#champagne storage

[courfeyracc]

Vancouver Expansive Wine Cellar Wine cellar - huge modern medium tone wood floor wine cellar idea with display racks

[thereisanother]

Vancouver Expansive Wine Cellar Wine cellar - huge modern medium tone wood floor wine cellar idea with display racks

[pucksandpower]

I’ve Always Chosen You

Lando Norris x wife!Reader

Summary: in which your husband gets drunk, forgets that you’re married, and cries his heart out about it … at your own wedding

The music pounds against the walls of the reception hall, vibrating through the floor. Voices chatter in the distance, loud and messy in the aftermath of too many champagne toasts.

The after-party has begun, and it feels like the room is made of laughter and bubbles and the slight hum of joy that still hangs in the air. But you’re standing at the edge of it all, eyes sweeping the crowded space. Your smile falters, just slightly, because there’s one thing out of place.

Lando is gone.

“Where is he?” You ask for what feels like the hundredth time. This time, you’re standing next to Max, who shrugs and hands you his drink.

“I saw him last by the bar,” Max says, but his grin is wide, unaffected. He doesn’t get it. Nobody does.

“He’s drunk,” you say, more to yourself than to anyone. It’s not unusual for Lando to drink too much at a party, but tonight is different. It’s supposed to be different.

Max chuckles, clinking his glass against his own. “Well, it is his wedding.”

Your wedding. Your wedding.

Your chest tightens, and you can’t explain why you feel a sudden rush of panic.

“I’m gonna find him.” You don’t wait for Max’s reply before you slip through the crowd, searching every corner of the reception hall for any sign of him. His jacket is still draped over the back of his chair at your table, his drink — now abandoned — sweating on the tablecloth. You glance toward the dance floor, where some of his friends are still doing ridiculous moves, but he’s not there either.

Your pulse picks up speed.

The hallway outside the venue is quieter, dimmer, and you start checking doors. One leads to the bathroom, another to a storage room, but no Lando. You feel stupid. This is ridiculous. You should be at your own after-party, celebrating with your friends, laughing, not hunting down your newlywed husband like he’s disappeared off the face of the earth.

But you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

Another door, this one creaking slightly as it opens. You push it wider, revealing a darkened supply closet, the smell of cleaning products faint but distinct. The softest shuffle of feet, and then a muffled sob, barely audible over the sound of your breath catching in your throat.

“Lando?”

You push the door open all the way, and there he is-sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, his face hidden in his arms. His entire body shakes with the kind of sobs that come from somewhere deep, uncontrollable. You’ve seen Lando in every state — happy, angry, everything in between — but this? This is something else.

“Oh my God.” You drop to your knees beside him, panic rising in your chest. “Lando, hey, what-what happened? Are you okay?”

He shakes his head without looking up. “No.”

You reach for him, putting a hand on his arm, but he flinches at your touch. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong? What happened?”

He finally lifts his head, eyes red, his cheeks streaked with tears. His lips tremble as he tries to speak, but his voice breaks when he says, “You got married.”

It’s the one sentence that shouldn’t hurt, because it’s true. You did get married. To him. You blink, confused, heart still pounding.

“Yeah … I did.”

His head drops again, and his sobs return, louder this time, like he’s tearing apart at the seams. “I-I’ve been in love with you since-since-forever,” he chokes out between ragged breaths. “And-and now you’re-you’re married. You went and married some-some douchebag, and-and I’m stuck here-”

“Lando,” you say, a little too sharply, but he’s not listening.

“I-I was going to tell you,” he mumbles, barely coherent now. “I-I wanted to tell you so many times, but-but you were always-so perfect, and-and I couldn’t, and now-now you’re married and I’m so-so stupid.”

“Lando.” You try to steady your voice, because he’s not making any sense. “I married you. You, Lando.”

His brow furrows, but the tears don’t stop. “What?”

“I’m married to you,” you say again, softer this time. “Lando, we got married today. You’re my husband.”

He stares at you, blinking rapidly, but the confusion stays etched in his face. “No. No, you-you married someone else. You-”

“Lando.” You grab his face, forcing him to look at you, your thumbs brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “Listen to me. You’re the one I married today. We just had a whole reception. We danced. You gave a speech that made my mom cry. You kissed me, like, twenty times in front of all our friends.”

He’s still shaking his head, even as his breath hitches and his sobs quiet a little. “No. No, I-I would remember that.”

“You’re drunk, Lando. You’re wasted,” you say, your heart squeezing because you’ve never seen him like this, never seen him this broken. “You don’t remember because you’ve had, like, ten drinks, but trust me. You’re my husband. We got married today.”

His eyes dart back and forth between yours, searching for something-anything-that makes sense. But then his face crumples again. “No,” he whispers, “no, no, no, you don’t-don’t say that. Don’t mess with me like that.”

You let out a shaky breath, kneeling closer, pulling his face gently into your hands. “Lando. I’m not messing with you. I married you because I love you. You. There’s no one else. I don’t know why you’re-why you’re so upset, but I swear to God, you’re the only one.”

He looks at you, really looks at you this time, and for a moment, you think maybe-maybe he’s starting to understand. But then his lip trembles again, and his breath catches.

“I-I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I-I don’t know what to do with that. I thought-thought it was too late.”

You shake your head, biting back tears of your own. “It’s not too late. It’s never been too late. I’m right here. I chose you. I’ve always chosen you.”

His whole body shudders as another sob escapes his throat, but this time it’s quieter, like the fight’s leaving him. His hand comes up, trembling, to rest against yours where you’re still holding his face. His skin is warm and damp under your touch, and he closes his eyes, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment, like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, voice barely audible. “I-I don’t know why I-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you whisper, feeling the burn of tears in your own eyes now. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales shakily, his forehead pressing against yours, and for a second, the world stills. The chaos of the after-party, the music, the laughter-it all fades away, leaving just the two of you in this dark, quiet space.

“Promise?” He asks, voice so small it makes your heart ache.

“I promise,” you whisper back. “Forever.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything more. You can feel the weight of his exhaustion now, the alcohol and emotions and everything else taking their toll on him. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer until your body is pressed against his, and for the first time all night, his breathing begins to steady. He’s still holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart, and in that moment, you realize that maybe you are.

You sit there with him, in the dark, in the silence, just breathing together. And for now, that’s enough.

[natesmithcomedy]

Large Wine Cellar

Wine cellar: a sizable, contemporary wine cellar design with a white floor and display racks

[frabecks]

Wine Cellar - Large Photo of a large southwest wine cellar with a brown floor and dark wood floors and diamond bins

[liquidwerx]

Wine Cellar London Inspiration for a large modern porcelain tile and white floor wine cellar remodel with display racks

[steinbit]

trying to decide what to make for the 17th hhhmm m...

[aultreneveulxestre]

Large - Wine Cellar Photo of a large southwest wine cellar with a brown floor and dark wood floors and diamond bins

[ddarker-dreams]

Could I humbly ask for some chrollo crumbs please? 🙏 🙏🙏

"This sucks."

"Mm."

"Really, really sucks."

"You did give me that impression."

Chrollo nurses a flute of champagne while you take tentative sips of your own concoction. White rum, grenadine, and what you think may have been orange juice mixed with a lime wedge on the rim. Waiters walk to and fro with appetizers, ranging from pork belly to oysters. You make a face as one of tonight's guest hands their trash to one of the unfortunate workers, despite there being a trashcan two feet away.

"Not that I'm advocating for murder," you quickly add, to which Chrollo raises an eyebrow. "... Maybe something softer in that general area, though."

"Torture?" Chrollo suggests.

You stop mid-sip to prevent yourself from choking. "No, not that either!"

"Morality sounds awfully inconvenient."

This earns him a punch in the shoulder.

"Why am I here, anyway?" You sigh. "I can't blend in with these types. Y'know, don't look now, but that lady by the fondue— hey, I said don't look— she struck up a conversation with me about her properties. Plural. Said that a homeless encampment is bringing the value of one down. What do you even say to that? 'Thoughts and prayers?'"

"I thought it'd do you some good to get out, is all," Chrollo sets his now empty glass down on a waiter's empty trey. You stare at him expectantly until he tells them 'thank you.' "And it's always a treat to see you get all dolled up."

You ignore that last bit. "Does it not bother you? Seeing all these leeches flaunting their wealth, when you grew up the way you did?"

He shrugs. "Targets are target; I make no distinction between those you consider 'innocent' or 'guilty.'"

"... 'Targets?'"

"In a strictly metaphorical sense."

"Dear god," you pinch the bridge of your nose. "I should pull the fire alarm or something."

"Without an actual fire present? My criminality must be rubbing off on you."

"There are levels to these things."

"You missed your chance to be a defense attorney. I'd have liked to see you defend me."

"Hah! I'd be rolling the electric chair out of storage just for you."

"And you wonder why I brought you along," Chrollo smiles. "Who else am I going to have these enlightening conversations with, if not you? It makes the evening fly by. Hm? Where do you think you're headed? I had the fire alarms deactivated in advance, don't even bother."

[haveihitanerve]

The idea, surprisingly, came from Batman. “I just…” Clark sighed. “It’s getting harder and harder to keep up my facade. Clark Kent is who I am, but I can’t not be Superman yknow? And well, I’m running out of excuses.” Oliver nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I get that.” “Why don’t you just tell them.” Batman interrupted. The two heroes looked at him in surprise. “Tell them?” Oliver asked incredulously. Batman nodded, looking at them as though they were daft. “Yes, tell them.” He sighed, running out of patience when they didn’t understand. “It’s the perfect excuse and if you really stress it then no one will believe you.” Oliver made a face. “Yeah sure Batman.” He drawled sarcastically. “Like you actually do that.” Batman stared at him for a few seconds, then snorted, turned, and walked away. “See?” Oliver muttered, victorious. 

“Clark you have that interview now with Bruce Wayne, he’s one of our biggest sponsors- why aren’t you gone yet?!?!”Perry half screamed as Clark half hazardly packed his satchel and made sure he had enough paper, his tape recorder had enough storage and his pens were working. “I know I know.” He muttered back, slinging it over his shoulder. “Sorry, I’ve never had an interview this late.” He half growled, heading out to grab a cab and head over to Wayne Enterprises, their meeting spot. The taxi driver seemed to sense Clark’s anxiety because he most definitely did not follow the speed limit but Clark was too panicked to tell him to slow down and tossed him a few bills before sprinting up the stairs to WE. “Mr. Kent!” Bruce Wayne greeted warmly, opening the door for him. “Hello Mr. Wayne,” Clark greeted politely, taking his offered seat. “Sorry for being late.” Bruce waved him off, pouring himself and Clark a glass before sitting himself. “It’s no matter, really, your payback for my cutting our last interview short eh?” He winked, handing the glass of water to Clark. Clark sipped it in thanks, opening his notebook. “Yeah… why did you by the way?” He asked. Bruce chuckled. “Clark, darling, didn’t you know? I’m Batman, Justice called.” Clark chuckled, clicking on his pen. “Yes, right, of course.” His eyes caught movement from the corner of his eye and he spotted a woman in a beautiful red dress walking past the window. Before he turned his attention back to his interviewer, a light illuminated the sky. Bruce stood. “Sorry to cut it short again, old friend, but duty calls.” He gestured to the light in the sky before rushing out, coincidentally after the woman. Clark rolled his eyes, packing together his things. “Once a playboy always a playboy.” He murmured, slinging the bag over his shoulder, but before he could walk about Bruce arrived again, hair disheveled, and shirt askew. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gordon needed some aid but Robin had it handled.” Clark let his eyes drift only a second over Bruce’s appearance before looking away and taking a seat again. “Robin…” he agreed. “Right. Is that her name?” He muttered quietly, smiling to himself as he dug through his satchel for his pen, missing the smug look the playboy sent him. 

“Ollie!!!!” Oliver Queen grinned, turning to face the overly high pitched male voice calling his name. “Brucie!! It’s been too long!” Bruce laughed, falling into his arms in a hug, voice dropping back to his normal baritone. “It really has been, glad to see you.” Oliver smiled warmly. “I am so pleased to see you too, these Galas get so boring.” Bruce chuckled, eyes scanning the crowd of party goers. “Well, you’re always welcome to seek me out at these sorts of things bud, except when I’m working to save the city.” Oliver chuckled, taking a sip of his champagne. “So true.” He agreed. “You’re doing a great job at it too, man.” Bruce smiled wanly. “Thanks. It’s hard work though. Wayne Enterprises in the mornings,” his voice dipped low. “Saving the Gotham citizens as Batman at night.” Oliver choked on his drink, laughing. “Exactly!” Bruce grinned back, almost triumphant. His eye caught some movement at the corner of the dance floor and both men turned, spotting his third oldest son, flicking his wrist in a certain movement. Bruce’s eyes darkened. “Alright Ollie, it was nice catching up, but Justice calls: Gotham needs me.” Oliver chuckled. “Right on.” 

A week later Oliver and Clark once again found themselves chilling in the main den, complaining about the difficulties of keeping their secret identities secret. Batman walked in, listened for two seconds, and promptly groaned. “I told you,” he complained. “Just tell them!” “It’s not that easy! And that defeats the whole purpose of keeping it a secret!” Oliver argued back. Batman looked at him. “I did it. To both of you actually.” Clark snorted. “Yeah right.” Batman turned to him. Suddenly his voice changed pitches. “Mr. Kent! So pleased to see you, sorry to have run out on you earlier, but well! Justice calls, oh, but Robin handled it!” Clark paled. Batman turned to Oliver. His voice went even higher. “Ollie!! It’s been too long my friend, but we’ll have to chat some other time you know how it is, Justice calls!” Oliver turned a strange shade of white. “See?” Batman- no Bruce Wayne said with a smirk. “Easy.” Back at home in the Batcave, the batkids were losing their minds. 

(Yes they placed bets)

[nina-ya]

Closet Cravings (Law x Reader NSFW)

A/N: I had meant to post this earlier in the week but ya know! hurricane things! Apologies for tossing this out so late but here it is! Pairing: Law x AFABreader CW: SMUT MINORS DNI unprotected sex, creampie, semi public sex, uhhh yeah I think that's it! • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ You don't even remember how you got here. One moment you were tossing back glasses of champagne at some frivolous banquet where you didn't quite know what you were celebrating, the next, Law had those inked hands all over you, planting needy kisses along your neck and shoulder, pulling you into the nearest storage closet to take things further. The closet is suffocating with the thick scent of sex and sweat in the air as your back digs into the wall behind you. There’s barely enough space to breathe, let alone move, but that doesn’t matter. Not with Law pressed so tightly against you, his chest flush to yours, his body pinning you in place. His breath is ragged in your ear, heavy with lust, as his fingers dig into your hips, controlling every desperate grind of your body against his. 

Your dress, once elegant and pristine, is now hiked up around your waist, bunched and forgotten as his fingers slide beneath your panties, teasing the slick pooling between your legs. Every inch of you is alive, burning with the need for more, and despite Law’s own eagerness to feel you wrapped around him, he likes to keep it slow, just to torment you.

He could use his Devil Fruit to silence you, making those filthy sounds spilling from your lips disappear into nothing, but he doesn't. No, he wants to hear you. Wants to watch the way your pretty little jaw goes slack, letting out huffs and pants, your breath hitching as you try, and fail, to stifle the moans bubbling up from your throat. There’s something about the way you struggle to keep quiet, your body trembling, that drives him absolutely mad. 

“You’re too fucking loud,” he growls, lips brushing against your ear, but the smirk tugging at his lips tells you that he is enjoying seeing your futile attempts at holding yourself together.

The combined heat of your bodies is suffocating, to say the least, the cramped space seems to amplify every sensation and you are acutely aware of the way his fingers slide away from your dripping hole and are replaced by the bulbous head of his cock. He rubs the tip against you, just enough to coat his tip with your essence before sliding right in. The stretch is delicious, forcing you to bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as your body clenches around him. 

“Law…” his name falls from your lips in a shaky whisper, a plea, but he just responds by pulling out slightly and thrusting in all the way, ripping a yelp from your throat. 

“You just look too good tonight,” he murmurs, dipping his head into your neck, grazing his teeth along the skin as he huffs with the intensity of his thrusts. “How the hell was I supposed to control myself?”

You can feel every inch of him inside you, the tight space making each thrust deeper, harder, his hips rolling in a way that makes your whole body tremble. Your breath comes in shallow, ragged pants, but the way he moves inside of you makes it nearly impossible. Your body arches against him, your hands gripping his shoulders for any semblance of support, but it’s not enough. The pleasure builds, coiling tight within you, and it takes everything within you to keep from just wailing out his name for others outside of this closet to hear. 

But Law wasn’t satisfied. One of his hands slips down between your legs, pressing against your swollen clit with a pressure that rips a gasp from your lips. The shock of the feeling has your whole body jerking in response as he rubs circles against the bundle of nerves, making it impossible to think, let alone stay quiet. 

He smirks against your neck, placing wet kisses down the column of your throat. “What’s wrong? Can’t hold back” he taunts. 

You shake your head, biting your lip hard enough to break the skin, but it’s no use. The building pressure is too much, the pleasures all too intense, and you can’t stop the strangled whimper that escapes you when he pulls out to the tip and slams right back in. 

Law chuckles at the noise, his breath fanning across your ear as he whispers, “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy the idea of people knowing what we are doing.” His words are like gasoline and he is just tossing them right into the flames of your euphoria and you can’t help but clench around him at his words. He notices, deciding to push you further, “Oh? You really want to be caught, don’t you? Come on, let everyone out there know how good I’m making you feel.”

Before you can stop yourself, a loud, desperate, shameless moan slips past your lips. His name falls from your mouth again, louder this time, chanting it as if it were a prayer. Your resolve has officially cracked, hurdling you toward that blissful high that you so desperately crave.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses out, voice strained as his own control begins to slip. He thrusts into you harder, pace growing erratic, and you can feel him unraveling before you, his breath becoming faster, fingers of one hand digging into your thigh, while the other works on your clit, his movements faltering with each growing sentence. 

The small space, the overwhelming feeling of his body against yours, the struggle of trying to stay quiet- it all makes everything more intense, more desperate. Your body is trembling now, the pleasure building to a breaking point as you cling to him, your nails raking against his chest, threatening to rip his shirt, and you just can’t take it anymore. The moan that tears from your throat is loud and needy, and you just don’t care anymore who hears it. 

Law’s teeth nip at your collarbone as he grinds into you, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again until you are standing right on the edge, your whole body tensing as you finally fall over it. Your orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as the pleasure floods every nerve. Your walls clench around him, gripping his cock with a desperate intensity, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as you ride your high. Your fingers dig into his shirt, knuckles turning white with the force of your grip, your head tilting back as a broken cry of his name spills from your lips. The sensation is nothing short of overwhelming with each pulse of your release so powerful that you feel you may just burst. Your body trembles beneath him as you gasp for air. 

And even though you’re lost in the haze of your one pleasure, you can feel the way Law’s body stiffens slightly, using all he has left to speed up before slamming into you one last time. His grip on you tightens and he groans your name in that voice that you’re sure to replay in your head later over and over again. His cock throbs inside of you, spilling hot and deep as his orgasm takes over, each pulse of his cock sending small aftershocks through your already trembling body as his cum fills you completely, the warmth spreading as he empties himself into you. 

The two of you just stay there only for a moment- forehead against forehead, heavy breathing, and despite the intensity of the moment, there's a lazy, satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. 

With a languid sigh, he pulls out of you and you can feel the slick, sticky trail of your combined release starting to slip from between your legs the moment he withdraws. He sets you down gently, but your legs are shaky and ready to give out beneath you at any given moment. You reach for his arm to steady yourself as you hastily fix your clothes alongside them, as you slip your underwear back into place, you feel the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly dribbling down your thigh. Embarrassment floods your features as you go to wipe it away, but before you can clean yourself properly, Law is already pushing the door open and stepping back into the banquet as if nothing had happened. You blink, dazed, still trying to recover from the moment prior and the realization hits you- if the sounds you’d made together weren’t enough to give you away, the unmistakable sticky mess sliding down your thighs surely will.

[seaslugfanclub]

Heyyy !!! Love your writtings and drawings !! You Rock !! And I was really curious about your thoughts on Y/N and Ratigan's relationship! Like how Ratigan grew to like them and all- I have a funny headbanging that the park Attendant managed to save him from Lucifer the cat one time XD

Ratigan and (Y/N)’s First Introduction

————————————————————————

Being in the Disney parks is overwhelming enough, but try being less than a foot tall.

Oh sure, Disney can bring all of these fictional characters to reality, but guess it was too much work for them to size up the smaller characters!

Ratigan is not having a good time. Just like his entire life, he’s had to fight tooth and nail for even a modicum of respect. Now he has to fight even harder to get a room to himself.

Disney didn’t think that far ahead about having a rodent sized villain living amongst the others. For the first few weeks of Ratigan new existence, he had to rely on his extensive talents in order to carve out a small space for himself in the villains breakout room

Oh, how humiliating it was to sleep behind a wall socket like some common vermin!!

And the food situation! It’s nearly impossible to get access to the fridge, and the cabinets have nothing that could even begin to match his expensive tastes.

Not to mention the other villains less than stellar reactions to seeing a ra- ahem- a mouse in their living area

Most of the female villains would screech at the sight of him, jumping onto chairs and demanding for the male villains to kill him.

Yes… it certainly hasn’t been all champagne and caviar…

Ratigans new life only began to improve after his less than respectable meeting with the park attendant (Y/N)

————————————————————————

“(Y/N).”

The park attendant wiped off their brow, setting down a box full of spare costumes to turn towards the intimidating woman in the doorway.

“Oh, good afternoon Lady Tremaine. How’re you doing?”

Tremaine didn’t bother with the pleasantries,

“I have not seen Lucifer since breakfast. Would you have any idea where the little creature is?”

(Y/N) shook their head, “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Well I have matters to attend to soon, and I need Lucifer with me. Find him.”

With nothing but a small grimace, Lady Tremaine left, her shoes tapping sharply against the linoleum tiles of the hallway.

“…..ok…”

(Y/N) shuffled in place for a moment, beginning to think of the cats usual whereabouts.

————————————————————————

“Luci!! C’mon baby! *pst pst pst*

(Y/N) shook a bag of Lucifer’s dry food, hoping the sound would lure the chunky cat out of hiding.

They had been searching for a good 15 minutes without any sign of the feline, and (Y/N) was beginning to feel an anxious flutter in their chest.

Turning up empty handed to Lady Tremaine was not an option.

(Y/N)’s search had lead them to a quieter wing of the villains building, this area mainly being used for storage and management meetings. The park attendant stopped for a moment, hoping to hear the sound of little paws, before going back to shaking the dry food.

“*pst pst pst pst pst* C’mon Luci, your mama’s looking for—” (Y/N) paused, faint scuffling could be heard further down the hall.

Finally!

(Y/N) followed the sound, approaching one of the storage rooms at the end of the hallway, but the closer they got to the scuffling, something else could be heard.

….Yelling?

The door was already slightly ajar when (Y/N) fully pushed their way into the room, causing two pairs of eyes to meet them.

In the back of the room, amongst filing cabinets and schedules of years past was Lady Tremaine’s cat, Lucifer, who’s claws were primed and at the ready… and the heaving body of Professor Ratigan pressed into a corner.

From the look on both of their faces, (Y/N) walked in on something intense, although Lucifer’s expression was one of disappointment while the professors was one of quiet relief.

“LUCIFER—The hell are you doing!?!!! Go, your mama’s been looking for you!” (Y/N) yelled at the cat, who seemed physically pained to leave the rodent alone. Reluctantly, Lucifer trudged pass the park attendant, who was still admonishing him.

“Like you’re not fed enough! What, Where you dropped as a kitten!?”

Once (Y/N) saw Lucifer’s tail disappear around the corner, they immediately turned their attention towards the still cornered Ratigan.

“Professor, are you alright!? I am so. sorry.”

They dropped the bag of cat food to rush towards the rodent, slamming down onto their knees as their eyes flitted over Ratigans form.

His chest was rapidly going up and down, Ratigan obviously still trying to catch his breath. His usually slicked back hair was now falling in front of his face as he stared up at (Y/N).

He seems frazzled, but thankfully free of any scratches or missing appendages.

“…alright?” Ratigan heaved after a few moments of silence, “You asked if I’m alright? OH YOU MENTALLY DEFECTIVE WRETCH, HOW ON EARTH COULD I EVER BE A L R I G H T???”

(Y/N) flinched at the sudden increase of volume, staring down at the now manic looking rodent in shock.

“Ever since I’ve been brought to this demented park, I’ve been nothing but humiliated and scorned! Forced to fend for myself like the common vermin because YOU PEOPLE didn’t have an iota of sense that taking me from the grave would cause me to live amongst GIANTS”

Ratigan began pacing, his eyes wild as he continued,

“I have had to scrounge and scrap to continue this miserable existence, reduced to living off of stale crackers and tap water, to lay my head beneath electrical wires. I’ve been forced to scavenge in these back rooms for supplies since every employee runs off at the sight of me before I can even open my mouth for the simplest of requests. Oh! And let’s not forget me being preyed upon by that devil in feline form! I’ve been hunted by that beast for the past few hours, nearly meeting my second demise! Left alone to die like a cretin, like I’m NOTHING. DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I USED TO BE? I HAVE NOTHING NOW. NOTHING.”

Finally his tiny body gave out, Ratigan collapsing to the carpet dramatically, arm covering his eyes.

“Oh…I’d have been better off a bloated corpse in the Thames.”

(Y/N) couldn’t find any words, watching helplessly as Ratigan sprawled across the floor. Their throat felt tight.

They’d only been hired several months ago, and they’ve only just begun getting along with a few Villains. (Y/N) rarely saw Professor Ratigan, and when they did they reasoned that he had the same provisions that the other smaller Disney rodents had.

When (Y/N) first arrived, they got to meet Ms. Bianca and Mr. Bernard in front of their tiny apartment styled home, which was built into one of the walls of the Disney Protagonist’s building. During the quick introduction, it seemed that the company had thought of everything the couple could’ve needed.

Guess the same quality of service didn’t apply to villains…

(Y/N) sat in silence for a few minutes, allowing Ratigans words to fully sink in, before finally speaking up.

“I didn’t— …..I’m sorry.”

Ratigan didn’t lift his arm from his eyes, “Please. Spare me your pity, human.”

“Oh please, don’t start with that— I’m sorry that you’ve been screwed over, I wasn’t aware that the company’s been this irresponsible.”

Slowly, (Y/N) reached out their hand, palm open in offering,

“I’m still pretty new here, but I think I’ve got a way to pull a few strings…”

Finally lifting his arm, Ratigan looked up at the park attendant. The scent of their sincerity almost nauseating, but what else did he have to lose?

Taking (Y/N)s palm as an invitation, he lifted himself off the carpet and onto (Y/N)s hand.

Oh, how low he’s stooped.

————————————————————————

Turns out (Y/N)’s “few strings” was the one of the villains that they had managed to befriend. With Ratigan in hand, (Y/N) went all the way to the other side of the building to the villains lounge, where they explained the professors dilemma to a very confused Hades, asking for his help.

As distrustful as Ratigan was around humans, he could appreciate this park attendants persuasiveness through subtle manipulation and use of accumulated favors.

Hades, who’s always been a fan of things creepy and crawly, (and also wanted to earn some brownie points with (Y/N) ) agreed to help their little charity case

Half an hour later Ratigan still sat in (Y/N)’s hands, looking up at the now nervous park attendant as they fidgeted in place, staring at the door of their managers office.

After a few minutes and some smoke leaking from underneath the doorway, a very pleased Hades opened the door. The god strolled up to (Y/N), patting them on the back and commenting how “he warmed him up for you” and was about to leave before acknowledging Ratigan in their palm.

“Ya’ better be grateful, tiny. You’ve found the only person in this park who gives a shit about you.”

Just as Ratigan was about to demand an explanation on what (Y/N) was planning, the park attendant strode into the office. Where the pair met eyes with a very pale manager.

The previous anxiousness on (Y/N)s face instantly melted into professionalism, introducing themselves, then placed Ratigan on the managers desk and asking him to share his current quality of life with the sweating man before him.

One slightly confused but melodramatic explanation later, (Y/N) went on to say how “disturbing” it was to see this type of mistreatment in a company who had bragged about the quality of their intellectual properties well being, and that it would be “unfortunate if word about Disneys beloved characters being mistreated got out to the general public, especially those protesting Disneys new holographic AI.”

(Y/N) went on to virtually demand that the company recorrect this oversight, and give Ratigan a fully furnished living space and amenity’s just like the other mice in the park.

The office was dead silent once (Y/N) had finished speaking.

The manager dabbed the sweat from his forehead, cleared his throat, and nodded. The pasty man tried to come up with excuses for the company before conceding, agreeing with (Y/N)s “request” and apologizing to Ratigan, who for once in his life was speechless.

(Y/N) and Ratigan left the managers office with the promise of Ratigans new home being fully constructed within two months, and full permission to take any food/ rodent sized items from the protagonists building.

Ratigan, who was still dazed with the sudden change of luck, was dropped off in the Villains lounge. (Y/N) promising to pick up some fresh food and maybe a rodents sized bed from the “good guys place” before running out of the room.

It wouldn’t be until months later that he’d fully express his gratitude…. But for now, he admitted , he is lucky that he found the one person in this park who gave a shit him.

———————————————————————

Hope this answers your request! I thought it’s be nice to learn how Ratigan and (Y/N) first met!

I’ll definitely make another post about their friendship and more fluff, but how could I resist writing some angst? 😭

[wolverigrl]

Party (2)

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: Please don’t be mad at me, but I think there will only be 1 or 2 (maximum 3) other parts of this fanfic! Thank you all for your support, love, and comments! Much love! xx

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, alcohol and nausea, angst!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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"What if you were pregnant?"

he asks suddenly, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

I blink, the question catching me of guard. "What?"

He shrugs, though there's a serious look in his eyes. "I mean, what if you were? What would you think? We've joked about it before, but... I'm asking for real."

For a second, I don't know what to say. The thought had crossed my mind before, but hearing him say it out loud makes my heart skip a beat.

"I think I'd be happy." I say softly, searching his face. "I mean I love kids and if it happened, if we ended up with one, especially with you.." I pause, a smile tugging at my lips. "It'd be like winning the lottery. You're the most amazing dad."

His eyes soften, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. "You really think so?"

"I know so." I say, my voice steady now.

"I see how you are with your kids, how you care. You're perfect. And if it happened... it wouldn't scare me. Not with you."

For a moment, he just looks at me. His expression unreadable. Then, he leans down and presses a soft lingering kiss to my lips.

"You amaze me everytime baby." He murmurs against my skin.

The music was still thumping softly as Hugh and I made our way back to the party after our little escape to the storage room. The air felt lighter between us, the tension gone, but the heat still lingered. I caught Hugh’s eye, and he gave me a playful smirk, his hand resting protectively on the small of my back as we rejoined the crowd. I felt a little flushed, still high from everything that had just happened. His shirt was slightly rumpled, and I knew my lipstick had to be smudged from where I’d kissed him.

It didn’t take long for someone to notice. Ryan and Blake were sitting near the bar, chatting with some of the stragglers who remained. The moment we approached, Ryan's sharp gaze caught the lipstick stain on Hugh’s neck, and he raised an eyebrow. Blake followed his gaze and let out a knowing giggle.

"Well, well, look who’s been busy!" Ryan said with that signature mischievous smirk of his. He pointed at Hugh’s neck, leaning forward with a mock-serious expression. "You’ve got a little something there, mate. Lipstick, hickeys... did someone interrupt you?"

Blake playfully slapped Ryan’s arm, trying to hold back her laughter. “Come on, give them a break. It’s her birthday!” she teased, winking at me. “Though, you guys could be a little more discreet.”

I laughed, the alcohol still buzzing through my veins, making everything feel funnier than it probably was. “Oh, come on! Like you and Ryan haven’t snuck off at a party before.”

Blake threw her head back in a dramatic laugh. “Touché.”

Hugh, ever the composed one, just chuckled and shook his head, his arm tightening around me. “What can I say? You know how it is. She’s irresistible.”

Ryan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. If anything, I’m impressed. Just don’t blame us if Chris or Scott see you and start giving you a hard time.”

The party had thinned out, most people either drunk or already heading home. I could feel my legs wobbling a bit more than before, the room starting to spin slightly. I had drunk a lot tonight, more than I probably should have. The champagne, the cocktails, the shots - especially the shots with Chris and Scott. I swayed on my feet, leaning heavily into Hugh for support.

“I think it’s time to get you home.” Hugh whispered into my ear, his voice filled with warmth but tinged with concern.

I pouted, not ready for the night to end, my mind still in a drunken haze.

“Nooo, I’m fine! Let’s dance more!” I slurred, tugging at his shirt, my hands brushing over his chest. My fingers wandered lower, more out of impulse than intent, but Hugh caught my wrists gently, chuckling at my tipsy boldness.

“Love, you’re completely wasted.” he said softly, his voice full of amusement. “I’m here sobering up, and you… well, you’re ready to pass out.”

I frowned up at him, my body warm and heavy with alcohol. “I’m not ready to go!” I protested weakly, though my words were slurred, and I could feel my body growing sluggish.

Hugh just smiled, ever patient. “I know you’re having fun, but it’s time. Let’s get you home.”

I tried again, tugging at his collar playfully, but Hugh was already maneuvering us toward the exit, his arm wrapped securely around me to keep me from stumbling. I could feel my legs giving out beneath me, but Hugh, ever steady, guided me gently, never letting me fall.

Ryan and Blake followed close behind as we stumbled our way outside, where a cab was already waiting. “Need some help getting her in?” Ryan asked, though I could hear the amusement in his voice. He was clearly enjoying my drunken state a little too much.

Hugh shook his head, already opening the door and helping me inside. “I’ve got it. She’s just affectionate when she’s drunk.”

Ryan snorted. “Affectionate is one word for it.”

Blake laughed, climbing into the cab after me. “Come on, let’s get you home before you start a new round of inappropriate touching.”

“You’re doing God’s work, Hugh.” Ryan said, a grin on his face as we closed the doors. “Getting this one home in one piece.”

Hugh just laughed. "I'm sure it won’t be the last time."

I put my head on Hugh’s shoulder and put my arms around him, trying to pull him as close as possible to me.

"Baby, I'm still not tired." I slurred, my fingers running over the buttons of his shirt again.

Hugh just shook his head with a soft chuckle, gently catching my hands and keeping them still. “Sure you’re not.” he said, his voice full of warmth and amusement. “But let’s get you home, and we’ll see how awake you are then.”

Once we were settled, the cool night air and the soft hum of the car's engine started to lull me into a sleepy daze. I slumped against Hugh’s chest, my head heavy on his shoulder. The warmth of his body, combined with the gentle rocking of the cab, had my eyelids drooping almost instantly. I could feel Hugh’s hand stroking my hair, his fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm.

“Shh, just rest. I’ve got you.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I sighed, my body sinking further into his embrace, completely safe and content.

The next thing I knew, we were home. I barely registered the door opening or the cool breeze as Hugh scooped me up into his arms. My head lolled against his chest as he carried me inside, his steps quiet and careful.

“I can walk..” I mumbled, though my body betrayed me, limp and uncooperative.

Hugh just chuckled softly. “Sure you can, love. Just relax.”

He carried me up the stairs to our bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. I was half-awake now, my mind hazy but aware enough to realize I was still in my dress. I groaned, trying to kick off my shoes but failing miserably.

“Let me help.” Hugh said, kneeling beside the bed. He removed my shoes and then gently tugged at the zipper of my dress, helping me out of it with a tenderness that made my heart swell even in my drunken state. I managed to help him pull one of his T-shirts over my head, the soft fabric comforting against my skin.

As he tucked me under the covers, I reached for his hand, my fingers curling around his. “Thank you.” I mumbled, my eyes barely open. “I love you.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I love you too, y/n. Get some rest.”

I fell asleep almost instantly, the last thing I felt being Hugh’s warm lips pressing a kiss to my forehead.

The next morning, I woke up with a groan, my stomach twisting unpleasantly. The light streaming through the curtains felt too bright, and the pounding in my head made me wince. But worse than the headache was the nausea rolling through me in waves. I barely had time to think before I shot out of bed, racing toward the bathroom.

I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up, my body heaving violently as I emptied the contents of my stomach. I felt someone rush in behind me, and then Hugh was there, his hands holding back my hair, his voice soft and full of concern.

“Shh, I’m here. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” he whispered, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as I retched again.

Once I finished, I collapsed back against him, my body weak and shaking. He handed me a glass of water, helping me sip it slowly.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his eyes scanning my face for any signs of distress.

I nodded weakly, though I felt far from okay. “I feel like death.”

Hugh chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “That’s what happens when you drink half the bar with your friends.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Never again. I am never drinking like that again.”

Hugh smiled knowingly, helping me to my feet and guiding me back to the bed. “You say that now, but we both know you’ll forget by the next party.”

I shook my head, wincing as the movement made my headache worse. “No, I mean it this time.”

“Alright, I’ll hold you to it.” he teased, pulling the blankets up around me. “I’m going to make breakfast. Try to rest for a bit.”

I nodded, sinking back into the pillows, my stomach still churning. Hugh kissed my forehead again before leaving the room. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would take me again, but the nausea was relentless. Hugh disappeared into the kitchen, and I could hear the faint clinking of pots and pans.

After a few minutes of lying there, my stomach still swirling, I figured it was better trying to eat something than to keep lying there feeling like death. I dragged myself out of bed again, my legs shaky but steady enough to make it to the kitchen.

Ryan, Blake, and Hugh were already there when I entered, laughing about something I couldn’t quite catch. Ryan was standing at the stove, poking at a pan of sizzling bacon, the smell instantly hitting me like a wave. My stomach churned violently, and without a word, I turned on my heel and rushed back to the bathroom, the nausea hitting me harder than before.

I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up again. It was worse this time - my stomach heaving painfully as I coughed and retched, bile burning in my throat. I collapsed to my knees, clutching the sides of the toilet as my body shook. I heard soft footsteps behind me, and this time it was Blake who appeared, crouching down beside me, rubbing my back as I tried to catch my breath.

“Oh honey, that doesn’t sound good..” Blake said gently, her hand moving in soothing circles on my back. “Take deep breaths.”

I nodded weakly, leaning back against the wall as I wiped my mouth with the tissue she handed me. I felt shaky, weak, and utterly miserable.

Blake glanced toward the door before looking back at me with a concerned frown. “Are you sure this is just a hangover?”

I blinked at her, my head still spinning, my stomach twisting with the aftermath of throwing up again. “What else would it be?” I muttered weakly, closing my eyes for a moment to block out the light.

Blake hesitated, biting her lip. “Well… you know, it could be something else.” She paused, watching me carefully. “Y/n, have you thought about doing a pregnancy test?”

Her words cut through the fog in my brain, and I blinked at her, the thought landing like a rock in my stomach. Pregnant? The idea seemed so far-fetched, so out of place, that for a moment I just stared at her, trying to process what she was saying.

“No. ” I said, my voice hoarse. “I mean, I had my period last week, so I can't be.. you know.. It’s just a hangover.”

Blake’s frown deepened, her hand still rubbing my back. “That’s not always a guarantee. Some women still get light bleeding in early pregnancy.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes soft but serious. “You’ve been really sensitive to smells, throwing up, and you’ve been more emotional than usual… It might be worth taking a test, just to rule it out.”

I sat there, blinking at her, trying to process her words through the fog of nausea and the pounding in my head. The idea seemed so absurd that I almost wanted to laugh, but at the same time there was a small, nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Could she be right? Could all of this be something more than just a brutal hangover?

Blake gave me a soft, encouraging smile. “Look, I’ll grab a test later today. Just to be sure. You never know.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “I-I don’t know, Blake. It seems unlikely. I mean, we’ve been careful. Mostly.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Mostly?”

I bit my lip, suddenly feeling unsure. Had we been careful enough? The thought sent a ripple of nerves through me, and I suddenly felt a little more sober than I had just a few moments ago.

Blake squeezed my shoulder gently. “Don’t stress about it, okay? Let’s just check later, and if it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.”

I nodded slowly, still feeling a little dazed. “Okay,” I whispered. “Just to be sure.”

Blake smiled warmly and helped me up, steadying me as I wobbled on my feet. We made our way back to the kitchen, where Ryan was still standing over the stove, flipping the bacon with a grin on his face.

“There she is! Feeling better?” he asked with a laugh, glancing over his shoulder.

The moment the smell of the bacon hit me again, my stomach lurched violently. I pressed my hand over my mouth, barely managing to shake my head before I turned and bolted back to the bathroom. This time, Blake was right behind me, rubbing my back again as I heaved into the toilet for the third time that morning.

When I finally stopped, I collapsed back against the wall, my body trembling with exhaustion. Blake knelt beside me, her expression serious this time. “Okay, y/n. We’re definitely getting that pregnancy test.”

Blake and I stepped back into the kitchen after my second round of nausea, and the moment we entered, the smell of bacon hit me like a wall. I flinched, my stomach rolling violently. Blake was quick to jump in, giving Ryan a pointed look.

“Ryan, put the bacon away. Please.” Blake said, her tone somewhere between commanding and concerned.

Ryan raised his eyebrows, clearly confused, but he nodded, lifting the pan off the stove. “Alright, alright!” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “No more bacon. I thought we were having the classic hangover cure breakfast, but I guess not.” He shot me a teasing grin, but I could barely manage a smile in return. I still felt nauseous, and the smell lingered in the air like a bad joke.

“Thanks..” I muttered, sitting down slowly at the kitchen table. The wooden chair felt unusually hard beneath me, and the room swayed slightly as I rested my head in my hands. The world felt too bright, too loud.

Hugh, who had been standing near the counter, came over and placed a hand on my shoulder. His eyes were filled with concern. “You alright?” he asked softly, crouching down so that he was level with me.

I glanced up at him, forcing a weak smile. “Yeah, just a huge hungover.”

But Hugh wasn’t convinced. His brow furrowed, and he leaned in closer. “You sure it’s just the hangover? You haven’t been able to keep anything down since you woke up.”

Before I could answer, Blake chimed in, her voice light but purposeful. “Maybe we should all skip the bacon for now and just go for something lighter.” She glanced at Ryan, who finally relented, wrapping the bacon up and placing it in the fridge.

Ryan, with his usual flair for dramatics, gave a mock sigh. “Fine, fine. Guess we’re having toast and eggs then. Maybe some fruit if you’re feeling fancy.”

Blake shot him a grateful smile, but I could still see the concern lurking behind her eyes as she glanced at me again. We both knew there might be something more going on.

Hugh stood up, but he didn’t stray far. I could feel his eyes on me, the warmth of his hand still lingering on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time, more intimate. He knew me too well. He knew when something was off.

I looked up at him, my heart clenching slightly. There was something about the way he was looking at me - so protective, so deeply caring - that made my throat tighten. “I’m okay, I promise.” I said softly, but the words felt hollow, even to me.

Blake cleared her throat, sensing the tension. “Let’s just have breakfast!” she said brightly, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Ryan to start serving up the toast and eggs.

The four of us settled down around the table, the atmosphere easing up a bit as we started to eat. But I could still feel Hugh’s eyes on me from time to time, his silent concern hanging in the air between us. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the food in front of me, though every bite felt like a chore.

Blake glanced at me after breakfast, a knowing look in her eyes. The subtle exchange between us was enough to make my stomach twist. We both knew what we needed to do, but there was no easy way to get through it - especially with Hugh and Ryan lingering around.

“I’ll go grab something at the drug store.” Blake said, her voice calm but determined. She stood from the table, adjusting her sweater as if she was about to run a quick errand.

Ryan looked up from his phone, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you need to grab? You just went grocery shopping.”

Hugh chimed in. “Yeah, Blake, what secret are you hiding from us? If you’re buying ice cream and not sharing, we’re going to have a serious problem.”

Blake rolled her eyes but smiled, her hands resting on her hips. “You boys and your ice cream obsession. It’s nothing - just girl stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious but too lazy to press further. Hugh, however, looked from Blake to me, his concern still evident.

Blake waved them off with a casual laugh. “You three just stay here and look after y/n!” Her tone was light, but I could tell she was eager to get out the door before they asked more questions.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Alright, but if you come back with some girly drama that needs solving, I’m out. Hugh, it’s all on you, man.”

Hugh gave a half-smile, but his eyes remained on me, his concern still present even as Blake slipped out the door. The boys didn’t ask any more questions, and I was grateful for Blake’s smooth distraction.

While Blake was out, the rest of us stayed in the kitchen, casually cleaning up and chatting about the party last night. Ryan, as usual, kept things light with his jokes, but Hugh’s attention would drift back to me every now and then. I could feel it, the quiet, worried glances he gave me when he thought I wasn’t looking. My stomach churned - not just from the remnants of the hangover, but from the anxiety creeping up inside me.

When Blake returned, she had a small paper bag in her hand. She slipped it into her purse quickly, her movements smooth, as if she’d done this a hundred times. She didn’t say anything right away, just casually joined the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Hugh looked up from his spot at the table. “You’re back quick. Everything okay?”

Blake smiled brightly, her eyes flicking to me for the briefest of moments before turning her attention back to Hugh. “Yup! Everything’s good.” She clapped her hands together, clearly ready to move things along. “Alright, boys, let’s set up a movie or something. How about we go pick something out?”

Ryan groaned. “Ugh, really? But not another rom-com, Blake!”

She laughed and grabbed him by the arm, leading him and the others out of the kitchen. “I’ll even let you pick, Ryan. But you’re banned from all superhero movies, deal?”

I watched as Blake expertly herded them into the living room, leaving me alone with the test still hidden in the bag. My hands were trembling slightly, the weight of what was about to happen starting to settle in.

The bathroom felt impossibly small, the silence pressing in on me as I stared down at the pregnancy test in my hand. My fingers trembled as I looked at it, my reflection in the mirror barely recognizable. I was almost 30 years old. That thought kept echoing in my mind, louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest like it wanted to escape.

I couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts. How would Hugh react? He was already a father - his kids adored him. But this… this would be our child. Our baby. The idea of it thrilled me, but it also terrified me. I hadn’t expected this, not so soon. Not after one and a half years. My stomach twisted at the thought, nerves gnawing at the edges of my excitement.

What about my family? My mother would be overjoyed, but what would she think of me having a baby with Hugh? And my friends - they had no idea what was coming. Could I even handle all of their opinions? I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to steady myself.

Two minutes. I just needed to get through these two minutes.

The timer buzzed, and I hesitated, my heart pounding in my ears as I reached for the test.

Two lines.

For a second, everything froze. I couldn’t process it. I'm pregnant. I was actually pregnant.

My knees felt weak, and I leaned against the sink, trying to catch my breath. A mixture of disbelief and joy surged through me, but beneath that, fear crept in. This was real. It was happening. I had to tell Hugh.

I left the bathroom, the positive test still clutched in my hand. Blake was waiting near the door, her eyes searching mine. She didn’t need words - she knew. I gave her a weak smile, and she nodded, offering silent support. But I couldn’t stay here with her. I had to talk to Hugh, had to tell him.

As I walked into the living room, I saw Hugh sitting on the couch with Ryan, both of them laughing over some joke. My stomach fluttered nervously. How could I tell him? How could I explain that everything was about to change? I cleared my throat, my voice barely steady as I said, “Hugh, can we talk?”

Ryan, always the joker, raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh, bedroom conversation time? I’m sure nothing serious, right?” His tone was light, teasing, but I barely registered it. My heart was too heavy, too full of what I had to say.

Hugh noticed my tone and immediately stood up, his smile fading into concern. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice gentle as he approached me.

I managed to smile, but it felt fragile, like glass about to break. “Can we talk in the bedroom?” I repeated, trying to keep my nerves in check.

Ryan chuckled as he leaned back on the couch. “Sure, just leave the door open so I can hear all the juicy details!”

Hugh shot him a look but followed me into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. As soon as we were alone, I felt the full weight of what I was about to say, and it hit me like a wave.

I started pacing, my mind racing, words tumbling out of my mouth without making sense. “You know I've been feeling weird for a while now.. and I thought it was from drinking too much last night and because if my period but it wasn’t, and now I don’t know how to say this, I-”

“Y/n.” Hugh interrupted, his voice calm but full of concern. He stepped closer, his hands gently resting on my arms to still me. “Hey, you’re scaring me. Just tell me. What’s going on?”

I met his gaze, my heart pounding. I took a deep breath, feeling the tears start to sting the back of my eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

The room fell into an almost deafening silence as Hugh stared at me, his expression unreadable at first. My stomach flipped, unsure of what he would say, how he would react. Seconds ticked by, feeling like an eternity. Was he shocked? Was he upset?

Then, slowly, his face broke into the widest smile I had ever seen. “Wait… you’re pregnant? You’re serious?”

I nodded, biting my lip, feeling my own emotions teetering on the edge. His hands moved from my arms to my waist, and before I knew it, he was lifting me off the ground, swirling me around in a tight circle. I laughed, clinging to him as he spun us around.

“Oh my God!” he exclaimed, still holding me tightly. “We’re having a baby!” His voice was filled with pure joy, and my heart soared.

“Hugh!” I laughed, trying to catch my breath as he set me back on my feet, both of us giddy with happiness. “I can’t believe this is real.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “You’re amazing.” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “This is the best news I’ve ever heard. We’re going to have a baby.” His eyes were shining, and I could see how much this meant to him, how deeply it touched him.

I felt the sob building in my chest and buried my face against his chest, my body trembling as I cried.

A sudden realization hit me like a ton of bricks. My body tensed as the memory of last night's party flooded back - how much I had drunk, how wild everything had been. My breath caught in my throat, and I pulled back, staring up at Hugh with wide, panicked eyes.

"Oh my God, Hugh!" I whispered, my voice shaky. "I-I was drinking. I got wasted last night, and I’m pregnant! What if I hurt the baby? What if- "

“Hey, hey, love.” Hugh interrupted gently, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes full of warmth and reassurance. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“But- ” I started, my chest tightening with anxiety. "What if something’s wrong? I should have been more careful, but I didn’t even think- "

“Shh..” he soothed, pulling me even closer. His voice was soft but firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was one night, and the baby is going to be fine. We’ll see the doctor, and everything will be okay. You’re healthy, and the baby will be, too.”

I blinked up at him, still feeling that knot of fear twisting in my stomach. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I love you so much.” he murmured, his lips pressing softly against my forehead. “I can’t believe it.”

“I love you too.” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know how you’d react. I was so nervous.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes still shining with unshed tears as he kissed me softly, tenderly, over and over. “How could I not be happy?” he whispered. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted with you.”

I smiled through my tears, my heart swelling with love for him. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing through my hair. “But we’re in this together, always.”

After a moment, he pulled me back just enough to look into my eyes. “Wait... is this why Blake went out earlier? To get a test?”

I nodded, laughing softly. “Yeah, she knew I needed to find out.”

Hugh chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to thank her later!”

I wiped at my face, feeling lighter, freer than I had in hours. “We should tell Ryan and Blake.” I said softly.

Hugh smiled, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “Yeah, let’s tell them.”

We called out to Ryan and Blake, who came into the bedroom looking curious. Ryan, as always, was already grinning, clearly suspicious that something was up.

“Alright, what’s the big secret?” Ryan asked, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “You two have been waaaay too quiet!”

Hugh and I exchanged a look, and then I took a deep breath before saying, “We have some news... I’m pregnant!”

Ryan’s eyes widened for a second, and then that trademark grin of his spread across his face. “Well damn, Hugh, looks like you’ve got pretty good aim!”

Blake slapped his arm, but she was laughing, tears already welling up in her eyes. “Ryan, stop it!” she scolded, though her smile was just as wide.

Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. “Seriously, though, congrats, you two. That’s incredible!” He pulled Hugh into a hug, then turned to me, his expression softening. “You’re gonna be amazing at this.”

Blake immediately rushed to hug me, her voice quiet and full of emotion. “I’m so happy for you! And I'm so proud of you!” she whispered. “This is huge.”

I smiled, hugging her back tightly. “Thank you, Blake. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As we all sat down, the conversation naturally shifted to the baby, to the future. Hugh held my hand the entire time, his thumb brushing back and forth over my skin as we talked about doctor’s appointments, ultrasounds, and everything that was to come. Through it all, I felt Hugh’s love and excitement radiating from him. And I knew, without a doubt, that everything would be okay. We were going to be a family.

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@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sylviavf @bethexo07 @rachb629 @chronicallybubbly @marvelgirlie-4

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[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Cotton Candy

MDNI!!!

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to my bby girl @ethanhoewke! Ily mwa <3 as always, beta read by @teaflavoredwitch. Bucky Barnes x female reader, established relationship, PORN, p in v sex, blow job, oral fixation, finger sucking, biting, choking, unprotected sex, size kink, praise kink, hair pulling, lingerie, slow dancing, light dom/sub, gentle dom Bucky, sweet & fluffy, boyfriend Bucky, TFATWS Bucky

My 200 follower fic raffle is going on here!

Word count: 9.2k

“Hi Bucky,” You chirp sweetly as his front door swings open, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You looked up at Bucky, your eyes sparkling with excitement and nervous anticipation. The pink fabric of your dress swished around your thighs and hugged your body like it was made just for you. You tried your best to look perfect for your first Valentine’s Day with Bucky, hair done in that style you know he likes, minimal makeup only to accentuate your natural beauty. Bucky always had a way of making you feel like the prettiest woman in the world, even when you had food poisoning and he came over to take care of you. And tonight, you hoped it would be your first time sleeping with Bucky, so you felt the need to go the extra mile.

Bucky couldn't help but let his eyes roam appreciatively over your figure as he stood there, taking in every curve of your body draped in that soft, pretty pink dress. The color suited you perfectly, bringing a rosy glow to your cheeks and a sparkle to your eyes that made his heart do funny things in his chest. He had to remind himself to close his mouth, snapping it shut as he met your shy gaze. A slow, warm smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Well, don't you look like a dream come true," he murmured, his deep voice soft and slightly rough, like velvet wrapped in sandpaper. He stepped closer, reaching out to take your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin as he brought it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his blue eyes never leaving yours. "Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart."

He lingered for a moment, his lips still pressed against your hand, before he reluctantly let it go. The scent of your perfume, something sweet like vanilla, filled his nose and made him want to pull you closer. But he resisted, knowing he had to take this slow. He wanted tonight to be perfect for you.

Bucky stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. As you crossed the threshold, he couldn't help but admire the sway of your hips, the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves in all the right places. He swallowed hard, feeling a familiar heat pooling in his gut. But he pushed those thoughts aside, wanting to focus on making this a night you’d never forget.

Once inside, Bucky took your coat, hanging it up in the closet before turning back to you with a soft smile. The apartment was dimly lit, candles flickering on every surface, casting a warm glow over everything. Soft jazz music played softly in the background, the kind of music he knew you loved. He had even gone out of his way to dig his record player and collection of vintage vinyl records out of storage to set the mood.

But the real piece de resistance was the table set up in the living room. A white tablecloth draped over a small, round table, with two place settings, complete with fine china and crystal glassware. A bucket of ice chilled a bottle of champagne, while a single red rose tucked into a vase in the center of the table. The scent of Italian food wafted from the kitchen, the aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air.

Bucky watched as you took in the scene, your eyes widening in surprise and delight. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, knowing that he had done all of this for you. It may not have been much, but it was a start. A promise of so much more to come.

"I wanted tonight to be special," he explained softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone. "I know we’ve only been dating for a little while but I really like you and I wanted to give you a reason to smile. To remind you that you deserve to be cherished and adored." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "And I want to be the one to do that. I want to be the one to make you feel loved, babygirl."

His voice was low and rough with emotion, a raw honesty to his words that sent a shiver down your spine. He could feel the way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched in your throat. It spurred him on, made him want to do so much more. He wanted to worship every inch of your body, to show you exactly what you meant to him.

But he knew he had to take this slow. Knew that he had to let you set the pace, to make sure you were ready for this step. So he pulled back slightly, his hand falling away from your cheek as he looked down at you with a soft, tender smile.

“What do you say we have dinner first, huh? Then maybe we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, see where the night takes us?" He smirked, a playful glint in his blue eyes as he held out his hand for you to take. "I promise I'll be on my best behavior. At least until after dessert." He winked, trying to keep the mood light and teasing, even as a heady promise lingered beneath his words.

He knew what he wanted tonight to end with. Knew that he wanted to make love to you, to show you the depths of his feelings and the commitment he was willing to make to you.

A huge smile spread across your lips, making your nose crinkle slightly. You brought a hand up to your chest, clasping it over your heart as if to contain the fluttery feeling growing there.

“Wow," You breathed out happily, "This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, Bucky! I can't believe you did all of this for little old me." Your voice was filled with genuine awe and appreciation, a light blush blooming across your cheeks.

You did a slow turn, taking in every detail - the flickering candles casting a warm glow, the record player spinning a vinyl, the table set for romance with the finest china and crystal. The aroma of Italian cuisine teased your nose, making your stomach rumble softly. You felt like a princess in a fairy tale, and Bucky was your dashing prince. You turned back to face him, looking up at him, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy.

"Bucky, this is...I don't even have words. It's like a dream come true," You murmured, reaching out to take his hand. Your fingers trembled slightly as they entwined with his much larger, calloused ones. You could feel the heat and strength of his touch, and it made your heart race in anticipation. And in that moment, standing there in his apartment, you had never looked more beautiful to him.

You leaned in closer, standing on your tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to Bucky's cheek, your lips soft and warm and tempting. When you pulled back, you smiled up at him shyly, a newfound confidence and hunger burning in your eyes. Bucky couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and satisfaction as he watched you take in the romantic scene he had so carefully crafted just for you. The way your eyes widened in awe and your cheeks flushed a soft, rosy hue was all the confirmation he needed to know that he had done something special. Something right.

When you turned to face him, your hand reaching out to take his, Bucky felt a jolt of electricity course through his body at your touch. Your fingers were so small and delicate in comparison to his calloused, work-roughened hand. He could have easily crushed them, but instead, he held them gently, reverently, as if they were the most precious thing in the world to him.

And in that moment, they were. You were.

Bucky listened as you spoke, your voice soft and filled with a genuine enthusiasm that made his heart swell in his chest. He had done this for you. He had gone above and beyond to make you feel cherished and special, and the fact that it had worked only served to encourage him further.

But then you leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek in the softest of kisses. And Bucky felt like he had been struck by lightning. His skin tingled where your lips had touched, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the heat of the candles or the fireplace crackling in the corner.

He looked down at you, his blue eyes darkening with a hunger that was harder to ignore. The way you gazed up at him, your eyes filled with a myriad of emotions, made something aching and raw stir deep within him. In that moment, he knew with absolute certainty that you were his. That he would do anything, absolutely anything, to keep you by his side.

Bucky knew he should probably say something, should probably try to be charming and witty, to keep the mood light and playful. But all he could think about was the way your lips felt against his skin, and the way your body had felt pressed up against his. He wanted to touch you, to explore every curve and dip and hollow of your body until he had committed it all to memory.

Instead, he raised your hand to his lips, pressing another kiss to your knuckles that lingered perhaps a little too long. He could smell the scent of your perfume, it made his head swim with desire. It was a scent that he knew he would forever associate with you, with happiness and contentment and a feeling of coming home.

"I'm glad you like it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Because you deserve to be treated like a queen. You deserve to be worshipped and adored and cherished in every way possible."

He let your hand go reluctantly, but only so that he could wrap his arm around your waist and pull you flush against him. He could feel the warmth of your flesh, the soft give of your tummy, the flare of your hips. It made him want to groan out loud, to bury his face in the crook of your neck and just breathe you in.

But he didn't. Instead, he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of your cheek. He traced the curve of your jaw, the line of your throat, the delicate arch of your eyebrow. He committed every detail to memory, knowing that he would need to draw on these memories in the dark, lonely nights when you were not by his side.

You glanced up at him with a playful smirk, eyes sparkling with mirth, you tilted your head to the side, "I must say, Sergeant Barnes, I'm really am amazed by all of this..." You hummed, gesturing around at the candlelit table and the romantic ambiance. "I didn't realize you had it in you to be such a hopeless romantic. So tell me, did you slave away all day in the kitchen to whip up this feast?" You teased, batting your long lashes at him flirtatiously.

Bucky chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that rumbled in his chest and made your toes curl in your pretty shoes. He shook his head, his brown hair falling across his forehead in a way that made him look even more handsome if that was possible. At the same time, his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers splaying across your skin and giving you a little squeeze, a gentle reminder of how strong he was.

"Nah, doll. I may be many things, but a gourmet chef ain't one of them," he said with a smirk and a wink. "I ordered from that fancy Italian place downtown. The one with the red and white checkered tablecloths and the old guy who keeps trying to sell you wine and take you on a date."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But don't you worry, babygirl. I made sure to get one of everything on the menu. I wanted tonight to be perfect for you, so I pulled out all the stops." With that, he took your hand and led you towards the dining table. He pulled out your chair for you like the gentleman he was, waiting for you to take your seat before pushing it back in and leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the shell of your ear.

"I hope you're hungry, sweetheart. Because I plan on feeding you until you're stuffed. Then, if you're still hungry after that..." His voice dropped to a low, husky tone as he nipped lightly at your earlobe. "Well, I might have a few more ideas on how to satisfy your appetite."

He straightened up and walked around the table to take his own seat across from you. As he sat down, he grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and popped the cork, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet of the apartment. He poured the bubbly liquid into your glass, the golden color catching the flickering light of the candles, before filling his own glass.

He raised his glass in your direction, a slow, roguish smile spreading across his handsome face. "To us, babygirl. To the start of something amazing."

He clinked his glass against yours, the sound ringing out like a promise, a vow. His blue eyes never left yours as he brought the glass to his lips and took a long, slow sip. He swallowed, his throat working with the motion, before setting the glass back down on the table. Then, he stood up and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the soft strains of jazz music filling the air. 

A moment later, he returned with two plates piled high with food - pasta, pizza, calzones, garlic bread, the works. He set a plate down in front of you before taking his own seat, looking at you with a proud, almost smug smile. "There you go, doll. Eat up now. You're gonna need your energy for later." He winked, his voice a low, wicked promise as he reached for his fork and knife. "And don't worry, babygirl. I'll make sure you get dessert later...no matter what it takes."

He smirked, a dark glint in his blue eyes as he cut into the pasta, the fork and knife screeching against the fine china. Then, he brought the fork to his mouth and took a bite, his eyes never leaving yours as he chewed, savored, and swallowed. All the while, his gaze remained locked with yours, a silent conversation passing between you. A conversation of unspoken words and unspoken desires, of promises and expectations and a hunger that had nothing to do with the food in front of you.

You ate your food languidly, taking small, savoring bites. You closed your eyes, a soft moan escaping your lips as the rich, buttery flavors exploded on your tongue - the crispy garlic bread, the creamy risotto, the tangy red sauce. Each morsel was a taste of heaven, a sensual indulgence. You could feel the warmth of the champagne tingling in your chest, bubbling through your veins.

You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, relishing the crisp effervescence that danced on your tongue and slid down your throat with a satisfying smoothness. The alcohol buzzed lightly in your head, heightening your senses, making every touch and taste and sound feel amplified, “I’m surprised by all this. You’re so quiet and broody, I didn’t realize you were so suave, Sergeant Barnes,” You tease, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system.

Bucky threw back his head and laughed, a rich, heartfelt sound that filled the room and made your chest feel warm and fluttery. He shook his head, as he looked at you with a rueful smile. "Quiet and broody, huh?" he said, arching one dark eyebrow. "I guess I can see how you might think that, doll. I ain't exactly known for my silver tongue and charm."

He reached across the table to take your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against your soft skin and sending a shiver running up your arm. He brought your hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "But for you, sweetheart, I'm willing to learn. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel special. To make you feel cherished and worshipped and like the angel you are."

He turned your hand over in his, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. His touch was firm and sure, the touch of a soldier who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. "I never realized that a romantic gesture could feel so good," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sounded like it was meant only for your ears. "But with you, it's different. Everything feels different. It's like I'm seeing the world through a whole new set of eyes."

He lifted your hand to his cheek, holding it against the stubble that darkened his jawline. He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing you in, your scent and your warmth and the feeling of your skin against his. "And maybe it's too soon to say this, but fuck, doll...I think I'm falling in love with you. I think I'm falling in love with everything about you, from the way your mind works to the way your body moves to the way your fucking soul shines out of your eyes."

He opened his eyes to look at you, his gaze intense and burning with a fierceness that made your heart race and your toes curl. There was a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn't seen before, a raw and naked emotion that made you want to reach out and pull him close and never let him go. But instead, you just looked at him, your own eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness and gratitude. Your heart felt so full that you thought it might burst, so stuffed with affection and adoration and a feeling of belonging that you never wanted to let go. Bucky must have seen the way your eyes glistened with emotion, because he smiled softly and brushed his thumb across your cheek, catching a stray tear before it could fall.

"Hey, sweetheart...no crying now," he said, his voice low and gentle and filled with care. "Tonight's supposed to be a happy occasion, yeah? So why don't you give me that pretty smile of yours, and let me take care of everything else?"

You gazed up at Bucky with tear-filled eyes, your pouty lips curled into a radiant, trembling smile. You licked your lips nervously, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of the champagne on your tongue. Your voice was a breathy, delighted whisper as you spoke, "Oh, Bucky...I thought it was just me. I never dreamed you felt the same way. But hearing you say it..." A single tear slipped down your soft, flushed cheek, glistening in the candlelight. "I'm falling for you too. Hard. So hard it scares me sometimes."

You reached up with a shaking hand to cup Bucky's stubbled cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you traced his strong jawline. Your heart raced in your chest, pounding against your ribs like a drumbeat of desire and anticipation. "I'm not usually one for grand gestures or fancy words, but this...you...it's everything. It's more than everything. It's like you see me in a way no one else ever has, like you understand every part of me, inside and out."

Your voice hitched on a sob, but you pressed on, unable to hold back the words any longer. "I want to give myself to you, all of myself. Body, heart, and soul. I want to be yours, completely and totally. Forever and always."

You leaned in closer, until your lips were a mere breath away from Bucky's. "So please, kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it, like you want to devour me whole. Kiss me like you'll never stop, because I don't think I can bear to live without your lips on mine for even a moment longer."

With that, you closed your eyes and parted your lips, a silent plea and a promise all in one. You were offering yourself to him, completely and wholly. 

Bucky's breath caught in his throat as he gazed down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce, all-consuming love that threatened to overwhelm him. He had felt many things in his long life - hunger, pain, rage, sorrow, guilt...but this feeling, this overwhelming tenderness and devotion, was something entirely new and terrifying in its intensity.

He saw the way your eyes shone with unshed tears, the way your bottom lip trembled with emotion and anticipation. He heard the breathy whisper of your voice, the hitch in your throat as you poured out your heart to him. And he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that you were offering him everything. Everything you had, everything you were, everything you could ever hope to be.

And god, he wanted it. He wanted to take it all, to grab it with both hands and hold it close and never, ever let it go. He wanted to possess you, to claim you, to make you his in every way possible. But most of all, he wanted to cherish you. To worship you and adore you and love you with every fiber of his being, for as long as he lived and drew breath.

So when you leaned in, your lips parting in a silent plea, Bucky didn't hesitate. He closed the scant distance between you, his mouth coming down on yours in a kiss that was hungry and desperate and full of a need that bordered on rabid. He kissed you like a drowning man seeking air, his lips moving over yours with a fierce, almost bruising intensity. He nipped at your bottom lip, his teeth scraping against the tender flesh before soothing it with his tongue. He licked into your mouth, his tongue delving deep to taste the sweet champagne and the salt of your tears, the unique flavor that was purely, uniquely you.

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through the soft curls of your hair. He gripped the strands tight, holding you in place as he angled your head to deepen the kiss, to plunder your mouth with a single-minded purpose. He kissed you until you were breathless, until your lungs burned for air and your head spun with the force of it. He kissed you until he felt your knees buckle, until he had to wrap his arm around your waist to keep you upright, to pull you flush against him.

And even then, he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Because now that he had tasted paradise, now that he had held heaven in his arms...he knew he would never be able to let you go. He broke the kiss only when absolutely necessary, when the need for air became too great to ignore. As he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps that matched your own.

"Fuck, doll..." he rasped, his voice a low, guttural growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I never...I mean, I don't...I can't..."

He swallowed hard, his throat working with the effort of trying to find the right words. But there were no words, not for a feeling this big, this all-encompassing. So he just held you tighter, pulling you so close that you could feel the pounding of his heart against your own.

"I love you," he said finally, the words a vow and a promise and a statement of fact all rolled into one. "I fucking love you so much, babygirl. More than anything in this goddamn world."

He kissed you again then, softer this time, slower. A kiss full of tenderness and care and a quiet, steady devotion. A kiss that said 'I'm yours, forever and always, no matter what.'

You smile into the kiss, giggling breathlessly as you melt into Bucky's strong arms. After a moment, you feel him begin to sway, and realize he's leading you in a slow dance, moving in time to the soft jazz music playing on the record player. Pressing closer, you rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. You can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the firmness of his muscles, the cool metal ridge of his dog tags. It makes you feel so small and delicate, so protected and cherished.

As you dance, you let your fingers walk playfully up his chest, feeling the contours and dips. You tilt your head to look up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and adoration. "You're such a sap, aren't you Sergeant Barnes?" You tease softly, a pretty blush coloring your cheeks. "I never would've guessed you had these kinds of moves."

Bucky just smirks and spins you out, before pulling you back in close, fitting your soft curves against his hard planes. "I got many moves, doll. Haven't even scratched the surface yet."

You shudder at the promise in his voice, a thrill running through you. Your breasts press against him as you slip your arms around his neck, fingers playing with his dark hair. As you sway, you can't help but feel like you’re living in a dream. Or maybe, a fairytale. It's hard to believe that a man like Bucky, so strong, so fierce, once so scary...could love you. But the way he holds you, touches you, kisses you...tells you he means it.

"Take me to bed, Bucky," You breathe against his neck, nipping at his ear. "Please...I need you." Your voice is soft, almost pleading. But there's a strength in it too. A sureness, a knowing. You know what you want. And you want him.

Bucky felt a shudder run through him at your breathy plea, your words igniting a fire in his blood that he couldn't ignore. He had been holding himself back, determined to make this night perfect for you, to show you the depth of his feelings and his commitment to you. But now, with the feel of your soft curves pressed so deliciously against him, your fingers playing in his hair and your lips brushing against his ear...fuck. He was done waiting.

In one swift, smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he strode purposefully towards the bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him, not wanting any interruptions, any distractions, as he laid you down gently on the plush comforter. He stood over you for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you - your hair spreading out around your head like a halo, your cheeks flushed and your lips kiss-swollen, your chest heaving with anticipation. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one to reveal the expanse of his tanned, muscular chest. His vibranium arm gleamed in the low light, a testament to his past, but his other hand was soft and sure as it pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. His dog tags hung proudly from his neck, causing a small small smile to grace your lips. Bucky’s pants quickly join the pile of clothes on the floor, earning a blush from you. This is the most you’ve seen him undressed during your relationship and the sight goes straight to your cunt, gooey and slick and hot. He climbs onto the bed, covering your body with his own, the heat of his skin seeping into yours. He brushed your hair back from your face, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your jaw, the soft swell of your bottom lip.

"I want to take my time with you, babygirl," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to worship every inch of this gorgeous body of yours, to make you feel so, so good."

He dipped his head to press a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point and making you gasp. He paused for a moment, just looking at you in the candlelight, his eyes dark and hungry as they took in the sight of you beneath him in your dress. "Fuck, doll," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You're so goddamn beautiful. I can't believe you're really here, that you're really mine."

Bucky's breath caught in his throat as he slowly peeled your dress off your body, revealing the luscious curves that lay beneath. As the fabric slipped away, he beheld a vision that made his heart stutter and his cock jump to attention. You lay before him, clad in a sinful scrap of maroon lace and satin that clung to every generous curve. The teddy cupped and lifted your ample breasts, the delicate lace barely containing their full, rounded shape. Rosy nipples peaked prominently through the thin fabric, begging to be tasted and teased. His gaze drifted down the sweetheart neckline to your nipped-in waist and the flare of your hips. The lingerie hugged the swell of your ass, the lace disappearing between the tempting globes.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, his voice a guttural rasp. "babygirl, that...fuck. You're a goddamn knockout."

He ran a calloused hand reverently over the swell of your breast, feeling the way your nipple pebbled at his touch. Hooking a finger under the lace, he slowly, torturously dragged it down, watching your skin flush and your chest heave with anticipation. His other hand traced the dip and curve of your waist, the flare of your hip, before gripping the generous flesh of your ass. He squeezed, relishing the way it yielded to his touch, before suddenly flipping you onto your stomach.

“Wait, wait,” You whisper, feeling far more bold than usual. Perhaps it’s the champagne, perhaps it’s the way Bucky makes you feel like the most precious thing in the world. You want to return the feeling tenfold, so you lick your lips and sit up slowly in the center of the mattress, “I…I want to do something for you. Switch spots with me, here, sit on the edge of the bed.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your sudden boldness, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He had never seen this side of you before, this tantalizing glimmer of mischief and desire. It made his blood run hot and his cock twitch with anticipation. But he was nothing if not accommodating, especially to his beloved girl. So he sat back on his heels, watching you with a hungry, appreciative gaze as you sat up and patted the space in front of you. He moved to comply, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed, his naked chest on full display. The candlelight flickered over the hard planes and angles, casting shadows that danced across his skin. He looked like a god, all power and strength and raw, masculine beauty.

You settle between his powerful thighs, the heat of his skin seeping into yours as you kneel before him. Catching his gaze with your own, you press your cheek against the firm muscle of his thigh, feeling the strength that lies beneath. Your fingers dance along the metallic surface of his vibranium hand, tracing the cool, hard ridges and grooves.

You bring his metal fingers to your soft, spit-slick lips, brushing them back and forth until you reach his thumb. Maintaining eye contact,you part your lips and draw his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth, suckling gently at first before increasing the pressure. Your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing the cool metal as you hold his captivated gaze.

Your other hand slowly, teasingly runs up his muscular calf, nails lightly scraping over his skin. You can feel the coarseness of his leg hair beneath your fingertips, the strength of his leg muscles flexing slightly in response to your touch. Higher and higher your hand roams, not stopping until you reach the thick, heavy length of his cock. You wrap your fingers around it, feeling it throb against your palm, already hard and ready, all because of you.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat as your soft, warm lips closed around his thumb, your tongue swirling and teasing the cool vibranium. He had felt many things in his life, but the sensation of your mouth on his metal hand was unlike anything he had experienced before - electric, intense, and fucking incredible. He watched, mesmerized, as you slowly pumped his thick, hard cock with your small, delicate hand. The contrast of your soft, flushed skin against his own weathered, tanned flesh was erotic as hell, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to grab you, pin you down under him, and rail you into oblivion.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and fisted his hand in the bed sheets beneath him, fighting the urge to take control. He wanted to let you lead this, wanted to see what you would do, wanted to feel your passion and your hunger. But fuck if it wasn't the hardest thing he had ever done, holding himself back when every instinct screamed at him to take, to possess, to fucking ruin you with pleasure. He swallowed hard and forced himself to ask, his voice a low, strangled growl, "Is that how you want to use your mouth, babygirl? Because if you keep that up, I’m worried I won’t last long.”

Bucky shuddered as your soft, slick lips peppered playful kisses along each of his metal fingers, the sensation electric even through the material. He clenched his organic fist, knuckles white, as your attention turned to his aching cock. There was no warning, no hesitation, just the immediate heat of your eager mouth engulfing him.

"Ohhhh fuck," he groaned, head falling back as your lips wrapped around his thick girth and your tongue flicked out to tease the sensitive underside. His hips jerked reflexively, fighting the urge to thrust into the welcome warmth. Bucky squirmed as he felt your free hand roaming boldly over his muscular thigh, your blunt nails scraping deliciously across his skin. He flexed involuntarily, groaning low in his throat. But then your fingers found his cloth-covered balls and he nearly punched through the mattress as a bolt of pure lust shot through him. The contrast of your softness and his aching, swollen flesh was dizzying and he fisted a hand in your hair to anchor himself.

"It's...oh god, babygirl, your mouth feels...fuck...so damn good," he panted, iron will battling the instinct to grab your hair and fuck your face until he spilled down your throat. "If you keep that up, can't...Christ...can't promise I'll last."

Bucky’s reaction spurs you on, so you whine, batting your lashes in silent communication. You scoot forward, impossibly closer and take even more of his rigid length into your mouth, drool leaking out around it and dripping down your chin.

Bucky let out a low, feral growl as he felt your lips stretch around his thick, throbbing cock. The wet heat of your mouth was incredible, your tongue like velvet as it teased and stroked along the sensitive flesh. He could feel every flick, every swirl, every dip and curve of the velvety muscle as it explored his shaft. His grip tightened in your hair, his metal hand flexing and tensing as he fought the urge to take control, to fuck your pretty face until tears streamed down your cheeks and you choked and sputtered around his thick cock. He could feel the desperation building in his balls, the ache of impending release coiling hot and tight in his belly. Fuck, he had never been this turned on in his life, never felt a hunger this primal, this consuming. But goddamn if he wasn't determined to make this good for you too. Determined to worship your heavenly  body, to make you scream and shake and come undone all over his cock.

He tugged gently on your hair, urging you off his shaft with a hiss of regret. "Babygirl, wait..." he growled, voice strained and ragged. "I...fuck, I need to taste you too. Need to make you feel good, sweetheart."

He pulled you up his body, his bionic arm wrapping around your waist to crush you against his muscular chest. His mouth found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep to claim your mouth, to fuck your face the way he ached to fuck your other holes. He kissed you until you were breathless and clinging to his broad shoulders, until your panties were soaked through and your cunt was clenching around nothing. Then he flipped you onto your back and settled his hard, muscular body between your softer, curvier one. He looked down at you with hot, hungry eyes that blazed with lust and adoration.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you," he rasped, his weight pressing down on you, pinning you to the mattress. "Need to feel this sweet little cunt squeezing my cock, baby. You ready for me, sweetheart?"

You bit your plump bottom lip shyly, peering up at him through long, curling lashes as you slowly, teasingly spread your plush thighs apart. Exposing yourself to his ravenous gaze, you arched your back slightly to present your glistening sex. Your blushing cheeks and nose scrunched up adorably as you fluttered your lashes. “I'm ready, Bucky,” you breathed, your voice a needy whisper. The scent of your arousal mingled with the lingering aroma of vanilla and champagne perfuming the air between you.

Your perky breasts heaved with each anticipating breath, the rosy nipples hardened into tight little peaks. Nuzzling your chin against his chest, you gazed up at him with hooded, desire-drunk eyes, your breathless plea unmistakable. “Please, Bucky... I need you. I'm all yours... every inch of me is yours to take.'"

Bucky shuddered as your legs fell open, revealing the glistening perfection of your bare cunt. The scent of your arousal and sight of you finally bare for him made his mouth water and his cock throb. He could see how wet you were, how ready and eager for him. Your puffy lips were slick and swollen, just begging to be spread open around his thick, hard flesh. He wanted to bury his face in your sweet little pussy, to lap up every drop of your slick until you were writhing and screaming his name. But more than that, he needed to be inside you. Needed to feel your velvet heat clamping down around him, needed to hear you moan and gasp as he stretched you open and filled you up. He reached down to grip your thighs, his fingers sinking into the soft, pliant flesh as he pushed them further apart, opening you even more to him. He could feel you trembling beneath his touch, could sense your anticipation and your need.

"Fuck, babygirl," he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart. So goddamn sexy spread out like this for me."

He notched the broad head of his cock against your entrance, feeling the slick, scorching heat of you kissing the tip of his cock. He rolled his hips, coating his tip in your juices, getting himself slick and ready.

"I'm gonna fuck this needy little cunt so good," he promised darkly. "Gonna make you scream and shake and come all over my big, thick cock. You want that, babygirl? Want me to split you open and fuck you raw?" He looked down at your cute, flushed face, at your big eyes clouded with lust and desire, and he knew he had never wanted anything more in his life. 

He drank in every inch of your exposed flesh, from your blushing cheeks and cute little nose to your heaving, perfect tits and the dusting of freckles across your cleavage. You looked like a goddamn wet dream come to life, a fucking goddess of lust and desire. And when you arched that back to present yourself to him, your pleading words tumbling from your kiss-swollen lips, he was done for. Completely, utterly done.

"Fuck, babygirl," he groaned, his voice rough and low and dripping with desire. "You're mine, all mine. Gonna make you feel so fucking good."

He reached down with his human hand to line himself up, the swollen head of his cock nudging against your slick, wet entrance. He teasingly rubbed himself from clit to hole, before slowly, inch by tortuous inch, he pushed forward. Your velvety walls stretched around him, hugging his thick shaft as he pressed deeper and deeper inside you. He had to grit his teeth and take it slow, fighting the urge to slam forward and bury himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. But goddamn, the feeling of your tight, hot cunt enveloping him, squeezing him like a fucking vice, was indescribable. Incredible. Better than anything he had ever felt before.

“Shit, sweetheart," he grunted as he finally bottomed out, his heavy balls nestling against your ass. "So fucking tight. Gonna ruin this sweet little pussy, babygirl. Gonna fuck you so hard, so deep, you'll be feeling me for days."

You gasp brokenly, eyes rolling back as Bucky sinks to the hilt inside you. Your hands shoot up to grasp his biceps, nails digging into the flesh of his organic arm. "Jesus," you wheeze out, overwhelmed by the sensation of being impaled on his cock, "I've never felt so full in my life." Your hips squirm and roll instinctively, trying to adjust to his sheer size as you pant softly against his neck.

Bucky groaned deeply as he felt your fingers digging into his biceps, your petite body squirming and rolling beneath him as you familiarized yourself with his massive size. He could feel every flutter, every clench, every desperate little movement of your velvet walls as they struggled to accommodate his thick, aching cock. "Take your time, babygirl," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Take all the time you need. Gonna make this so good for you, sweetheart."

He brushed a strand of hair back from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as he gazed down at you with a tender, almost reverent expression. He loved seeing you like this - dazed, drunk on lust, worshipping every inch of his cock with your tight, perfect pussy.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful like this, doll. Spread out beneath me, stuffed full of my dick. Knew you'd have a hot little cunt, but shit... never imagined it would feel this good." His thumb brushed across your trembling lower lip, his eyes darkening with hunger as he watched your breathless pants. He rolled his hips slowly, shallowly, letting you feel every thick inch of him as he ground against your sensitive walls. "Shit baby, your pussy is gripping me like a fucking fist. Gonna ruin this cute little cunt, doll. Gonna fucking wreck you."

Bucky raked his lips and tongue over your slender neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses and sharp little nips in their wake. He lavished attention on your delicate collarbone before dipping down to worship your heaving tits, his metal hand cupping the soft, plush mound reverently. He circled his thumb pads around your areolas, teasing the sensitive skin until they pebbled and strained against his touch. Then, with a low groan, he hauled one aching peak into his mouth, suckling greedily as his metal fingers plucked at the other. You whimpered and writhed beneath him, the rough drag of his teeth and tongue on your tender nipples sending jolts of electricity zinging straight to your dripping core. Your thighs clenched around his waist, sharp heels digging into the firm globes of his muscular ass.

Bucky could feel your velvet walls starting to relax, to soften and flutter around his throbbing shaft as you adjusted to his size. He rolled his hips, stroking along your inner walls, loving the slick glide of your juices coating his thick cock. Sliding a hand down to where you were connected, he ran a finger through your soaked folds, circling your swollen clit and feeling you tremble. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, voice a low, lust-rough rasp. "Gonna make this pussy feel so fucking good."

Bucky began to move, slowly at first, easing you into the thick, heavy thrusts of his hips. He watched your face as he fucked into you, memorizing every gasp, every whimper, every flash of pure pleasure that crossed your expressive features. His pace increased gradually, building to a steady, pounding rhythm. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the creaking of the bed and your breathless cries.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy feels incredible," he groaned, his eyes burning into yours. "So fucking tight, so fucking hot. Gonna - ungh - fuck, gonna fill this cunt up so good. Pump you full of my cum, sweetheart."

He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening you up, driving even deeper into your molten core. His metal hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into the plush flesh as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts rocking you against the headboard. You giggled breathlessly as Bucky’s dog tags bounced and swayed in front of your face with each powerful thrust of his hips. The metallic clink-clink sound mingled with the erotic symphony of your lovemaking, spurring him on.

He reached down to grab the swinging tags, his fingers brushing against your lips. His grin widened and in one swift motion, he grabbed the tags in his teeth. The sight of him- all rugged and dominant with his dog tags clutched between white teeth and his piercing blue eyes drunk on lust as he fucked into you - made you clench hard around his pistoning shaft.

"Bucky!" You gasped, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my god, yes!" Your nails scrabbled at his back as you clung to him. Bucky snarled around the dog tags clenched in his teeth, the sound reverberating through his chest. The sight of you arching beneath him, your back bowed, your tits bouncing with each fierce thrust, your nails raking down his back, drove him absolutely wild. He released the tags, letting them fall against his chest as he crashed his mouth against yours in a bruising, demanding kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, fucking your face with the same brutal rhythm he used to slam into your cunt.

"Fuck yeah, scream for me babygirl," he growled against your lips, his hips never faltering. "Wanna hear you, sweetheart. Let everyone know who this pussy belongs to."

His metal hand slid down to grip your ass, kneading the round cheek, pulling you harder against him. His other hand found your wrists, pinning them above your head as he loomed over you, a dark, dominant figure intent on claiming every inch of your body. He could feel your cunt starting to flutter around him, your juices dripping down his shaft, your walls squeezing him like a vice. He fucked you through it, his rhythm never stopping, never letting up, determined to make you come undone on his cock. His metal hand wrapped around your slender throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into him. At the same time, his human hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your neck to his greedy mouth.

Bucky wasted no time, his lips and teeth and tongue attacking the smooth expanse of your skin. He sucked dark marks into your flesh, surely he would leave a collar of love bites around your throat. His teeth sank into the soft spot where your neck met your shoulder, marking you, claiming you.

"Fuck, come for me babygirl," he growled against your skin, his hips slamming into yours with brutal force. "I can feel this cunt getting tight, sweetheart. Gonna fucking drench my cock, aren’t you? Fuck, I'm gonna pump you so full of my cum. Breed this sweet little pussy, babygirl."

His metal fingers flexed around your throat as his human hand gripped your hair tighter. He could feel your body tensing, your legs starting to shake, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He knew you were close, could feel your release approaching like a freight train.

You whimper and squirm, trembling and arching wantonly into Bucky as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your eyes roll back, fluttering shut as ecstasy consumes you, your velvet walls clenching rhythmically around his throbbing shaft. You’re drowning in sensation, lost to the intense, pulsing bliss radiating from where you’re joined.

"That's it, fuck, yes! Take it, babygirl! Take my fucking load!" he groaned, slamming into you one, two, three more times before burying himself to the hilt. His cock jerked and pulsed as he came hard, painting your fluttering walls with thick ropes of his hot seed. He collapsed against you, hips still twitching, metal hand still wrapped loosely around your throat, as he filled you with spurt after spurt of his cum. He could feel it leaking out around his shaft, dripping down to soak into the sheets beneath you.

"Fuck sweetheart," he panted, nuzzling into your neck, placing soft kisses along your jawline. "That was - ungh - goddamn, babygirl. You okay?" He pulled back to look at you, his blue eyes filled with concern and satisfaction, his expression softening as he took in your dazed, blissed-out face.

“Hah, I think you killed me," you breathed out in a giggle, your voice hoarse from moaning. Your eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused as you gazed up at Bucky. You could barely think straight, your mind still hazy from the intense fucking you just received. You nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the musky scent of his skin mixed with the sweet aroma of your arousal. Between your thighs, his seed was leaking out, dripping onto the damp sheets below. You could feel it, warm and sticky and plentiful, a testament to Bucky's virility and stamina thanks to the serum. You knew you’d be feeling this for days, your pussy sore but so wonderfully satisfied.

Bucky chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your body. He brushed your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear gently. His calloused fingers trailed down your cheek, tracing the delicate line of your jaw, the curve of your lips. “Did I though, doll? Killed you with pleasure? I'd say I brought you to life instead," he murmured, a smug smirk on his handsome face. "Shit babygirl, you look so fucking beautiful right now. Sated, fucked out, dripping with my cum. I've never seen a more perfect sight."

He rolled his hips slowly, his semi-hard cock stirring the mess inside your sensitive pussy. A low groan escaped him at the sensation, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before opening to gaze at you with heated intensity. "Feel that, sweetheart? Feel all that cum sloshing around in this greedy little cunt? Fuck, I pumped you so full, babygirl. Knew this pussy would milk me dry the second I sank into it."

Bucky's hand slid down to your chest, cupping the soft swell of your breast. He brushed his thumb over your nipple, feeling it pebble at his touch. He leaned down to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss, pouring all his desire and satisfaction into it. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Gonna keep this pussy full, baby. Gonna fuck you so full of my seed, you'll be dripping with it for days. Everyone will know this cunt belongs to me, sweetheart." His smile turned wicked, promising all sorts of indulgent, pleasurable debauchery in the near future.

You gazed up at Bucky with hazy, lovestruck eyes, your lips curled into a dreamy, satisfied smile. You tangled slender fingers in his dark hair, giving a gentle tug as you turned your face to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing in the addictive scent of your coupling mixed with his natural, rugged aroma.

"Mmm, Happy Valentine's day, Sergeant Barnes," you murmured softly, your voice a husky rasp from the enthusiastic screaming match you had indulged in mere moments prior. "I love...I love you." You punctuated the heartfelt confession with a tender, lingering kiss pressed to his chiseled jawline, your eyes fluttering shut as you savored the closeness and intimacy of the moment.

Bucky went still for a long moment as your softly spoken words washed over him, the tender kiss you placed on his jaw sending a shiver down his spine. He knew he hadn't misheard you, could feel the sincerity radiating off you in waves. But still, he needed to be sure, needed to hear you say it again when he could see the truth shining clear in your eyes. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he pulled back to look at you. His piercing blue eyes searched yours, seeing the love and affection swimming in their depths. Then he smiled, soft and sweet, breathtaking in its gentle sincerity. He cupped your face in his large hands, calloused thumbs brushing away the last of your tears. He leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours, so close he could feel your breath mingling with his own.

Then, in a low, gravelly murmur, he said, "You love me, sweetheart? You sure about that? Cause I love you too, babygirl. So fuckin' much it scares me sometimes. Thought I couldn't love anyone after...after everything. But you? You make me feel alive again. Make me believe in happy endings."

Bucky sealed his confession with a slow, deep kiss, pouring every ounce of love and tenderness he had into it. He kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him...because you were. When he finally pulled back, there was a new light in his eyes. A soft, warm glow that had nothing to do with lust or desire...and everything to do with love.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

LITTLE DEATHS (IX)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER X

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body image issues, food issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, hurt/comfort, soft!Nikto, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wake up the next morning in the silk sheets of your hotel bedroom, in nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear. Your mind is sluggish and, between flashes of electricity up your thighs, the entire night comes back in slow images as you groan into the pillow. 

A quick rush of a coat to cover ripped laces, the scream of sirens, Nikto arguing with authorities before you’re both released. 

It was a play of luck that you explained away the snapped wrist as a simple instance of Nikto being some white knight—he’d kept you safe, you’d said. The host had been forcing himself on you; it could be seen on the cameras. Paired with his service record and a call from your investigators, they’d let you go without any further trouble. 

Today, the small headache from the champagne was only a dull sting in the back of your skull; you hadn’t been drunk—hadn’t gotten to that point, anyway. 

Eyes starting at the far wall, a heat builds and builds on your face as the minutes pass. 

“Did we really…” you trail off in a whisper, hand coming up to your face as you roll onto your back and stifle a loud sound of exasperation, lips mouthing out, “Fuck.”

Nikto had left you shaking on his fingers in a damn storage room. Twice. 

Your lips thin, legs caught in the sheets. You weren’t even awake enough to understand the potential consequences—not only the intimate encounter, but the repercussions of not sleeping with Oriel would be swift and fierce. 

Never mind the broken bone. 

The sharp knife of that moment is a deadly thing, it digs deep into you until your eyes are watering. That desperation in the storage room—the things you said were true. You’d silenced your phone last night because you knew the reaction would be instant; undeniable. Even now, you shift over and slide your hand over it on the side table, only to pause and take a deep breath before turning it on. 

A sudden barrage of missed calls and texts slam into your ears before you slap the device back down and turn it off with fast fingers. 

Your eyes close tightly, flopping back down and covering your eyes. It was instinctual the way your heart started running from you—the fear seeping back in. 

They’re going to fire me, you think, hands shaking. They’re going to throw me out. 

Through the heavy understanding, through the ideas you have to try and salvage this, you pause only when something makes your nose twitch. Hesitating, your hands slip from your face slowly, eyelids peeling back a millimeter at a time. Staring at the gray ceiling, your brows pull back to their normal resting point as your face goes blank.

What is that? Palms going to the mattress, you sit up slowly and sniff. It was dough, maybe? Something sweet and toasted. 

Shifting, your feet connect with the cold floor, and you stand with a grunt, a tiny ache in the middle of your abdomen that makes your face heat and your hands rub at the back of your neck. A part of you was nervous more about what was outside of your door than what was in your phone—Nikto.

How would this go? Would he ignore the entire thing? Ignore you? 

“He doesn’t run from things,” you mutter aloud, walking and stepping on the torn laces of your dress at the foot of the bed. Your hands grasp one of the bags in your room, not caring to check the rest of the contents before you sift through and drag out a pair of dark sweatpants. 

Moving into them, the waistband is large, just as the legs are, but you’re too preoccupied to understand the way you’ve slipped into Nikto’s pants before you’re already at the door. Hands shaking over the handle, your fingers run the smooth metal before you shake your head and huff. 

Walking out, the scent of fresh pancakes makes itself known as you blink at the scene in front of you. Trying to understand if you were actually awake, or if this was still some dream in the airyness of your mind. The stuttering of your heart feels real.

Nikto was shirtless.

Shirtless, making breakfast. 

Your mouth is somewhat agape as you stare, struck down to a statue in the doorway as your eyelids flutter. Again, that bear tattoo writhes as the expansive muscle moves and twitches with work—Nikto’s front facing the pan that he works a spatula through. All of the ingredients are left on the counter, bought by him or already in the luxurious cabinets for your pleasure, you don’t know; flour, milk, among the others. Jams and honey. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, fighting between your desire to run your hands over his bare skin and the respectful sense you know you need to keep. It’s enough time for him to slap one more scoop of dough into the sizzling pan and pass the done pancake to the side where one more rests, steaming.

You hadn’t thought your words meant that much to him. 

Clearing your throat in shock, you see him glance over his shoulder swiftly. A bead of silence. 

“Come. Eat,” is what he says—no emotion heard in the voice, though you didn’t expect anything less. His pale eyes dart down you, and after a small break in the air, he chuckles. “Thief, yes?” 

“What?” Your brows crease. “I didn’t…” You look down and pause. It was fairly obvious that the pants didn’t belong to you. Your lips flattened, and your eyes flinched closed in embarrassment. “I must have gone through the wrong bag.”

Turning back, you hear a call from the Russian before you can disappear like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

“I don’t wear them. I do not mind.” There's low electricity in the air. He doesn’t know how to go about this either. 

Sighing, you shrug and nod, shifting back so you can walk to the kitchen counter and stuff your hands into your pockets. Leaning your hip to the corner, you fight the clamminess of your hands. The sweatpants pool at your ankles as your mouth opens. 

“Pancakes?” You ask lowly, glancing at him. 

He’s still in that balaclava, and his cargos are loose around his hips before being stuffed into dark boots that you’d never see him without.

“With jam,” Nikto grunts. “You will like them.”

You push out a tiny laugh. “I’ve had pancakes before, Nikto. I’m pretty sure most people have.”

“How would we know, hm?” Pale eyes narrow on yours, but it isn’t hostile. Nikto grumbles, moving the pan before he motions with a finger. “Those are done.”

You glance over at the pile and sigh, taking the plate with the two already done pancakes on it and padding over to grab the jam. Your eyes move down the label to find out which one it exactly is—gray isn’t exactly a large help—and open the sealed top with a tiny release of pressure. 

Getting fat.

You pause, one hand holding the top and the other the glass jar; eyes blank, you stare at the plate with a steadily sinking heart. Clearing your throat, you move a hand and twist the top back on, placing the jam down and shifting to grab a fork instead. 

“Do you think that the investigators will call with any updates—”

“Eat,” Nikto interrupts firmly from behind, back to back. 

Your face is tight, fingers tapping the counter. There’s a tension of something between you two, but you can’t name it. Not yet. But it’s there, like a blade cutting through a corset, it’s there. It’s what got you out of bed today, it’s what got Nikto to push himself to sleep shirtless for the first time in years. The possibility of…something. Unseen, you nod and take the food—moving away from the kitchen and sitting down on the couch, you carefully dig into breakfast and shift a dry forkful into your mouth. 

Eyes closed, your head slightly bows forward as you chew.

It was no secret that you were quiet today, and Nikto didn’t have to be as sharp-eyed as he was to notice. By now you would have teased him about the effort for the food, or even spoken about the mattress you slept on, Nikto had hypothesized. But it was just…silent. 

Nothing. 

In the kitchen, the Russian’s brows crease, lips pulling. He huffs, rolling his shoulders as his bones crack. 

He’d been up last night—for a long while—doing all the things he said he would until he had the clarity to understand hours later, that everything was a million times more complicated now that he knew the truth about this ‘trip’.

And he had to know all of it.

Nikto, truth be told, was a bit quiet himself; more than he usually was. He continued with breakfast in silence, listening to the sound of your fork tapping the plate as his brain fought with itself. The Russian’s mind told him to act like that hadn’t happened between the two of you—it was unprofessional, wrong down to the core. You were his charge, and he hadn’t hesitated for more than a second before he’d ripped open your dress and played with you like you were his own.

Why? Why was he so enamored by you? It didn’t make any sense. No one had ever mattered this much to him—it was absurd.

But whatever dead part of his heart that had come back to beat again said that ignoring this would be cruel to you; if all others in your life were, that was one thing he would not be. At least to you.

Nikto grunts under his breath and grabs his plate, stacked with six pancakes, before turning, grasping the jam with firm fingers, and heaping it on top. Blinking across to you, he pauses at your closed eyes—the dip of your head. Not only was there still food on your plate but it was set down on the coffee table, resting stationary. 

You couldn’t possibly be done already.

“Not good?” He asks, voice gruff.

You shake your head. “No, Nikto, they were perfect. I’m just not that hungry this morning.” Pale blue eyes stare, blinking slowly. 

He didn’t know what to do. 

Looking down at his breakfast, Nikto clenches his jaw. Grasping his plate and his utensil he walks over before he sits beside you, sinking the cushions and shuffling aside the blanket he’d had last night. When you look over at him, confused, he doesn’t utter a word, before his free hand sneaks up and hooks under his balaclava. 

It’s a moment, he knows, a moment of hesitation that instinctually tightens his muscles, stopping him with a shake of his fingers. And then, as he usually does, he forces himself through it. 

Slipping the fabric up to his nose, you stare openly at the strong jaw that comes to light, as well as the unspoken horror of scars. It isn’t even a minute before the Russian leans back with a grunt, and spreads his feet until his knee knocks yours before he shoves the first of his pancakes into his mouth with muffled chewing. 

Eyes darting away, you stare at your own feet tightly. 

Silence settles. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you whisper.

“Да,” his words are grumbled, even if you can’t see it, his face is beginning to burn. Heavy memories coming back. He won’t stay long like this—he can’t. It hurts. “I do not.”  

You sigh, hands moving up to rub along your face, cupping at it until all the whiteness of the hotel is hidden from your gaze. It wasn’t hard to feel him passing glances. 

Shaking your head, your hands fall, and you move to mirror his own position—back leaning and legs kicking out, except yours go to rest on the table next to your plate. 

“I think a part of me didn’t expect you to actually be here,” you say, not looking at him. “I’m not used to having to deal with…” your lips halt themselves, looking for words. “After.” 

No one ever stayed. Not anyone that mattered.

Nikto’s clinking fork pauses, stuttering on its course. He licks his lips, tasting the sweetness of jam. He continues to watch you as you continue on beside him, bare skin brushing—those large biceps caressing yours.

“I don’t want things to be awkward. If you can’t do your job without something feeling off anymore, I would understand if you wanted to leave. I’m sure my mother can get another operator from KorTac to take me on, she already had two from before that might still be available. I know last night was a lot. I don’t want you to feel…pressured, I guess. That was never my intention.”

He lets you finish, sensing you need to get some things off of your chest. When had he become so soft to this? To you? He was losing his backbone here—losing that edge that kept him…him.

Or was that ever him in the first place?

“I will not leave,” Nikto speaks slowly, lips moving every scar that lives there. “We are not ‘feeling off’. No one will look after you like us, and so no one will take our place until this stalker is either taken away or in ground.”

“And the awkward part?” You ask, glancing over, getting caught by long cuts and fissures. 

“We will deal,” Nikto’s chest rumbles, and you believe falling asleep to that sound would stop your nightmares altogether. “There are worse things than that, yes?” 

You huff a laugh. “I guess.” A second later, you lightly bump your elbow into his side. “You’re better at this kind of stuff than I’d thought you’d be.”

Dark brows furrow. 

“I am speaking truth. Nothing more.” 

“Mhm,” your lips carefully peel in a tiny smile. “Sure, Big Guy.”

Nikto scoffs, rolling his eyes before he takes down more of his breakfast. He glances over to see you peeking at his old insignia tattoo—the one on his shoulder. It was strange to him, how you took so much more interest in his ink than the scars; he’d been thinking about it last night.

It was against your nature to not ask about them, and yet…you had. No one had ever not asked about the scars. But, hm, Nikto’s eyes shimmer, it only made his chest swell when you chose not to. As if you understood the sanctity of them—the importance.

That was something that he just wasn’t ready to speak about yet.

“You like it?” He speaks.

You blink quickly, looking back up in an instant. There was no use hiding it. 

“What is it?” You ask him, glancing back down at the tattoo and tilting your head at it.

The image was of some sort of crest—a two-headed bird wearing crowns; holding items in their claws with a, smaller, image set into the middle. A man on horseback, spearing a dragon. 

“FSB crest.” Nikto’s voice goes lower, more under the breath than previously. “Reminder of service.” 

“Oh,” you mutter. “What are the colors?”

He hums. “Red, gold. Little silver. Mine is just black ink, though. Did not go back for second session.”

“I’ve thought of getting tattoos before,” you confess, moving out a slow hand to trace the outline in his flesh. You notice him still somewhat at your dragging nails, lips parting softly. “AMA would never go for it, but I’ve still wondered what it would be like.”

Nikto licks his lips, letting you feel him as he side-eyes you. His muscles soften as your heat seeps in, tingling blood under his epidermis. 

“What kind?”

“A bird, I suppose,” you hum. “I think they’re lovely.” 

Nikto tilts his head, but the questions can no longer sit in the back of his throat. “You continue to be their pawn. Why? I can make no sense of it, Seraph. You speak of yourself as if you are nothing.”

“I might not be anymore after last night,” you whisper, dropping your hand from Nikto’s flesh. Your eyes close; a heavy sigh on your lips. “I know it isn’t healthy, I know that. I know it’s wrong, and vile, and disgusting—but you have to hear me out when I tell you that the only thing I have is my looks—”

“That is a lie.” Nikto snarls, glaring over at your face as his plate hits the table. “Why do you say that? You are smart, Seraph, anyone with sense can see it. You are kind; good.” The Russian curses, repeating. “You are good.” 

“AMA needs investments,” your voice is muffled. “I’m not the only one that has to do things like this. I’m not special.”

The man grinds out, “It does not matter if a million go through it—you are here with us. It is our job to keep you safe now. It is special to me.”

“From a stalker,” you argue, body starting to go rigid at the intensity of the conversation. You didn’t like talking about this.

“From any threat,” Nikto barks. Face close to yours and his hard, crooked nose brushing skin. “Is this not a threat to you?”

You stare into his eyes, and it’s an expression he can’t recall you having. It makes him nervous—nervous for you in a way that was similar to when you’d disappeared from his sight. It was dead. Dead how his eyes would get on the bad days—when he couldn’t differentiate between himself and his body; what had really happened and what hadn’t. 

You were exhausted, and you didn’t even see it. 

“You need sleep,” he drops the hard tone immediately, eyes snapping over your face in fast jerks. “You need rest. Now.”

“I’m not tired.” Pale eyes bore through you, and you relent softly. “...I don’t want any more nightmares.” Your lips open and close. “They scare me because I can’t remember them, but I know something bad happened.”

Fingers come up and brush your cheek, leaving your lips flattening before the tears can make themselves known to him. 

There was just so much going on. 

The stalker, now AMA and potential repercussions? You thought if you had one thing, you had your job—trials and exploitations all, but you still had that. You still had something. Now you might not even have a home to go back to.

Bare arms shift, looping around you. With a roaming of skin on skin, Nikto bundles you in his arms and lifts, legs taking your weight. He moves you as your head rests burrowed into his neck—forehead to the long cut that loops around the side of his throat to the front. That one really made you shiver; the thought of it—the error he must have felt. Without thinking, you lay a tiny kiss on the skin, and Nikto’s legs only stutter once before he pushes open the bedroom door. 

Setting you down on the bed, he mumbles into your scalp before he pulls away, moving his balaclava back down with firm fingers. “What can I do?”

Your body shifts, clothed in borrowed pants and the weight of a million realities. You wished you could see the color of his eyes—those creased things that watch you so closely; the marring of the different shades of his scars. 

You wished you could pick up the courage to ask him if you were his soulmate, at the very least. The hunch was dimming, taking a backburner the longer it stayed in your mind. Surely he would say something by now? Right? With how he was, you expected Nikto to be reserved about it, but now…

Now your hope was drowning itself. 

You wished you weren’t damaged goods.

“Sit with me?” Your weak voice quivers, but no tears fall. 

Nikto stares, head tilting slowly as his now re-hidden face is a mystery. “Да. Yes.” It’s so tiny that the words are almost lost. 

So, he shifts into bed after placing his boots neatly near the bedframe, letting you scoot over as he grasps the end of the covers and moves to have his back connected to the headboard. With a large pull, the fabric slides over your body and levels at his abdomen, your head slightly above it, until scarred fingers grasp and push it down a bit.

For a bit, a heavy silence settles between the two of you. You don’t touch, you don’t talk. It’s the sound of beating hearts and rabid minds, thinking over thoughts that only serve to make things worse the longer their dark fingers are around both of your throats.

“Come,” Nikto murmurs. 

Your body instantly connects to his, hands grasping into his pants and head nuzzling his thigh. His grip finds your head, running itself over it until it ends at your shoulder and pulls you tighter to him. 

“Sleep. No nightmares, hm?” He glances down, trying to push a fractured joke. “We will scare them off.”

Your broken chuckle makes his chest tighten, and pale eyes avoid looking down at you for fear he’ll realize how addictive it is to have your flesh on his—the sensation of touch that was becoming a need. When was the last time he’d been relied on like this? Never, he thinks. 

To be protection in the barest sense. 

A boy keeping away nightmares for a girl that lays in his lap. 

No weapons, no orders. Only hands and sagging bodies, and a care that was infecting him like venom—injected into his bloodstream by white fangs. It leveled out, coating him. He wanted you to be safe, and it wasn’t just because it was his job. It was because he couldn’t imagine seeing you in pain like this—in a slow death of the mind until the body rotted away with it.  

It wasn’t right to him, and he couldn’t describe it as anything other than blasphemy. Sacrilege. Nikto didn’t have the words; maybe he never would. All that he knew was that he would kill millions to never see you harmed. He would rot in the deepest part of hell willingly, go through darkness and fire—but none of it could touch you. Not a wisp of flame; not an idea of torture. 

You were good. 

“Why do you care so much,” you whisper before you fall asleep, curious even as your eyelids are fighting to stay down.

Nikto has not taken his eyes off you. He was always honest, but this truth scares him more than any other. The nagging in the back of his skull.

“I…do not know.”

You were too good for this.

So even when he gets that text message on his phone when you’re fully sleeping, even when he shifts it out of his pocket and sees the unknown number, Nikto is not going to wake you. He’s not going to shake your head as he massages the scar that lives there, his thumb taking in the familiar bumps and dips—the trauma it caused so similar to his own. 

Nikto will not tell you of the sinking in his chest. 

The guard accepts that little death in his heart when he sees that image of the both of you in the storage room. He accepts the little death when he sees your tightly closed eyes from over his own shoulder, hands digging into his one-size-too-small suit. The obvious actions taking place that are still seared into his mind hours later. 

He accepts the little death of the caption, all in Russian but never more vile in his mind.

‘I know what you did.’

And he accepts that this stranger's death will not be so little if he ever gets his hands on him.

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[giuseppe-yuki]

imagine poor bono and mercedes staff, when mercedes makes a ball call or something happens that involves kimi and a tiger glaring whilst yawning in the background or coming over and pushing her face into the screen to see better whilst bono is sweating she is satisfied

i can imagine that 😭

since kimi’s girlfriend is super shy in her human form, she feels way more confident lounging around in the tyre storage room in her tiger form. while it may seem that she is unbothered, rolling around on her back, yawning, and pawing at the stacks of softs, she’s still definitely alert mentally and paying attention to everything going on track. you can bet your whole life that after just one incident involving kimi almost losing a podium finish due to a bad tyre call, everybody is on their best behavior. the engineers still remember that day like the back of their hand. kimi’s engineer had nearly made kimi pit for slicks even though there was a full inch of water on the ground outside. she had nosed her way through the crowd of engineers and stared kimi’s engineer’s down until he changed his mind for wets last second, but they had already wasted a few precious seconds switching out the tire compounds. all the merc employees swear on their life that kimi’s tiger almost mauled someone that day, but kimi never believed them. standing on the podium, drenched in champagne, he truly believed his girlfriend, even in tiger form, would never hurt a fly, right?

(wrong! you would rip off just about anyone’s arm if they wronged your precious kimi)