpose. Please know that I am doing everything in my power to get back to you, and I will not rest until I am holding you in my arms again. I have secured a job at a ranch several towns over; it’s good work with decent pay, and every cent that does not go towards the barest necessities is being saved for us. One day, my love. One day we will have a house and a farm, and I will be able to love you openly, with no need for secrets or the cover of rain.

In the meantime, just know how terribly I miss you, and though we are separated by distance, I hold you in my heart each day. On my way each morning from my lodgings to the ranch, I pass by a field of sunflowers. I know it cannot possibly be true, but it feels like every golden face turns towards me as I go, and darling, I’d swear I see you in every one.

One day, my love.

Until then, always yours,

J.K.

It becomes something of a ritual: while you used to spend your days out on the veranda pretending to read so that you could watch Jungkook from afar, you now settle on the front porch with a book each afternoon in the hopes of catching the local mail carrier. Jungkook’s letters come slowly but consistently every couple of weeks, and each time a letter does arrive, you spend the night drafting your own by candlelight to send back to him.

He tells you about his new job, how he’s working on a larger farm now with several other laborers. The veterans are kind to him and teaching him a lot, he says, and it eases the ache in your heart a fraction to know that he seems happy where he is and well taken care of. You write back about your favorite books that you’ve been reading and how the horses have been (you insist that you can tell Bam misses Jungkook too). But both of your letters are saturated with sentiments of love and how dearly you miss each other, reminding yourselves that every day that passes is one day closer to you two being reunited, whenever that may be.

Your father, meanwhile, proceeds as if Jungkook never existed, hiring a new stable hand who begins his work mere days after Jungkook has left. This man is middle aged, gray already streaking through his hair, and you can’t help but feel it’s a deliberate choice on your father’s part lest you fall for another lowly laborer. And though you know it is not his fault, you barely speak with the man outside of a few curt pleasantries when you go for your ride each morning.

You persist in your morning rides out of habit, but you find that they don’t bring you the same kind of joy that they used to. The grass isn’t quite as green, the air is often stifling, and the sunflowers droop where they used to stand tall against the blue skies. On one day, roughly six months after Jungkook’s firing, you’re once again forced back inside early due to rain, the storm dampening your already dreary mood. It takes a turn for the worst when you hear your father call your name the moment you step in the door and plummets entirely off a cliff when you trudge into the dining room to see a man sitting at the table.

Seokjin is not entirely unfamiliar to you—your families run in the same circles after all—but he is ultimately little more than a stranger, the two of you having only exchanged a handful of polite words at dinner parties and the like. All that you truly know of him is that he is the heir to the wealthiest trading company on this side of the country and that his father is expected to transition the entire operation to him over the next few years.

Even so, Seokjin greets you with a sense of intimate familiarity, standing at your approach and brushing his lips against the back of your hand before you can stop him.

“A pleasure to see you, Y/N, as always.”

You know that social etiquette requires you to return the sentiment, but instead, you find yourself looking between Seokjin and your father, trying to figure out his purpose here.

“What is going on?”

Your father grimaces at your rudeness but opts to ignore it. “Seokjin has come here with a rather exciting opportunity, Y/N, if you would take a seat and listen to him.”

However, you remain standing, spine stiff and wary eyes shifting to the man in front of you with his finely tailored clothes and perfectly combed hair. He, for what it’s worth, doesn’t cower under your stony gaze, maintaining an air of utmost confidence as he states, “Y/N, I would like for you to marry me.”

“No.”

Your answer is immediate and blunt, coming so quickly that Seokjin barely reacts—only the tiniest dip of his mouth as if he doesn’t believe he heard you correctly. But your father leaps to his feet, face red with shock and frustration.

“Y/N, you sit down and listen to the man.”

“I don’t need to listen,” you snap. “My answer is no.”

Seokjin registers your words then, face morphing into a deep frown of disbelief as your father hurries to intervene, grabbing you around the arm to pull you out of the dining room and turning on you the moment you are out of earshot.

“Insolent girl! That man will soon be one of the most powerful in the country—nay, the world! Do you understand the opportunity he is offering you? The life he is offering? How dare you refuse him!”

“Whatever life he is offering is one I want no part of,” you argue, pulling your arm from his grasp to wrap them across your chest. “I have no interest in being married to a man like that. I want to be with someone who loves me.”

He goes deathly still for a moment, drawing connections in his head until you see the moment the realization hits him. “This is about that lousy stable boy, isn’t it?”

You say nothing, only hug yourself tighter and try to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat.

“That’s it, yes? You’re still holding onto some hope that he will come back for you and what? The two of you will go off and live in some hovel? What could he possibly offer you?” he snarls. “No, Y/N. That vermin is gone. You have a chance—a real chance—at a future here, and I’ll be damned if I let you throw it away for the idea of some lower class scum.”

As his words sink in, a chill passes through your body that’s quickly replaced with a white-hot anger, your hands dropping to your sides as you straighten your back in defiance.

“Whether Jungkook returns or not,” you assert, “please be assured that I will never, ever, marry one of your suitors. I will die before I become a mere pawn for your business deals.”

Your father stares at you incredulously, eyes practically bursting from his head. “Business deals? I am looking out for you. So that you can live the luxurious life a child of mine deserves.”

“The life I deserve is the one which I want,” you exclaim. “And these rich dullards are not it.”

Final word given, you spin on your heel in emphasis and march off to your room, leaving your father to clumsily patch things up in the dining hall with a humbled and deeply befuddled Seokjin.

The letters stop two years in.

A month passes, then two, then three before you begin to really worry. Another four gone in a blink before you start to consider that you may never actually hear from him again.

For a while, you continue to write to him, thinking that at the very least, if he’s moved to a new job, someone from his old ranch may forward them along if they know where he’s gone to. But after a year of silence transpires, the mail carrier shaking his head at you each day as you rush to meet him outside your house, true dread sets in.

Your address hasn’t changed, which means that he’s stopped writing to you for some reason. Is it possible that he’s moved on? Met another woman perhaps and chosen to settle down? Or…could it be something worse? Your mind hesitates to even go down this path, the terror seeping into your bones, but the thought creeps in late at night when you’re at your most vulnerable that something may have happened to him. Work accidents, illness—any number of dangerous things could have taken him from you without you even knowing. Then again, he sounded healthy in his final letter to you, no word at all of him being ill, and you’d like to think he would’ve arranged for someone to contact you if some tragedy had befallen him.

You conclude, then, that he must have given up. And really, after years of hoping for a shift, for some change in fortune for your futures, you cannot entirely blame him. If anything, you just wish you had seen the signs sooner, sensed some kind of shift in tone that would have prepared you for his sudden silence. His last letter, though, had been much of the same—more updates on his ranching job mixed in with poetic phrases about his love for you. You read it endlessly, poring over the words for some indication that his feelings for you had waned, sitting huddled in a hidden corner of the stables as rain pounds down against the tin roof. Instead, it just makes your heart ache to remind you of love found and lost, his final words haunting you as time continues to drag on to your dismay.

As the months tick by, you keep your promise to your father, steadfastly refusing each suitor that comes to call for you: Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and even Min Yoongi, who shows up in your dining room every evening for a fortnight before finally accepting your refusal. Meanwhile, you move through your days as if by design, going through the motions without feeling like you’re actually alive. Food is tasteless, your books void of thought, and the skies have certainly lost their color. You find that you actually prefer rainy days now, often taking walks through the drizzle and allowing the droplets of water to slide over your skin and caress you as he once did. Sometimes, it almost makes you feel as if he’s there beside you—memories of thunder and slick kisses enveloping your thoughts and soaking you from the inside out.

No fewer than seven years pass this way, with you haunting the premises of your home while your father begins to complain about you becoming a leech and a burden. You begin to question it yourself, wondering if it may be too much to waste away like this, when, three days after your twenty-seventh birthday, a discovery has you running from your father’s house and never looking back.

It’s another dreary, rainy day, and you, wanting to soak in the full effect of the emblematic weather as it pertains to your mood, have once again parked yourself on the front porch with a book. Your father passed you on his way out earlier, casting a scathing look that you didn’t even bother to grant any attention—you’ve long grown accustomed to his contempt and futile glares.

A little past midday, you glance up at the sound of a person approaching, their footsteps ricocheting off the front steps. Park Jimin comes to a halt under the porch’s cover, gazing at you curiously as if wondering why you are outside in this weather at all. However, if he finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t say anything, a choice which comes of no surprise to you. One of your father’s youngest business partners, you’ve always liked Jimin during the times that you’ve interacted with him. He’s quiet, polite, and has never made an attempt at courting you, always respecting the boundaries that many other young men have tried to cross over the years.

That being said, you’re inclined to at least offer him a greeting, acknowledging his presence with a mannered, “Hello, Mr. Park.”

“Good day,” he responds with a small bow in your direction. “Is your father at home?”

“No, he had to attend a business meeting with Mr. Kim this morning.” You frown as his face falls, a touch of panic widening his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

A delicate finger rises to rub at his temple. “Ah, I’m supposed to be finalizing a contract with Hybe Trading Company later this afternoon,” he says. “Your father told me to come pick up the documents beforehand.”

“He may be back soon,” you guess. Your father didn’t give an indication of exactly when he would return, but you do know his meeting with Kim Taehyung wasn’t supposed to last all day.

“I may not be able to take that risk.” He chews at his lip, thinking. “Is it possible that he left the contracts for me somewhere? Might you be able to check?”

Your jaw drops a fraction at his request—you could count on one hand the number of times that you’ve been in your father’s office. “I don’t think—“

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin begs. “We can’t afford to lose this partnership.”

The desperation in his expression has you acquiescing, and so you lead him inside and tell him to wait in the entryway as you head to your father’s office on the second floor.

The room is arguably the grandest in the house, with magnificent windows that give a full view of the estate’s grounds and tall bookshelves packed with your father’s collection of texts. The finest rugs protect the hardwood under your feet, and at the center of the room sits a monstrous yet beautiful mahogany desk with a plush chair at its back.

You move to the desk first, skimming the documents scattered on top for something that has the trading company’s name on it. But all you see are invoices, shipping records, and maps of different trading routes marked with your father’s notes, and lightly shuffling through the papers comes up fruitless as well.

The first desk drawer you open contains a series of highly-organized ledgers, so you quickly move on to the second, which has the same. The third drawer reveals a reserve of desk and writing supplies, while the fourth, finally, contains a mess of paper.

You rummage through the clutter, still not finding anything that seems to be the contract Jimin is looking for, and are about to give up when a stack of letters buried at the back of the compartment has you freezing, the small, neat handwriting chilling you to the bone.

Pulling the stack out with shaking hands, you quickly realize that there are a few dozen, all postmarked no more than two months apart between each one. Collapsing backwards into the desk chair, you read frantically, quickly realizing just how wrong you were about Jungkook giving up on you:

My Dearest, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, but I pray your letters were simply lost in transit…

I’m incredibly pleased to let you know that I’ve received a promotion. The owner of the farm, Mr. Lee, has taken a liking to me and has shifted me to a more considerable role with additional pay. I’m saving every bit I can…

My Love, I miss you deeply. And while your silence pains me to no end, I hope it is a mere misunderstanding. If you do not wish to hear from me ever again, only say the word and I will stop writing to you and remove myself from your life entirely, albeit with a heavy heart…

I still have some ways to go, but my savings are increasing exponentially, and I am learning more than ever. Mr. Lee has been teaching me about the business side of things and helping me make connections. What a wonder to have a boss who fully supports your aspirations! He insists he will be able to help me in my endeavors, and call me naive, but I believe it to be true. Rest assured, love, that I am steadfastly working hard for you, for us, and for our future…

My Darling Y/N, my heart aches to not read your words and hear your thoughts. But since you have not yet rejected me outright, I can only assume that your silence is involuntary or that it comes with deep hesitation. Whatever the reason, please know that I love you, I miss you, and I am not giving up on us unless you tell me so…

And finally, the shortest letter dated almost year back:

Y/N,

I don’t have the words to describe my feelings so I will keep it brief: I did it. If this letter finds its way to you and you wish to find me, I eagerly await you at our home…

The location is scribbled in a tangle of text, his usually neat writing askew as if he was shaking when he wrote it, and the words land with the force of a thousand bricks in your chest—the weight of seven years apart, the agony of your separation, finally culminating in this revelation.

The door to the office bangs open, and you look up, heart already racing with the discovery of the letters, to see your father looming in the doorway, face painted with rage.

“What in the hell are you doing in my private office?!”

You’re on your feet in an instant, storming across the room and shaking the final letter in his face. “What is this?!”

He pales a fraction as he registers what you’re holding before stepping further into the room and slamming the door shut. “I should have burned them,” he sneers. “I did what I did to protect you.”

“From what?” You wave your arms wildly, anger and adrenaline winding their way through your limbs. “From happiness? From a man who has spent years working hard to be able to provide for me?”

“I have worked hard to provide for you! And I will not see my legacy be thrown aside for some silly crush!”

Steeling yourself, you pull in a steadying breath for courage. “Then you won’t.”

“And what does that mean?” your father scoffs, trying to look dismissive and intimidating, yet seeming smaller than you’ve ever seen him.

“You won’t see any of it. I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Time stops for a moment, your declaration holding the air in the room hostage as your father fully absorbs your words.

“You ungrateful idiot girl!” your father suddenly exclaims. “After everything I’ve done for you? Fine then! Go live with the dogs, with the filth and slime you apparently love so dearly. I have had it with your thanklessness and impertinence and will be relieved to have you from my sight.” He steps into your personal space, pointing a finger directly at your face so close that you can feel the heat of his ire radiating off of his hand. “But know this: the second you step out of these doors, you will never be welcomed back. Never.”

You waste only two seconds longer, locked in a stubborn stare-down with your father before you rip your gaze away and tear from the room with Jungkook’s letters still in hand. Rushing to your room, you gather his other letters from your desk and stuff them into a bag along with the modest sum of money you had accumulated in case you ever needed to run.

And then you’re a bird in flight, sweeping down the stairs and out the door with nothing but a simple, “Good day, Mr. Park,” as you pass an absolutely bewildered Jimin in the front hall.

The rain is cold and heavy as it soaks through your clothes and hair almost immediately, but you barely feel it—the freedom in your heart and the scribbled location in your bag more than enough to keep you warm as you charge towards home.

The house is beautiful.

Modest, compared to the mansion you grew up in, sure. But arguably more beautiful—with a compact two stories, white wood, and neatly painted green shutters. There’s a wrap-around porch overlooking the acres upon acres of farmland, and even through the rain falling in sheets and blurring your vision, you spy two rocking chairs sitting side-by-side under the awning.

It’s been a long two weeks of journeying to get to this spot, relying on the kindness of strangers to help you navigate to the location Jungkook had written down. Now, standing at the end of the dirt path leading up to what is presumably your new home, you think that you would do it all again in a heartbeat. The past two weeks, the past seven years, all worth it to experience the hope currently blooming in your chest like the sunflowers you spent so much time admiring in the past.

You’re trudging up the path, the dirt and mud smearing along your shoes, when a darkened figure steps out from the fields to your right, hand raised in greeting.

“Good afternoon, miss. Are you lost? I—” He grinds to a halt like he’s walked straight into a brick wall, eyes wide and lips parted as he absorbs the sight of you soaked and disheveled on his property.

“Y/N?” he says it like a prayer, like he believes you’re some kind of hallucination—a phantom come to haunt him through the haze of rainy memories.

You stare at each other through the downpour, and you find yourself studying him, observing the changes that have taken place in the time you’ve been apart. He’s taller and broader than you remember, shoulders stretching wide and drawing your gaze down towards biceps that protrude below his drenched shirt. The lines of his face have sharpened with age—losing some of the youthful roundness that had endeared him to you so quickly—but he’s still starry-eyed as ever, the charming young man from your memories undoubtedly gazing back at you.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, and the spell is suddenly broken. You surge towards each other, meeting in the middle with a flash of lightning. Your arms go around his shoulders, and Jungkook pulls you into him so desperately and with so much force that he lifts you right off your feet, your mouths coming together with a heated urgency.

He’s everything you’ve dreamed of, every desperate memory you’ve been clinging to come back to life. And with every touch, every pass of his hands over your body, you feel yourself rapidly coming back to life too—joy making its way into your lungs and through your bloodstream for the first time since you were twenty years old and kissing this man in your family’s stables.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips when you finally part. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You have no idea–”

“I do. Jungkook, I do.”

“You stopped writing—”

“My father,” you rush to say. “He intercepted the letters. I thought you stopped writing. Thought you gave up—”

“Oh, my love, never.” His hands rise to cradle your face. “I never stopped thinking of you. Never stopped dreaming of this.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, savoring every movement of his lips against yours.

You shudder against his chest, the thrill of your reunion rattling your nerves just as a cool wind blows through, and Jungkook pulls back with worry.

“You must be freezing,” he murmurs sweetly. “Come. Let’s get you warmed up inside.”

With an arm wrapped around your waist, as though he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep a hand on you, he guides you the rest of the way to the house, up the front porch steps, and through the front door.

“Welcome home,” Jungkook says.

You’re met first with the smell of pine and cinnamon and an impossibly comforting warmth. The first floor is comprised of a wide-open space, with a small kitchen and dining room to your left and a sitting room to your right that has tall windows and a fireplace that is currently roaring. You move around the room slowly, taking it all in, and when you notice the vase of bright sunflowers sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, you just about melt to the floor.

“I know it’s smaller than you’re used to,” he sheepishly mumbles from the doorway. “But we can expand in the future—”

“It’s perfect, Jungkook.” And it really is, every panel and floorboard evidence of how hard he’s worked, how fiercely your love has endured. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love every bit of it.”

He brightens at that, smile stretching wide. “I’m glad.”

“How did you find it?”

“Well, I bought the property after finally saving enough money. Mr. Lee helped me with the buying process.” He shrugs. “And then I built this.”

You freeze, absolutely stunned. “You what?”

“I built it,” he says simply. “I had some help, of course. But the design is all mine.”

“I…you…” It makes your thoughts spin—the idea that he did all of this. He built a house for you.

“Here, look.” He takes your hand and pulls you into the living room, gesturing at a set of empty shelves against the back wall. “For your books.”

You laugh incredulously, fully overwhelmed at this point. “I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Then we’ll start you a new collection,” he says softly, drawing you towards him.

You reach up to trace his jaw, his brow, his cheekbones—memorizing every line of this beautiful man who dared to make your dreams a reality. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe you. The things you’ve done.”

“All for you, my love.”

Your heart thumps a steady rhythm in your throat, love and the relief of finally—finally—having him in front of you overpowering your senses until all that exists is you and him; the strain of your former life feels worlds away.

Hands find his chest in a slow migration downwards as the chill of the rain gives way to the heat of the fireplace, and it’s not long before his large hands are wrapping around your hips, a darkness in his irises that wasn’t there a second ago.

“There’s an upstairs, too, I’m assuming?” you whisper, fingers teasing a button on his shirt.

“There is.” He swallows, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple like a lure. “Would you like to see it?”

You lean in, skimming your mouth below his without fully joining your lips. “Please.”

Tangling your fingers in his, he practically runs upstairs with you trailing in his wake.

Finally, you think, as he pulls your clothes from your body, climbs over you on the bed, and presses into you with such tender deliberation that you think you’ll combust.

Finally, as you spend the rest of the night wrapped up together, endlessly whispering I love yous back and forth.

Finally, as you wake up in his arms the next day, his face the first thing you see.

Finally, as he pulls out a small box at breakfast, the dainty diamond ring easily the most precious piece of jewelry you’ve ever possessed.

Finally, as he takes you out on the farm and shows you the small field of sunflowers he planted just for you.

Finally, you think, as you sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch and watch him work from afar. I’m home.

Years Later…

“Mama! Mama look!”

You glance up from your book to where Jungkook and Haneul are currently journeying in the yard. It’s a bright sunny day—the wide expanse of blue sky above unmarred by even a single cloud. Sunshine beams down onto your son’s smiling face where he sits on the back of one of the horses, a too-big cowboy hat on his head and his father at his side for support.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart!” you call. “Just be sure to listen to Papa!”

Jungkook flashes you a grin, the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He’s been talking about teaching Haneul to ride since the day he was born, so you know this means a great deal to him, especially seeing your son’s own energy and enthusiasm. Haneul has always liked the “horsies,” toddling happily around the stables ever since he could walk.

Then again, given who his parents are, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Jungkook and Haneul finish their loop around the yard, and you hear your husband shower the boy with praise as he lifts him off of the horse’s back.

“Again, again!” Haneul cheers, bouncing in place and causing Jungkook to laugh.

“We will! Just let me check on your mother first.”

He moves comfortably, leisurely as he climbs the porch steps and comes to a rest in front of where you sit. Looming over you, he leans in until he can press a gentle kiss to your lips, reverent in his motions.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His fingers brush lightly over your belly and its new curve.

“I’m alright,” you say, guiding his hand until his palm is resting flat. “This one is kicking up a storm though.”

As if on cue, you feel a tiny jolt—Jungkook giving a breathless chuckle as he feels the jab himself.

“Go easy on your mother,” he says in the direction of your stomach, rubbing a soft circle into your flesh. “No storms. Clear skies and sunshine.” Then his eyes are back on your face. “Speaking of, I have something for you.”

He reaches behind his back and produces a single sunflower, tucking it behind your ear before giving you one more kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.” More than the day you met him. More than the day he left. And more than the day you finally made your way here.

“Now I should get back to Haneul before he starts yelling for me.”

You laugh out the brightest sound that’s ever come from your lungs. “Go.”

A warm breeze ripples through the trees, the sound of your son’s giggles and Jungkook’s cheerful exclamations finding their way back to where you sit.

What a beautiful day, you think, setting down your book and getting up to join your family in the golden sunshine.

a/n: thanks for reading! pls don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

TOEING THE LINE ─── robert fischer ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “Love him. Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?” — ‘Giovanni’s Room’, James Baldwin.

pairing. robert fischer x secretary!reader

summary. being robert’s secretary means doing everything for him. everything.

warnings. swearing, oral sex (m), creampie, p in v, mention of handjob, sex as stress relief, intimacy issues, quickies, crying, fluff, SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 6.8k

a/n. honestly this is just downright filth. robert & reader’s relationship/the way they treat each other is also a little confusing so i apologize LOL

i. 

Being Robert’s secretary means doing everything for him: sending congratulatory gifts to his clients, picking up his drycleaning, answering his emails, and even booking his dentist appointments.

It means doing everything he asks, and everything you think he needs; he trusts your judgment, he said, because you know more about him than anyone in the entire world — even himself. 

It means doing everything for him. Everything.

Robert had heaved a large sigh as he sat down in the backseat of his car; undone his tie; ran a veiny hand through his gelled hair. From that much, you could tell he was stressed. You knew him like the back of your hand, and, after being his secretary for three years, you also knew what relieved him best.

Your lips are wrapped around his cock the moment he gets home. 

You were kneeling between his legs, hands curling around the base of his cock and stroking whatever you couldn’t fit - which wasn’t much, your throat having long since been trained to take his length all the way. 

Grunts and groans spilled out of his mouth above you, but you didn’t look at him; you never looked at him - he’d been adamant about that, when you first sucked him off. Robert never told you why, just that your gaze should never reach his; you thought it had something to do with his vulnerability, his parental issues rearing its ugly head in every part of his life, even his sexual one. 

Robert’s hands wrapped around your wispy locks, giving you a makeshift ponytail, and you flicked small licks on his tip before descending back down on him. His grip on your hair tightened, and as you curled your warm tongue along his shaft, he began to bob your head up and down on him, faster, harder, hard enough tears formed in your eyes. 

He was stressed, so he was rough. But you took it in stride: he was your boss, after all, paying you the big bucks for your service, be it actual secretarial duties or requests just a step away from prostitution. 

You gag, once or twice, on account of how brutally the head of his cock is bruising the back of your throat, and Robert slows down; stills like he’s nervous you’ll break, but you continue expertly, focussing on lapping up the beads of precome spilling from his slit. You breathed in and out shakily, ignoring the ache in your jaw. 

His hands then left your hair, instead fumbling for the armrests of the leather chair and squeezing down on them as his back arched and his head threw back: he was close.

When one of your hands left his length and reached down to fondle his balls, Robert let go, a stuttered moan leaving him, and he released his load straight down your throat. You felt it spurt and coat your mouth, wet and thick. The only thing left in the room was your breathing, his high and tinny, yours haggard and desperate for oxygen. 

After a moment, you got up, noting how tight your legs felt while wiping a drop of come from the side of your mouth with your thumb. “Rest up, Mr. Fischer,” you insisted gently, resuming immediate professionalism, “you have a nine-o-clock with the head of Proclus Global tomorrow.”

Between breaths, Robert finally looked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, buttoning his dress pants back up. “Saito?” he wondered aloud. 

You nodded silently in response. It was certainly odd to inform Robert about his schedule and meetings like you didn’t just have his hard cock in your mouth, but after three years it became part of the job. You reckon you could ride him and still arrange his doctors appointments by phone. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Fischer.” You addressed him with that title, ‘Mr. Fischer’, to keep a distance. Despite what you often did for him, you still considered yourself just his subordinate; just his secretary. 

You then turned, kitten heels clacking quietly on his hardwood floor, primly and properly leaving his condo with the taste of his salty come still imprinted on your tongue. 

ii. 

By eight am sharp, you’ve returned to his condo. Robert would need a little more than what he got last night, especially since he’d be meeting Saito, like you said. 

You mapped out his habits and what he was like a long, long time ago. He’s got a higher-than-average sex drive, but no time to be in a relationship with anyone — thus, your duties. Blowjobs after a long day and a quickie at least five times a week are a must, and never, ever, kiss him. 

Robert’s… well, a slight sex addict, having to regularly fuck or get pleasured just to keep sane, but intimacy’s got him hiding under the covers like he’s just seen a ghost. You, on the other hand, can’t discern the difference between if you have sex and kiss or just have sex - it's both sex. 

It’s just a thing that needs to be done in the end, and in Robert’s case, it’s like eating or sleeping: he needs it to live, so he gets it and lives. Simple as that. There are no feelings between you two, and it’s been that way for as long as you’ve been his secretary. 

You entered Robert’s condo easily, having a key and all, where you then found him pacing in his large walk-in closet, fiddling with his rings. 

You knocked lightly on the wall to alert him, stepping in when he noticed you and visibly relaxed. “Good morning, Mr. Fischer.” you stated, setting his drycleaning down on one of the velvet settee benches in the middle of the room. 

“Morning,” Robert said absently. Without warning nor another word, he stepped closer to you, hands immediately pressing into your waist. His palms were sweaty, a feverish need radiating off him as he kneaded at you, pressing you against one of the many closet doors. 

He was nervous, no doubt the result of the impending meeting with Saito, which equated a frenzied mood sexually. So, you wasted no time, quickly unbuckling his trousers and unzipping his fly, letting your stockings pool at your ankles, hiking your skirt up to your hips. 

Robert’s hands grasped at your soft thighs, lifting a leg around him as one of your hands slipped down the waistband of his underwear, pulling his cock out. You pumped his length slowly, before spitting into your other hand, pushing your panties to the side and coating your cunt in the slick. You decorated your lips with the wetness, then carefully lined up his thick head with your entrance. 

You bit your lip, wincing as he pushed in; no matter how many times you’d fucked — which was plenty — you always felt that stinging stretch when he first entered you. 

From then on, Robert focussed solely on his own pleasure; on ridding himself of that anxious need, trying to fuck his insecure feelings deep into your cunt prior to seeing Saito. He grunted, a string of breathless curses leaving his mouth with every harsh thrust, just snapping his hips against yours repeatedly and chasing his high. 

Your face was pressed flat against the shoulder of his cashmere suit jacket, and you shut your eyes, letting Robert use you - use your hole, specifically. You’d asked him once why he didn’t just masturbate or use a sextoy, and he told you that nothing beats a hot, wet cunt. 

It didn’t matter to him what the girl looked like or what she cost, as long as her pussy felt good. That’s how he hired you: you’d spent an entire month by his side, and before returning to America from his vacation in Sydney, he confessed he’d never taken a cunt as delicious as yours. He didn’t have time to date, but he did have time for a secretary. 

That was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him, pleading for you to work under him, just so he could feel your plush pussy clenching around his cock once more. You’d never been a secretary before, but he promised you’d be taught, that the pay would be good, and that once he got married you could be whatever you wanted in the company - as long as, while you were still his secretary, you’d fuck him when he asked.

“Fuck,” Robert growled out near your ear, pounding mercilessly into your sopping cunt. Despite the selfishness of this quickie, him paying absolutely no mind to you, you couldn’t help how your mouth went ajar and your hips rutted into his. 

Robert had the best dick you’d ever fucking felt, average length but girthy, stretching you wide open. That first time you’d fucked, the one night stand, he kept telling you how tight your cunt was around his thick cock, and the next time after that, he remarked how you were just as tight as before. He was impressed, it seemed, how after each round of splitting you open with his dick, you always seemed to tighten back up.

You bit your lip, fighting back any moans from leaving your mouth, and focussed on gripping your arms around Robert’s neck. You noted how one of his hands dug into you soft thighs, pulling you toward him and sliding in and out of you desperately, like he’d never fuck again, while his other hand came up to the crown of your head, petting you softly. 

Though your mind was foggy with pleasure, you knew it was an out-of-character gesture: being gentle with you, acknowledging your presence rather than just your cunt. Robert wasn’t a romantic man - you didn’t think he knew how to romance someone, especially since his parents' marriage certainly wasn’t winning any awards for perfection.

So, just doing that had the gears in your mind turning. You’d fucked him for three years straight, and not for a moment did he ever do something like that. 

But then, as you were building toward an orgasm, that familiar pull in your stomach sending heat over your body, begging to go faster, Robert came, jetting his creamy load deep within you — and you forgot all about his odd actions. 

“Feel s’good,” he mumbled, fucking you still. You were unsure whether he meant his high or your cunt, but nonetheless, he came down from his orgasm by shoving his come deeper in your cunt with his length. 

Then, “What - time is it?” he said breathlessly, quickly pulling his softening cock out of your pussy and turning away so as not to face you. 

You blinked rapidly, leaning against the wall and trying to regain your composure, ignoring the grief swelling in your insides at the incompletion of your orgasm. “8– 8:10, sir.” 

Robert hummed in acknowledgment, still not looking at you as he redressed himself. You took in your boss’s form, how quickly his attitude changed from desperate to stone cold after sex; after receiving what he needed, like a fucking transaction, and you suddenly felt shameful: this here was one of the most powerful men in the world, owner of Fischer Morrow, and there you were, his secretary and fucktoy he could replace at any time. 

You weren’t special - you weren’t anything, especially not to him. If - no, when, he meets someone who pleasures him better, you’re out of a job. He said he’d help you when he got married, but you don’t think that’s happening anytime soon… and you know Robert: he’ll get tired of you, like the spoiled little kid he probably was, and will just find some other toy to play with. 

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby, Mr. Fischer.” you informed him numbly after pulling up your panties and stockings, shakily stepping out of the walk-in closet. It wasn’t often you felt like this - this being pathetic and used, because on the surface, this job was perfection. Good pay, good reputation, a boss who fucks you - and fucks you good. 

Sure, you could probably count on one hand how many times he made you come in these past three years, but it still felt nice, even if he never drove you past the edge. But, these days… you started wondering if this was the rest of your life. 

You couldn’t get a boyfriend, no, not without lying to him about what you did for a living, and there was still that uncertainty in the stability of this job. Robert had deep parental and intimacy issues - as stated by his therapist, in which, after eight weeks of seeing him Robert left in a fitful, teary, suffocating rage - and, beneath his cold exterior, was a hotpot of bubbling emotions he never deigned to reveal until he was seconds away from blowing up. 

In short: Robert was the most moody, unpredictable person you’d ever met, and working under him was like balancing on a tightrope. Because he never said what irritated him, always emotionlessly telling you to stop if he preferred you didn’t do something, you could never tell what was actually pushing all the wrong buttons. 

Before waiting in his condo’s front lobby like you said, you ducked into one of his many bathrooms and wiped the warm come dripping down your leg, flushing as you saw the ruined state of your panties and stockings: his white load had smeared all over the fabric, and, while you could get most of it off your dark stockings, it stayed on your underwear. 

You had to wear his come on your panties for the entire day, and in a way, it felt like Robert owned you. 

That’s why… you had decided to quit. You wrote your two weeks three months ago and have been holding onto it ever since — because you didn’t know how to tell him you wanted to quit, especially since your heart didn’t want to. 

Your head knew you were meant for more than secretarial duties and a quick fuck, but your heart ached for the lonely being that was Robert Fischer. That young CEO whose grievous relationship with his father was aired out in the newspaper, the man who went through succeeding the company as well as any young person could: fumbling, being crushed by the weight of his late father’s suffocating legacy, and the boy who didn’t know why he could never get his fathers love or approval. 

The heart wants what it wants, but the head knows best. You resolved to hand him your resignation by the end of the day, listening to your head, and got ready to leave this part of your life behind; to leave Robert Fischer behind. 

iii.

“What's this?” Robert asked in his office without looking up at you, gaze still trained on the papers he was signing. You had entered his office to deliver his mail and ask questions about various appointments - when best to schedule that lunch with his godfather, that kind of stuff. 

And… to hand him your 2-weeks. 

“It’s my 2-weeks, Mr. Fischer.” 

“…What?” Robert set his weighted fountain pen down, looking up in disbelief.

“I’m resigning, sir.” You said gingerly, gaze trailing away from his own, ignoring how his expression went from neutral to crestfallen.

“I pay you well enough, I’m sure?” He said, sounding frantic and not doing the best job of hiding it with the shaky smile on his face. 

“It’s not - about the pay. I’m just… I’m ready to do other things.” 

There it was: you didn’t want to wait until he got tired of you and kicked you to the curb. This job was fucking comfortable, and that unnerved you. Working diligently, fucking him diligently, saving up money your younger self would’ve never thought could ever come your way - it was comfortable and you were used to it, but you just… couldn’t take it anymore. 

You weren’t going anywhere like this. Not with Robert, not with your life, not with yourself. When you first took this job, you wanted to help him. Call it naive pity, but you thought the terribly mournful Robert Fischer could be fixed by getting fucked. God, your younger self had been out of her mind. 

So, here you were, three years later and resigning from one of the wealthiest men in the world, heart begging you not to, head wanting to leave immediately. 

Robert sighed, but nodded slightly. “Okay. Okay. I’ll send you your wages as soon as possible, and I can write a recommendation for your next—“

“There’s no need, Mr. Fischer,” you protested quietly. “My duties here weren’t exactly… just secretarial.”

Robert blanched, but agreed quietly. As you were about to leave, he spoke up. “Are you… free tonight?”

You tilted your head slightly, processing the topic change. “I have no plans for the evening, if that’s what you’re asking. I can come over after work—“

“No— no, not…” Robert grimaced, pressing two fingers between his eyes. “Proclus Global’s holding a charity gala. Tonight. Come with me; it’ll be your last event as my secretary.”

Your face warmed at your previous assumption he just wanted to fuck. “…Certainly, Mr. Fischer. There’s no need to ask, I’m obligated to agree.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to ruin any plans you have.” Robert’s lips pressed into a thin white line at your words. “If it - you don’t—“ He sighed, unable to say what he wanted properly, “You don’t have to say yes to everything I ask of you.”

“Work takes precedent, sir. You’re my boss - it’s only natural I follow orders.”

Then: “If that’s all,” you said, before promptly exiting his office, turning away and ignoring how crestfallen he looked. 

It was normal for you to accompany him to various events, seeing as he was single, and you were his hot, young secretary — and it was an expected duty of yours after the first time you went with him. 

You couldn’t figure out why his behavior had suddenly changed, why he’d become considerate— but perhaps it was because you were quitting. Although Robert’s emotional state was generally unpredictable, you supposed the professional part of him wanted to send you off nicely; have these last two weeks of yours not be soured. 

Anyway, it seemed inviting Robert to the gala was what Saito was here for - and, presumably, to add some pressure onto Robert, since their companies were rivals. Robert was always… bothered, you could say, prior to seeing Saito. 

The man made it a habit, consciously or unconsciously, to set Robert off, either by not-so-innocently referencing the late Maurice Fischer in their conversations, or by down right comparing Robert to him. It certainly wasn’t motivated by a personal grudge, no, Saito just wanted to see Fischer Morrow suffer, and for Proclus Global to rise. It was business politics, something you couldn’t - and didn’t want to - wrap your head around. 

The only thing you had in mind now was if you’d dressed up well enough: you had a small collection of gowns that you’d gathered over the years attending events with Robert, but every time, he gave you his card and told you to pick out something nice. You guessed that he was the kind of man who preferred to always show up in something new, something better — and that translated to whoever was perched on his arm.

That, being you, who’d bought a black satin and lace dress with a slit on the left thigh. You knew what Robert usually wore to these occasions, so you dressed accordingly - and it was an accurate foretelling, to say the least. When you’d entered Robert’s condo, he was standing in the lobby, strapping a Tudor onto his left wrist. He was head to toe in black satin, just as you were, hair neatly coiffed against his forehead. 

Your heels clacked loudly on the lobby tile, and he noticed your presence. “Black satin,” he scanned you up and down, “good.”

“Of course, Mr. Fischer.” You said politely, taking his arm when he lifted it up. The two of you headed to the car, and you didn’t miss how Robert opened the door for you first, like you really were his date for that night. 

His behavior throughout that entire day had been downright weird, and even more so now, because if you really pressed Robert, he’d tell you you were just a piece of eye candy for his clients to ogle over, so they’d lower their guards; get distracted and forget to pry him for information regarding the company. 

When you got to the event — which was taking place in a grand banquet hall in one of the many buildings Saito and his wife owned — a flock of people amassed, all greeting Robert and not-so-subtly alluding for him to head over to their table and discuss business matters. 

There were also various clients and colleagues of Robert’s who’d come over to catch up with the young CEO, and many of them commented, as usual, about the plus-one by his side. 

“And who’s this beautiful young lady?” One of the older men asked, raking his gaze all over you. It was clear as day: all of the men there were undressing you with their eyes. 

You didn’t shy away, however, instead smiling thinly. “I’m Mr. Fischer’s secretary,” you told the group, tilting your head slightly and baring your canines. They could stare at you all they liked, but you weren’t interested in letting them know much more about you than your position. 

It didn’t matter, anyway - finding out you were just his secretary made them see you differently. In whispered tones, they’d tell Robert they’d give anything to see you squirming beneath them, and he’d laugh a hollow laugh that didn’t reach his eyes and certainly didn’t come from the heart. To keep up appearances, buttering up his clients and letting them believe he was an easygoing guy, Robert would agree good-naturedly, but not without looking abashed, like he was too professional to actually ever breach that line. 

Like his hand hadn’t disappeared from your arm, trailing across your backside and groping the soft fat of your ass, digging into you. Like you hadn’t stroked his cock in the car, gently pumping him with your spit-slicked hand.  

You then broke away from Robert and the large group of businessmen to chase after a waiter who was holding a tray of champagne. In doing so you found out that Saito’s wife was, really, the main host of this charity ball when she, and several other women and wives of said business men, crowded around you, not unlike their husbands did to Robert. 

You greeted them kindly, blandly replying to their invasive questions: no, I’m just Mr. Fischer’s secretary, no, he is not accepting marriage proposals, sure, I can set up a meeting between you and one of our energy advisors if you give Fischer Morrow a call tomorrow. 

You let them talk circles over themselves, silently nodding, for Robert always reminded you to speak as little as possible. It would do no good for them to assume you and Robert were together —  they’d tear you apart. 

When the conversation drew its focus away from you entirely, you skittered away to find the waiter from earlier. An hour or two had passed since you’d arrived at the gala, and you indulged, letting yourself down a couple more glasses of that addictive drink. You were just about to grab one more, when you conveniently reunited with your boss and date for the night. 

Robert looked peeved, perhaps something to do with how boisterously Saito was laughing across the hall, and in a moment of quick thinking, you pulled him closer to you. “Mr. Fischer,” you whispered, voice tranquil, “if all has been accomplished for the night, I suggest we take our leave.”

He looked up at you, oddly, like he was seeing you for the first time. “Yes,” he agreed quietly, “yes… you’re quite right.” 

Without any goodbyes, the two of you swiftly hooked arms once more, and exited the building. The cool night air bristled around you, nipping at your skin, and Robert’s hands dropped from your arm, instead slipping into your own and keeping you close to him. 

At the car, he opened the door for you again, helping you in gently, before sliding in on the opposite side. When you turned to face him, he absently brushed something out of your hair with his long, nimble fingers. “Dust,” he said simply, peering deep into your eyes. 

You stared back at him, but your thoughts were elsewhere. He’d never toed the line like this before; 

he’d never looked you in the eyes so much, held your hand, plucked something out of your hair or pet you or held you so close — out of the context of sex —  that you could smell his cologne. He had never been so compassionate, so romantic, like this relationship of yours was organic and authentic, not transactional and emotionless. 

The car ride back to his condo was quiet. His hand did not find yours again, not even to hungrily snake up your thigh and under your skirt — Robert was frozen, staring out the window and nowhere at all meeting your gaze. 

Finally, when you got back to his place, you trailed after him — he trusted you to do what he asked and to do what you thought he needed, and that look of vexation he’d had before leaving only meant one thing to you: he was bothered, and a bothered boss does not mean good business. 

When you’d both entered his bedroom, Robert stopped, and turned to face you. His hands found yours, tenderly slipping his fingers into your own and pulling you close to him, and you backtracked. 

“Mr. Fischer?” You murmured, feeling how his rough skin brushed against you. “What are you… doing?” you questioned, your mind filled to the brim with the same question: what was Robert feeling right now? About you? For you?

He called your name out softly, like it was the only word he knew, shining blue eyes examining you intensely and flicking down to your lips every so often. “Don’t quit. I - I… need you.” 

Your brows knitted - so it was about your resignation. “Mr. Fischer, you don’t need me, you… you need sex, you need someone to - to fuck you—“ You protested, wrenching yourself away from his grip.

“No! No. I don’t need you like that. I need you, not - not your fucking cunt, I - can’t live without you.” Robert’s hands pulled you back to him, holding you close like you’d crumble into ash if he didn’t. 

Then, he kissed you, soft lips benevolently pressing into your own, long and deep like he was trying to melt into your touch. He was slow and chaste but there was a hint of desperation in his saliva, like he wanted to consume you, and you him. 

You pulled back, alarmed, your chests rising and falling in sync. Robert had kissed you; he had crossed the line he vehemently set, the line he commanded be kept in place. You blinked, mouth opening and closing, unable to form words. 

“Robert,” You said at last. Robert, not Mr. Fischer. Not Mr. Fischer, not now, not with how quickly his face had fallen from feverish to devastated. “you don’t think you love me, do you?”

Robert’s brows furrowed. “Think?” He repeated incredulously. “Do I think I love you— god, I… I do love you. I don’t think I love you, I know I’m in love with you.”

You looked at him dolefully, willing your heart not to beat out of your chest. “But why? I am certain you can’t answer that, Robert, because you don’t love me, you are - are merely feeling abandoned—“

“I love you because you know more about me than anyone in the entire world—“

“That is my job, Robert—“

“No, it’s not, and you fucking know it. You did more than I’ve ever asked of you: you know me, Robert, not Mr. Fischer, CEO of Fischer Morrow. You know me.” His finger dug into his chest, enunciating each point, and you couldn’t help the way his words swayed you - consciously or not. 

In your silence, Robert continued. “And - and, I adore the way you think, how you laugh and how you see the world, how - how you understand people, people who’ve never had someone take the time to ever fucking do that. How you care. So - so… stay. Stay by my side.”

In the kiss, you two had found yourselves perched on his bed, and he looked at you, lips bitten between his teeth nervously. “Please,” he murmured, hand coming up to your cheek and meekly tracing shapes on your skin.

“…I can’t do this. Not with you. Robert, you - you don’t fuck a woman you say you love then pretend you didn’t.” You replied, shying away from his touch like he’d burnt you. 

“I - I didn’t want to push that on you, not when - when we were…” he trailed off, hands leaving you and instead scrubbing his grimacing face. 

“What, when I was your personal prostitute?”

“Don’t say it like that,” he said weakly, but didn’t protest. “I just… I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to think it was just another part of the job.”

“Is it not?” You questioned, watching his expression change and flit through several emotions. “You’re telling me you love me, and you’re asking me to keep being your secretary. Robert, is this not just part of my job?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he pleaded. “It - you, can be more than that. You are the woman I worship and adore and - and will listen to, no matter what. So don’t leave.”

The words “me behind” did not come out of his mouth, but you felt it, like he etched it on your heart. Your eyes searched his own for even a semblance of fallacy — but it was so terribly real, truthful, that you felt a lump in the back of your throat form. 

You pressed your forehead to his own, trying to digest this information: the reveal of his feelings… and the remembrance of your own. 

His idealistic talk, his professions of love, his raw, long-suffering pleading made you remember the deep seated, stirring warmth in your heart that you’d beat to death all those years ago. 

You remembered the fondness you’d felt for a melancholy man back in Sydney, the man with the demure demeanor, the charming words; the man who you spent a month with, the man who took you on sweet dates, who wormed his way into your life like he belonged there; the man who fucked you slowly and graciously and cherishingly; the man who, at the end, had to go back to America, to the life he never talked about; the man who you wanted to explore a forever relationship with, but had offered you a job instead. 

“You love me?” you asked, vulnerability apparent in your tone. 

“More than anything in the entire world.”

“Then kiss me.” 

And Robert did, his hands sliding down your back to your waist, bringing you closed to him. This kiss was passionate, but patient and sheepish like you’d never kissed one another before. It was a sweet dance, all tongue and no teeth; curling around each other tenderly, desperately, like there was never going to be enough time in the world to express how you felt about each other, because you felt so infinitely. 

Your fingers carded through his hair, tugging lightly on his feather-soft locks, and his movements grew eager, gripping your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. “I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I did you,” he mumbled against your neck, pressing hungry kisses on the delicate skin. 

“I dreamed of this, in Sydney,” you told him, slipping off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt and dress pants, “I dreamed of forever together.”

He shrugged off the many articles of clothing, then began unzipping the back of your dress without looking, “I dream of us and forever without an end: you are my ever-present thought.” 

You paused your movements, looking at him squarely - though not without allowing your dress to fall off your shoulders - and pulling him into another kiss. “How could I ever have been content with just fucking you,” you murmured, more to yourself than him, “when these are the things you say to me?”

Finally, the two of you were reverently tossing and turning on the bed, completely naked and completely feverish, not just in lust, but in dizzying adoration and love for the other. Then, he was on top of you, holding himself up by the arms. His leg slotted between your thighs, your soaking wetness practically dripping onto him, and he could’ve fallen apart right then and there if not for your arm digging into his left bicep kept him grounded in reality.

His hard cock rested against your thigh, and after a moment longer of watching eachother intently, memorizing each and every feature you both had, he spread your legs wide and pressed his fat tip plush against your clit, introducing himself slowly. 

“Is this okay?” Robert asked, biting his lip and reveling in how good you took him, even if it was just the head. 

You looked at him blearily, barely registering his question, mind already losing itself to the pleasure he was inflicting on your cunt; how, the slower he was with you, the easier it was to completely succumb. 

“Yes, fuck,” you ground out, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking him in, his groans growing louder as he pushed the rest of his length in. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you blurted simultaneously to his various noises of pleasure, your fingernails digging deep crescent moon shapes into his back. 

“Best cunt I ever fucking had,” he grunted, hands gripping the sheets beside your head for dear life. He stilled for a few moments, letting you get used to his whole length in you — yes, when he’d fucked you all those times before, he was so desperate to come he hadn’t bottomed out his entire length in you, which… had already filled you to the brim. 

“M’gonna,” he shuddered, feeling your walls bear down on him suddenly, “gonna move now.” 

You nodded breathlessly, arching into his touch as he set a steady pace. He would drive into you slowly, teasingly, almost torturously, before suddenly pulling out, then thrusting into you regularly for a few moments, and finally starting all over again. It would’ve made you mad, if not for how sweetly he was handling you: his hand stroking your forehead shyly, gaze flitting over you like you were the only thing left in the entire world. 

Robert leaned down to your bare tits, brushing his wet tongue over your nipples, which had grown sensitive and erect. At his touch, you let out a small squeak, “Oh, Robert,” you keened, rutting your hips up into his own on instinct.

You could feel him smile against your skin, and then, he slipped one of your nipples into his warm mouth, suckling loudly and making you tremble. His tongue devouring your tits, his hips snapping into you, his hands caressing you gently; fuck, you realized, it was all too much, but still just enough. 

The way Robert fucked you was absolute perfection, the way he ravished and pleasured your body was heavenly; divine. Sweet moans left your mouth as Robert’s pace grew more frenzied, your sticky cunt making a sick squelching noise whenever he pulled out. You were like a fucking suction; even your pussy knew how delicious Robert’s veiny cock was, and held onto him desperately. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Robert sighed, pressing his face into the nook of your neck, inhaling your scent. “Your are the only one for me— fuck— its you, and only you.”

Though your thoughts were growing foggier, only focussing on feeling pleasure, you still had it in you to beam at his words, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him into a close embrace.

“Faster, please, god, I adore you,” you said after letting go, a string of words barely coherent. Still, you thought that even if you’d not said anything at all, Robert would have understood, for he began sliding his cock in and out of you rapidly. His hands found themselves at your hips, and he began pushing you up into him as he slammed down into your cunt. 

His thrusts drew breathy moans from your lips, and you could tell how swiftly it affected him, knowing his cock made you shudder and whine like that, writhing beneath him, because he commanded gently for you to: “Look at me,” he said, and you obliged, taking in those sweet, wet blue eyes, lashes fluttering as he blinked. He wanted to look at you, and he wanted you to look at him. 

“I’m looking,” you responded, barely able to speak. 

“Good,” he said breathily, “I wanna know what you look like when you come.” Then, his cock began pounding into you, not cautiously and delicately, like he had been earlier, but insatiably, unable to think of much else but making the woman he loves orgasm. You could count on one hand how many times Robert made you come, but it seemed that’d be the only thing he’d be thinking about for the foreseeable future: devoting his time to making the odds even. 

His words made your insides twist, the knot in your abdomen growing larger; it turned you on much more than you thought it would, for the notion of him coming in you because he wanted to, because he wanted to fill you with his seed and mark you as his, not just because he wanted to release and didn’t have time to clean it up elsewhere. Suddenly, you found yourself knowing the difference between sex with kissing, and just sex.

You hadn’t realized how close you were, steadily building toward an orgasm when your brain has turned off thinking and let you melt completely into the ecstacy, and only really comprehended it when Robert mumbled, “Jesus, you’re so wet, taking me so well,” and his praise sent you off the deep end.

Honestly, you couldn’t describe how it felt. You could, however, do so in comparison to your previous orgasms with Robert. Usually, it would feel good, but like it ended too fast. You’d conveniently orgasm when Robert came in you, and he’d drive out his high in your cunt, then pull out immediately. If you’d had your way, you’d keep him thrusting until you couldn’t take it anymore, wanting to drag out your blissful orgasm as long as possible.

That’s what happened here. The heat that encompassed your body was unfamiliar, but damn well fucking delectable, making your body buck up uncontrollably into his cock. You were high on the pleasure, drunk on his length, and he knew this, still gliding in and out of you. Your climax was like entering a deep pool: it took you over completely, and was a little hard to come out of. 

“S’good,” Robert mumbled, not unlike he did earlier that day, but you knew it was different. “Your face look s’fucking gorgeous,” he commented, mind growing fuzzy as he saw your expression change throughout your high. 

Your hands found themselves back in his hair, and you tugged him slightly so you could whisper in his ear. “Thank you, Robert,” you spoke warmly, though still panting, “for loving me. For letting me love you.”

You swore you saw light tears well in his eyes, but you couldn’t be sure, because he cocked his head back, neck clenching and his mouth falling open as he released his cream deep into your cunt, flush against your cervix. He let out a low moan as he climaxed, thrusts still coming but considerably slower. It felt like he’d been coming forever when his arms gave out and he finally went limp, falling down beside you. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” is what he said first, peering up at you and brushing an eyelash off your cheek. “I’d have loved you no matter what you did.”

Now you felt the waterworks coming. How was it, that through such a strained relationship and broken examples of intimacy, did Robert know how to be so sweet? Or was that just him, just how his thoughts came to him; was it just his instinct and nature that made him so darling?

Weakly, you slip your arms under his, combining the two of you in a sweaty embrace. The room smelt like come and sex, the lights impossibly bright and beaming down on the two of you uncomfortably, but you could deal with it— and everything, so long as you were with Robert. 

“If only I knew sooner how cheesy you were, Mr. Fischer.”

“Well, you’ll have the rest of your life to keep finding out… Mrs. Fischer.”

[kinardstits]

(@ AO3. Bucktommy mpreg, cos that's what we're doing now lmao)

There’s no nausea.

No bolting from the kitchen when Melton insists on heating his tuna salad.

No tears, no emotional outbursts, nothing to tip Tommy off until the bell rings and he jumps off his seat, only to have his vision go white and the world tilt into darkness.

He wakes to Lucy taking his blood pressure; to his Captain, of all people, holding his legs up in her lap.

Tommy closes his eyes, swallowing the embarrassment.

.

He thought it was exhaustion.

Tommy knew he shouldn’t–

He caused this.

Ev– Buck had looked at him, all wide smiles and stars in his eyes, and he had gotten up and left, absolutely terrified in the face of the other’s worship.

So, when he began to have trouble sleeping, lost his appetite, began to isolate–

He deserved it. That was punishment.

The results in his shaky hands feel worse than that.

“Mr. Kinard?” Tommy barely reacts besides looking up at the nurse. She smiles back, not unlike a sympathetic wince. “Is there anyone you would like me to call?”

Tommy ought to say no.

He nods instead.

.

The bench is warm from the sun. It could be enough to ward off the chill that seemed to seep into his bones.

It’s not.

Someone comes to a stop beside him. They wait for a beat before they sit, knee knocking into his. “Hey.”

To his horror, Tommy feels tears flood his vision. “Hey.”

Eddie frowns, leaning forward in his seat to try and catch Tommy’s gaze. He looks concerned yet wary, watching him so closely Tommy feels like his skin is being peeled back. “I was surprised when the hospital called me.” He said, eyes flickering between Tommy’s face and the envelope in his hands. “I thought you had changed your emergency contact to…”

Tommy tries not to wince as Eddie trails off. “I nearly did.” He sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Had the paperwork filled and everything, but then I thought I wouldn’t want a stranger to tell him I’d died, so.” He shrugs.

“You added me?”

Tommy nods. “Yeah.”

Eddie is silent for a bit before saying, “Well, you’re a fucking asshole.” And Tommy lets a laugh, closely resembling a sob. “Cos I wouldn’t want that either.”

“Sorry. I should probably change it–”

“Don’t you dare,” Eddie glares before his eyes flicker to the envelope again. “Is that what this is? Are you–?”

“Dying?” Tommy asks and Eddie nods, face resolute. He shakes his head, “Not any more than the regular living being.” Before the other can ask, he offers him the envelope.

Eddie hesitates, however. “Are you sure?”

“I, uh.” And Tommy is back to blinking back tears, trying to focus on anything other than whatever his life is at the moment. “I don’t know what to do.” He confesses. “For the first time since I left the military, I’m truly at a loss, Eddie, and I know, I know I hurt Buck and that he certainly got you in the divorce, but. I, uh. I don’t have many friends. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

Concerned, and more than a little curious, Eddie carefully extracts the envelope from Tommy’s shaky fingers. They’re both silent save for the sound of paper rustling and Tommy feels his heart leap into his throat the moment Eddie seems to stop breathing beside him. “Tommy.”

“My parents got me tested as a child. I believed the paperwork– I never thought to check.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Eddie tries to soothe, reaching out to curl a hand around one of Tommy’s wrists.

“I’m forty-one years old,” Tommy chokes out, tears finally falling onto his jeans. He stares as the droplets soak into the fabric. “I don’t– I never expected this .”

Eddie’s face becomes a complicated mess. “Well, if you’re having unprotected sex, what did you expect? A flatscreen?” He backpedals quickly when Tommy stands, ripping his wrist out of his hand. “I’m sorry– I’m trying to lighten the mood–”

“Very fucking poorly–”

“I know, it sounded better in my head– Whoa.”

Tommy blinks and he’s back on the bench, lightheaded. “Oh, uh. Thanks.”

Eddie’s staring at him, the paramedic in him alert. “What else did the nurses tell you?”

“Uh. To set up an appointment with an Ob-Gyn. To– To eat, yeah. My glucose’s low.”

And Eddie just keeps on staring, eyes narrowing. “And they didn’t give you anything while you were inside?” When Tommy shakes his head, he visibly bites back a curse. “Well, c’mon then. I know a place with the best breakfast burritos in the whole of LA.” Eddie pauses, then leans in. “Don’t tell Abuela.”

.

Tommy begins to feel normal around the last mouthful of his second burrito, sighing almost obscenely at the mix of salsa, cheesy eggs, and sausage invading his palate.

The cilantro alone could drag a moan out of him.

He hates cilantro.

It tastes like soap.

(It tastes like heaven.)

Eddie watches him with thinly veiled amusement, sipping at his latte and pushing his last burrito toward Tommy. “You look like you haven’t seen food in weeks.”

Tommy shrugs, already biting into the offered treat. “Haven’t had much appetite, to be honest. Since.”

They fall silent then, sitting in the bed of Eddie’s truck somewhere along the coast. “Why did you do it?” Eddie eventually caves, asking the question that Tommy’s certain had been burning at the tip of his tongue since he got the call. “Buck’s been miserable, and you, well.” He snorts. “You look like roadkill.”

“Hm, flatterer.”

“And you’re an expert at deflecting. Trust me, takes one to know one.” Eddie takes another sip of his coffee. After so long with a fuzzy caterpillar on his lip, he looks strange bare-faced. “Spill.”

Tommy returns his gaze to his food. “I’m sure Buck has told you everything there is to know.”

“From his point of view, yeah. I want to know yours, too. I’m sure you had a reason.” When Tommy stares at him in wonder, Eddie shrugs self-consciously. “I’m not saying I agree with what you did or why you did it– I’m sure your reasoning’s absolute horse shit. Just that it probably made sense to you.”

Picking at the frayed edges of the paper wrap, Tommy considers his words before, “He asked me to move in.”

“I know.”

“He never even told me he loved me.”

Eddie pauses and lowers his styrofoam cup. “Ever?”

Tommy shakes his head, letting out a humorless chuckle. “He found out about Abby and pulled away. Next thing I know, I’m knocking on his door for date night and he’s talking about how confident I am, about how I’m an inspiration for him. Then, he asks me to move in.” Appetite forgotten, he re-wraps the burrito and sets it aside. Picks up his chamomile tea and makes a show of blowing on it, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. “It hit me then that he was infatuated by the Tommy in his head, not me.” He snorts humorlessly. “I barely came out four years ago, Eddie. I’m not confident, I’m just a coward, but Ev– Buck? He has been cruising ahead, speedrunning through his queer experience and I just. I couldn’t keep up anymore.

Tommy sips at his tea and burns the tip of his tongue. He continues. “I realized I had fallen in love with someone who was attracted to a polished, sanitized version of me. I couldn’t– I wanted to say yes. For a second, he asked me to move in, and Eddie, I was so happy. But then reality came crashing down and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take that leap.”

“So, you broke it off.”

Tommy nodded. “Better to do it now and survive the hurt than to have to restart my life when Buck eventually sees all of me and realizes he made a mistake.” He sniffs and mentally blames it on the sea breeze. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

They fall silent again but then Eddie is snorting, shaking his head. “You’re both absolute imbéciles.”

“I know just enough Spanish to know you’re insulting me.”

“Oh, I am, rest assured.” Eddie throws back the last of his coffee before he sets the cup aside. “Buck was, well. Buck. Steamrolling ahead, as usual, I get that, but you? You self-sabotaged, man.”

“I looked out for myself. Maybe that’s selfish–”

“A little bit, yeah. At the same time, it’s self-preservation. Can we blame a hurt animal for lashing out?”

“Therapy is doing you wonders, huh.”

“Yeah, maybe you should consider it.” Eddie bit back. “Point is– You both need to sit down and talk. Tell him what you told me.”

“He needs to know what’s out there, to know for sure what he wants or if this was just some, some bi-curious experiment –”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie cut in, finally mad. “I’ve known Buck for a very long time, now, and I can tell you that this is the most settled and sure of himself he has ever been. You’re scared, and I get that, but don’t talk like he’s not a thirty-three-year-old adult, capable of knowing what he wants.”

That shuts Tommy right up and he looks away again, gripping his cup hard enough that some of the tea spills out onto his fingers. He focuses on the scorch rather than the glare burning into the side of his face. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s done. We’re done.”

“Not if you reach out to him, especially now.”

Tommy flinches so violently he physically recoils. “No, most definitely not now .” He spats, suddenly angry. Is it the implication, the tone of voice? And from Eddie, no less, for so long defined by the surprise of parenthood. “What are you suggesting here, man? That I– that I trap–”

He can’t say it.

If he says it, it becomes true, doesn’t it?

Eddie, however, has no such qualms. “I’m not suggesting anything, Tommy.” He softens before delivering the blow. “You’re pregnant. You just found out. No one’s baby-trapping anyone.”

“But that’s what’ll happen.” Tommy chokes out and he realizes that the feeling that had lodged itself in his throat since his test results came back was anxiety. “Evan has always wanted a family. He’ll want to be there, every step of the way. He’ll feel obligated, Eddie.”

“And that’s bad, why?” Eddie wonders. “Are you afraid he’ll resent you for some reason or are you afraid you won’t be able to keep up the walls you built around your heart?”

“Both.”

“Talk to him.”

“I don’t know if I should. Not yet.” At the other’s frown, Tommy is quick to explain. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell him– I know I have to. It’s only right and I will do it, but.” He pauses, looking away. He eyes the tide. “There might not even be a baby by the end of the week.”

“Don’t say that–”

“It’s a geriatric pregnancy, Eddie. Never mind genetic disorders, miscarriage rates are through the roof. Know what else is through the roof? My blood pressure.”

“I know, I saw your results. That doesn’t mean there isn’t hope.” Eddie argues, then pauses, considering. “I mean. Do you even want this?”

Tommy stares at him, trying to think of an answer before settling on, “I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not saying– I really don’t know. I didn’t even know I was a carrier. It feels like this is a hypothetical situation happening to a hypothetical Tommy, only at the end of forty weeks a whole human will burst out of me, and I will be responsible for them for the rest of my life.”

Eddie’s silent, watching him, before he scoots closer and asks in a soft tone, “Are you scared?”

“I’m terrified.”

And Tommy sobs.

.

By the time his first appointment arrives, Tommy still hasn’t been able to tell Evan.

He keeps staring at their messages, starts to type even, but then– deflates.

What could he even say?

‘Hey, I’m pregnant. Can we talk?’ No, too direct.

‘Hi. We need to talk.’ Too catastrophic, Evan would spiral– not exactly the vibe he wants to go for.

Should he try a meme?

Before Tommy can decide, he’s called by a nurse and soon enough he’s lying on a stretcher, getting cold gel poured on his abs and being prodded in the bladder with the stick from hell.

They’re hard to find because of his muscle mass and so, so tiny but they’re there, wiggling in the small monitor.

He's eight weeks pregnant.

He's due in the summer.

(He hopes with all his heart he gets that far.)

When he can finally pull his pants back up, his eyes are red and swollen, and the fast drumming of a tiny heart keeps echoing in his ears, two printed sonograms in his hands. One, Tommy will keep.

The other, he will give it to Evan.

He schedules his next appointment before he leaves, unaware of Maddie Buckley-Han’s narrow-eyed gaze locked onto him.

.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, elbows deep in soapy water. “Am I?”

Eddie takes the bait, narrowing his eyes. “I did you a favor by taking his phone away. Or would you have been ready to talk to Buck had he called you today?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

“–You’re a bit of a bitch, anyone ever told you that?”

“Hm. What was it you said the other day? Takes one to know one?”

Eddie tips his beer towards him, trying not to grin. “Touché.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the sound of rinsing dishes and pages being turned. When Eddie closes the small notebook and Tommy wipes his hands on a rag, he asks, “So, what’s the prognosis, doc?”

Eddie mock glares at him, poking the rows of neat results Tommy diligently writes down every day. “All good, so far. Blood pressure seems to fluctuate a bit, but nothing too serious. Glucose levels could use some work, however.”

At the other’s pointed stare, Tommy crumbles. “ You keep bringing me banana bread.”

“I am not physically capable of eating all the loaves Buck thrusts my way–”

“Then why bring them to me if you’re gonna bitch at me for my sugar levels?”

“Cos, I keep expecting you to take them with you to Harbor, not eat them all!”

“Since you began bringing me these, toasted banana bread is literally all I can think about. Nothing else compares. Do not fucking judge me, Diaz–”

“– What in the actual flying fuck .”

Tommy does not think.

One moment he’s arguing with his friend, the next he has a frying pan in hand, ready to face the intruder that had made his way into his house with nothing but cast iron and Muay Thai.

Ev– Buck just stands there, eyes flickering between the pan and Tommy and Eddie. He narrows his eyes, nostrils flaring, and repeats, “What the fuck .”

“How did you get in?” Eddie asks, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Still have a key. Why are you here?”

Eddie seems to take a second to formulate a reply before what escapes him is, “Why can’t I be here?”

“Oh boy,” Tommy murmurs, lowering the pan.

“Why can’t– What – He broke my heart –!”

“And he was my friend first, or did you forget you nearly broke my ankle over his dick –”

“Guys–” Tommy tries to interrupt but quickly shuts his mouth, being glared at by the other two.

“You know I’ve been wanting to reach out,” Buck argues, shaking the phone in his hand for good measure. “You wouldn’t let me! You never even told me you kept in touch!”

“What would you have done if I had?” Eddie barks back. “I couldn’t even say his name the first week because you would pout and scowl your way into a corner!”

“I do not pout,” Evan snaps, bottom lip jutting out in what was clearly a pout.

Nerves fraying, and frankly growing tired of all the shouting in his own goddamn house, Tommy bangs the pan down on the countertop with finality. The others instantly shut up, eyeing him and the potential weapon warily. “Buck,” He tries not to wince at the glare now turned on him. “Why are you here?”

Buck hesitates, looking between him and Eddie before he seemingly decides his best friend can wait to receive a piece of his mind. To Tommy's confusion, he walks further into the kitchen and then rounds the island, stopping and staring at him rather than using his words.

Tommy shifts, uncomfortable and feeling more exposed under Buck's scrutinizing gaze than he ever felt while naked with the other man. Eventually, the other’s entire posture shifts and, to Tommy’s surprise, goes soft . “–You look so tired .”

“Uh. Thanks?” Tommy tries to laugh it off, exchanging a confused look with Eddie.

Then, Buck pulls the rug out from under him. “Are you taking prenatal vitamins?”

Tommy stares, stunned into silence while Eddie lets out a small sigh.

He thinks of deflecting. Of making a joke, throwing in a finger gun or two, but his body betrays him, refusing to let him run.

He's frozen and clammy and Evan's eyes are so sad –

He nearly misses the stool behind him.

There are voices around him, but they're garbled– it feels like there is cotton in his ears, in his brain, he can't think . There's only all-consuming anxiety.

–And pain.

Oh shit, there's pain –

Tommy hisses, pulling back from the knuckles digging into his sternum. “Sorry,” Eddie apologizes, not sorry at all, eyeing him carefully. Tommy slowly becomes aware of his other hand, tightly wrapped around his wrist with a thumb pressing into his pulse point. “You okay?”

“How did you know?” Tommy asks instead, looking over Eddie's shoulder at Buck.

Buck fidgets, looking like he wants to shove Eddie aside and take over. “Maddie's pregnant,” he explains. “You share the same obstetrician.”

Tommy sighs with his whole body, feeling the sting of frustrated tears at the corner of his eyes. Of course, he thinks. Los Angeles and they just had to share the same doctor.

Nothing could ever be easy for Tommy.

“I didn't know you were a carrier.” Buck continues.

Tommy huffs out a weak laugh, watching Eddie as he pulls back and goes fishing for his blood pressure monitor. He couldn't look Evan in the eyes anymore. “Neither did I until– until .”

“When did you find out?”

“Two weeks and four days ago,” Tommy replies almost automatically. Should Buck ask, he could even give him the time.

(One tends to remember every detail when one's life fundamentally changes.)

(Thirty-eight past eight in the morning. Tuesday. It was sunny, as it often is in LA.)

“When did Eddie know?” Buck asks, and ah. He’s angry. He’s pissed, in fact.

Tommy closes his eyes and rubs his face with both hands, pressing the pads of his fingers into his eyeballs until he sees stars. “I’m sorry,” He eventually mumbles. “He’s– He’s my emergency contact. I didn’t know who else to call after.”

He feels rather than sees Buck sit on the stool beside his. “You could have called me .”

Tommy looks up then, squinting at the other as his eyes clear up. “Would you have picked up?” He asks, beginning to match Buck’s resentment. “Had I called you two weeks ago, would you have taken it?”

Buck holds his gaze for a beat, then two, before he finally looks away, anger fading partially into resignation. “I don’t know.”

“There’s your answer, then.”

“I still deserved to know.” Tommy scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head, but Buck doesn’t let up. “Or didn’t I? Cos the timeline– It’s mine, right?”

“Wow,” Tommy stands then, trying and failing to hide the hurt the question caused. He vaguely hears Eddie mutter a soft ‘ dios mio ’ to their left. “I– Wow .”

Buck seems to realize his mistake as he quickly jumps to his feet as well, eyes wide. “Not– Not that I’m implying–”

“Well, you just fucking did .”

“I’m sorry,” Buck continues, visibly upset. “I didn’t mean– I’m putting my foot in my mouth.” He pauses, trying to reign in his emotions. He takes a deep breath, “I never thought you cheated. I know you would have never cheated on me, that’s not you, but– Maddie’s been weird. Looking at me, waiting for something. Imagine my surprise when she asks me today why haven’t I told her about you and– and a baby .”

Tommy just shakes his head, blinking back frustrated tears. “Buck–”

“Stop calling me that!” Evan finally snaps. It echoes throughout the small kitchen, resonates in Tommy’s ears, and for a moment he considers just walking away, locking himself inside his bedroom and waiting for everyone else to just leave.

“Buck,” Eddie says, a warning from where he’s standing nearby, monitor in hand.

“I realize I have been far from perfect,” Evan steamrolls ahead, beginning to pace. “How– How I was going too fast, how I failed to see you were beginning to struggle to keep up, how I never realized that the communication we prided ourselves on having was lacking cos you didn’t even know I fucking loved you .”

“Buck,” Eddie tries again.

“I couldn’t have known something you never bothered to tell me,” Tommy snaps back, standing and straightening to his full size. They were the same height, he and Evan, but Tommy was still broader, yet to lose muscle mass from having been ordered to stop strenuous workouts. 

He uses it as armor.

“You could have talked to me, come to me with this!”

“And said what ?! There you were, putting me on a pedestal like some fucking paragon of gayness when you had literally just found out how much of a fucking coward I had been for far too long! I lied to myself for decades, broke Abby’s heart in the process, and barely managed to put my puzzle pieces together when you walked into my life! You were practically the only serious relationship I had ever had, the only one I saw a future with!” Tommy yells, heart in his throat. He desperately wants to stop, cease the torrent of information he had never shared with anyone but himself, but he finds he can’t, far too keyed up to stop now. “But then you basically describe the person you’re infatuated with and fucking newsflash, it ain’t me! I am not confident,” He stabs one finger in the air, “I am not comfortable,” Another finger, “and I most certainly am not worthy of anyone’s bloody admiration! I am a fucking mess, Evan, and at that moment I realized that you didn’t know me, only the idealized version in your head! So, tell me, how could I have said yes to you? How could I have stayed, knowing one day the pink goggles would fall off and you’d realize you made a mistake?! What was I supposed to do, then, a year, five years, ten years down the road? Rebuild my life from the ashes of what would have been my forever?”

“Tommy,” Evan breathes, swallowing back tears.

“I’m sorry I broke your heart,” Tommy apologizes through gritted teeth, paraphrasing the other’s words from earlier. His hands are shaking and there’s sweat running down his back, but he can’t stop, won’t stop until Evan understands – “That I broke both our hearts, but had I taken that leap, you would have killed me. I couldn’t– I couldn’t risk it.”

“ Tommy –”

“I– I can’t–” Tommy pants, realizing too late the adrenaline is choking him, is burning him from the inside out–

He tilts, and all he can think about is that it’s becoming a fucking habit.

.

Tommy wakes up to something cold in his neck, staring up at his kitchen’s ceiling.

There are cobwebs on the wooden beams.

Huh.

He should clean that up, sometime.

“Tom?”

Tommy blinks, still out of it. “Evan?”

Slowly, he realizes that he’s lying on the tile, head cushioned in Eddie’s lap. His legs are being held up by Evan and Tommy’s hit with deja vu so strong his head spins. He tries to move and realizes maybe it isn’t just the deja vu. “W’happened?”

“Blood pressure shot up,” Eddie says, pressing the cold compress he’s holding to Tommy’s temple. “Your body shut down.”

Tommy’s heart jolts and he tries to lift a hand, finding it stuck by the monitor’s sleeve. “Is it–”

“Palpation’s good,” Evan interjects, squeezing his leg. He looks tired now, no longer itching for a fight. “We caught you before you hit the floor.”

“Good. Thanks.” Tommy breathes, relief flooding his veins. The emotional toll tugs at him and he swallows against the knot in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Evan visibly bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face in check. “I’m sorry, too.”

There’s a lull. The fridge hums to his left, Evan sniffles occasionally, the monitor beeps periodically– Tommy feels like a stranger in his own skin.

When the sound of velcro rips through the quiet as Eddie removes the sleeve, he finds the energy to speak again. “I never meant to keep this from you.”

“Tommy,” Eddie warns.

“I know,” Tommy sighs. He’s not planning on blowing up his lid, again. If anything, he feels empty, having released all the pent-up tension within him. “Just. It wasn’t malice. I was waiting.”

Evan frowns, confused. “For what?”

“To make sure there would be anything to tell.”

Evan keeps frowning, confused before he exchanges a look with Eddie, and it clicks. “Tom.”

“It was one of our first conversations.” Tommy continues, “Kids. I know you wanted them, and would want to know about this one, but– I’m old. I never even knew I could grow life. My body keeps betraying me,” He confesses, curling his hands into fists. The cold of the tile is seeping into his bones, mocking him. “I can’t fly anymore. My Captain has me grounded at the station as a glorified clerk, I can’t watch games anymore because my heart tries to beat its way out of me, I can’t work on cars because of the chemicals, and I am stuck walking loops around the neighborhood cos I can’t even run –”

“You’re scared,” Evan interrupts. “I get that, I can understand that, but you seem to be missing a key factor, here.”

“I am?”

“I’m not here just because you’re pregnant with my baby. I’m here because you are pregnant with our baby.”

Tommy pauses, and wonders if he’s still out of it because, “I don’t understand.”

Evan carefully lays his legs on the floor and scoots a little closer. “Tommy– I’m saying that I care .” He pauses, looking like he’s waiting for Tommy to understand. He flaps his hands in agitation when it becomes clear he isn’t getting his point across. “About the both of you. I want to be here, and I wish I had known sooner, not just because I’m worried about whether or not this baby will make it past the first trimester but because I’m worried about you , too. I don’t– I don’t want this if it means you’re at risk, Tommy.”

Tommy’s silent for a bit, staring at the other man.

He takes in the furrow of his brow, the worry overlapping his frustration– His heart on his sleeve. He realizes he’s crying when Evan’s expression shifts to mild panic and he feels Eddie awkwardly dab at his cheeks with the compress he’s still holding. “Don’t.” He eventually gets out.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give me hope that I get to keep you both.”

Evan stares down at him, incredulous, before his eyes harden and Tommy thinks, Oh. This is how it finally ends.

“Eddie?”

Eddie hums, trying not to show how awkward he feels, stuck between his bickering friends. “Yea?”

“Can you give us a minute?”

“ Gracias a Dios , yes–”

There’s a flurry of movement that has Tommy dizzy again but before he can protest, Eddie runs out of the kitchen and Evan takes his place. Warm, calloused hands cup his face and Tommy has the fleeting intrusive thought that his neck’s about to be snapped. “Tom,” He begins, thumbs rubbing against his cheekbones and wiping away tears and cold sweat. “Back at my apartment, you said your piece. Today, you did it again, but now ? Now, it’s time you listened . Earlier? I said that I loved you. I lied.”

Tommy holds the other’s gaze, despite the urge to run. “You don’t have to twist the knife–”

“Shut up,” Evan interrupts, then keeps going. “I lied. How? Cos it’s not past tense. It’s present tense. I love you. I never stopped. That night– You said a lot of bullshit, okay? About– about me finding myself, about you not being my last? I’m not even going to touch on how biphobic that sounded.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I’m not done. I may not have vast experience when it comes to dating men, but that does not mean that I can’t know what I want. I’m an adult, Tommy. I know what I wanted then, I know what I want now– And I want us . It doesn’t matter that you’re a guy; it matters to me that you’re you , and yeah, I jumped the gun– got ahead of myself and scared you off. Perhaps I had my pink goggles on, even, but you know what? The goggles are off, now.” Evan smiles, but it’s almost a wince, too. “You broke up with me and it hurt . I baked my feelings so much I could have opened a small bakery.”

“Your banana bread is great.” Tommy chokes out.

“Thanks, I got more at– Wait, no , stop interrupting me. I am still not done.” Tommy nods, gesturing at the other to continue. “You know why I baked? So I wouldn’t contact you. Every time I got the urge, I put everything into those cakes, and– I could have done anything . I could have redecorated, painted the walls, gotten into a new hobby– but you had a sweet tooth a mile wide, and even mad at you, I wanted to be close to you, somewhat. Then– I saw you bubbling me, today. I watch you type, type, type, and then just– give up.” Tommy saw the other’s throat bobble as he swallowed. “I wanted to call you. Eddie stole my phone. After our shift, I went to Maddie’s to vent… And then she told me she saw you, and all I could think of was how bad I must have been as a boyfriend if you were hiding this from me or thought you couldn’t tell me about it.”

“You weren’t. I just–”

“–Were scared.” Evan finishes for him and Tommy nods. “I get that now. I get why . And I’m sorry, for ever making you feel inadequate. Maybe… Maybe we’re still a little stuck. On that day, our official first date.”

“With the bad coffee?”

“Yeah,” Evan huffs out a laugh. “I said we didn’t know much about each other.”

“Practically everything.” Tommy smiled back.

“I still want to change that. I know that I want something, and I know now that I definitely want it to be with you.”

“And I’m definitely still interested if you’ll have me.” Tommy sniffled. He couldn’t believe his luck, yet… “I– have a condition, however. Two, in fact.”

“Anything.”

“First, I need you to tell me that you’re not just saying all this because I’ve got a bun in the oven.”

Evan sobers up then, expression softening. “I’m not. I meant it– I love you , and that comes before any proverbial baby. I’m here for you, first and foremost.”

“I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I don’t, but now I have to ask something of you, too.” Evan leans in, brushing the pads of his fingers across his jawline. “You need to start trusting me. I know – I know it’s hard and it’ll take time but– Believe me when I tell you I care, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need, just– try . Or talk to me when it gets hard, okay?”

Tommy nods. It’s nerve-wracking and he’ll have to work at it every day, but he’ll try. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, what’s the second condition? Maybe Eddie should have been here, be a witness–”

“Second condition is��� please , slow down.” Evan blinks and then laughs, and Tommy feels the world flood with color he didn’t even notice was missing. He had missed this; the other’s laugh, the other’s warmth – “Too much?”

“No, but– Tommy . We’re having a baby. We’ve reached Mach speed.”

Tommy reaches then, taking hold of one of the other’s hands. Slowly, but purposely, he rests them over his stomach and feels Evan hold his breath. It’s reminiscent of how Evan had held his hand at the café all those months ago, and he blows a breath, hoping in his heart of hearts that this time– the third time is the charm. “Humor me?”

Evan blinks and then he’s leaning in, pressing their lips together.

Any other day, Tommy would be making a joke about upside-down kisses and all the pop culture Evan is still missing, but today? Today, he keeps his mouth shut and lets himself float on the feeling of wanting and being wanted back , flaws and all.

Evan pulls back, tears on his lashes. “Yeah,” He breathes, grinning. “I can do that.”

.

They make it past the first trimester.

The baby and their relationship.

.

Twenty-eight weeks later, Mabel Buckley-Kinard breathes her first.

(give me kudos and/or opinions)

[shy-writer-999]

I’m a sucker for possessive sex, so! Anyone you think would be prone to engaging in that? Lots of love bites and demanding to know who their SO belongs to and is in love with, the whole nine yards.

My immediate answers are Zoro and Law, but honestly I could see it with a lot of people, e.g. Sanji as a dom is great to imagine, and Ace being aggressive and nasty like that is a nice treat to think about too!

To be clear, I say Zoro and Law, but I also think they’d have the proclivity to be very gentle and loving in bed, since they’d both cherish their partner beyond words. But I think they’d get naaaasstyyy about it too.

Shanks and Kid? 100% yes.

I’m not Luffy-pilled enough to make a great call on him. Part of me thinks he would, but the other part of me thinks perhaps not? Idk. Luffy lovers, what do you think?

I wrote a short drabble for afab reader & any of the men above, check it out under the cut. If you’d like me to give it a shot for g/n reader with no mentions of anatomy, lmk! Also thanks for such an amazing ask (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

---

Your back rests on his chest and your thighs are spread wide around his. Rough fingers rub around your clit and down your inflamed, sopping wet folds; your hips buck as electric shocks of pleasure wash over your body.

After teasing your slit, stretching it out just a little bit, he starts bullying and pressing on your sensitive spot until you’re squirming. When he finally pushes his cock deep inside of you, you’re already begging for it. He’s been teasing you for so long that you’re starting to go fucking crazy. How much can your eyes roll back in your head before you cum all over his dick?

But he won’t let you cum until you tell him what he wants to hear.

“Whose pussy is this? Say my fuckin’ name, pretty.” He grinds his hips up into you, stoking the fire of pleasure raging between your thighs with every ragged breath. “Say it.”

“Tell me who you love, baby. Tell me who you want to fuck you.” His voice is gruff and gravelly as he starts getting lost in a haze of pleasure. “You’re mine. All mine. Pussy is mine. Fuckin’ nasty and all mine.”

When he realizes that you’re grinding back into his cock, trying to fuck yourself deeper with it, he gets turned on beyond belief. “You want more, huh? Cunt gets wetter every time I tell you I own you?”

Before you know it, he’s biting your shoulder so hard you yelp—it’s certainly going to leave a crescent-shaped mark. His teeth sink in slightly and you let out a whine.

“You belong to me.” He’s grunting and shuddering while his hips buck and press on your g-spot. Your toes are curling in pleasure every time he lets you know that you are his and no one else’s. “Now cum on my dick before I have to remind you whose you are again.”

[itsthewritergal]

Just let me go - Bucky Barnes x reader

Okay this one is ANGSTTYYY Also there will be a part two! Posted tomorrow :)

TW: kidnapping, swearing, suicidal thoughts, guns, angst, sadness, suicidal ideation, also I haven't proof read this aha I'm sorry!!

“Sergeant Barnes, there is someone here to see you” One of the agent said as they stepped into the training room, 

“Who?” Bucky replied curtly, being halfway through a session with Nat he didn’t exactly want to be interrupted no matter who it was 

“I don’t know but she looks upset, if I was you I’d be worried” the agent said with a laugh, making a few of the other trainee’s laugh 

“Don’t forget your rank” Bucky said bluntly, 

“Sorry Sargent Barnes” The agent said, 

“You can start sparring, I’ll be back soon and I expect to see some improvements from yesterday” Nat said following Bucky out the room, 

“Who do you think it is?” Nat asked 

“I don’t know” Bucky said 

“What about that girl you went out with the other night?” 

“I don’t think she’d come here” Bucky said with a huff, “she didn’t like me” he said 

“Ooh what about the girl from Tony’s party?” Nat suggested, it sounded as though the idea of Bucky having a girl round was entertaining to her, Bucky narrowed his eyes at Nat, 

“No” He said bluntly, 

“Tensions killing me” Nat said with a dry laugh 

“Come on Nat, leave it alone” he said, turning the corner to the common room, he stopped immediately his breath hitching in his throat for a split second, 

“Y/N?” Nat beamed running over to give her a hug almost knocking her off of her feet “It’s been like a year since I saw you!” She grinned, 

“Hey Nat” She said gently, 

“You have to stay for dinner, Wanda’s cooking, she’ll want to see you. So will Steve, and Tony, oh and Sam!” She said “I’ll text them all now, they’ll set up a place for you” 

“Nat, I don’t think—” Y/N started 

“I don’t want to hear it, you’re staying” She said pulling out her phone and quickly tapping a message, 

“Y/N” Bucky said bluntly, his voice void of all emotions. 

“Hey” Y/N cut herself off unsure of what to call him so deciding against calling him anything,  her eyes wandered to his arm,  “the black and gold suits you” She said softly “Always said silver wasn’t your colour” 

“Shuri agreed with you” Bucky nodded

An uncomfortable silence settled across the two of them, 

“I should go” She said quickly, 

“Why did you come?” He asked a part of him not wanting her to disappear, not again 

“I, uh I found, I found this”  Y/N said her cheeks flushing red as she passed Bucky a t-shirt, one that he had forgotten about, but it certainly looked more worn now than how he remembered it. His heart squeezed at the thought of her wearing it after everything

“This is why you came?” Bucky said 

“You’re right, it was stupid. I’m gonna go” Y/N said quickly,  shaking her head as she turned, Bucky knew how she felt. He had imaged many times making an excuse to go and see her, he just didn’t think she was the kind of person to go through with it. 

“Y/N! Oh my, Nat said you were here. I’ve just laid the table dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes which is just long enough for you to catch me up on your life! Sorry Buck, but she’s with me until dinner. Then you can have her back” Wanda said not offering Bucky or Y/N a second option. 

----

“So Y/N where have you been?” Tony asked as they all sat down at the table “it’s like you dropped off the face of the earth

“Just around,” She said quietly 

“I came by your apartment, but it was empty” Tony said, 

“I had to move out” 

“You moved out?” Nat said “How come?” She said worry filling her voice 

“Life happens” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Bucky’s eyes fell on her face, watching how her eyes studied her plate not daring to look up 

“Well things always find a way of getting better” Wanda said squeezing Y/N’s hand on the top of the table 

“How about you guys, I’ve seen good things on the news” Y/N said softly 

“We’re okay” Steve said, 

“I”m pleased,” Y/N said with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, 

“What’s your new apartment like?” Wanda asked, 

“It’s nice” Y/N said gently , 

“You should give me the address,” Tony said commandingly 

“I’ll send it over to you, I still don’t quite know it off by heart” She said, it was a lie. Bucky knew it was a lie, even if he couldn’t hear her heartbeat pick up, he would be able to tell from the way she couldn’t look at anyone in their eye. 

“What part of town is it?” Steve pressed, 

“I really appreciate you guys having me for dinner but I’m going to head home” She said quickly, “I’ll see you guys around” She said picking up her coat, 

“I'm sorry if I said something wrong” Steve apologised quickly, he should’ve known better than to press her, Bucky thought

“You don’t need to” Tony said trying to savour the dinner 

“Why don’t you stay for a movie?” Wanda suggested, 

“I need to go” She said standing up and quickly hurrying out of the room 

A gentle silence fell across the room, “I shouldn’t have asked her” Steve said 

“It’s not on you” Wanda said “I don’t think that anyone could have convinced her to open up to us” 

“I’ll find her address and go over tomorrow, it’ll be easier without anyone else there” Tony said fiercely, 

“She won’t talk to you” Bucky said 

“And she’ll talk to you?” Tony snapped “You’re the reason we are in this mess in the first place. She is my friend and I will do what I think is right” 

“What even happened when you broke up?” Wanda asked 

“ Nothing” Bucky said 

“Don’t lie” Tony snapped 

“What the hell did you do? I thought you two were fine” Nat asked 

“You told us all you two were fine after the breakup” Wanda said 

“Leave him alone” Steve said sternly 

Bucky sighed softly “She just came to drop off a shirt” 

“Nobody drops off a shirt after a year” Tony said “She wanted to see you and you couldn’t even give her the time of day” He snapped 

“She’ll be okay, I’ll come with you tomorrow, we can check in on her” Wanda said 

Bucky didn’t dare to say anything, he just nodded gently. It was a thank you, all be it a silent one, but a thank you none the less. 

----

“Tony, you need to see this” Wanda said as an alert popped up on the screen alerting Tony to a new message, they had been in Tony's lab for a few hours scouting out Y/N's new apartment.

“Have you seen where she is living?” Tony said scanning through the photos that FRIDAY had brought up on his screen “it’s worse than I thought”  

“Tony now” Wanda said fiercely,

“What is it?” Tony asked, turning around, his face dropping when he saw the screen. “Is that?” 

“Y/N” Wanda finished

“Who sent this” Tony asked 

“I don’t know, it’s anonymous. I can’t trace the signal either” 

“FRIDAY, call the team and get them into the conference room now” 

“Yes Mr Stark” FRIDAY answered 

“We can’t tell Bucky” Wanda said, 

“We can and we will because he is going to help us” 

“That’s a bad idea” Wanda said 

“He once was one the best assassins, no debate. As much as I don’t like the tinman, he can and will help us” Tony said leaving little room for debate. 

“Tony what the hell? We’re meant to have the week off of missions” Nat said, sitting down in a chair with a mug of coffee nursed in her hands

“This is different” Tony said, 

“How so?” Steve asked 

“This is personal” Tony said sternly, 

“It’s Y/N” Wanda whispered, 

“What happened to her?” Bucky asked 

“I was sent this video” Tony said

 “We thought it was best we watched it together” Wanda added 

“FRIDAY, play the video please”

The screen went dark for a moment and then lit up with a picture of Y/N locked in a room, Bucky felt a strange wave of familiarity wash over him 

“Tell your friends what we want” A voice spoke, it sent chills down Bucky’s spine, he put her in this position. He had done everything to keep her safe, after all these years, this was his fault. 

“They won’t come” Y/N’s voice was strangely calm 

“Don’t be difficult girl, tell them what we want” The voice spoke again 

“You want the soldier, you want someone who’s gone. But here’s the catch. Even if he wasn’t gone, even if the solider still existed he wouldn’t come. Not for me.” She said 

“We’ve done our research” The voice mused, there was a hint of amusement in it’s voice, as though it had caught Y/N out, 

“Your research is wrong. I haven’t spoken to Bucky in a year, he does’t care” Y/N snapped, a gunshot sounded through the conference room, making them jump 

“Turn it off” Bucky’s voice was quiet but cut through the entire room 

“Shooting blanks at me won’t work” Y/N snapped “If you’re going to kill me then kill me”

“Turn it off” Bucky said once more 

“We want the soldat” The voice behind the camera spoke 

“Then you’ll have to find someone who he cares about, because it  isn’t me” She snapped 

“You have six hours or she dies” 

The camera turned off and the room went dark. All eyes turned to Bucky, 

“When was this sent?” He said 

“Barely ten minutes ago” Wanda answered softly, 

“Let’s start at her apartment” Steve said firmly “Wanda, Clint you’re with me, Tony, Nat you should try and find something from the video, there might be an idea of where they’re keeping her.” 

“I need to go as well” Bucky said 

“No” Wanda said “You need to stay away from this” 

“I spent years tracking people down, I think I’m the best chance we have to finding Y/N” He said challenging anyone to speak out against him

“I’ll go as support” Sam said patting Bucky’s back comfortingly. 

“We need to go, now” Steve said 

----

Steve’s skin crawled at the sight of Y/N’s apartment.  He hesitated before pushing the door open, it creaked and echoed through the tiny studio. Clothes were thrown across the room, plates were stacked up by the sink, two blankets were half heartedly thrown across the bed, no sign of a duvet or pillow. Bucky had to tear his eyes away from her apartment for a minute to regain his composure. 

“I can’t believe she was staying here” Wanda said stepping into it

“It was a means to an end” Steve said, 

“I should have helped her” Wanda sighed softly, her eyes falling on the pile of clothes in the corner of the room,  

“We didn’t know” Clint said

“We should have” Wanda snapped “Look at how she was living, we should have been able to help” 

“She was always good at surviving” Steve said firmly 

“She shouldn’t have had to be, we are her friends and the moment her and Bucky split we left her” Wanda said, tears building in her eyes 

“They must have taken her here, look at the mess” Steve said changing the subject quickly,

“No” Bucky said softly “This is Y/N” Bucky said with a sigh

“What do you mean?” Clint asked “this is normal?” 

“When she got busy, she used to get messy, never put things away. Found it hard to do anything” Bucky said swallowing tightly  “We argued about it” He admitted 

“So did they take her here, or not?” Sam asked 

“Not here, this is normal for her. It didn’t happen here” Bucky said firmly

“Ok so that’s something” Sam said, attempting at a loose sense of positivity

“It must’ve happened by the compound” Wanda said “think about it, if they wanted Bucky then surely they’d be keeping tabs on him. When she left last night they must have taken the next best thing to get to him” She said 

“We need to look at security cameras”  Clint suggested 

“Who wants Bucky though?” Sam said, “I think we’re focussing too much on Y/N, rather than on what they want” 

“Hydra” Steve said through pursed lips 

“It can’t be” Wanda said 

“It has to be” Clint confirmed “It makes the most sense” 

“So who are we looking at? Zemo?” Sam asked 

“Maybe” Steve said “Doesn’t feel right though”, Steve’s thought was cut short by his phone ringing 

“Steve, I’ve got an address” Tony said, “suit up”

----

Bucky couldn’t stop shaking, he’d been on tougher missions, he’d been in tougher briefings, he had almost died more times than he could count. But this felt like the worst day of his life, 

“We’ve been sent an address,” Tony said 

“It’s a trap” Nat said 

“We don’t know that” Steve suggested, “Who sent it to you?” 

“It came with a video, it was from the same people as before” 

“What’s the video?” Sam asked, noticing the tension that had fallen across the room, 

Tony instructed FRIDAY to play the video, Y/N’s face was brought up on the screen, 

“Y/N tell them what you just told me” The voice spoke 

“No” She spat through gritted teeth, her hair was matted with blood which dripped slowly from a wound on her hair line, her face was bruised and Bucky was silently pleased he could only see to the base on her neck, anymore and he was sure he would throw up. The skin he had once pressed kisses to so gently was purple and blotted with blood. 

“Our captive here has a death wish” The voice said again, “She had her little suicide letters in her pocket when we caught her” it sneered 

“Shut the hell up” Y/N snapped, there was something in her eyes that scared Bucky, she looked so void of the love that she had once been filled with 

“She was on the top of a building when we found her, she’s only got 3 hours left avengers. Are you going to give in to her wishes?” 

“Just kill me” She whispered 

“What was that?” The voice asked, it was mocking her, teasing her, it was a sight that Bucky couldn’t stand 

“Kill me!” She shouted, her voice sent chills down each of the spines of her old friends “Just kill me” She said settling into a bought of sobs, 

The video stopped and cut to a map with a pin placed directly in it. 

“We need to go” Steve said “We leave in 5” 

----

The quinjet landed softly and Bucky could feel a knot growing in his stomach, he had been on enough rescue missions to know the ways that this could go. It was an old hydra base, one that Bucky was sure should’ve been emptied years ago. But here it stood, admittedly it was partly falling down but the cells were deep underground and the structures were built to last. He knew that much well enough, if he strained his ears he would swear that he could hear Y/N’s cries, but he convinced himself it was all in his head. 

“She’s going to be okay” Steve said 

“I can’t loose her Steve” Bucky admitted “I’ve lost her once, I can’t watch her die” 

“Then don’t let her” Steve said 

Bucky followed behind the rest of the team, Wanda stood beside him, 

“Do you want me to take the fear away?” She asked under her breath, knowing nobody else would be able to hear her 

“No, I need it” Bucky said, he didn’t explain anything else but Wanda nodded, 

“Let’s go get Y/N home” Wanda said

Bucky followed Tony’s lead, any other mission he would have tried to take the lead off of Tony but he couldn’t for this. Y/N needed Tony’s planning, Y/N’s life couldn’t be in Bucky’s hands. He would never forgive himself if anything happened. They descended into the base, it was too quiet for Bucky’s liking. Hydra would never have kept it this quiet, something was wrong. 

“Welcome home soldat” the words echoed through the halls, 

“They know we are here” Steve muttered, 

“She’s down here” Tony said, taking another set of steps downwards, Bucky could hear her shallow breaths getting louder slowly with each step he took. 

“Y/N?” Steve called out, 

“I told you to fucking kill me” Y/N screamed,  Tony immediately picked up the pace to a run following the sound of her voice.  Their footsteps echoed through the concrete walls, as they came across a long hallway filled with cells made of glass. Bucky’s skin crawled at the sight. This was what he wanted to protect Y/N from, she shouldn’t see this.  

“KIll me” Her voice rang through the cells, 

“Soldat” Bucky turned to find the voice behind him. “Do the honours?” The man said, he was older than Bucky thought he would be. 

“We’re surrounded” Steve said, 

“There’s no getting out of this” The man sneered, 

“That’s kind of where you are wrong” Tony said smartly, “You really think there’s only four of us?” He laughed 

“What?” 

“The rest of our team have cleared out your base, and they’re on their way” He said with a smirk “Also not only have we got two super soldiers, we’ve also got a freaky witch and me, ironman, you might of heard of me” 

“Ironman, you forget. You have an unstable winter soldier on your team, All I have to do is say a few words and he’s under my control right?” 

“Doesn’t work anymore” Bucky snapped 

“I’m bored” Nat said sneaking up from behind, with a wicked grin she pulled the trigger and the body fell to the ground with a thud. Instantly Bucky turned and shot the guard who was keeping him surrounded “God why are all the people we go against so boring” Nat said with a huff, once they had dealt with the guards. 

“Let’s just get Y/N” Tony said letting out a breath. 

Wanda took a step away from the group into a nearby cell, it was as though she felt her. 

“Guys she’s here” Wanda called, 

Bucky took a deep breath and turned the corner, Y/N sat slumped on a chair, out of breath and covered in bruises and dried blood. 

“Please” She whimpered 

“We’re going to get you out of here” Wanda said slowly untying her gently 

“Please no” She cried 

“You’re safe” Steve said kneeling at her side 

“No Please, let me go” She said 

“We’re letting you go, you’re going to be ok” 

“No, please” She sobbed again “You have to let me die” She cried as Wanda pulled the ties away from her 

“Y/N, we can’t do that” Steve said, 

“You’re going to be okay” Tony promised

“Just let me go please?” 

PART TWO

[tarjapearce]

Okay but…

Miguel’s on a mission, Gabi and Benji are out of the house, leaving mommy alone for some me time, that she spends with her hand down inside her panties.

She gets so into it, moaning and bucking (it’s been a bit since the two of them had done anything) that she doesn’t notice Miguel had entered the house….

Do with this information what you will

Well, yeah. Mama deserves a me time too 🥴🥴 Smut undercut. Lil bit of Dom! Miguel.

Times like these would suppose a relaxation period for you. You could go shopping, treat yourself with something, you deserved it. Being a mother wasn't exactly easy, and it was kinda rare when you had time for yourself cause one way or another, you'd be worrying over your role.

Miguel was at work, the kids were out. Gabi in her soccer practice, and Benjamin at Peter's playing with Mayday some board games. And you... You just sighed.

Boredom often lived in your head whenever you had nothing to do. You always needed to have your hands busy, house was already clean. An idea popped in your mind. Your feet took you to the bedroom, and you scourged through that special little drawer that hadn't seen the light in months.

Pulling out a key, you unlocked it, revealing neatly folded lingerie, along some little toys. A bullet like discreet vibrator, a couple of lubes, a small bdsm kit you still hadn't opened yet, since you wanted to use it with Miguel. And of course lingerie you still hadn't the confidence to wear.

But it was your chance. Since none was home, your clothes were discarded, and you tried the first one. Red Baby doll with an electric blue g string. It barely covered anything, and you could see your nipples through the red mesh fabric. Miguel said it was one of his favorites because of how bouncy your ass looked back in the dressing room.

Ah, your husband. You still wondered how such a fine and grumpy man had snatched you away for himself. He was hot, undoubtedly, but his way of carry on things were the actual spark that made you want him. The way cursing words flew out of his mouth in that rich spanish, made you swoon.

Thighs rubbed together upon you remembering how possessive and angry he was. How delicious his anger felt between your legs, how big he was to the point of you feeling he was swallowing your body like a black hole.

Your mouth sighed.

The next set was just a little butterfly thong with the crotch open, perfect for a good rile up. The butterfly design in the back cupped your ass gently. It was kind of curious and funny, how well he knew your body. Cause every set you tried just enhanced your body shape. Your nipples went hard at the sudden though of him, touching you, exploring your body, your hands trailing over where he would.

Light pieces of clothing rolling off thighs and torso. You laid on the middle of the bed, legs spreading, heat pooling at the soft caresses your hands delivered. God, you wished he'd be here. You'd certainly give him a show, but the only thing you could do was to wait for him to arrive home. Hands rubbed your inner thighs.

It was unavoidable to not think in that night, you liked when he was angry, cause his cock reached places you didn't know you could feel and get pleasure from. His hands had folded you in half, and you rubbed softly at your clit. Dragging slow lazy circles on it.

You loved every time he knocked the air out of your lungs, sheathing inside you, and stretching your insides, that as he said; were made specially for him.

Your legs trembled as your slit squished, slick in your need. One of your hands toyed with your breast, twirling your nipple between your fingers, as the other kept stimulating around your clit, teasing yourself. Just like Miguel would.

Whining, you smothered your legs together, edging yourself, trying to make it last. You breathed as heat spreaded through your body. If he was here, he'd be eating you out like a starved man.

But he wasn't.

Another needy whine. If he was here he'd surely be massaging your insides with his fingers, luring a wet orgasm from within. But again, He wasn't.

Your rubbings were desperate, your other hand squeezed your breast. But there was nothing that actually matched him. Not even the toys you had. Sure they were fun, but feeling him, going deep inside, his back flexing at the exertion, you scratching him, felt too real, too good and definitely you were needing it.

"Having fun?" The reason of your current desperate state leaned against the doorframe, watching with hazy eyes the scene unfolding before him.

"M-Miguel-"

"Shh. No te dengas." (Keep going)

He laid down, next to you, a look you knew all too well. He cupped your cheek softly and kissed your forehead.

"Hands off"

"But I'm-"

"Sin. Manos." (Hands off)

His tone firm, as he sat before you to take a better look of what he just provoked. Hands rested on your side, breathings erratic and needy. Legs weak

"That bad huh?" He shook his head with a smirk

"I need to..." You swallowed and tried to pull him to you, but he shook his head.

"No, no." You whined and plopped on your elbows, supporting your torso on them.

"Open up." He commanded and your hand went immediately on the outer folds, a little squish as you parted them with your fingers.

He hummed in approval. His thumb ghosting over your tiny bundle of nerves, but removed it before you could lift your hips and make any sort of contact, a smug smile in his lips

"Tócate" (Touch yourself)

Your nimble fingers stroked your own flesh, fast and a little too rough, trying to seek that heat you were melting into before he arrived.

"Hands off" You whined in frustration, but obeyed.

"Stop teasing!" Your voice at the verge of tears

A light slap on your soaked pussy shut you up, your hips bucked and you whimpered.

"Again. Touch yourself. Pero hazlo lento." ( Do it slowly)

The soft friction in your folds curled up your toes, fingertips dragged slow circles, his hands spreaded you a bit further, giving him a full view of you.

"Así, muy bien, preciosa." (Like that, very good)

You groaned, the pooling warmth spreaded through your body. Your free hand covered your mouth but he tapped it away.

"¿Quieres parar?" (You wanna stop?) You shook your head, fingers still caressing your clit. You had recognized the little threat in his tone.

"Then fucking do as you're told, open up. Need to hear you."

Your fingers left the caress away and once more you spreaded your flesh for him. He licked his lips at the sight. Your body trembled, the edging chipping your patience away. Two of his fingers dipped in, earning a shaky moan.

"M-Miguel!"

You croaked as he moved them ever slowly inside you. your hips bucking on his hand but he stopped.

"No." He warned and you stilled.

"Goddammit Miguel, please!"

Another light slap on your pussy, this one sent electric jolts through your legs as you sobbed.

"¿Qué te dije?" (What did I say?)

"No" You whispered, holding the sheets tightly, he was torturing.

"Again."

You shook your head and he frowned

"Uno" (One)

Still no hands on yourself.

"Dos" (Two)

Your hands went to your cunt again, he smirked

He guided your two fingers inside your pussy. The intrusion sending a little chill down your spine.

"Despacio" (Slow)

He warned as he pushed your fingers in and out, you followed, matching his speed. You cooed as he kissed your temple

"Un poco más rápido, preciosa" (A little faster)

His hot breath fanning over your ear and neck, your hand obeyed. The heat was on again, a knot forming in your lower belly. Moanings turned into breathless 'Oohs' and 'aahs' that escaped your lips at every chance they could

"Más adentro, mi amor." (Deeper, baby)

Your fingers were as deep as they could, reaching that sweet spot he loved bullying his cock into.

"No pares, preciosa" (Don't stop)

His voice didn't help. His lips nipping your earlobe, didn't help.

"Miguel" You voice an octave pitch higher. You were close. Breath caught on your throat as the imminent bliss loomed over you, stalking it's way to the brink.

"¿P-Puedo? ¿Por favor? " (Can I? Please?)

"Claro que sí, mi vida. Vente para mi." (Of course darling. Cum for me.)

Your spine finally arched as fire licked you raw. Your toes curled up, insides spasmed, you almost forgot how to breath for a moment. Fingers trapped in the contractions of your inner muscles, slowly releasing them. He licked them clean and then kissed you, a loving smile plastered in his face.

"Good girl."