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rosepetalsinwinter · 1 year ago

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Five Years That Felt Like a Millenium — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 9,554

Summary: It’s been five years since Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years spent all alone. Now Sam is back and he has a new friend. Will Bucky be the one to uncover the secrets behind the bruises lining her body?

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating. Nothing explicit. Protective!bucky.

Note: It's been a while since I've posted. Here's a little slice to get you going before I continue with "Meant to Be." Hope you enjoy! 💜

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy reading!!

"Sammy!" A figure barrelled into Sam Wilson, almost making the five-foot-ten man topple over.

The girl's arms wrapped tightly around his bulky frame, hanging on for dear life. Her tears soaked his shirt, and her nails dug into his biceps almost painfully, but he said nothing. He only hugged her back with as much vigour and passion, letting his salty tears mix with hers.

Although no time had passed for Sam, years had passed for the girl��five to be exact—and he could feel all her emotions pouring out of her like a dam broken loose.

"Sammy!" she sobbed while her body shook violently. "You're back!"

"I've been back." Sam stroked a hand over the girl's hair, offering her comfort. "I've been here. Where were you?"

The first thing Sam did after he was blipped back to life was to call his sister, Sarah. Only to be told that five years had come and gone. His nephews, who were babies when he left, were now little men. The second thing Sam did was ask about Baby Girl.

He remembered when he first met her. Her family moved to the bayou when she was just five; Sam was fifteen. When her parents died, Sam's family took her in as their own, giving her the same amount of love they gave their other two kids.

So he was surprised, then, to find that Sarah hadn't heard from her in almost two years. Sam, himself, had no luck in locating her until recently. It took him eight months, but he finally found her. She had moved to New York and cut all ties with previous friends and family.

Sam wanted to ask why. Why leave Sarah and the boys? Why leave the only home she ever knew? His questions could wait, though. Now that she was here, he wouldn't ever let her go.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Sam shushed her when she sobbed louder, "I'm here. I'm not leaving again. Promise."

So fascinated by how she had aged from an awkward teen on the precipice of adulthood into a beautiful young woman, Sam did not notice the bruises lining her sides and underneath her clothes—or the circles under her eyes—from almost two years of interrupted sleep. Or the absence of light in her usually glowing irises.

When she let her entire weight fall on Sam and sobbed as she had when her parents died, he did not question it, only held on tighter and carried her towards the house.

"I've got you now, Baby Girl. Everything is gonna be just fine."

While he did not explicitly say anything, Bucky Barnes found the Wilson Family Residence quite endearing. His house in the thirties had been small, and even his current apartment in Brooklyn was compact—which he liked—but there was something so serene about the land surrounding the Wilson residence, so very peaceful.

After ninety years of constant fights, one after the other, all Bucky really wanted was some peace and quiet. And now, he could easily find it after absolving himself of most of the guilt he was carrying.

It wasn't easy, but Bucky told Yori the truth about his son's death and since then, had managed to cross a few more names off his list of amends. A weight lifted off Bucky's shoulders as everything began to make sense.

The Flag Smasher's fiasco was over with, and while the Powerbroker was still at large, there was no immediate threat. Bucky Barnes could rest for now before trouble found him again—as trouble often did. Sam had asked Bucky to stay over for the long weekend, and Bucky had happily obliged.

"It'll be good for you. Get away from that city life."

Bucky agreed. If all went well, he might end up buying his own house. He had a little... calm in Wakanda, and he missed the solidarity.

The axe was steadfast in his hands as he brought it down towards his target, and the sturdy stump was no match for the combined strength of both, the sharp tool, and Bucky's enhanced strength. In one meagre swing, half the stump broke off and landed on the ground with a muffled thump.

Bucky wiped the sweat off his brow with his right arm. It was the middle of June, and while the days were sweltering hot and sticky, the nights could get cold in comparison. Sam had tasked Bucky to get the logs for the fire, seeing as he was the most efficient.

Bucky continued with his work until he got a steady rhythm, stopping periodically to sip his still cold beer. It was then that his enhanced hearing picked up on the strangest sound. He perched the axe on his left shoulder and looked towards the house where Sam Wilson seemed to be consoling a crying girl.

"Huh." Bucky didn't find the exchange as odd as he should have. Everyone around the bayou was always coming to Sam for something. Whether it was a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. Bucky thought she must be someone special if he was hugging her like that.

When Sam took the girl into the house, Bucky shook his head and finished the last of his beer. He continued chopping more wood until the sun began to set, which is when he deposited the axe back into the shed and made his way inside to crash on the couch. Tomorrow would be a long day, what with the bonfire Sam was hosting, and all. Bucky fell to a dreamless sleep the second his head touched the pillow.

He was a light sleeper. So Bucky immediately woke up when he heard someone coming down the stairs. It took him a second to become aware of his surroundings, as it always did. He was in Louisiana, crashing on Sam's couch for the weekend.

Bucky turned his head to the left to see who it was. Probably the boys; they were early risers and loved pestering Bucky about his metal arm—not that he minded. He found their interest refreshing and loved putting a smile on their faces. He was surprised, then, to find a girl instead. The same one from yesterday.

Huh. The girl looked a mess, with only half her hair pulled back into a makeshift ponytail and black makeup smudged under her eyes. Her pants were unbuttoned, hanging precariously from her hips, and her jacket was falling off her shoulders, a few sizes too big. She was holding a pair of shoes in one hand, her phone and shirt in the other. She was also balancing a purse in the crook of her elbow.

It was the shirt that did it. Because, while the girl's own blouse was in her hands, she was wearing Sam's grey-green T-shirt. Bucky knew because that's what Sam was wearing yesterday. She was someone special then if she was wearing his clothes.

Bucky smirked. He was very aware of what the girl had been doing. He, himself, had been on both ends of the situation before. Though it was very long ago, he still remembered the embarrassment of being caught leaving a girl's room in the early hours of the morning.

The girl screamed when she saw Bucky, not expecting anyone to be up, much less lying on the couch and watching her horrible attempt at sneaking out. "Oh, God!" Her phone slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

There was a moment of silence where the two merely stared at each other. Bucky, with poorly concealed amusement, and the girl, with mild horror. She moved first, crouching down to pick up her cracked phone.

"Does it still work?" Bucky's voice was raspy from disuse. When tears gathered in the girl's eyes as a reply, Bucky immediately sat up, dropping his amusement in exchange for concern. He knew nothing about her, but it seemed like she cried a lot.

"No," she murmured, though Bucky heard her as if she were beside him. "Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no..."

"Hey, it's alright," Bucky told her as he crouched down to pick up the purse she had thrown in her haste. He hesitated when he saw a shiny ring peeking out from one of the compartments—too fancy and expensive-looking to be something ordinary. He quickly tucked the circle back and ignored it. Had Sam proposed to her? Bucky was offended he hadn't told him. Maybe it was recent. "Is it turning on?"

"Oh God! N-no," the girl stuttered through her tears.

Bucky was convinced that this girl—who cried a lot—only knew how to say "no" and "oh, God."

"I'm sure Sam can get you a new one, no big deal. What's your name?" Bucky offered the girl his right hand, which she promptly ignored.

She shot up on unsteady legs. "I have to go."

Bucky mimicked her. "Okay?" It was turning out to be a very unusual conversation.

"I have to go," she said again, more slowly this time, as if he were a little kid who couldn't understand a word of English.

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his legs before giving the girl her purse back. "Right."

The tally was now up to "no," "oh, God," and "I have to go." At least she wasn't crying anymore. Bucky hastily stepped out of the girl's way when he realized he was blocking the hall that led to the front door.

She moved as if someone lit a fire under her. One second, she was there, and the next, she was out the door with her pants still unbuttoned, her jacket still falling off her shoulder, and her shoes still in her hand.

"Nice to meet you..." Bucky dropped his hand and trailed off when he realized she couldn't hear him anymore.

Huh. Either Bucky still didn't know how to talk to people, or that girl was on something. A lot of youngsters nowadays did drugs for fun. Bucky didn't understand it, nor did he want to. He could just ask Sam about it later.

Bucky stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. A couch was considerably comfier than the floor but still gave him a stiff back. No matter, a quick run could swiftly solve that problem. Bucky turned on the coffee machine and was biting into an apple when a shirtless Sam came barreling down the stairs.

"You sleep good, man?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bucky shrugged, wiping some juice from his chin, "I slept good. Well, as good as I can, considering..."

Sam hummed before opening the fridge and taking a swig of the orange juice. "Nightmare?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember it—Listen, you didn't tell me you had a girl up there."

"A girl?"

"Messy hair, pretty face. Was crying yesterday?"

"Baby Girl? You saw that?" Sam stopped peeling the banana in his hand to look at Bucky.

Bucky merely shrugged and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

"Sorry I didn't tell you she was over," said Sam, taking a bite of his now-peeled banana. "We were up talking real late. I guess I forgot."

"Yup. Talking," Bucky muttered with a smirk as he poured his coffee. "I bet."

"What?" Sam implored.

"Uh, nothing. Just, the girl seemed nice."

"She is nice," Sam retorted. "You met her?"

Bucky nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Black, just as he preferred it.

"Didn't think she'd be awake," Sam said with a yawn. "She barely slept."

Bucky had to try really hard to keep himself from laughing. "Well, she was."

"She was?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What do you mean she was? Did she go back to bed?"

Bucky shook his head. "She left."

"She left?" Sam scoffed, propping a hand on his hip. He had never looked more like Steve.

"That's what I said," Bucky confirmed, taking another sip. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Sam grumbled. "Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's accusing behaviour was really starting to irk Bucky, making him think the girl's sneaking out was not mutual. Shit.

He laughed uncomfortably and put his mug down on the counter. "Your girl came running down the stairs, half-dressed. She dropped her phone, cracked it, didn't let me help. Then she said she 'had to go' and practically ran out of here, I dunno."

"When?" A vein popped in Sam's forehead as he grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry near the stairs.

Bucky hastily checked the watch on his right arm. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops."

That made Sam utter a series of colourful swears as he finished his breakfast and found his wallet.

"Wait, Sam, what's going on?"

Sam didn't answer Bucky, too busy looking for his keys in the wrong place.

"Sam!" Bucky asked louder.

"We talked about this!" Sam scoffed. "I told her to at least stay for the weekend. I can't believe this! We sat down like adults and came to an understanding." He finally found his keys on the key hook.

"Where are you going, Sam?" Bucky countered.

"I'm going to get her," Sam snapped before sighing dramatically and letting his shoulders droop. "Shit, I do not have time for this, Baby Girl."

Bucky moved over the kitchen counter and stood in front of Sam. "What about that meeting you've got?"

"What meeting?" Sam asked.

"That meeting about that thing," supplied Bucky.

"What thing?" Sam grumbled.

"You know what thing," Bucky countered.

"Oh. That. I'm gonna have to reschedule—Man! Where are my shoes?!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Sam echoed. "What's with all the questions, Buck? Because I have to get Baby Girl before she skips town and disappears on me again."

"Sam."

"I haven't seen her in eight months, man, and she hasn't seen me in five years. I'm not about to let her leave—"

"Sam!" Bucky shouted loud enough for his friend to hear. He grabbed his wallet and his keys and put on his jacket. "You're going to that meeting, Sam."

"Like hell I am," Sam retorted passionately.

"I'll go pick up your Baby Girl," Bucky said after downing the rest of his coffee. "You, go to your meeting."

Sam stopped for a moment and seriously considered Bucky's proposal. It was an important meeting. "She'll probably be at the taxi stand," he finally relented. "You know the one?"

Bucky nodded, tying up his shoelaces. "Yeah, I know the one."

"Buck?" Sam called when Bucky was stepping out the door. "You better bring her back, or else I'm gonna light a fire under your ass."

Bucky chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Understood, Sam."

The taxi stand was abandoned. Really, what did the girl expect so early in the morning? It was a long weekend, and the residents of Delacroix rarely needed a commute into the city on an ordinary Friday. She was arguing with the lone taxi driver, pleading with him, really, to take her to the nearest airport. But the man kept denying her. He had been up all night and insisted on napping, telling her to wait another twenty minutes.

She didn't have twenty minutes, damn it. If anything, she needed more time. Time she didn't have.

Her phone could be blowing up right now, and she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't know the consequences of her actions until she bought a new phone. But maybe—just maybe, a voice inside her reasoned—Quentin would be too busy with his work retreat to notice her absence.

The girl tried getting the driver's attention again, who shot her the most hateful look she had ever received before starting his cab and driving away. "Hey! Wait!" she called out, but he had already turned the corner.

A laugh made her spin around. It was the man from this morning, the one on Sam's couch. He stood before her with his arms crossed, a big smile overtaking his face.

"You must not be from the city," he mused, "if you're that bad at hailing a cab."

Bucky had no trouble locating the girl, what with her being the only person in a one-mile radius demanding to be taken to the nearest airport. Her feeble attempts amused him, and frankly, Bucky was having trouble believing she was Sam's girl. He didn't think Sam would've gone for someone as... difficult as her. But hey, it was Sam wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, not Bucky.

Bucky surveyed the girl from head to toe. Her hair was settled, her pants buttoned, and most of her composure seemed to have returned. However, she had gone pale once he revealed himself, her eyes wide with guilt. She was caught red-handed; now, he would be the one to deliver her to Sam.

Bucky pointed at her with his left arm. "Sam wants you home."

He was surprised to see that when she looked down at the shiny metal, recognition flared through her eyes rather than shock or disgust. Good, he thought. She knows who I am.

"No, thank you," she managed to squeak out, and Bucky was pleased to know that the girl's vocabulary extended past the three phrases he had come to know her for.

"You seem smart," he told her when he saw her looking behind him, "but not that smart."

"Yeah?" she challenged, gaining a rare bit of courage. "What makes you say that?"

"You know who I am and what I'm capable of. Smart. You think you can run from me. Not smart."

"Is that right?" she asked. Bucky nodded, and the girl took a deep breath. "I must not be too smart then."

He raised a brow in challenge, wondering where she would go from there.

Suddenly, the girl threw her arms above her head and waved them with abandon. "Mr. Thurow!" she shouted, running past Bucky. "Mr. Thurow!"

Bucky slowly walked towards the girl, unhurried in his steps. He wanted to know what she would do.

"Mr. Thurow!" the girl panted. "I need your help."

"Jesus Christ!" Mr. Thurow bellowed. "As I live and breathe! Is that you, Baby Girl?" He was a stocky man with a kind smile and welcoming eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Thurow," the girl began confidently, "it is. I need your help, please. This man," she pointed behind her at Bucky, "is—"

"Carlos!" Bucky interjected with a smile. "How are you?"

"Sergeant Barnes! Back again already?" Carlos turned his attention away from the girl.

Bucky watched with amusement as the girl's face scrunched with confusion. Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly. "What can I say, Carlos? I was missing your potato salad."

"Hell yeah, you were," Carlos guffawed.

The girl stood there dumbfounded as the two men embraced each other.

"You know, it was my great nan's recipe?" Carlos asked. "Been in the family for generations."

"I didn't know that. You bringing it tonight?"

"For the bonfire?" Carlos confirmed. "You bet I am."

"Well," Bucky gestured to the girl, "I was just taking Baby Girl here back home. She got a little lost, and Sam was starting to worry." Bucky made sure to make himself sound condescending on purpose.

He heard her scoff. "I was not lost."

"Well, you get her home safe, then. Understood, Barnes? I want to see both of you tonight." Carlos mockingly glared at the girl and winked at Bucky before departing.

"See you, Carlos!" Bucky called out to his retreating figure. "Well?" he questioned, turning his attention to the girl after a moment of silence. "Are you gonna run and embarrass yourself again, or are you gonna come with me?"

"I am not going anywhere with you!" the girl scoffed.

"I will take you kicking and screaming if I have to," Bucky warned.

The girl took a step back hastily, believing his threat. "You're a heathen."

Well, Bucky shrugged. He had been called worse. "Sam threatened me with fire, and that's not how I'd like to leave this world if it's all the same to you."

The girl seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Fire is a painful way to go," she finally mused.

"It is," Bucky agreed.

"I don't like you," she told him bluntly.

"Okay." A lot of people didn't like Bucky. One more wouldn't hurt.

"But no one deserves to die like that."

It seemed the spawn of Satan had a heart.

"Does seem excessive," said Bucky.

The girl paused again. "If I run, you'll catch me." It wasn't a question.

"Always," Bucky promised, and the girl must have believed him because her shoulders deflated, and she hung her head in submission.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice," she whispered, though Bucky heard her all the same.

"You don't."

"Okay," she relented.

"Okay. Let's go." Bucky led her toward where he parked, and the girl followed silently.

Good, she isn't being insufferable any longer, Bucky thought. Though, luck must not have been on his side that day because not a second later, once his bike came into view, the girl started complaining.

"No. I'm not sitting on that death trap."

Bucky turned to her with an annoyed groan. "Really?"

"I hate bikes!" she told him.

"What? You rather walk?" Bucky crossed his arms.

"Yes, please," the girl replied, mimicking his posture. "I walked all the way here, didn't I?"

"Well, too bad!" snapped Bucky. "We're taking the bike." He grabbed his helmet and handed it to her. He groaned again when she didn't take it and only looked at him like she'd never seen a helmet before. Maybe she hadn't. He wouldn't be surprised. Bucky rolled his eyes and placed the helmet on the girl's head, securing the straps and confirming it fit snugly.

"It's loose," she complained.

"Your head's a lot smaller than mine..." Bucky took his previous statement back. He could definitely see the girl and Sam together. Both of them were insufferable shitheads and obviously perfect for each other.

"Sit," he gestured to the bike. And when the girl turned to him with the same blank look in her eyes, Bucky merely huffed in annoyance. He picked her up and deposited her on the seat as if she weighed nothing. And she didn't. He ignored her shouts of protest and sat in front of her.

"Where's your helmet?" She sounded worried for him.

Bucky laughed. "I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," she chastised him. "You could die."

"I'm a super soldier," Bucky said as an answer.

"Even super soldiers die," the girl retorted.

"I won't die," Bucky responded blandly before revving the engine. "Hold on tight."

"I am not touching youuuu..." The girl ended her sentence with a sudden shriek when Bucky unexpectedly released the throttle and speedily drove away. Her arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip, and she hid her face in his jacket. "Oh, God!" she screamed. "Oh, my God!"

She took her flailing legs and tried wrapping them around Bucky's hips, which made him laugh in surprise. She was holding onto him like a koala bear, all while screaming bloody murder in his ears. Her nails dug sharply into his chest, but he ignored the sting. He couldn't wait to see her face once they stopped.

And eventually, they did. Bucky parked his bike in the back and told the girl to get off, which, of course, she didn't do. He got up anyway, taking her with him, though she didn't let him go once he was standing.

Bucky tapped on the hand around his shoulder. "You can let go now. It's safe."

The girl obediently unwrapped herself from his body, falling indiligently to the ground.

"See?" Bucky smirked. "We didn't die."

"Oh my God," she groaned, shaking on the ground. "I can't feel my legs."

Bucky laughed, extending his metal arm towards her, which she took without complaint. "Let's try again," he suggested once she was steady on her feet. "I'm Bucky."

The girl told him her name, and he repeated it with a smile. "I still don't like you," she said.

"The feeling's mutual, doll." And if she blushed at the pet name? Well, Bucky simply chose to ignore it.

He was on his third beer, a shame, really, since he couldn't feel it. But Bucky had developed a liking for the taste. It reminded him of better times. Before the war, and before his life completely changed.

Sam plopped down on the chair next to Bucky, a happy but tired smile on his face. Bucky turned to Sam and took a s'more from his outstretched hand, biting into the gooey center with a groan. "Man, this is good. I can't remember the last time I had one of these."

"Probably before Christopher Columbus discovered America."

"That's not funny, Sam," Bucky frowned. "Besides, everyone knows the Clovis people got here first, twenty thousand years ago."

"I didn't know that!"

"Because you're stupid," Bucky retorted.

"Whatever," scoffed Sam. He slid down in his chair and muttered "nerd" under his breath.

Bucky was preparing a retort when something caught his eye. The girl was playing with AJ and Cass, trying to catch them as they ran around the fire. Bucky cracked his knuckles and prepared to confront Sam. "You're really mean, you know that?

"Why? Because I called you a nerd?" Sam scoffed. "Well, it's true."

Bucky shook his head and levelled Sam with a glare. "Because you didn't tell me you're getting married."

A long silence followed. "Who's getting married?"

"You are!" Bucky exclaimed. "I didn't even know you had a girl."

"Because I don't!" Sam straightened. "And I'm not getting married."

"But—" Bucky was at a loss for words, then a thought struck him. "Holy shit, Sam! Don't tell me you—" Bucky leaned forward, lowering his voice considerably. "You slept with a married woman!"

Sam's face screwed up. "What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone!"

Bucky was stunned, realizing a moment too late that he had completely misread the situation.

"Start from the beginning," Sam urged. And so Bucky told him what happened that morning, how the girl came down half-dressed and wearing his shirt. Bucky thought she was a one-night stand until he saw the ring in her purse, and Sam brought her back to his house.

"So, she's not your fiancé?"

"No! She's like a sister."

"But you call her Baby Girl!"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Everyone calls her that. Listen," he sighed, "maybe I should've introduced the two of you before, but I was overwhelmed by seeing her after so long. Besides, I didn't think you would start jumping to conclusions!"

Bucky rubbed his neck in embarrassment. Perhaps he was too quick to assume the girl was Sam's significant other. But if she wasn't involved with Sam, then who exactly was she?

The girl was sitting across from Bucky and Sam on the other side of the fire pit, nibbling on a s'more. The two men watched her as they talked.

"Her family lived in the plot behind ours. They were good people."

"Were?" Bucky questioned, feeling like there was more to the story.

Sam seemed to dissociate for a moment as if he were somewhere else. "Eleven years ago, my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to run to town and wake as many folks as possible. There was a fire down the street, and the trucks had broken down on the highway."

Bucky tensed, hating the direction the story was taking.

"The smoke was so thick I was choking on it from a block away. Over half the house was up in flames by the time I got back. Three men went in and came right out not a second later. Folks were throwing bucketfuls of water to try and contain it, but I remember thinking that was useless. It's like the flames had a mind of their own."

It was then that Bucky accidentally made eye contact with the girl. She frowned at the intense look on his face, jerking her head as if to ask, "What?"

"What happened next?" Bucky asked without removing his gaze.

"I went towards the back, where the fire wasn't as strong. The upstairs window was wide open, and I found Baby Girl lying on the ground with twisted legs and blood oozing from her head." Sam scoffed a laugh, though there was no humour behind it.

Bucky's jaw dropped. "She jumped?"

Sam shook his head. "We found out later that her brother pushed her. My entire family was at the hospital when we broke the news that she was the only survivor."

"Shit." Baby Girl was glaring daggers at Bucky now, though he couldn't take her seriously. Melted chocolate dripped down her chin, and her hair was mussed from the wind. Bucky imagined her eleven years younger, wide-eyed and trembling as her life crumbled around her. He recalled her comment from that morning. "Fire is a painful way to go." "No one deserves to die like that." He looked away.

"She's acting like you're keeping her hostage," Bucky remarked.

"I might as well be," Sam grumbled. "She's dying to go back to New York, and she won't give me a proper reason why."

When Bucky looked back at the girl, she was chatting with Carlos Thurow, seemingly pleading with him. She waved her broken phone, and Bucky could see the cracks on the screen glinting from where he sat. Baby Girl slumped her shoulders in defeat when Carlos took his own phone out to show it had died.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest as he watched the girl run her hands through her hair in frustration. Something was wrong.

Sam whistled beside him, waving Baby Girl over. The effect was immediate. Baby girl plastered on a shoddy smile, exaggerating a laugh as she waved back and made her way to them.

"You seem happy," Sam observed as the girl took the empty chair beside Bucky.

Bucky looked at Sam to see if he was joking. Sam was no spy, but didn't one have to be blind to not see how miserable Baby Girl looked under her fake smile?

"The party's very fun," Baby Girl answered. "It's—" guilt flashed across her features. "It's nice to see everyone after so long."

"Could've been sooner," Sam muttered.

"I told you I was busy!" she exclaimed. "I didn't have time to leave the city."

"But you won't tell me why," Sam countered. The fight seemed to leave his body, and he sighed. "I didn't call you over to argue with you. I won't bring it up again."

Baby Girl turned her nose to the sky in a way that made Bucky laugh. "You better not." And the conversation flowed smoothly from there.

Bucky offered her a beer, which she accepted with a smile, and the three laughed and joked about until tears ran unbidden down their cheeks. However, despite the mirth dancing in the air, Bucky could not ignore the lingering sadness in her eyes.

"You won't believe what this man asked me before," Sam guffawed, pointing accusingly at Bucky. "He asked if we were engaged!"

Laughter burst forth from mirth-kissed lips. "That's disgusting!" she managed between giggles. "What made you think that?"

Bucky felt flushed under her attention. "You were wearing Sam's clothes that morning," he explained sheepishly. "And I saw a ring in your purse."

Her face made a radical transformation. One moment, she was smiling in a way that made Bucky's heart flutter—the next moment, all pleasure seemed to drain away from her body, leaving her looking gaunt and haggard. Sam was too busy laughing at his untied shoelaces to notice the change in atmosphere, but Bucky felt the full force of it slam against his chest.

"I don't have a ring."

"But I—"

"No!" Her words seemed laced with desperation. Her sober eyes flicked toward Sam. "There was no ring," she stressed.

Bucky could see the hopelessness in her eyes. "Right," he muttered. "I must have been mistaken."

Sam, who had overcome his slight scramble with his shoelaces, sat upright. Inebriation laced his every move. "Right. But that made me think."

"That's never a good thing," Bucky interjected, trying to ease the lingering tension.

"Are you dating anyone? Sarah said she didn't know, but you can always tell me. Huh?" Sam teased. "Tell me. Who's the unfortunate bastard?"

Baby Girl's lips were a thin line, and Bucky anticipated the lie before she could open her mouth. "It's nothing like that. I'm not dating anyone." She finished the rest of her drink and immediately grabbed another.

"You can't lie to me," Sam wiggled his finger. "Come on, fess up. Whoever he is, he can't be worse than Beck."

Baby Girl froze, and Bucky's curiosity was piqued too much to ignore. "Beck?"

"Quentin Beck. Biggest asshole on the planet," Sam explained. "Beck and Baby Girl dated on and off in college. I would catch the bastard every other week with a different woman."

Bucky scrutinized the girl for a reaction, but she seemed to be holding her breath.

Sam began to pout like a child. "He always managed to win her over. At least I can die easy knowing they broke up before half the world blipped."

"He's not like that anymore," Baby Girl whispered to herself. Sam was too far to hear her, but Bucky had no such problem. "He's changed." She wrapped her arms around her body. "He's not like that anymore."

Bucky took in her dark under-eyes and trembling frame, her body sickly from stress. He believed her. Beck wasn't like that anymore. Perhaps he had moved on from his days of serial cheating and picked up a different hobby. Beck probably wasn't like that anymore, but he wasn't any better either.

The former spy suspected that Baby Girl was still involved with Beck. He observed her closely. Her eyes swirled with guilt, and her shoulders drooped in alarm. There was more to the story, but before Bucky could voice a question, Baby Girl stumbled onto unsteady feet. She swayed back and forth, betraying her inebriation, and Bucky reached over to keep her from falling.

Baby Girl pushed his hands away. "I'm tired," she croaked. "I'm going to bed." And she staggered away, bumping into people as she disappeared into the house.

Bucky relaxed back in his seat with a tired sigh. On his left, Sam was passed out over the arm of his chair, mouth open in a loud snore. Bucky craned his neck back and stared openly at the night sky. Stars twinkled brighter here than they did in the city. Everything was more serene and calm. However, since Baby Girl arrived, Bucky couldn't help but sense a slight shift in the air, as if the wind knew her secrets and was trying to warn them. One thing was made clear. It wouldn't be pretty.

It felt oddly like déjà vu. A light clambering of feet roused Bucky from his half-sleep, and as always, it took a second for him to make sense of his surroundings. He was on Sam's couch.

The steps were hesitant and controlled—so not AJ and Cass. Excitement and a sugar overload had kept them up late, and they wouldn't wake until a few hours later. Bucky was proven right when a lone woman descended the steps instead of two boys.

She looked a lot better than the last time he had seen her. Freshly showered and reasonably presentable in her own clothes this time—not Sam's. She hadn't seen him yet, so Bucky took the opportunity to observe her a moment longer. Her under-eye area was still dark, though not as sunken as before, and she carried an air of determination around her.

"Good morning," Bucky broke the silence.

Baby Girl shrieked, seemingly slipping over nothing. She tumbled backward, falling in an indelicate heap onto an armchair. "God above!"

Her vocabulary was steadily expanding.

Bucky sat up, regarding her with a guilty expression. "Sorry."

"I forgot you were still here," she mumbled sheepishly, straightening herself into a more respectable position.

There was a moment of awkward silence where neither acknowledged the other.

"I was wondering..." the girl started.

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow some money? I didn't bring enough with me from New York."

"Uh, sure," Bucky replied, grabbing his wallet from between the couch cushions. "How much do you need?"

Baby Girl looked down at her hands, tracing lazy lines on her palm. "One grand?" she grimaced.

Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. "What do you need a thousand dollars for?"

"I can make do with less!" she rushed to explain. "I can try stretching an eight hundred," she murmured. "But a new phone would be too expensive, and I'm not sure I can find a cheap last-minute flight."

"Excuse me?" Bucky exclaimed. He was fully awake now, leaning forward to hear her better. "What was that about a phone and a flight?"

Her guilty eyes met his confused ones. "I broke my phone," she explained, "so I need a new one. I also need to get back home, so I need to buy a plane ticket."

Bucky eyed her skeptically. "I thought you were staying."

"I changed my mind," she dismissed with a shaky wave. "I already went over it with Sam."

Bucky knew for a fact she was lying. She wouldn't even meet her eyes. "Is that what he would say if I asked him?"

"Of course!" she proclaimed. But Bucky could hear the hesitance.

"Okay. I'll go ask Sam." Bucky made to get up, but as predicted, the girl stopped him.

"Wait! Don't!"

Bucky sat back down with a satisfied smirk. "You're a sneaky little thing."

"Don't tell Sam," Baby Girl pleaded. "I'm sorry I lied. I didn't have another choice. He locked my credit card. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you for this favour."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, crossing his arms and getting comfortable. "I'd be willing to help you—Only..." Bucky stressed when she tried to interrupt. "If you answer a few questions first."

Baby Girl mimicked Bucky's posture with a frown. "That hardly seems fair."

"I can always call Sam."

"Fucking fine," Baby Girl grumbled.

Satisfied by the flow of things, Bucky started his interrogation. "Why are you in such a rush to go back home?" Bucky asked, deciding to start small. He could tell Baby Girl was thinking hard about her answer, trying not to give too much away. She squinted her eyes as if it were putting strain on her. He decided she would make a horrible spy.

"I left in a hurry. I only planned a day trip. I don't have any clothes or money on me."

Bucky shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

Baby Girl glared at him. "I don't understand the question."

"What's waiting for you in New York? Do you have a job? A prior commitment? A boyfriend?" Bucky stretched that last word, giving the girl a smirk.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she frowned.

"Fiancé, then," Bucky concluded. "I saw that ring in your purse." He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Baby Girl's left hand and pulling it toward him to inspect.

She initially squeaked a protest but stayed still as he prodded her ring finger with his eyes. "Tan line," he observed, and she snatched her limb back, throwing the most menacing glare she could manage toward him.

"No fiancé," she hissed.

"I don't believe you," Bucky shrugged. "Job, then? What do you do?"

It took too long for her to answer, making it obvious she was concocting a lie in her head. "I work in the... customer field. Where I work with customers."

If Bucky wasn't on the verge of laughter, he might've cringed from the secondhand embarrassment.

"And... books." She was obviously lying. Even she didn't believe what was coming out of her mouth.

"I think my cat might be a better liar than you," He remarked drily.

The girl huffed but stayed silent.

Bucky decided to try a different tactic. "What year is it?"

The girl regarded him strangely. "2024."

"How many sides does an octagon have?"

"Eight."

"What's Sam's last name?"

"Wilson."

"Who was Iron Man?"

"Tony Stark."

"What colour is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Who locked your credit card?"

"Quentin Beck."

Bucky laughed. The girl stared at him, horrified. She gaped at him like a fish, only managing to make senseless sounds. "Y-you—w-what!"

Bucky laughed harder. "I told you that day. You seem smart, but not that smart."

"How dare you!"

"Last question. Does your boyfriend know you're here?" If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. He raised his arms in surrender. "I won't judge. And I won't tell Sam. I'm just trying to understand the situation so I can help."

Her glare slowly softened to fatigue. "No. He doesn't know."

Bucky bobbed his head. "I figured as much." He grabbed his unlocked phone and tossed it to her, assuming she would catch it. She didn't. The device smacked her in the chest before falling on her lap, which she stared at dumbly.

"Call him," said Bucky, standing up to stretch. "Let him know you're safe. Tell him no one kidnapped you, and he can unlock your card."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Bucky beat her to it. "I can't get you a plane ticket out of here, so this is the next best thing. You want to leave? Tell Sam about Quentin Beck, and he'll let you. He isn't that big of an asshole to keep you hostage here. There's hope for him yet." Bucky stepped out of the living room but turned around and stopped to add one more thing. "Sam's been different since you arrived. He's happier. You're all he talks about to anyone. Do him one last favour; stay the weekend, and don't choose that Quentin Beck guy over him." With that, Bucky strode to the bathroom to freshen up, missing the first teardrop.

His phone was returned to him an hour or so later, accompanied by an uncomfortable smile and words of gratitude. "I told him I'm safe, and no one kidnapped me."

"Is he mad?" Bucky asked.

"He's a little upset," she confessed. "Promise you won't tell Sam?"

"Only if you promise not to run away." They stared at each other for a long moment, daring the other to disagree.

"Fine," the girl finally conceded. Bucky gave her a stiff nod and turned to leave. "Wait!" she exclaimed urgently. "He's still upset. Just ignore any other messages from him, okay? He should cool down after a while."

Bucky looked into her eyes. She was beautiful and unsuspecting looking. Fiery and transparent. He scrutinized her for deceit and instead found veiled resignation. He agreed and went to the backyard, leaving her in the kitchen.

It was an especially hot day, and there was much to do. Sarah wanted to landscape the back garden, and Bucky had volunteered. He didn't know the first thing about construction, but the boys had recently introduced him to YouTube, a magical place with the answers to all his questions. Bucky began to work, moving piles of dirt, levelling the uneven ground, and placing heavy slabs of concrete to form a pathway from the back porch to the lake.

Hours later, Bucky finished with the last slab of concrete, moving further away to admire his work. There was more to finish, but Sarah would be happy with his progress. Bucky wiped his brow, groaning at the sticky feeling of sweat dripping down his neck.

He grabbed his phone from the table on the porch to check the time, surprised at the number of notifications waiting for him. Bucky was by no means popular. The only person who contacted him somewhat regularly was Sam, but these notifications were all from the same unknown number. Bucky realized with a start that the barrage of missed calls and messages he was being attacked with were probably all from Quentin Beck.

Curiosity grabbed hold of him. He did promise the girl he would ignore any messages from him, but really, this was excessive. What if something was wrong and Beck urgently needed to contact her? He tapped on the message icon without another thought.

Bucky froze when he read the latest message.

You're dead when I find you.

He immediately scrolled to the top, reading the conversation from the beginning to try and gain some context to the threat. The thread started with a long paragraph from the girl detailing her situation, followed immediately with an exhausted apology.

I'm so sorry, please don't be mad. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Where the HELL are you?

Sam was asking questions. I tried to leave, but he got suspicious. I'll be back in a couple of days. I'm sorry.

You shouldn't have fucking seen him in the first place. I warned you.

Sam's career is in my hands. It'll only take one call to ruin him. I fucking warned you to never go near him.

He's trouble. He doesn't care about you like I do. He doesn't love you like I do.

The messages got progressively worse, teetering on the edge of insanity. Promising pain and broken bones, blaming it all on her.

Why do you make me do this?

Typical narcissist behaviour.

You're dead when I find you.

Baby Girl hadn't seen any of the messages after her rushed apology, but Bucky had a feeling she wouldn't be surprised by them either way. He clutched his phone tight, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

What a bastard. What a self-entitled, psychotic prick. Everything came into clear focus, painting a detailed painting for Bucky to observe. Her behaviour started making sense. The bags under her eyes, the lack of light in her irises, the unworn ring... the secrets.

He decided then that he wouldn't tell her about the messages if she asked. Bucky would wait for the right time tonight to bring up the topic of Quentin Beck as innocently as he could, and offer her his help. She didn't need to know the extent of Beck's threats against her life.

Plan laid out, Bucky made his way inside for a well-deserved glass of cold water when the back door swung open. Baby Girl walked out with two lemonades and a plate of sandwiches balanced between the crook of her elbow. Some lemonade spilled over her hand when she abruptly stopped ahead of him. Bucky took the drinks from her and placed them on the small table.

Baby Girl put the plate of sandwiches next to the drinks and proceeded to lick the spilled lemonade from her hands. Bucky swallowed thickly, feeling flustered at such an innocent act. "You good?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I made us lunch and lemonade. Figured you could do with something cool."

"Yeah," Bucky was suddenly parched. "It's a hot day."

Baby Girl sat down at the table and took a large sip of her drink. "Sarah and Sam went to run some errands in the city. Said they'll be back late."

"What about the boys?" Bucky inquired, sitting down and taking a sip of his own. He groaned as the cool drink washed over him.

"They're having a sleepover at the neighbours." She handed him a sandwich, which he took with a smile.

"So it's just us today," he said, aware that the perfect opportunity for a less-than-pleasant conversation had just presented itself.

"Yup, just us."

An awkward silence fell over them, broken occasionally by the sound of chewing.

"The yard looks nice," Baby Girl blurted.

Bucky turned his neck to observe his handiwork. "Thanks. Still a lot to be done."

"You must be tired."

Bucky shrugged. "Not really. The heat is worse than anything else."

"Is that because of the serum?" she asked, immediately flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry! That's so insensitive of me. And it's none of my business."

"You're good," said Bucky. "I don't mind. Yeah, it's because of the serum. My stamina's through the roof."

"Wow," she admired.

"Could've been real handy with the ladies, back in the forties." Bucky flushed at the silence that followed. "During the war, I mean!" he corrected. "I could've used the stamina during the war."

The girl finished her lemonade in one long sip. "Right, of course."

"For battle. On the battlefield." Bucky finished his own drink, then stuffed another sandwich in his face to keep from further embarrassing himself.

Bucky's phone lit up with a notification, and the girl flicked her eyes toward the screen. "It's my neighbour," he told her. "He's looking after my cat."

Baby Girl visibly deflated. "That's nice," she smiled. "What's its name?"

"Alpine." Bucky decided this was as good a time as any to ask a few questions. "Listen, did you tell Quentin Beck where you are?" Bucky hated the scared look on her face.

"He knows I'm at Sam's," she started slowly.

Bucky took a deep breath and willed his expression to remain neutral. "Does he have an address?"

She shook her head in denial, and only then did Bucky find himself relaxing. He wouldn't need to worry about Beck showing up announced, which gave him more time to come up with a proper plan.

"I'm gonna take a dip," Bucky gestured to the lake. "Wanna join?"

"Maybe later."

Bucky stood up with a shrug. "Suit yourself." And he took his shirt off with one pull.

He felt Baby Girl's stare burning through his skin as he jogged toward the small lake, discarding his pants along the way. He entered the water in a running dive, letting gravity pull him to the bottom before kicking away and breaking the surface with a loud whoop. His body temperature slowly stabilized as he ran laps along the perimeter. He could still feel her stare as he stopped to tread.

"The water's amazing!" he yelled. "Join me!"

She threw her arms in the air. "I don't have a bathing suit."

Bucky floated on his back, arms crossed behind his head. "Who cares?"

After a moment's hesitation, Baby Girl laughed. "You're right. Who cares?" She grabbed the hem of her top and lifted it over her head, revealing a white camisole underneath. She stopped near the edge of the lake, fixing Bucky with a faux glare. "Well, turn around. You're crazy if you think I'm undressing in front of you."

Bucky smirked at her teasing nature and turned away, listening for a splash. After a moment, the water rippled, followed by a shrill scream. "Can I look?"

"Go ahead." Baby Girl laughed when Bucky whipped his head, sending a stream of water flying her way from his hair. "Damn, the water's cold."

"Feels good, though."

"Yeah."

They settled into a comfortable silence, floating on their backs and sneaking glances at each other. Her white camisole had turned see-through, giving Bucky a delicious glimpse of her skin and pale blue bra. He averted his gaze, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I'll miss this when I'm gone," said Baby Girl softly. "The peace and quiet."

"You don't have to leave," Bucky urged. "You could stay."

She turned to face him. "I can't," she replied sadly.

"You're scared for Sam," he observed, remembering the texts. "Why? He's the fucking Falcon. He helped defeat Thanos. Beck is nothing compared to that."

The girl's eyes widened in alarm. "How do you know that?"

Bucky didn't tell her he read the messages. He would've come to the same conclusion sooner or later. He ran his hand through his wet hair. "I used to be a spy." He fixed her with a pointed look. "And you're a horrible liar. Seriously, you are worse than my cat."

She huffed but didn't argue. After a moment of silent contemplation, she settled on her back and regarded him doubtfully. "Quentin has connections with the CIA, FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security. Any government official out there, he's probably on a first-name basis with them." Her face contorted in pain. "He could ruin Sam's life with a single phone call. I swore I would never give him a reason to."

Bucky's jaw clenched tightly. "What's the worst that bastard could do? Sam knows people too."

"Not enough. He could pin a drug charge. It wouldn't even have to stick. The bad press would be enough to ruin Sam's reputation."

"That's illegal," Bucky pointed out dangerously. Quentin Beck was turning out to be worse than Bucky imagined.

"He doesn't care about that when it comes to me," she dismissed. "Quentin can do no wrong when it comes to love."

"That's not love!" Bucky snapped, losing the last of his patience. They were floating dangerously close to one another, elbows brushing.

"Regardless. There's nothing to be done."

"You could stay," Bucky implored. "I'd keep you safe."

They were even closer now, both on their backs, faces turned toward the other, lips dangerously close. For a moment it looked like she might say yes. She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a car door slamming shut interrupted her.

"That must be Sam," she said, and the moment was broken.

Bucky moved first, swimming to the deck to grab his discarded pants. "I'll give you some privacy," he said, dragging the fabric up his legs. He left without another word.

Incessant knocking at the front door stopped Bucky in his tracks. Sam always carried a key. Bucky dropped his shirt and went around the house to the front. The car parked in the drive was unfamiliar and out of place. Sleek and shiny and black. Expensive. The man waiting impatiently at the door looked more out of place than the car. Dressed in a gray suit, brown loafers, and black shades, the man looked like he belonged on the cover of a real estate advertisement.

"Can I help you?" Bucky snapped, feeling on edge.

The man lifted his shades to regard Bucky with a look of contempt, eyeing his exposed chest and metal arm with barely concealed disgust. "Yeah, maybe you can. Is this the Wilson residence?"

"Depends on who's asking."

"A friend," the man replied.

"Funny. I didn't know Sam had any friends."

"That's because I'm not Sam's friend," he scorned. "I'm looking for a girl."

Bucky inched closer to him. "I know lots of girls," he quipped.

The man smiled dangerously. "I'm looking for a very specific one. Yay high, unchecked temper, tendency for trouble."

Bucky laughed without humour. "Doesn't narrow much down, buddy. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"You must be the Winter Soldier," the man mused.

"I go by James Barnes," Bucky snapped. "You must be Quentin Beck." Bucky had recognized him right away.

Quentin Beck spread his arms in a wide gesture. "The one and only. I suppose she told you about me."

"She didn't have to. I can smell a bastard from a mile away."

Beck clenched his fists, face contorting nastily, and stepped forward. "You little—"

Despite the sweltering heat, Bucky felt a coldness wash over him. His advanced senses picked up on footsteps coming from around the back. His head whipped to the side just as the girl rounded the corner. She wore jeans and nothing else, her white camisole still wet and slightly see-through. Bucky watched with dread as she took in the sight in front of her, blinking confusedly. The colour slowly drained from her flushed cheeks, and she froze as her brain caught up with her eyes.

"Sweetheart?" Beck's demeanour rapidly changed, and he stalked forward with his hands raised non-threateningly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Bucky blocked his path with a glare.

When Beck noticed her state of undress, he became angry, clenching his fists at his side. He noted Bucky's bare chest, his low-hanging jeans, and the girl's see-through top. "What the fuck is going on here?" Beck demanded.

When he fixed his icy glare on her, she reanimated, staggering back with a loud gasp, Baby Girl tripped over a rock but continued scooting backwards as she fell over. The raw fear emanating from her was enough to undo Bucky. Bucky shoved Beck as hard as he could—without using his super strength—and slammed him against his car.

"Motherfucker," Beck hissed, clutching his side.

"I suggest you leave before you really piss me off," Bucky threatened, stalking closer.

Beck staggered away, putting his car between them. "Not without my fiancé," he seethed.

"Fiancé, huh?" Bucky turned toward the girl. She was still on the ground, carefully watching the scene with wide eyes. He waited until she looked at him, then gave her a soft smile, silently urging her to trust him. "Are you his fiancé, Baby Girl?"

She jerked her head in denial. "No."

"There you have it. You heard the lady." Bucky's voice lowered dangerously. "Now leave. Before I make you leave."

"She's lying!" Beck screamed. And Bucky got the impression he was used to getting his way. "I gave her a ring."

Bucky had cornered Beck against the hood of his car and was looming dangerously over his crouched figure. "I don't see any ring. Now leave!"

Beck unlocked the car, jerking open the driver's side and inelegantly lumbering in. "This isn't over yet, Winter Soldier," he spat, and with one last seething glare toward the girl, he sped off.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 10 days ago

Text

Kindling

16/12: Fireplace and Face Fucking - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: oral (m receiving), face fucking, slight hair pulling

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

A/N: Can be read as a standalone or a little continuation of Postcards.

She didn’t know it was going to be the most difficult time of year until it was.

Christmas was always dear to her. Granda used to make a huge show of it, decorating the post office to the nth degree, gaudy and if not a little overboard for just the local. But it was one of the few things that miserable old sod put any effort into, and seemingly enjoyed. Although the job of shovelling the snow and chipping ice off the front steps was always down to her, to her dismay.

It would be the first year without him.

Since he passed away, even when Tom came around sometimes to cheer her up when he had a spare moment, it was too quiet. The radio seemed to be perpetually on the last few weeks, and in between seeing off the postman at the door with his usual round and greeting the regulars, she’d find herself just wandering in circles, kicking her pumps on the floorboards, wondering what she could do to spruce the place up. Make it feel less like a funeral home and more like it did when Granda was alive.

She was counting the till, counting in tens in her head when the unmistakable bell prompted her to lift her eyes to the entrance. The sharp winter wind rattled the old glass window, and in stepped Tom Bennett, his frame filling the small post office like he’d never left.

He stood there, looking quite pleased with himself as he held the smallest christmas tree she’d ever seen in one hand. She had to press her lips together, not wanting to offend him.

“Bit small, isn’t it?”

Tom grinned, the sort that had once made her weak in the knees when he strolled into the post office in his navy blues. Now, bundled in a thick wool coat with a scarf looped haphazardly around his neck, he looked less like the gallant sailor and more like a man who’d just wrestled a tree out of the back of a van.

“Compact. Excuse you,” he corrected, stepping further in. Snowflakes clung to his hair, and his cheeks were ruddy from the cold. He leaned the poor looking tree against the front desk, bracing it then with both hands, ungloved she noted.

“It’ll look nice in the corner. Once we’ve decorated,” she smiled.

He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips quirking into a grin. “That’s the spirit, postie.”

“And what exactly was your plan if I said no?” she asked, organising the coins she had counted away.

“Would’ve camped out here until you gave in,” he said without missing a beat. “Might’ve sung a carol or two to win you over.”

She rolled her eyes in good fun, watching as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it over the back of the chair behind her. The room immediately felt smaller, warmer, as if his presence had filled all the empty corners. She felt him move in behind her, his chest brushing her back, his warmth, the faint scent of the cold clinging to him.

“What are you—” she began, but her words were cut off with a sharp gasp as his cold hands slipped inside the back of her blouse, pressing against the curve of her waist. “Tom Bennett! Your hands are freezing!” she exclaimed, jolting forward with a laugh, half outraged, half delighted.

He laughed and tightened his hold to keep her from wriggling away. “And you’re so warm,” he quipped, as if that justified his antics. His chest pressed against her back, solid and familiar, and she could feel the low rumble of his laughter against her spine.

She half-heartedly tugged his hands away, shifting in his hold to face him. Despite his behaviour, she couldn’t help the warm tug at her heart whenever she saw him this close, face to face. The softening of his blue eyes, the dark blonde hair that was styled from his face. She slung her arms over his shoulders, giving him a mocking stern expression.

“If you’re that cold, go sit in front of the fire like a normal person.”

Tom’s grin turned boyish, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “Oh, I could,” he drawled, leaning in just enough to close the space between them. “But then I wouldn’t get to steal all your warmth, now would I?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, feigning indifference, but even she couldn’t keep it up. She leaned down to take his icy hand, dragging him to the back room where the fireplace was lit. “Come on, before you turn into a block of ice.”

Tom followed willingly, his larger hand engulfing hers as they moved towards it. The fire crackled softly, their shadows large behind them dancing gently. She guided him to sit on the rug in front of the fireplace, and he settled himself down with a satisfied groan, stretching his long legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands.

“Better?” she asked, kneeling down beside him.

“Much,” he replied, tilting his head to look at her with that easy grin.

Her eyes flicked, almost unbidden, to the sofa behind them. It sat in the corner of the room, its upholstery a little more worn than she remembered. And yet, it was impossible to forget that night, Tom’s first leave in months, the unanswered letters, the deep, burning need…

Her blush deepened, and she quickly turned back to the fire, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

But Tom, of course, noticed everything. His grin turned sly, his head tilting slightly as he followed her gaze. When his eyes landed on the sofa, realisation dawned, and his smile grew wicked.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning closer to her. “I was wondering why you went all rosy just now. Taking a little trip down memory lane, are we?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“It's alright, love. It's one of my favourite memories too. If not my favourite,” he winked, and she could no longer blame the heat in her stomach on being sat in front of the fire.

“Stop it,” she smiled bashfully.

“It's definitely seen better days,” he joked, “do you reckon we broke it last time?” he asked, getting up and dragging himself over to the battered old thing.

“Tom, don't—”

He settled onto the sofa with a satisfied sigh, looking up at her. "Reckon it's taken a beating from us both," he teased, settling back against the cushions.

She shook her head, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She was about to call him an idiot when the cheeky glint in his eyes caught her attention. His gaze slid down her body, pausing with a knowing flicker as he leaned forward.

“You know, you look good from this angle.”

“Tom.”

“What?” he asked innocently, though the slow, smug smile spreading across his face was anything but.

“Don’t you ‘what’ me,” she said, trying to sound stern, though the warmth spreading through her chest made it difficult. She shifted across the floorboards, her hands sliding up his calves as she rested her cheek against his knee, looking up at him through her lashes.

Tom’s smirk faltered, his shoulders stiffening ever so slightly as he sat up straighter. She could see the moment her boldness caught him off guard, his breath hitching just enough for her to notice.

All the same, his hands were restless as they always were. And his hand slid over his leg to cup her face in his palm, his thumb running across her lower lip. She could tell by that look, that signature look, like a thought he had yet to speak aloud. The look he gave her when the rest of the world fell away.

“You know what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice quieter. His thumb lingered, brushing over her lip again as his eyes searched hers.

“Do I?” she replied softly, her tone teasing despite the way her own breath had turned shallow.

She righted to kneel between his legs, gently nudging them apart to sit between them, her hands sliding up to his thighs, the fabric of his trousers rough against her fingertips, feeling the muscles flex under her touch the closer she came to where he needed her most.

Tom's eyes darkened, watching. “You have a talent for this, love. Driving me mad, that is.”

She smirked, reaching for the buckle of his belt sat snug in his trousers loops. His hips shifted to aid her as she pulled the leather loose, slow, annoyingly unhurried.

Her fingers paused, her eyes flicking up to his as she tilted her head. “You sound awfully sure of yourself for a man about to beg,” she teased, her voice soft but dripping with mock innocence.

His laugh was low, rumbling in his chest. “Beg? Me? Sweetheart—”

Whatever witty remark he was about to make disappeared the moment her hand slid lower, grazing him through the fabric of his trousers. His words faltered, his breath catching in a way that sent a ripple of satisfaction through her.

“That’s what I thought,” she said softly, her tone still playful as she worked the buttons of his trousers, enough to free him into her palm. Her lips ghosted over him in tiny, barely-there kisses, each one deliberate, maddeningly light. She could feel the heat of him, the slight shudder in his thighs, and it sent a thrill through her.

She'd never tire of his scent. How much he needed her. Evident by the fact that merely five minutes of teasing had him rock hard and ready.

“Love,” he rasped, “you’re killing me.”

“Good,” she murmured, her voice feather-light, teasing, before laying another soft kiss along his length. Her tongue darted out between her lips, trailing a line from the base of him to the sensitive tip, before her lips parted to take him in.

Whatever quip he had died in his throat, replaced by a guttural sound that sent heat spiraling low in her belly. His fingers slid into her hair, and his grip tightened, his hips jerking slightly as she moved, her rhythm slow and deliberate, savouring the way he unravelled under her.

“Christ,” Tom hissed, his head tipping back as his free hand gripped the armrest of the battered sofa, knuckles white.

She glanced up at him through her lashes, her gaze locking with his. The sight of him undone, his flushed cheeks, his parted lips, his eyes heavy with desire. This was her favourite Tom Bennett, she decided.

She whined around him, feeling his grip in her hair unyielding, his hand guiding her mouth on him faster than her pace originally allowed.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained, but his hips pushed forward, seeking more. She let him, her hands steadying herself against his thighs as he took over, his control slipping entirely.

His restraint unravelled with every thrust of his hips. His breaths were short, ragged, each one punctuated by a deep. Her throat worked to take him, her nails curling into his legs as the force of him overwhelmed her, but she didn’t pull away.

When he climaxed, it was with a low, broken growl of her name, his grip tightening briefly before he stilled, his body trembling as he released into her mouth. She stayed with him, taking everything he gave, her touch softening as his tension melted away.

As she finally pulled back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, Tom slumped against the sofa, his head falling back as he caught his breath. But after a moment, his gaze shifted to hers, his expression softening.

“I got a bit carried away there. Didn’t mean to, you know, throttle you or anything,” his voice low and hoarse, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek.

She huffed a laugh, her lips quirking into a smile as she tilted her head into his touch. “You’re saying this now?” she teased.

His lips twitched into a small grin, though he still looked a bit sheepish. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She smiled reassuringly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips as she straddled his lap where he sat. “No, Tom. You didn’t hurt me.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, a cheeky spark lighting up in his gaze as he leaned back against the sofa. “Well, in that case,” he said with a smirk, his hand sliding around her waist to pull her closer, “how about we give this sofa another run for its money? I don't think you've warmed me up enough yet.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, though she couldn't deny that the same feeling was pulsing low in her stomach, forming a damp patch in her knickers.

“Fine. But if we break it this time, you're fixing it.”

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@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

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#tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #tom bennett world on fire #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett fic #tom bennett fanfiction #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #tom bennett wof #world on fire fic #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire bbc #tom bennett x fem!reader #tom bennett x y/n

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dilf-c0nn0isseur · 4 months ago

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just a short little friends with benefits type logan drabble:)

logan howlett x fem!reader 18+

You had fallen into a familiar routine. Walk home from work, the chilled air nipping at the exposed skin your face. Let yourself into your small, dingy apartment and shuffle out of your heavy coat that’s damp with melted snowflakes. You always make your way to your bathroom first and warm yourself with a scorching shower that steams the compact room. Once you’re out, you make a shameless phone call to the man that had been making nightly visits at your place for the past couple of weeks.

It’s always the same. The soft knock at the door, the way he saunters inside your apartment and kicks his snowy boots off, the sheer size of him alone making your apartment seem even smaller than it already is. You offer him a drink, something to cut the awkward tension of the first few moments of his arrival, the ones that lead up to what you both know that call was about. He hangs his faded leather jacket up beside your coat. You watch him as he downs a bottle of whiskey you poured him- whiskey you now buy specifically for his visits. With the glass now emptied he stands up and takes your hand in his, leading you toward your own bedroom, as if he knows the place better than you do.

Tonight, he’s in no rush as he leans into you and grazes your jaw with his parted lips, your head obediently falling to the side to expose your bare neck to him. His usual smell of pine and whiskey, a hint of his own personal musk underlying it, drifted up your nose and soothed any tension you still carried in your body. It was comforting.

With his head still tucked into the crook of your neck, he pulled you to your bed and began removing your clothes, like second nature. He brought his lips to yours and parted them with his tongue while running his rough hands over your bare skin. You toyed with the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head and letting it fall to the floor beside your bed where your clothes now laid. The heat from his body radiated against yours and you ran your hands down his chiseled torso. A rough sigh left his lips as you traced a finger down the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. He lifted from you briefly to unfasten his belt and discard his jeans to the forgotten pile of clothes on the floor. “Missed you,” he muttered as he lowered himself back on you and planted wet kisses on your chest.

“You were here last night,” you said with a soft sigh, hands buried in his hair. You felt his hand snake between your bodies where it pulled his cock out, precum dripping from his tip to your thigh.

“Still missed you.”

It didn’t take the two of you much longer to fall back into your usual rhythm. It had only been a few weeks of these hookups, but it felt like you knew each others bodies so well, perfectly in sync. Logan loved the way you stretched around him as he plunged inside of you, the way your face contorted in pleasure beneath him while he thrusted himself in and out of your pussy. When his name appeared on your lips in bursts of obscenities and moans, he pushed deeper, his grip on the sheets beside you tightening.

You were used to the weight of him on top of you, caging you beneath him with muscular arms on either side of your head. You rocked into the bed with each thrust of his hips. His head fell against your shoulder when he felt your cunt tighten around his dick, on the incline towards orgasm. He nipped gently at your soft flesh, running his tongue against the sore skin after.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he coaxed in-between messy kisses. He pumped deeper inside of you, hitting that soft sweet spot that made your whole body erupt with pleasure. Your fingernails dug into the tough skin on his back as you came, drawing a low groan from him that signaled his shared climax. You felt his warm cum coat the inside of your pussy, his last slow, grinding thrusts pushing it all even deeper within you. He let out a shaky breath as he collapsed next to you, pulling you against him. You rolled onto your side and he nestled his head in the back of your neck. His hot breath raised goosebumps on your skin.

This is how your routine always ended, him cradling your body against his until you both fell asleep, and then you’d repeat it all over again tomorrow night.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #x men logan #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x you #smut #x men wolverine #wolverine

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notapradagurl7 · 4 months ago

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Sick Day In.

Black! Fem Readr x Orlando Johnson from All American: Homecoming.

(a/n: he is so fine. I loved writing this one.😫❤️)

Taglist: @lavnderluv @harmshake @sageispunk @soft-persephone @megamindsecretlair @westside-rot @siqueth @liatreads @torsiar @mypointlessdays @justhornyyme @cristallizednmesmerized @satoruya @planetblaque @hoodbarbiesims @harlemheiress @glitterperms @amplifiedmoan @avoidthings @judymfmoody @life-in-the-slut-house @keyera-jackson @tryingtograspctrl @nzia-writes @multiversefanfics @thecookiebratz

Summary: You were feeling under the weather in your college dorm so your boyfriend Orlando visited your dorm and helped you get better.

——————

You lay slouching against the white bed sheets, cocooned in light green blankets. Your fingers plucked another dark green tissue from the bedside tan table, as you blew your nose with a sniffle. Sliding off the twin bed, you peeled back the covers, revealing white socks gliding over the grey carpet. Frustration set in you as you tossed yet another tissue into the overflowing mint green bin, rolling your brown eyes, and pursing your lips.

A quick hand wash in the compact bathroom, and you returned to your bed, surrounded by the eggshell white cinder block walls in the average-sized dorm room, The walls were adorned with your own artwork, and a cherished family photo. Just then, a few gentle knocks on the door pulled your attention.

"Who's there?" you asked, you weren’t in the mood for company right now.

You were an art major and college student at Bringston University, an HBCU in Atlanta.

You were dedicated to your studies and held the position of club president in the art club.

Your strict academic schedule and demanding leadership role left you with little time to rest. Unfortunately, you fell ill and were forced to spend your summer cooped up alone in your dorm room, unable to enjoy the sunny Atlanta weather. Your hard work and dedication have taken a toll on your health.

You had been looking forward to the summer break to relax and recharge, but your plans were ruined by the cold. You missed your family and friends, who were all back home, and wished you could be there too.

Despite feeling sick, you had still managed to inform your boyfriend, Orlando about your not being able to make it for their date tonight. Although he empathized with your condition, he was still eager to spend some quality time with you. You appreciated your boyfriend's concern.

During your art class, the two college students crossed paths and soon became partners on a collaborative project. It was then that he witnessed your natural artistic talent, admiring every stroke and technique you used.

The two of you worked together, you found it endearing that he took such care in learning how to handle a paintbrush. Your partnership blossomed into a friendship, with you cheering him on at his baseball games and him buying your art supplies when you lost them.

Eventually, your friendship evolved into a romantic relationship and he proved to be an exceptional boyfriend. Attentive to every detail, he never missed a beat when it came to you.

You were grateful for Orlando's support and love and he was grateful for yours too, especially during times like this when you felt helpless and alone. You knew you could always count on him to lift your spirits and make you feel better.

In her comfortable attire, you sported a grey tee shirt that was matched with a pair of grey sweatpants that clung to your legs. You wore white tube socks on your feet, while your raven box braids, gently swayed in front of your face. Your hands were tucked away in your pockets, and the room was filled with the sweet aroma of vanilla, emanating from the trio of candles on your nightstand. The thin, white blinds allowed the gentle sunlight to peek through and shine upon your brown skin. Serene silence fills the room.

"It's Orlando." He said outside of your dorm room, made your heart leap with excitement. You practically skipped over to the door, your hand eagerly grasping the metal door handle.

You slowly swung the door open, your face broke into a smile at the sight of your boyfriend standing there. Without hesitation, you welcomed him inside your cozy dorm room, his hand holding a bag filled with everything you needed to combat the cold you had. Orlando holding a bouquet of red roses. You couldn't help but smile at the sweet gesture as you closed the door behind him.

"Hey, baby," Orlando greeted you with a gentle kiss on your forehead, "I brought you some soup, medicine, and your favorite snacks, your favorite movies. A bouquet of red roses to cheer you up."

"Orlando, Thank you. You're the best." Your eyes glinted with gratitude as you took the bag and bouquet from him, carefully placing it next to the nightstand while putting the flowers in the purple vase. He wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging her from behind. You felt your heart fill with affection for him as your cheeks grew hot.

"How are you feeling Y/N?" Orlando asked in a gentle tone, as he leaned in and rested his chin on your shoulder. His thumb gently rubbed over your stomach, hoping that his presence could bring some good to the summer that had been tough for you.

"Still pretty crappy, this cold won't go away but don't you have a baseball season this summer? I hope that I didn't get in the way of your games," you spoke in a gentle tone, shaking your head as you looked at him.

Orlando gently shook his head, his hands cupping your face as he turned around and

Faced you forward to meet your gaze. He locked eyes with you, his tender touch causing her chest to flutter with nerves. He didn't want you to think he didn't care about your well-being.

"I only care about being with you this summer. You've been overworking yourself and it pains me to see you like this. I'll skip another season." he mentioned softly, his thumb swiped over your cheek.

"Let me take care of you baby," Orlando said in a sultry voice, his gaze fixated on your. He nibbled on his lower lip, as if contemplating the next move.

Your heart raced as you soaked his words, understanding both senses but feeling unprepared for what he had planned. He leaned in for a kiss, but she quickly turned your head, redirecting his lips to your cheek. "I don't want you to get sick," you pouted.

"Let's wait until I get better." you added, you didn't want to risk his health for momentary pleasure.

Orlando let out a contented hum and turned his attention to your bottom lip. After a brief moment, he looked back into your eyes and uttered, "One of the many things I love about you." He then leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on your cheek.

You knew you were lucky to have someone like him in her life and so was he. The two of you sat on your bed, watching movies and enjoying the soup and snacks, you felt your cold slowly start to fade away. But more than that, you felt the warmth and comfort of your boyfriend's love.

—————

The night sky crept up on them faster than anticipated, but with the help of medication, a steaming bowl of soup, and some cough drops, your cold went away.

Orlando's back leaned against the light green plush pillows with your back nestled against his chest and he gently laid his chin on top of your head while he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. "Feeling better?" he asked, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, snuggling further into his embrace. "Yup, thanks to you," you replied, your voice still a bit hoarse.

Orlando chuckled. "I'm just glad I could help." They lay there in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company. The only sound in the room was the soft hum of the air conditioner.

Orlando placed a gentle kiss on your cheek and used his index finger to lift your chin. "Now that you're feeling better, can I take care of you?" He whispered in a low tone. You flushed and nodded, "Yes, of course, baby."

Your lips met in a passionate kiss as you tilted your heads in different directions, exploring each other's mouths with your tongues. You let out a soft moan as the kiss intensified, leaving a trail of saliva between your lips as you parted.

"Orlando can you lock the door really quick?"

——————

Your naked back laid flat against the white bedsheets with his hands held your hips in place while his slim hips rocked into you, while your fingernails sunk into back muscles and your mouth hung open to let a chorus of moans, "Oh shitt! Orlando!" you moaned loudly, your eyes locked intensely, your thumb traced the outline of his lips while he smirked against your brown skin, he trailed kisses up to your breast. The bed creaked from their movement, you shivered with pleasure, sending tingles down yourr entire body. He plunged deeper into you while you arched your back off the bed.

Orlando lowers his head to pepper warm kisses on the sides of your neck and sinks his teeth into your neck gently, leaving hickeys on your brown skin while he gyrated into you making your toes curl in the air, "Talk to me, tell me how good it feels.." Orlando lulled to you, you gasped at the sensation of his tongue swiveling around your erect nipple while his other hand gently kneaded your other breast and the wet sounds of your skin colliding filled the room.

Orlando's mouth enveloped your nipple, the warmth of his lips sending shivers down your body. You pulled him closer, your hands moving to the back of his neck. "It's so good, Don't stop," you sputtered, pulling him closer to you as you whispered, motivating him more as he quickened his pace, your wet walls clenched around him so tightly "Damn...you're taking it so good baby.." he praised lowly, his nails digging into your hips while his middle finger circled her clit. Tilting their heads together to deepen the kiss, you moaned, "Mmhm!" unable to control the pleasure that was building inside of you.

His hips lunged faster, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax, "I'm gonna cum baby..." You gasped, He didn't slow down, instead, he pushed you over the edge with a few slow, sloppy thrusts. You cried out his name while your essence gushed around his dick, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm.

Orlando pulled out of you, "fuckk.." Orlando gripped the covers and laid them on their naked bodies while pulling you into his arms and he nuzzled his face into your neck, peppering kisses along your brown skin. "You're so beautiful," He hummed, his voice husky. You smiled, feeling completely content in his arms before kissing your lips tenderly again.

———————

#black!reader #black fanfiction #all american homecoming #lando johnson #orlando johnson #lando x reader

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elitehomelifts · 9 days ago

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hi love. if you’re taking any requests could i request rockstar!sirius, or sirius in general, like the start of the relationship when everything is cute funny but they're still not a Couple

rockstar!sirius takes you on a date ♡ fem, 1.2k

“If you're here to antagonise me, you can just go home, Sirius,” you warn.

Sirius Black gives you a dastardly grin, sliding into the seat across from you in a cloud of expensive cologne and hairspray. You're ashamed to say he smells nice, if a little sharp.

“Hair explosion?” you ask.

“You're very, very cruel to me, angel. I shouldn't call you that.” The toe of his converse hits yours. He leans forward, covering the pages of your novel with a hand adorned in silver jewellery. “It's no longer accurate.”

“So mean,” you sigh, imbuing it with as much gutted patheticness as possible.

“Hey, I'm kidding.” He pushed his foot between yours. “How long have you been here? Did you wait long?”

You close your book, put it flat out of reach, and fix him with a genuine smile. “No, not long.”

Sirius leans over to kiss your cheek. You'll feel it for the next half an hour, a tingling, crescent moon of contact. “Well, good. Should we go and order? Know what you want?” He shakes his head. “I know what you want. Stay here.”

He pops up and away as quick as he'd arrived. You panic. Cool and collected you may have seemed, but internally you're a storm of nerves, hands shaking ever so slightly as you take the compact mirror from your pocket and check over your features. You're worried you look like you've tried as hard as you have, all your complicated skincare and makeup, sheer shimmers and invisible concealer.

Sirius met you without a lick of makeup and he still acted like you were the best thing since sliced bread. You remember it all in vivid detail, the way he'd looked at you, the double-take, the subsequent flirting. Sirius doesn't neg, but it was hard at first to know if he was being real with you. And what, he'd drawled, unblinking, dark lashes and kohl rings emphasised by his stillness, is a thing like you doing in a place like this?

Thing? you'd asked softly, confused and intimidated by his attention. You'd recognised him immediately.

Girl, he'd corrected himself. Then, with a strange smile, Angel. You're an angel, huh? Must be.

It wasn't some world-bending line but it didn't need to be, his demeanour did the hard work for him. And his appearance didn't hurt.

Even now as he walks back towards you, your heart skips a quick beat. He looks more casual than he has the last few times he's seen you, a leather jacket swapped for ragged black denim, and tight pants replaced with jeans that hug his thighs. You can't believe a thing like him would ever be interested in you, but he most assuredly is.

“Here,” he says, putting a drink down in front of you, and again leaning down to kiss your other cheek. “You look so pretty.” He says it like it’s nothing, doesn't cost him a thing, not a shred of doubt nor bravery. Then he adds, “You're fucking perfect. Can't believe you walk around like this for free.”

“Stop it,” you say with a laugh, pushing him away. You can't bring yourself to be mean about it. Sirius hasn't ever been mean to you, not once, despite the things people have told you since you met. Be careful with that one. Guys like him want one thing.

After three dates and two evenings spent watching films together on his ragtag sofa (and enjoying the laziest, softest kisses a girl may ever have been given), you've yet to find out what he wants. To adore you, apparently.

He runs his pinky down your cheek and under your chin. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

You lift your chin invitingly.

Sirius laughs into your lips, suddenly kissing you, close and heavy-handed. You rise off of your seat to meet him, only an inch or so but enough to pull a deep sound from the back of his throat. You've never been kissed like this; his hand is steady on your cheek, reluctant to let you go, and he presses down hard with his lips. Nearly too much, never quite there. He rounds it out with a softer one and pulls back to gaze at you fondly.

“I missed you,” he says, sneaking back in to kiss the slight curve of your laugh line. “Not cool, this whole sleeping at your own flat business.”

He isn't your boyfriend, yet. Hasn't asked. So he isn't staying at yours nor you at his. But he has to ask soon, right? Who kisses people like that without intentions of some sort of commitment?

Rockstars, your brain supplies cruelly. Infamous players.

“Well, where else would I be staying?” you ask as he sits back in his seat.

“Good question, beautiful.” He ignores it, anyhow. “I've ordered a few too many things. Don't be mad.”

“I won't be.” You take your purse from your coat. “So long as it doesn't cost more than sixty two pounds and eight p, that is.”

“Shut up, as if you're paying. You're fucking childish–”

“You're childish, I'm trying to keep things fair and you won't let me!”

“Quite right. Look at the state of you,” he says, eyes roving across your face pleasantly, “you think you deserve to pay for dinner? No. I asked you, and I've ordered, and it'll cost a bit more than what you have anyways.” He drops the act just enough to see a sliver of doubt. “Please, let me take care of it. I want to buy you dinner, sweetheart. It's the least I want to do for you.”

You look at him through your lashes, face angled down at the ebony wooden table. “Yeah, alright. I don't mind.”

“Good, because you didn't really have a choice. How can I expect you to say yes if I don't pay for dinner first?”

“Say yes to what?” you ask, frowning gently. He's confused you.

Sirius offers both hands across the table. You place yours softly in his, letting him brush the pads of his thumbs against your knuckles.

“To being official,” he says, a hopeful smile playing on his lovely mouth. “What do you think? Is it too soon to ask?”

You shake your head minutely.

He drops his head a little, meeting your eyes. “Do you want to be together?”

“I'll be your girlfriend?” you confirm.

“Do you want to be?” His lips part but he doesn't add anything more, though he might want to. You understand that vulnerability won't be instantaneous between you both. You can wait. If this is even a hint of the man he is, you want to be together more than anything.

You nod, forcing your smile into a line that soon wobbles.

He leans across the table for another kiss. This one chaste. Perfect.

“Thank you,” he says. When he sits back, he's practically glowing with smugness. “Fuck. I thought that would be harder.”

“I can make it worse for you if you want to ask me again."

“Would you? Let's take it from the top, angel. I didn't suffer half as much as I should've.”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

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urfavoritewriter · 1 year ago

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More Than Neighbors

A commission for an anonymous user here on Tumblr, thank you for commissioning me!

Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Endo, Digestion, Melting Digestion, Multiple Instances of Vore, burping

The sun cast a warm glow over the new neighborhood as Jake and Andrew arrived at their freshly leased apartment. The building, a quaint three-story structure, stood proudly with a coat of welcoming beige paint. As they stepped inside, the scent of fresh paint tickled their noses—a sign that this place was truly their canvas to fill.

The apartment had a cozy charm, with sunlight streaming through the large windows that adorned the living room. The kitchen, though compact, exuded a functional elegance, complete with gleaming appliances and granite countertops. A promising beginning to their life together.

With an exchange of glances and a shared smile, Jake and Andrew embarked on a rhythm of unpacking. The air was charged with the excitement of new beginnings. The sound of cardboard boxes being shuffled and furniture being arranged reverberated through the apartment.

Jake's lively voice, filled with enthusiasm, echoed, "Babe, I'm thinking the couch should go right here, what do you say?"

Andrew, a bit more measured in his responses, replied, "Yeah, that works. Gives a nice view of the TV and opens up the space."

Their shared brainstorming intertwined with the mundane yet significant task of setting up their home. Little did they know that this cozy abode would soon become the stage for a more unconventional kind of interaction with their neighbor. Or, at the very least, one that Jake attempted to hide really well.

"I'd love to stay and help, but I've got to go to work. Maybe wait on the heavier tasks till I'm back home, and set up what you can until then," Andrew suggested, a hint of regret in his voice as duty called him away.

Jake nodded, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "Sure thing, babe. I'll leave the heavy lifting for when my strong man is back in action." He winked playfully, earning a chuckle from Andrew.

As Andrew prepared to head out the door, Jake couldn't resist a mischievous comment, "Thinking of greeting our neighbors later. You know, being the friendly new guy in the building."

Andrew shot him a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a smirk. "Just don't get into any trouble. And no overly friendly offers, alright?" he quipped.

Jake feigned innocence, a twinkle in his eye. "Who, me? Never!" he teased, giving Andrew a quick peck on the cheek before sending him off to work with a playful swat on the butt. "Hey, I just want to make sure we're on good terms with everyone around here. Plus, who knows, maybe they're super cool."

With a peck on Jake's cheek, Andrew replied, "Alright, social butterfly. Do us proud. See you later, okay?"

"Sure thing. Have a good day at work!" Jake replied, continuing the mundane task of unboxing their many sentimental objects for the next hour.

Jake took a moment in the shiny new bathroom, adjusting his hair and shirt. He wanted to make a good first impression, not just for himself but also for Andrew. With a deep breath, he looked at himself in the mirror, nodding as if giving himself a mental pep talk.

Feeling ready, Jake strolled out of the apartment, locking the door behind him, and headed for the next door. It felt a bit odd, making the rounds so soon, but he figured it was better to know his neighbors sooner rather than later.

Arriving at the door, he took another moment, clearing his throat and then knocked twice. The anticipation was a mix of nerves and excitement, not knowing who would answer the door.

The door creaked open, revealing a man with a dad bod, dressed in a blue gym shirt that depicted a muscular guy lifting, paired with black shorts. The shirt hugged his form in a way that accentuated his physique rather than hiding it, and the casual attire only added to the relaxed charm he exuded. This was Thomas, the neighbor Jake was about to get to know.

"Hey there!" Thomas greeted, a friendly smile on his face. "You must be the new neighbor. I'm Thomas." He extended a hand, a firm handshake revealing the calluses of someone who might hit the gym often.

"Jake," he replied, returning the handshake. "Nice to meet you, Thomas."

Thomas chuckled a bit, the friendly tone still lingering. "Likewise, Jake. So, what brings you to this side of the building?"

Jake shifted slightly, feeling a bit shy under Thomas's friendly gaze. "Just moved in with my boyfriend, Andrew, next door. Thought I'd say hi to the neighbors."

"Ah, the happy couple! Welcome to the neighborhood," Thomas said, rubbing his chin playfully. "You know, you're lucky to have me as a neighbor. I'm like the unofficial welcoming committee around here."

Jake grinned, finding Thomas's confidence oddly endearing. "Well, lucky us then. Thanks for the warm welcome."

Thomas leaned against the door frame, his demeanor casual but with a hint of self-assuredness. "No problem at all. Say, why don't you come in? I was just about to make some tea. A little neighborly chat won't hurt."

Jake hesitated for a moment but couldn't resist the friendly offer. "Sure, why not? Tea sounds good."

The apartment had a pleasant aroma of warmth and familiarity as Thomas led Jake in. It was a cozy space with an inviting feel, making Jake feel a bit more at ease. Thomas moved effortlessly to the small kitchenette, pulling out two cups and preparing tea.

"Here you go, Jake," Thomas said, handing over one of the steaming cups. "I've got a knack for tea, so enjoy."

"Thanks," Jake replied, taking a sip, the warmth of the tea comforting in his hands. "You've got a nice place here."

Thomas grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, it's my little bachelor pad. Not as neat as it could be, but it's home."

They exchanged pleasantries, Jake finding himself drawn to Thomas's charismatic demeanor. The conversation flowed easily, with Thomas expressing genuine interest in getting to know his new neighbor. At one point, Jake couldn't help but voice a thought that had been lingering in his mind.

"You know, Thomas, you're a pretty interesting guy," Jake said, a playful glint in his eyes. "And, well, quite attractive."

Thomas's response was a cocky smirk, as if he'd expected the compliment. "I get that a lot, and for good reason."

Jake blushed slightly, his admission out in the open. "I hope I'm not being too forward or anything. It's just, you seem like a cool guy."

Thomas chuckled, the cocky edge still present. "No worries, Jake. I can handle a compliment. And cool? I'll take it. We'll have to hang out more, get to know each other better. Maybe introduce me to that boyfriend of yours."

Jake nodded, feeling a warmth spreading through him. "Yeah, that sounds great. Andrew would love to meet you, I'm sure."

With that, the conversation continued, the two sharing stories and laughter, the bond between neighbors growing stronger. Little did Jake know that the more time he spent with Thomas, the deeper his fascination would become. Jake couldn't stop eye-ing his neighbor's dad bod, and especially his slightly protruding belly, which was cozy and inviting.

"What's up?" Thomas said, noticing Jake's attraction to his body and his extended silence.

"Say, Thomas," Jake spoke, his voice a little shaken and apprehensive. "I was wondering if you could… You know," He said, avoiding his neighbor's direct gaze. "Swallow me up?"

The revelation hung in the air, creating a moment of awkward tension between Jake and Thomas. Jake's request was so unexpected that even Thomas, with his confident demeanor, was momentarily taken aback.

"Swallow you up?" Thomas repeated, a bemused expression crossing his face.

Jake, realizing how unusual his request sounded, quickly began to backtrack. "Oh, uh, sorry. That was a weird thing to say. I just thought, you know, it's been a long day with all the moving, and I thought it might be a way to relax. Forget I said anything."

Thomas, recovering from his initial surprise, chuckled. "Hey, no need to apologize. That's definitely one way to unwind. But, you know, what about your boyfriend? Shouldn't he be the one you'd want to spend your evening with?"

Jake hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room as if searching for an excuse. "Andrew's at work. He won't be back for hours. I figured it might be a good time, you know?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow, the cocky smirk returning. "Well, well, looks like I've got some competition with your boyfriend's schedule. Alright, Jake, let's give it a try. Why not?"

Jake's eyes widened in surprise, the realization sinking in that Thomas was actually considering his bizarre request. He stammered, "Wait, really?"

Thomas chuckled again, approaching Jake with a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, really. I was beginning to think the tea in me could use some company." He teased.

As Thomas moved closer, Jake felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. Little did he know that this seemingly casual decision would set the stage for a series of events that would reshape the dynamics of their relationships in ways he couldn't have imagined.

Thomas's demeanor shifted, and a dominant aura enveloped him as he towered over Jake. With a wicked grin, he leaned in, his tongue emerging to sensually trace patterns across Jake's face, leaving a glossy trail of saliva in its wake.

Jake, caught in a mix of surprise and arousal, felt a shiver run down his spine. The dominant display was more than he had bargained for, but there was a certain allure to Thomas's confident and commanding presence.

As Thomas continued to lick, his teasing commentary echoed through the room. "You wanted to relax, right? Well, I'm here to make sure it's a memorable experience for you."

Jake, unable to resist the heat building within him, nodded in agreement. "Yes, I… I wanted something different."

Thomas, seemingly pleased with Jake's response, opened his mouth wide. The sight of those teeth, the expanse of his tongue, and the moist interior of his mouth created a mesmerizing spectacle. Jake, transfixed, felt a combination of excitement and anticipation.

With deliberate slowness, Thomas brought his open mouth closer to Jake's head, giving him a teasing pause. "Ready for the next part?" he asked, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Jake, feeling the heat of the moment, nodded again. "Yeah, go for it."

Thomas didn't waste any time. He extended his tongue and, with a deliberate and sensual motion, began swallowing Jake's head. The sensation was unlike anything Jake had experienced before—being enveloped by warmth, the pressure increasing gradually as he slid further into Thomas's mouth.

As Jake descended into the darkness, he couldn't help but marvel at the intimacy of the act. The feeling of Thomas's teeth grazing against his skin, the wetness of his tongue, and the gentle pressure surrounding him created a heady mix of pleasure and surrender, and he couldn't be more grateful that he had been forward with his request.

Thomas relished the sensation of Jake's head nestled within the confines of his mouth. The warm, tight space engulfed Jake, and Thomas couldn't resist savoring the unique flavors that each part of his captive offered.

With a deliberate and practiced motion, Thomas began the process of swallowing Jake further. His hands, which had initially rested casually on Jake's torso, now came into play. Fingers pressed gently into Jake's sides, aiding the swallowing process and ensuring a smooth descent.

The fabric of Thomas's shirt stretched as Jake's form traveled lower, gradually disappearing into the voracious depths of Thomas's mouth. The sensation of Jake's descent was hot, tight, and surprisingly intimate. Thomas's throat worked rhythmically, each gulp accompanied by a low, satisfied hum.

As Jake's upper body passed the point of no return, Thomas reveled in the feel of his buttocks. The firm, plump curves were a tantalizing delight, and Thomas couldn't resist using his hands to savor the moment. Fingers kneaded into the soft flesh, ensuring every inch of Jake was embraced by the consuming journey.

Thomas's thick hands squeezed Jake's buttocks inside his mouth, relishing the feeling of the soft flesh yielding to his grasp. The act was both sensual and commanding, a testament to the control Thomas exerted over the devouring process.

As Thomas continued the deliberate swallowing, the bulge in his throat expanded, signaling Jake's gradual descent into the depths of his belly. The once-taut fabric of Thomas's shirt now strained and stretched, barely containing the increasing mass within. The sight was both enticing and provocative, the visible contours of Jake's form pressing against the fabric.

GULP!

With each successive gulp, Jake's head popped beneath the surface of Thomas's belly, causing a noticeable bulge from the outside. The fabric of Thomas's shirt clung desperately to the expanding mass within, the tight material pulled upward by the gravitational pull of Jake's journey into the man's digestive abyss.

The struggle of the fabric against the growing bulge was accentuated by the relentless swallowing. Thomas's throat worked with practiced precision, each gulp drawing Jake further into the churning depths of his belly. The once-cocky bachelor now seemed entirely consumed by the act, his concentration evident in the rhythmic motions of his throat.

The tight shirt, now strained beyond its limits, surrendered to the pressure. With a final, audible rip, the fabric gave way, exposing Thomas's expanding midsection. The bulge, no longer restrained by clothing, continued its ascent, offering a visual spectacle of Jake's gradual submersion into Thomas's digestive embrace.

Thomas's belly was much more pronounced with Jake entirely swallowed up, showcasing his curled up form beneath the bachelor's muscles. He rubbed his belly, moaning, as he let out a huge burp.

BuuuUuUuUuUuUrPPP!!

Thomas grinned, running a hand over his now exposed belly, the remnants of his torn shirt hanging from his waistband. "Well, shit, there goes my favorite gym shirt. And I thought it was tear-resistant. You owe me a new one."

He looked down at Jake's bulge inside him, the corners of his mouth curling up mischievously. "But, you know, it's worth it, just to have you all cozy in there, buddy."

Thomas reclined on his couch, feeling the subtle weight of Jake nestled within him. The torn shirt hung around his waist as a makeshift reminder of their unusual encounter. He ran a hand over his rounded belly, savoring the comforting fullness.

As hours passed, Jake found a peculiar coziness within Thomas's belly. His words, though muffled by the fleshy confines, conveyed a sense of contentment. "So damn cozy in here," Jake's voice reverberated, the sounds dulled by the warm expanse of Thomas's belly.

The bachelor lounged, occasionally shifting in a way that cradled Jake further within him. Thomas chuckled, responding to the muffled remarks. "Yeah? Glad you're enjoying it, buddy. Just chill. We got time, and let me know when that boyfriend of yours is about to come."

Hours drifted lazily by as Thomas continued to chill on his couch, occasionally rubbing his belly as if patting a pet that lay within. Jake, within the comfortable confines of Thomas's belly, began to squirm subtly. His muffled sounds conveyed a sense of restlessness.

Jake's voice was muffled, the words barely decipherable but hinting at the desire to be released. Thomas, catching on, sat up with a casual grin. "Alright, time to set you free, little guy."

Thomas leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, as the process of regurgitating Jake commenced. A low, guttural sound accompanied the motion, reminiscent of someone trying to force out an unexpected cough. As the first signs of Jake's reappearance became evident, a mixture of saliva and stomach acids accompanied him.

With a final, controlled heave, Jake emerged from Thomas's mouth. The dampened form of the once-swallowed man glistened, adorned with a sheen of Thomas's digestive fluids. Jake coughed and sputtered, the residue of the endosomatic adventure clinging to his form.

Thomas chuckled, leaning back as he wiped a stray droplet from the corner of his mouth. "There you go, Jake. Back to the land of the living, or at least out of my stomach."

Jake fumbled for a nearby napkin, wiping off the remnants of Thomas's digestive embrace from his face. He hesitated, glancing at Thomas with a mix of uncertainty and arousal.

"Fuck, that was hot as fuck," Jake admitted, his cheeks flushed. "Do you think, um… That maybe we could do this regularly?"

Thomas reclined on the couch, a cocky grin forming on his lips. "Regularly, huh? Well, who am I to say no? My gut's taken a liking to your round shape, and I figure I'd want to make use of this torn shirt again."

Jake, still catching his breath, grinned at Thomas. "Thanks, man. That was something else." With a casual wave, he headed back to his apartment, the door closing behind him.

In the privacy of his own place, Jake couldn't help but marvel at the wild experience. "Damn," he muttered, glancing at himself in the mirror. "Shower time before Andrew gets back."

Over the next few weeks, Jake found himself drawn to Thomas's door almost as if by an irresistible force. The frequency of his visits increased, and a peculiar routine developed—almost every time Andrew was out for work, Jake would find himself knocking on Thomas's door, eager for the sensation of being swallowed once more.

It became a clandestine affair, a secret passion that Jake couldn't resist indulging. The cozy afternoons spent nestled in Thomas's belly provided a unique escape, a refuge from the outside world. Thomas, despite his initial cockiness, seemed to enjoy the arrangement just as much.

Their encounters varied. Sometimes it was a quick, spontaneous venture, while on other occasions, Jake lingered longer, savoring the warmth and tightness of his endosoma retreat. As Thomas rubbed his belly in contentment, Jake relished the intimacy of the experience. The thrill of being swallowed, the muffled sounds of Thomas's surroundings, and the cozy darkness of his gut.

Each gulp, each audible swallow, became a part of their unspoken agreement. The torn gym shirt, now a remnant of many sessions, hung as a testament to their peculiar encounters. Thomas, ever the cocky host, reveled in the power dynamics of their arrangement. He would tease Jake with casual remarks, mocking him for how much he craved being inside him, how his gut's taking him from his boyfriend, and relishing the satisfaction of being the one in control. The muffled sounds of casual chatter, the gentle burps that followed, became routine.

One day, after weeks of their clandestine routine, Jake found himself stewing away in Thomas's gut. The familiar sensation of being enveloped in warmth and darkness was his routine escape from reality.

"Almost time for you to be out, bro," Thomas said, getting on his knees, preparing to regurgitate Jake, as they had done several times before. But, before the expected release, Jake squirmed in protest.

"Fuck, just take me," Jake said, his words muffled by the tight confinement of Thomas's gut, fully taken over by a surge of lust.

Thomas, taken aback, paused, looking at Jake with a mix of surprise and confusion. "You mean… like, for real? You want me to…?" he hesitated, gesturing toward his own belly.

Jake, caught in the moment of passion, nodded, confirming the unexpected twist in their usual routine. "Yeah, man. Digest me. Take me in. I want it," he muttered, his voice filled with a mix of desire and abandon.

The unexpected turn left Thomas momentarily stunned, but the allure of Jake's plea proved to be too intoxicating to resist. With a smirk and a shake of his head, Thomas took a deep breath and said, "Glad you said that, a few more weeks and I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from ending you whether you asked for it or not."

Thomas sat back, a casual air about him as he reclined, teasing Jake about the gravity of his words. "You know, bro, you just signed up for the no do-overs, no take-backs deal. You're in my gut now, and you're gonna stay there."

Jake, a mix of excitement and realization playing on his features, squirmed a bit, confirming his acceptance of the unspoken agreement. "Yeah, man, no turning back. I'm all in."

Thomas, with a mischievous grin, decided to take Jake's commitment to a new level. "Alright, bro, you signed up for the 'no more talking' package too." taking Jake's acceptance as a cue, tightened his gut, muffling Jake's words almost to the point of illegibility. With a smug smirk, Thomas leaned back, basking in the moment as he let out a colossal burp that reverberated through the air.

BuuUuUuUurP!

The sound echoed around the room, a declaration of the new reality they had both willingly entered. Thomas, still chuckling casually, patted his slightly bulging belly, sealing the unspoken contract between them. The muffled, indistinct sounds from within only served to emphasize the intimate connection they now shared.

Thomas glanced at the buzzing phone, a smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like someone's missing their boy, huh?" he teased, waving Jake's phone in the air. "Got a bunch of missed calls and texts. Your boyfriend's probably worried sick about where you are."

He chuckled, placing the phone on a nearby table. "Man, I wish I could see the look on his face when he finds out where you really are. In this big, bulging gut of mine." Thomas patted his belly with a satisfied grin. "But we'll let him stew in curiosity a bit longer. Gotta savor the anticipation, you know?" Thomas said, as he headed to his bedroom.

He sprawled across his bed, one arm behind his head, the other idly rubbing his rounded belly. The bulge from Jake's presence was noticeable, a testament to the intimate arrangement inside. He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, as he felt Jake squirming within him.

"First night you're staying this long, bro," Thomas remarked, speaking into the empty room. "Better get used to it because, after tonight, you're not coming out. You're gonna be part of me for the last few nights of your life." He shifted slightly, getting comfortable, and let out a contented sigh. "Sweet dreams, man."

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on Thomas as he woke up, his gut still pronounced from the previous night's indulgence. Stretching languidly, he sat up, feeling the weight of Jake nestled within him.

Yawning, Thomas got out of bed and ambled towards the bathroom. The tiled floor felt cool beneath his feet. Leaning over the sink, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. With a toothbrush in hand, he began scrubbing his teeth clean.

As he brushed his teeth, his gaze shifted to the protruding belly that pressed against the edge of the sink. Thomas grinned cockily, aware that Jake was experiencing his morning routine for the first time.

"Morning, Jake, you good in there?" Thomas teased, speaking as if Jake could hear him. "Can't quite make out what you'd be saying, but I thought the gesture was nice." He chuckled, imagining Jake's muffled protests from within the confines of his gut.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Thomas got ready for the day ahead, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

As Thomas went about his day, the vibrations of Jake's phone periodically echoed in the room, a persistent reminder of the outside world that seemed increasingly distant. Each buzz was a testament to Andrew's growing worry and curiosity.

Teasingly, Thomas leaned back and patted his belly, as if saying to Jake that he's here to stay. "You know, bro, I think your body's getting a little softer in there. I'm known to have a rough digestion."

From Jake's perspective, the world inside Thomas's gut was undergoing a slow transformation. His clothes, once distinguishable, were becoming indistinct as they melded with the acids. The sensation was peculiar and, at times, disorienting, as his skin slowly melted; It was pleasant, it felt cozier than any of the previous time he's been in here, but it was still disorienting.

The muffled sound of Andrew's persistent calls and messages on Jake's phone served as a distant background noise, a stark contrast to the cocoon of warmth and semi-darkness that enveloped Jake within Thomas's belly.

On the second day, Jake's form inside Thomas's gut underwent a notable transformation. The once distinct features of his body were now indiscernible, a result of the ongoing process of digestion. The clothes that clung to him had long since lost their original form, merging with the liquefying remnants of Jake's physique.

Thomas, perhaps subconsciously or out of growing curiosity, patted his belly, noting a subtle change. The solid tautness that characterized Jake's initial presence was giving way to a softer, more pliable feel. The acids worked persistently, melting away the boundaries of Jake's form. It wasn't an ethereal or surreal process; it was the gritty reality of digestion, the breaking down of flesh and bone into a churning mixture, but despite that it still felt good to Jake.

The sudden, impatient knocking on the door jolted Thomas from his casual reverie. He swung the door open, and there stood Andrew, a mix of worry and irritation etched across his face.

"Hey, sorry to bother you this early, but have you seen Jake?" Andrew asked, his concern evident in his tone. "He's been missing for two days, and I'm getting really worried."

Thomas, wearing a hoodie that conveniently hid the changes in his midsection, shook his head. "Nah, man, haven't seen him. Sorry." There was an apologetic note in his voice as he subtly adjusted the hoodie.

"Fuck," Andrew said, seeming distressed and unaware of Thomas's gut. "Sorry. Just… Let me know if you ever do, okay?" He said, as he continued to the other apartments to ask his other neighbors.

Thomas closed the door and laid back against it, he couldn't resist a teasing smirk. He lifted the hoodie, revealing the slightly softer, bulging gut beneath. "All it took is a lift of my hoodie to show him where ya went. Too bad he'll never figure it out." he remarked, the cocky edge still present in his voice, as Jake squirmed inside his acid-filled gut.

On the third day, Thomas decided to hit the gym, his usual routine slightly altered by the recent addition of Jake to his physique. The once-toned bachelor now sported more of a dad bod, and a slight beer belly had developed, a testament to Jake's presence in his gut.

As he prepared for the workout, Thomas couldn't resist teasing Jake. "Well, bro, today's gonna be a tough one on you. Might speed up your digestion a bit," he quipped with a chuckle. "But hey, I figure I'll make the most of the gains from eating you. Gotta look more attractive when you're gone, right?" The casual banter flowed easily, as he got to exercise his muscles.

Thomas began his gym session with some heavy deadlifts, the weight clanging against the floor with each controlled drop. The impact reverberated through his core, the vibrations felt by Jake nestled within the confines of his bulging belly. With each lift, Thomas's abdominal muscles flexed and tightened, pressing against Jake in rhythmic pulses.

Moving on to bench presses, Thomas lay back on the bench, the pressure of the weights causing his gut to push outward. Jake, caught in the middle of this bodily symphony, experienced the compression and release as Thomas completed each repetition. Sweat glistened on Thomas's forehead, a testament to the exertion he was putting into the workout.

Transitioning to squats, Thomas's movements became more dynamic. As he descended into the squat position, Jake was subjected to the pressure between Thomas's thighs, a sensation that intensified with each rise. The fabric of Thomas's shorts stretched tightly over his expanding waistline, a visible reminder of Jake's presence within.

The stair climber machine was next on Thomas's agenda. With each step, the rhythmic impact resonated through his body, creating a gentle rocking motion for Jake. The pressure on Thomas's midsection increased, and Jake felt the subtle shifts as his surroundings changed with each step.

Finally, Thomas engaged in some core exercises, targeting his abs directly. Crunches and leg raises emphasized the region where Jake was nestled. The compression intensified with each repetition, the steady burn of the workout echoed within Thomas's bulging gut.

Throughout the entire routine, Thomas's banter continued. "You feeling the burn, bro?" he teased, fully aware of the unique experience Jake was undergoing within the confines of his ever-changing gut.

As the days progressed, Jake's once-solid form continued its relentless transformation within the acidic confines of Thomas's stomach. The digestive juices worked with ruthless efficiency, breaking down Jake's flesh and bones into a formless mass. The initial resistance of his physical structure gave way to the corrosive power of the stomach acids, reducing him to a mixture of liquid and dissolved remnants.

The process was slow and methodical. Jake's consciousness began to wane, his awareness slipping away in sync with the dissolution of his physical being. He became entangled in the chemical dance of digestion, losing touch with the boundaries of his form as the acids invaded every nook and cranny of his thick form.

The sensation was a paradoxical blend of pleasure and obliteration. Jake, in his reduced state, was suspended in a state of half-consciousness, afloat in the warm, corrosive embrace of Thomas's stomach. The once-distinct features of his body blurred into a formless, melted amalgamation, his essence merging with the strong digestive acids of Thomas.

As the dissolution progressed, Jake's thoughts became fragmented, his sense of self dissolving along with his body. The blissful haze of digestion enveloped him, a surreal journey into the abyss of being broken down and absorbed.

Thomas reclined on his couch, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips. His fingers drummed lazily on his bloated midsection, now transformed into a softer, beer-belly dad bod. The once-defined muscles were replaced by a plump layer, evidence of Jake's gradual assimilation into Thomas's physique.

"Look at this," Thomas mused, patting his slightly flattened stomach. "You're almost all mine, bro. I've been digesting you real good. Your essence is now part of what makes me, well, me. Bet you can't even comprehend that with how melted you are."

He let out a hearty belch, the sound reverberating through his sloshy midsection. Thomas's arrogance echoed in his words, a mix of crass amusement and self-satisfaction.

"You thought you could handle being in my gut regularly, but look at you now. Just a sloshy mess, melting away into nothingness. And here I am, getting beefier, looking better than ever," he continued, chuckling at the thought. "You're practically my personal enhancement, bro. A little seasoning to make me even more irresistible."

Thomas shifted, adjusting his posture to emphasize the changes in his physique. The casual arrogance in his voice painted a vivid picture of a man reveling in the results of his unconventional dietary choices.

"In a few more days, you'll be nothing but a memory, a part of my gains. Can't say it wasn't a good run for you, though. The best thing you did was willingly dive into my gut."

Thomas stepped out of his apartment and immediately encountered Andrew in the hallway, looking disheveled and anxious. Andrew's eyes widened at the noticeable change in Thomas's physique.

"Dude, have you seen Jake? I've been going out of my mind looking for him," Andrew pleaded, concern etched on his face. "You know what, don't fucking answer. I know you would've told me if you had already."

Thomas feigned innocence, scratching his head. "It's good, dude. Jake? Uhh, not sure, man. I mean, I've seen a lot of people around, you know? Can't keep track of everyone." He said, "Maybe he ghosted you or something. It happens. But hey," He gave Andrew a pat on the shoulder, "I'm here for ya if you need me, dude."

"Thanks, man." Andrew said insincerely, wanting nothing more than to know where his boyfriend went, but still appreciating the offer.

As they moved further away from each other, Thomas couldn't resist a sly grin, his hand casually rubbing his now beefier belly. "Damn, Jake. Not a word to your worried boyfriend? Never took you for the silent type." He teased as his stomach growled, knowing that Jake wasn't in a state to respond let alone comprehend, only existing for a few more days before he's fully digested down by the bigger man.

#male pred #male vore #digestion #male prey #m/m #gay vore #endosoma #melting digestion #reoccuring vore #burping #endo

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