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cassiemaebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Darling

Reader x cacw Bucky

Summary: You join the Avengers right before they're torn apart by the Sokovia Accords. You join Cap's team, and end up stuck in a safe house with Bucky, slowly earning his trust.

Word Count: 7,315

You literally just became an Avenger last week, and the team was already falling apart.

You just got into the swing of things, and now the Sokovia Accords were sitting on the table in front of you in the conference room, dividing the team in half.

You had to admit, you agreed with Steve. Not that you would say anything out loud though. You were just sitting off to the side, wishing you could disappear. Which, you probably could. You weren’t sure if half the team even knew your name.

The next couple days were a blur. Everyone was still arguing about the Accords, then everyone had to travel to London for Peggy Carter’s funeral.

After the ceremony, you were milling around in the church lobby, debating whether or not you should go talk to Steve after Natasha was done talking to him. While Nat was walking out, you gave her a slight smile and nod, and she stopped.

“Hey. Y/n, right?”

You paused, surprised that she was talking to you. “Uh, yeah.”

“Are you coming with us to sign the Accords?”

You froze. You knew you couldn’t sign the Accords. You agreed with Steve on this one. But you didn’t want to admit that to her. But you also couldn’t tell her yes, knowing that she’d be expecting you there then.

She noticed your pause and raised an eyebrow.

“Umm…no I don’t think so,” you said finally.

“Have you talked to Steve about it?” she asked.

“No. I was debating whether or not I should talk to him now actually.”

“Well, I think you should. He’ll be happy to know someone else is with him on it.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you just nodded.

She just smiled at you, then looked you up and down.

“You know,” she started, “most rookies probably wouldn’t have the guts to choose a side on something like this.”

You just huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Guess I chose the wrong time to join, huh?”

“Guess you did,” she agreed, laughing. “I’m glad you did though. I like you.”

You just smiled, feeling accomplished at that comment. “Thank you.”

She gave you a pat on the shoulder before walking away, back towards the others. Then, you took a deep breath before walking back into the church to talk to Steve.

“Hey Steve.”

“Oh, hey y/n,” he replied, smiling at you.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“I also wanted to tell you that I’m not signing the Sokovia Accords.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking a little surprised. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I agree with what you said. I think it’s better if we didn’t sign.”

“You don’t have to agree with me it you truly don’t want to,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I want you to be dragged into this. I mean, you did just join the team.”

“I know,” you said, smiling at him. “But I’m with you on this one. If you need my help, just let me know.”

He let out a relieved breath. “Well, thank you.” He gave you a smile and patted you on the shoulder, looking like a proud dad.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” you said, backing away.

“See ya. I’ll probably be calling you.”

“Alright, sounds good.”

And sure enough, he did call you. Which is how you found yourself leaning out the window of a random car, chasing Bucky Barnes down the highway while the Black Panther was hot on your tail.

You watched as Bucky grabbed a motorcycle mid-motion and turned it around, hopping on and driving in the opposite direction.

You knew he was a super soldier, but that was impressive…and kinda hot.

You trailed after him, and when you were close enough, you didn’t think, just jumped. Out of the car window and onto the back of Bucky’s motorcycle.

He jerked slightly from the unexpected weight, and you wrapped your arms around him so you didn’t fall off. His grip tightened on the handlebars, and he just kept driving like a man with tunnel vision.

“Hey!” you yelled over the wind, leaning forward to speak near his ear. “I’m not here to hurt you!”

No response. He swerved around a car, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead.

“I’m here to help you, okay? Steve sent me!” you tried again, gripping tighter around his waist as the bike took a sharp turn. “You don’t know me, I get it - but you’re not alone!”

Still nothing. Not even a glance.

“I know you don’t remember much right now. I know everything’s a mess. But Steve, he’s trying to help you. And so am I.”

The motorcycle jumped over a curb, dodging traffic like it was instinct. You gritted your teeth and held on tighter.

“I know you’ve probably heard a lot of lies about yourself. That you’re dangerous. That you can’t be trusted.” You swallowed hard, hoping you didn’t sound too breathless. “But I don’t believe that. Steve doesn’t either. You’re not a weapon. You’re a person.”

You caught him flinch at that. Barely. But it was something.

“Just…let me stay on this bike with you. You don’t have to stop. You don’t even have to talk to me. Just let me make sure you don’t crash and bleed out in a ditch somewhere, alright?”

Silence.

But he didn’t shake you off. He didn’t tell you to jump. He didn’t even look back. He just kept going, navigating the streets like he’d been born on two wheels.

You exhaled shakily, letting your forehead rest briefly between his shoulder blades. “There’s a safe house I can take you to, you’ll be safe there. I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

And though he never said a word, something in his body shifted - just barely. His shoulders loosened a fraction. His breathing evened out. And for the first time since you jumped on the back of the bike, he didn’t feel like he was running blind.

After a few minutes, when you made sure you weren’t still being followed and finally figured out where you were again, you started giving him directions to the safe house. He still didn’t say anything, but he followed your directions.

About 20 minutes later, you pulled up in front of a secluded cabin, miles from any other building or town. He pulled the motorcycle around the back of the house and cut the engine, getting off before you had the chance to say anything.

He turned around and looked at you, but you were still sitting on the bike, trying to push the hair out of your face and smooth it down. There was some in your mouth, and you know you probably looked weird to him, sticking your tongue out and spitting, trying to push all your hair back.

You finally got it and stepped off the motorcycle, and his eyes didn’t leave you.

“Hey, sorry about that. I’m y/n.” You thought about putting your hand out to shake his, but decided against it since he probably wouldn’t take it anyway.

“Sorry about like, jumping on you back there. But I’m on a team with Steve, like I said, and this is one of our safe houses. I’ll let Steve know we’re here and he’ll let us know what to do next.”

You gave him a smile, trying to be as friendly as possible. You made your way over to the door, putting in the code you got from Steve, then opened it up and turned back to Bucky.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping in the door. He followed you inside, and you let out a little breath of relief. He may not be saying anything but at least he seemed to trust you.

You scanned the cabin, and even though it was small, it was pretty nice. It looked overgrown on the outside, but they obviously kept it clean and stocked for emergencies.

You sent Steve a quick text, then took off your jacket and threw it over the back of a chair at the tiny kitchen island, then immediately started going through cupboards.

Bucky had stepped inside and closed the door, and just stood a couple steps away from you, watching.

“Do you want something to eat? You’re probably starving.” You came across some cans of soup and held one up. “Do you want some soup?”

Again, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you.

“Umm…okay. Well, I’ll make you a bowl.”

You grabbed another can, then opened drawers until you found the can opener, then found two bowls. You busied yourself with opening the cans before popping one of the bowls in the microwave. When it was done, you grabbed a spoon and slid the bowl onto the island in front of a chair.

When you turned back to Bucky, he was still standing there, still looking at you.

“There, you can have the first one.”

He finally moved, sitting down in the chair while you put the other bowl in the microwave. When it was done, you sat down in the other chair and took a bite, then noticed Bucky hadn’t touched his yet.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Мне не дали разрешения (I was not given permission).”

You furrowed your eyebrows, not understanding what he was saying. Maybe you should’ve studied Russian.

“What? Sorry, I don’t understand Russian.”

He just looked at you for a second, then repeated it in English.

“I was not given permission.”

Your heart twisted at his words. The way he said it – flat, automatic, like it was a rule carved into him – made your chest ache.

You slowly set your spoon down and looked at him, frowning. “Hey…” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t need permission anymore.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, guarded, unsure.

“You’re not under anyone’s control,” you continued. “Not anymore. You can eat, rest, breathe – live – without asking anyone first. You’re free, Bucky.”

He didn’t say anything, but he stared at you a moment longer. Then, slowly, he gave the faintest of nods. Just once. But it was enough to make your throat tighten.

Without another word, he picked up the spoon and started eating. You didn’t say anything else, just watched him, relieved to see him finally taking care of himself – even if it was just soup.

And he ate fast. He finished the bowl in record time, like he hadn’t eaten in days. You were barely halfway through your own when you looked up and blinked in surprise.

“Wow,” you said, eyebrows raised, your tone light and a little teasing, trying to ease the heavy air in the room. “You really were hungry.”

You caught a flicker of something across his face – so brief you weren’t sure if it was amusement or just a muscle twitch – but it made you smile anyway.

You took another bite of your soup and leaned your elbow on the table. “We’ve got more, if you want it. And I think there’s even coffee somewhere in this place, if you’re the kind of guy who runs on caffeine.”

He didn’t respond, but the silence didn’t feel as tense anymore. It was still quiet, still uncertain, but there was something else now too. A thread of something warmer…something like trust.

By the time you finished the last bite of your soup, Bucky had already set his spoon down and was quietly watching you again, bowl empty.

You glanced at it, then back at him. “Do you want some more?”

He hesitated for a beat, then gave a small nod.

You smiled, standing up and walking over to the cupboard again. “Alright, let’s see…” You grabbed another can of soup, holding it up in your hand before turning back to him. “Do you want me to make it, or…do you want to try?”

He looked at you, eyes flicking to the can in your hand, then to the microwave behind you, clearly uncertain. Like he wanted to say yes but wasn’t sure how.

You stepped a little closer, gently placing the can on the island in front of him. “Totally your call,” you said casually. “But if you do want to try, I can walk you through it. It’s pretty simple. Not super spy-level stuff or anything.”

Still unsure, he looked down at the can, then back at you. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t back away either. So you took that as a yes.

“Okay,” you said, voice gentle. You grabbed the can opener and set it next to the can. “This thing looks more complicated than it is, I promise. See this part here?” You pointed at the blade. “That’s what pierces the top. You just line it up with the edge of the lid and squeeze the handles together.”

He picked it up slowly, awkwardly, like he was worried he’d break it. You helped guide his hand, showing him how to clamp it onto the can.

“There you go. Now just turn the knob – yep, like that.”

The opener made a soft grinding sound as the blade cut through the lid. You smiled, watching him slowly get the hang of it.

“Nice. See? Easy. Way less terrifying than fighting a guy in a catsuit on a freeway.”

He glanced at you briefly, but there was something a little looser in his posture now.

Once the can was open, you slid his bowl over and stepped aside.

“You want to pour it in?”

He did, carefully. You saw his eyes flicker toward the microwave again.

“Alright,” you said, walking over to it. “This part’s even easier. You just put the bowl in, close the door, and press this button here.” You tapped the 1. “Each press adds one minute. Two minutes should be good.”

He followed your instructions, and you stood by him, resisting the urge to hover too close.

“There,” you said once the microwave started humming. “You’ve officially made your first post-fugitive meal. Not bad, Barnes.”

He didn’t smile, but something in his expression softened. Maybe it was the way his shoulders relaxed. Maybe it was how he didn’t immediately retreat from you. Either way, you’d take it.

You leaned against the counter and gave him a small grin. “Told you – you don’t need permission. You just needed soup.”

And for a split second, you could’ve sworn the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

When the microwave beeped, he pressed the one again, making it hum back to life.

“Good job,” you said, giving him another smile as he glanced over toward you again.

When it beeped again, he opened the door and pulled it out, shutting the door again and carrying it back to the counter, setting it down carefully as he sat down.

“There you go. Pretty soon you’ll be cooking five course meals.”

He gave you a small smile – an actual smile – then dug into his soup, eating it just as quickly as the last. You just washed out your bowl then leaned against the counter, watching him eat.

When he finished, he looked up at you.

“Thank you.”

You smiled at him. “Of course.”

You took his bowl and rinsed it out, then turned back to the counter, picking up your phone, finding a text from Steve.

Okay, glad you’re safe. Just stay there for the night, we’ll meet up again tomorrow. Unless you’d rather not be alone with him, then I can come up.

You glanced up at Bucky, who was still watching you. “Steve said we could just stay here for the night. You okay with that?”

He nodded, so you texted Steve back.

No that’s fine, Bucky also said that’s okay. I taught him how to use a can opener so we’re basically besties now

You smiled a little at your response, then set your phone down. “Okay. Do you want to shower? Or take a bath?”

His eyes finally left you, glancing toward the bathroom then back at you, like he was unsure.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just thought it might help you feel better.”

He looked at you a little while longer, then slowly nodded. “Bath.”

You smiled softly. “Okay, I’ll go start the water.”

You pushed off the counter, heading to the bathroom and turning the water on and plugging the drain. As the tub filled, you made your way to the bedroom, finding extra clothes for him to change into. You grabbed a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that both looked brand new, then walked back to the bathroom.

Bucky was standing outside the bathroom door now, looking in cautiously.

“It’s okay,” you said, walking into the bathroom and setting the clothes on the counter. “You can come in.”

He stepped inside as you turned the water off, then grabbed a washcloth.

“Here’s a washcloth you can use, and there’s body wash and shampoo here,” you said, pointing to the little shelf in the shower and setting the washcloth on the side of the tub. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He just nodded, so you stepped out, shutting the door behind you.

A little while later, you were sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone when you heard Bucky say something in Russian, loud enough so you could hear through the closed door. You jumped up and made your way over, knocking on the door.

“Bucky? You okay?”

He was quiet for a beat, then said, “I need help.”

You slowly opened the door, peeking in to see him sitting in the tub, back to you.

“Hey, Bucky. What do you need?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, looking embarrassed. “My hair.”

You glanced up at his hair, which was still completely dry. “Do you need help washing it?”

He nodded.

“Okay, give me one second.”

You went into the kitchen and grabbed a cup from the cupboard, then headed back into the bathroom, sitting on the side of the tub as Bucky kept his back to you.

“Can you tilt your head back for me?” you asked, dipping the cup into the warm water. He did, and you slowly dumped water onto his hair, careful that it didn’t drip down his face.

You did that a couple more times, then grabbed the shampoo and squeezed some into your hand. You rubbed the shampoo between your hands before gently starting to work it through his thick hair, taking your time so it didn’t tangle.

“It’s okay,” you murmured softly, fingers massaging gently at his scalp. “I don’t mind. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders slowly began to relax under your touch, and you took that as a good sign.

“This stuff smells good,” you added after a moment, trying to keep things light so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. “Citrusy. Kinda reminds me of those little hotel bottles you never want to admit smell amazing.”

You lathered carefully, making sure not to pull or snag any of the strands. It was clear no one had done this for him in a long time – maybe ever. You didn’t rush it. You didn’t want to. You just wanted him to feel safe, even in this small, quiet way.

“Okay, I’m going to rinse it now. Tilt your head back again for me?”

He obeyed, and you slowly poured the water over his head in even, careful streams, watching the suds wash away. You kept your hand over his forehead to make sure none of it ran into his eyes.

When the last of the shampoo was rinsed out, you set the cup aside and used both hands to gently squeeze the water from his hair, starting near the top and carefully working your way down to the ends.

“There we go,” you said softly once you were done, brushing some hair off the side of his face. “All clean.”

You stood up and grabbed a towel from the nearby shelf, setting it on the counter next to the clothes you’d brought earlier. “I’ll let you finish up. Just yell if you need anything.”

As you started to turn, he looked over his shoulder slightly. “Thank you,” he said again – quiet, but sincere.

You offered him a warm smile, your hand gently resting on the doorframe for a second. “Anytime, Bucky.”

Then you stepped out and closed the door behind you, giving him space to dry off and, hopefully, feel a little more human again.

You sat back down on the couch, picking up your phone again. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and he spoke in Russian again, the same thing he said earlier.

“Любимая (darling)?”

You looked up to see him standing in the doorway, dressed in the clothes you left for him. “Yeah?” you said, getting up and walking over.

He held out his towel and pointed at the bathtub. “I’m done. How do I…”

He trailed off, so you took his towel from him then stepped inside.

You hung the towel neatly on the hook behind the bathroom door. “You just have to unplug the drain,” you said, kneeling down beside the tub. You reached in and showed him the small metal stopper. “Just lift this part up, and the water will drain out.”

He leaned over the tub to watch, nodding as the water began to swirl and gurgle its way down. You looked up and gave him a smile. “Easy, right?”

He nodded again, and you stood up, moving to one of the drawers under the sink. You opened it and pulled out a small pack containing a brand-new toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush. You opened the toothbrush pack and tossed the cardboard into the trash before setting it and the toothpaste on the counter.

Then you turned and held the brush out toward him. “Do you wanna brush your hair? Or – I can do it…if you want.”

He looked at the brush for a moment, then met your eyes. “Can you?”

Your expression softened. “Yeah, of course.” You pointed to the floor in front of you. “Come kneel down. It’s easier for me to reach.”

He hesitated only slightly before kneeling in front of you, back straight but body still cautious, like he wasn’t used to the care being offered. You stepped behind him, gently running your fingers through his damp hair first, untangling a few sections before beginning to brush. You moved slowly, careful not to pull, watching the way his shoulders started to relax again as you worked.

“You’ve got really nice hair, y’know,” you said quietly, brushing through it in long, smooth strokes. “Kind of unfair, honestly.”

That earned the faintest huff of a breath – maybe a laugh – making you smile.

A few minutes later, you finished and set the brush down. “All done,” you said, smoothing down the top once more.

He turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder at you. “Thank you, Любимая (darling).”

You blinked, your lips curling into an amused smile. “Okay, you’ve said that before. I recognize it. What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer at first, his eyes flickering down before he simply murmured, “It’s your name.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Oh,” you said, caught off guard. “Well…that’s kinda cool.”

He looked back up and gave you a small smile.

“Well, I’ll let you brush your teeth, then I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

He gave you a nod, then you stepped out and went back to the bedroom to find clothes for yourself. As you pulled out the same sweatpants and t-shirt in your size, your gaze drifted toward the bed…the singular bed.

You frowned, wondering how you were going to approach the sleeping situation. But you decided you’d just sleep on the couch, giving him his space.

You made your way back to the bathroom as Bucky stepped out.

“Knock if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded, and you closed the bathroom door, then turned on the shower.

You showered quickly, then pulled out your own pack to brush your teeth and comb your hair. When you finished, you pulled open the bathroom door to find Bucky sitting on the floor right outside the door.

He stood immediately when you opened the door, his posture straight and alert like he’d been on watch.

You furrowed your brow. “You could’ve sat on the couch, y’know?”

He shook his head. “I was guarding the door.”

Your heart pinched at that. The sincerity in his voice, the way he said it like it was the only thing he knew to do – it made you ache a little.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” you said gently. “But…I appreciate it.”

He just gave a small nod in response.

You gave him a soft smile, then walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed your phone. “Come on,” you said, heading for the bedroom. He followed close behind you.

You stepped into the room, glancing again at the single bed. “You can sleep in the bed,” you said, turning toward him.

He frowned, eyes shifting from the bed back to you. “Where are you going to sleep?”

You shrugged. “I’ll take the couch.”

He shook his head immediately. “No. You take the bed.”

“It’s okay,” you started, but he said it again, more firmly this time.

“You take the bed.”

You watched him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”

You crossed the room and opened the nightstand drawer, rummaging until you found a charger. You plugged your phone in beside the bed, then climbed under the blanket, settling against the pillow with a quiet sigh.

Bucky stood still for a second, then grabbed a pillow off the bed and laid down on the floor beside it.

You sat up a little, brow furrowed. “Bucky?”

He lifted his head, looking at you.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” you said, voice gentle again.

He didn’t answer, just held your gaze.

You hesitated, then asked softly, “Do you want to sleep on the bed with me?”

His eyes flicked to the bed, then back to you. His voice was quiet. “Is that okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Of course it is.”

He looked at you a moment longer, then crawled up from the floor, placing the pillow back on the bed. He pulled the blanket up and slid under it slowly, still a bit stiff, still unsure.

You shifted slightly to give him space, and once he settled, you glanced over at him with a small smile. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

He looked at you through the dim light, his voice low. “Goodnight Любимая (darling).”

Bucky fell asleep quicker than he expected. The warmth of the blanket, the steady rhythm of her breathing beside him – it had all lulled him into a rare sense of calm. But something changed. A touch. Weight. Movement.

His eyes snapped open, heart hammering against his ribs.

His arm twitched as panic set in, his instincts screaming danger, his mind already preparing to throw off the blanket and bolt.

But then…he remembered.

The cabin. The safe house. Her.

He forced his breathing to slow, blinking as the haze of sleep and instinct gave way to recognition.

Her head was resting on his shoulder. One of her hands was splayed gently over his chest, fingers curled slightly into his shirt. Her leg was draped loosely over his, her body pressed close.

That was all it was. Her.

His muscles relaxed little by little, the tension slowly leaking out of him as he stared up at the ceiling. He could feel her exhale against his skin, warm and soft, and he let out a quiet breath of his own.

She’d rolled over in her sleep. Reached for him like it was natural. Like she wasn’t afraid.

And she wasn’t. That’s what stuck with him.

She wasn’t scared of him. She let him in, helped him, fed him, taught him how to use a can opener for God’s sake, and when he needed help, even if he was too ashamed to ask for it, she didn’t make him feel small. She just helped.

And now she was curled up against him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He turned his head slightly, looking down at her. Her face was peaceful, relaxed, framed by her hair that was still a little damp from her shower. She looked so soft like this. Trusting.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that.

His eyes drifted back to the ceiling, and he let his hand settle lightly against her arm, careful not to wake her. She shifted just a little, burrowing closer, and he felt a flutter of something unfamiliar in his chest.

Gratitude. Maybe even hope.

He thought about earlier – about the way her eyebrows had lifted, the little smile that played at her lips when he told her darling was her name.

She had no idea.

She didn’t know he’d forgotten her name for a second, which is why he resorted to calling her that. He wasn’t sure why, but it just felt right. So, even after he remembered her name, he continued calling her darling. Not mocking. Not sarcastic. Just…her.

And somehow, even without knowing, she still made him feel like he mattered. Like he was someone worth staying close to.

His eyes closed again, and for the first time in what felt like years, he let himself drift back to sleep – with her weight resting against him, her hand on his chest like a tether.

And in that moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

You blinked awake slowly, the morning light peeking in through the thin curtains. It took a second to realize where you were – and another to realize how you were lying.

Your head was resting against something solid and warm…and breathing.

You froze slightly, glancing down to see your hand on someone’s chest. Your leg slung over someone else’s.

Oh no.

You tilted your head up just enough to see his face.

Bucky.

He was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way you didn’t think you’d seen before. His brow wasn’t furrowed. His jaw wasn’t tense. He actually looked…peaceful.

A tiny pang hit your chest, part fondness, part embarrassment. You must’ve rolled over in your sleep, and the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable. Especially after how careful he’d been last night.

You slowly, carefully turned away, trying not to disturb him as you pulled yourself out of his arms. The bed dipped lightly as you shifted, but he didn’t stir.

Grabbing your phone from the nightstand, you saw a message from Steve, letting you know where to meet. You typed back a quick reply, and just as you hit send, you heard movement behind you. Bucky stirred, shifting slightly on the bed. When you glanced over, his eyes were fluttering open.

“Hey,” you said softly, offering a small smile. “Good morning.”

He blinked a few times before nodding. “Morning.”

You stretched a bit, then added, “Steve texted. We’ll leave as soon as we’re both ready.”

He gave another quiet nod.

You stood and made your way to the bathroom, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, and tying your hair back before changing into your clothes from yesterday.

When you came back out, you paused in the doorway.

Bucky was making the bed.

He’d already straightened the blanket and was adjusting the pillows with slow, deliberate movements, like he was concentrating on doing it exactly right. Like it mattered.

A soft smile tugged at your lips.

“Thank you,” you said gently.

He looked over his shoulder at you, gave a small nod, then stepped around the bed and headed into the bathroom to get ready himself.

You watched him go, heart tugging again.

A few minutes later, you were putting the charger back in the drawer when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned around and saw Bucky walking back into the bedroom.

He had changed back into the clothes from the day before, but his hair was still a complete mess – sticking up in the back and flattened on one side from sleeping. You couldn’t help it, you let out a quiet laugh.

“Your hair’s still a mess.”

He paused, looking at you for a second before raising his hand and running it through his hair like he could fix it with one swipe.

You just smiled. “Do you want me to brush it again?”

He looked at you for a beat longer, then gave a small nod. “Yes.”

You stepped past him into the hallway. “Come on.”

He followed you into the bathroom, and you held up the brush from last night. “Can you kneel down again?”

Without hesitation this time, he did.

You gently ran the brush through his hair, taking your time. He stayed still, his eyes closed this time as if he trusted you completely. It was quiet again, but not uncomfortable. Just calm.

When you were done, you gave one last soft brush through the ends and said, “All done.”

He stood slowly and looked at you. “Thank you Любимая (darling).”

You smiled and nodded, keeping the brush in your hand as you led the way back into the bedroom. You crossed over to the closet and pulled down a worn book bag from the top shelf, unzipping it and carefully placing the brush inside along with the clothes you both wore last night. Once it was zipped, you slung it over your shoulder and turned toward him.

“You ready to go?”

“Yes.”

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, gave him a quick smile, and headed for the door, grabbing your jacket on the way with him right behind you.

He slid onto the motorcycle first, settling in as he started the engine. You climbed on behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle without hesitation. He glanced back once, as if to check you were ready, then pulled out of the driveway.

The road ahead was quiet, long stretches of forest blurring past as you rode. After everything the last day had thrown at you both, it felt…peaceful. You didn’t say much – just held on, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your arms.

Eventually, you met back up with Steve and Sam, just before leaving to meet Sharon so they could get their suits back. It wasn’t long before the four of you loaded into a small getaway car, the tight space forcing a slightly awkward arrangement.

When you got there, Steve got out to talk to Sharon, leaving you, Bucky, and Sam in the car.

Sam was in the passenger seat, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Bucky was right behind him in the back seat, and you were on the other side.

Bucky stared out the window for a moment, clearly irritated by something. Then he glanced forward.

“Can you move your seat up?” he asked Sam flatly.

“No,” Sam replied, just as flat.

You tried not to smirk. The tension between them was almost comical at this point.

Without another word, Bucky shifted over toward the center seat – right next to you. The car wasn’t exactly spacious, so as soon as he moved, his leg pressed against yours.

He didn’t shift away.

And neither did you.

Your eyes flicked down briefly at the contact. It wasn’t exactly intentional, but it also didn’t feel accidental. You glanced up at him. He was still staring forward, impassive, but his jaw wasn’t quite as tight as before.

The warmth from where his leg touched yours lingered, feeling almost comforting.

You didn’t say anything. Just let it stay that way.

Before you knew it, you arrived at the airport, pulling up beside Clint and Wanda before they opened the back door for Scott. He greeted everyone, then when he got to you, standing behind the car with Bucky, he paused. “Uhh, I don’t know who you are but…hi.”

You gave him a smile before everyone started to suit up, preparing for the fight to come.

After some fighting and a weird encounter with the new spider-kid, you, Steve, and Bucky were finally making a run for it toward the jet. Wanda was holding the debris up so you could get inside, but it came crashing down as soon as you were running in.

Something slammed down behind you, grazing your back and knocking you to the ground with a grunt.

From in front of you, you heard Bucky call out to you. “Любимая (darling)!”

He was beside you in an instant, arms already reaching out to you.

“I’m okay,” you managed, breathless but unhurt. “Just got clipped – didn’t crush me.”

He helped you up quickly, his metal hand firm around your waist as he checked you over with his eyes, panic still evident in his face until he saw you truly were okay.

You got up and continued into the hangar, but Natasha stood in front of you, blocking your path to the jet with a sharp look in her eye. But there was something else flickering there. Amusement?

She tilted her head. “What did you just call her?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Did he just call you Любимая (darling),” Nat repeated, arching a brow.

You glanced sideways at Bucky, confused. “Uhh, yeah? He said that’s my name in Russian.”

Nat smirked. “Uhh, no. That means darling.”

You stared at her, blinking again. Then slowly turned to look at Bucky.

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even flinch. Just looked back at you with a calm, almost gentle expression, like he wasn’t the least bit sorry about it.

Nat let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re something else.”

Then, she turned toward Steve with a more serious expression.

“You’re not gonna stop?”

Steve’s voice was calm, steady. “You know I can’t.”

Nat just shook her head. “I’m gonna regret this,” she muttered, before shooting past you and stopping T’Challa.

She yelled go, so you, Steve, and Bucky bolted past her toward the jet.

Your chest heaved as you reached the ramp, Bucky’s hand catching yours to pull you up the last few steps. He didn’t let go until you were safely inside, then the hatch closed behind you.

The rest of the day passed in a blur – arriving in Siberia, finding Zemo, the fight with Tony. Then, a few days later, you were in Wakanda with Steve and Bucky. Bucky was in the bathroom, changing into something more comfortable before they put him back under.

You were sitting down, talking to Steve about what came next, when the bathroom door opened behind you.

Bucky stepped out in white sweatpants and a white tank top, but what really caught your attention was his hair.

Messy again.

You turned in your chair, unable to help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. “Your hair,” you said, grinning at him. “It’s all messy again.”

Bucky blinked at you, then gave a small, warm smile like he’d been expecting you to say something. “Yeah?” he said casually. “Think you could brush it for me?”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. “Yeah, I got you.” You reached into the duffel bag you’d packed, then pulled out your brush.

Without hesitation, Bucky stepped over and knelt down in front of you, facing away, relaxed and still, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Steve’s eyebrows lifted. “Uhh…that’s new.”

You laughed, brushing Bucky’s hair carefully and gently. “It’s not the first time.”

Steve blinked. “Obviously,” he muttered, eyes still flicking between the two of you, looking both amused and confused. Then, with a crooked smirk, he said, “Do I wanna know what all happened in that safe house?”

You chuckled under your breath. “Let’s see…I taught him how to use a can opener, how to make soup, washed his hair, brushed his hair–”

Bucky turned his head slightly and cut in smoothly, “–and then she fell asleep on me.”

You froze, mid-stroke, eyes going wide. “Wait – you were awake?”

He turned around enough to look up at you with a lopsided smile. “Yeah, I woke up when you rolled over. I’m a light sleeper, y’know.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry–”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Don’t be. I slept really good.”

Steve snorted, then started laughing. “You two are unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.

You just smiled and kept brushing, cheeks warm.

But Steve wasn’t done. “And Bucky,” he said with a knowing look, “can we talk about how you called her darling like it was nothing?”

You paused again, heart doing a little flip as Bucky glanced back at Steve, clearly caught but not really bothered.

“Oh,” he said with a small shrug. “Yeah. I…kind of forgot her name for a second. But she smiled when I said it. So I just…kept calling her that.”

You laughed, a little breathless at how casual he was about it.

Steve, of course, wasn’t letting him off that easy. “Right, forgot her name but remembered ‘darling.’ Classic Barnes move.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He just leaned back into your touch, visibly relaxing as you resumed brushing, his eyes slipping shut like the teasing didn’t matter at all.

You didn’t say anything either – just smiled down at him as your fingers moved gently through his hair.

After you finished brushing his hair, you were standing off to the side with Steve, watching as Bucky moved through his final checks. The decision had been made – the safest path forward was for him to go back under, until Wakanda could fully undo what Hydra had done to his mind. You knew it was the right call. But that didn’t make it any easier.

Bucky walked over to Steve first.

They didn’t say much. Steve pulled him in, clapped a hand on his back, and held on a second longer than usual. Bucky returned the gesture silently, with a small nod that said thank you and take care and see you later all at once.

Then he turned to you.

You didn’t expect it, really – not the way his arms wrapped around you the second he reached you, pulling you in tight. Your breath caught, and for a second you just stood there, surprised by the intensity of it. Then your arms found their way around him too, holding him just as tightly.

He didn’t let go.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low beside your ear. “For everything. For taking care of me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat forming fast. “Of course,” you said softly.

He pulled back just a little, enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your shoulders. His eyes searched your face for a second longer than necessary – like he was trying to memorize it – before he gave you the smallest, softest smile.

“Goodbye, Любимая (darling),” he said gently.

Your heart stuttered.

You didn’t speak for a moment. Just returned his smile, warm and a little sad. “Goodbye, Bucky.”

He gave your arms a small squeeze, then turned and walked toward the chamber. You didn’t look away until the glass door closed in front of him.

As Shuri initiated the sequence, you felt the weight of the moment settle into your chest. You’d only known him for a couple of days. Barely long enough to call someone a friend, let alone anything else. But somehow…he’d left a mark already.

And when his eyes fluttered shut, and the lights in the chamber dimmed, the thing that hit you hardest wasn’t the goodbye.

It was the silence that followed.

You already missed him.

And you knew that you were going to miss being called darling, too.

Masterlist

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #avengers #marvel #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #cacw #team cap #captain america #captain america civil war

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em1i2a3 · 10 days ago

Text

Fantasy

Pairing: College AU! Frat Boy!Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader!

Summary: It’s the morning after your unexpected night with Bob and you’re facing the aftermath of everything, including the awkward walk of shame through the frat house. (This is a continuation of ‘Glide’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, A little tiny light dusting of angst, Mentions of Drug Use (the good old devils lettuce), Swearing, Does Bob get teased by someone? Yes. Do they make reference to the fact he’s inexperienced and make a mean comment? Also yes. Bob is such a damn softie in this.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (y’all wrap it up please), Shower Fun, Is Bob Becoming a Sex Maniac? Yeah, pretty much lol, Fingering, Oral Sex (female receiving), Handjob, A little bit of hair pulling, Face Grinding (briefly), Dirty Talk, Bob’s got a bit of confidence in this.

Author’s Note: Fun fun stuff for this sequel! Loved where I was able to take this and it was so fun to write! Hope y’all enjoy, next week I will be taking a break from Bob Floyd probably to make a Bucky upload (getting back to my roots lol), but I don’t know for certain yet! Anyways! Enjoy!

Word Count: 7,849

You woke to voices. Muffled, overlapping, half-laughing, half-shouting–like a sitcom with the volume turned low. It was the kind of familiar sound that could only come from a group of sleep-deprived college guys that were rehashing the chaos of the night before. The floor beneath you seemed to pulse faintly with every thump of footsteps, every bark of laughter, every clang of something metal being dropped–probably pans–and little quips being thrown around. You breathed in deeply, smelling cedar and burnt toast, as you slowly opened your eyes.

The room was dim, the soft gray light of a rainy morning filtering through the blinds. It casted soft shadows across Bob’s bookshelf, catching the gold edge of a NASA poster and the corner of his messy desk that still had his mass of study notes spread across it. The window rattled slightly with the wind, and beyond it, you could hear the steady, rhythmic percussion of raindrops tapping against the glass. The humidity from outside was slipping through the little cracks in the pane, causing the room to be a little warmer, coinciding with the heat beneath the comforter you were beneath.

You could feel a beating heart pressed to the back of your’s, slowly realizing that Bob’s body was molded to you like he was made to fit in that space. His skin was warm and a little clammy, the way bodies got after long hours of being tangled together under thick covers, skin against skin with no intention of separating. His chest rose and fell behind you, each breath moving you slightly with it–as if your bodies had become one mechanism overnight, syncing into something quiet and breathing and still.

His arm was heavy over your waist, his large calloused hand splayed across the dip of your stomach, fingers flexing every now and then with some dream clinging to his nerves. The pads of his fingertips brushed against your skin in slow, absent strokes, barely there, but gentle, like he was touching you in sleep the way he had touched you awake the night before. His chin was tucked into the hollow where your shoulder met your neck, his slight stubble whispering against your skin. Every few seconds, he let out a faint snore–more a sigh than a sound–his breath warm and damp where it clung to the side of your throat and cheek, making you squirm just a little as it tickled you, though you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to, you just wanted to savour it–every humid breath, every sleepy twitch of his muscles, every inch of heat that rolled off him and engulfed you.

Your skin shifted against the cotton sheets as you stirred slightly, his boxer shorts slipping down your hips, cinched just enough by the elastic to keep from falling completely off. He had helped you into them after he had helped you clean off, insisting that it would be a bit more comfortable than wearing nothing at all. You had agreed after noticing the little embroidered emblem of ‘B.F’ on the waistband, finding it to be endearing in a way that he would let you borrow something that seemed so personal to him. It was the only thing you ended up wearing to sleep.

You shifted against him, and the movement was just enough to stir something in Bob–his breath caught and then exhaled in a long, sleepy sigh that rolled warmly across your bare shoulder. His hand moved along your stomach, fingers curling and spreading again in that same slow, absentminded affection, like he was already craving more of you.

Then he stretched–his body unfolding behind you with languid grace, pressing you closer as his legs slid against yours and tangled them more firmly. His nose nudged into the crook of your neck, and he let out a soft sound, something between a hum and a murmur, before he kissed your shoulder, lips soft, plump and wet.

“You awake?” He whispered, his voice low and rough from sleep, like honey and gravel pouring onto your skin. A smirk curved across your lips, because you could hear the grin in his tone.

“Yes I am,” You replied, teasingly light. He chuckled–just a low, muffled vibration in his chest that resonated through your spine. The sound made your stomach slip in the softest, most instinctive way.

”How’re you feeling?” He asked, his hand moving gently in small circles over your stomach again. You hummed, finally glancing back at him over your shoulder. His light brown hair was an absolute mess, sticking up in odd directions from where your fingers had buried themselves and pulled last night. His eyes were still heavy-lidded with sleep, his lashes casting soft shadows onto the gentle pink flush of his cheeks, but it was evident that he looked absolutely wrecked still.

“A little tired and sore,” You said with a slow smile, “But very satisfied.” You added. That earned another quiet laugh, and he leaned in to press another kiss to your shoulder, this one lingering just a bit longer than the last one, leaving a distinct wet mark in the sharpe of his lips on your skin.

”Oh yeah?” He pressed with mock curiosity, “Where are you sore?” You felt his hand shift lower this time, trailing just under your navel. His fingertips brushing the waistband of the boxers, teasing just beneath it with a featherlight pressure. A spark lighting beneath your skin.

”Couldn't be…Here, could it?” He murmured, not even pretending to hide the smile in his voice now. You exhaled softly and arched your back, pressing into him like a reflex.

”It very well could be,” You said, tone slow and sultry, “But I wouldn’t admit it to you if it was Casanova.” He let out a breath–more like a huffed laugh–and began kissing a path along your back, the trail of his lips warm and wet as they meandered lower. Your skin tingled with each press, and the hush of his mouth against your spine made you shiver in the most delicious way.

“I’m going to make you some breakfast…” He whispered between kisses, his tongue poking out to lick your skin, to taste the saltiness of your sweat that had plagued the valley there the night before, then he followed it with a long damp kiss, deliberate and unhurried, “Eventually.” He added. You giggled at the comment, your laugh catching on a breath, light and silvery, curling in the space between you like steam off morning coffee. Bob smiled into your skin, and you felt his arm snake beneath your pillow, tugging you gently as if coaxing you to turn towards him.

You let out a small sigh, letting the sheets drag across your bare chest as you rolled around to face him. The comforter slipped down just enough to expose the swell of your breasts to the rainy grey light flickering through the blinds–soft and diffused, like it was meant only to illuminate you for his eyes.

Bob’s face was still sleep hazed, but the moment his eyes landed on you fully, something behind them sharpened–like the fog of tiredness cleared all at once. His mouth parted slightly, lips plush and pink and still kiss-bitten from the night before, as his gaze traced over the curve of your collarbone to the way the blanket barely clung to you. He didn’t hide the way he stared–not just with lust behind his shimmering blue eyes, but with gentleness and admiration. Like he was surprised that you were in his bed, in his boxers, and wrapped up with him still.

He looked ruined and divine all at once, his jaw was dusted in stubble that caught the light, and now that you were able to get a good look of his messy hair it was evident you really did a number on him. His cheeks were still tinted with the faint heat of last night’s effort, and his blue eyes–crystalline and wide despite the shadows beneath them–flicked up to meet yours with something tender and wrecked simmering in them.

You reached out instinctively and rested your hand on his chest. His heart was thudding beneath your palm–quick, erratic, like your touch had jump started something primal in him.

”What’re we going to do between now and eventually, since you sound like you have a plan?” You teased, voice syrupy as you let your thumb brush a lazy circle across the smooth skin along his pec. His eye flicked to your lips, then lower, and you watched his faint pink tongue dart out–slow and subconsciously–as he licked along his bottom lip. The motion alone made your stomach twist.

“I have a lot of ideas…” He murmured, voice trailing off like it was being pulled from the back of his throat by heat alone. Your brows lifted, your lips curling up into a smile.

”Care to share?” Bob shook his head slowly, smirking as he leaned in closer.

”I’m more of a hands-on presenter.” Before you could get a word in, his mouth was on yours. The kiss hit you like heat rising from a simmering pot–hungry and wet, but still tender, still laced with that sleepy slowness that made everything feel more intimate. His lips moved against yours like he already knew the rhythm, like his body remembered it even before he’d fully woken. It was messy in the best way–breath tangled with breath, your mouths parting over and over like you couldn’t get enough, like each kiss bled into the next.

His knee nudged forward between your thighs, and without thinking, you opened for him, letting his thigh settle there, warm and solid. The weight of it pressed into your core and you instinctively rolled your hips forward into him, chasing the friction with a soft gasp. He groaned into your mouth, the sound low and deep, and you felt his hand settle on your waist, fingers flexing as he dragged you just slightly closer.

You reached up and cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth as you hummed against his lips, pulling back just enough to breathe. Your forehead rested against his for a beat–your breaths hot and uneven between you.

Then his lips were on your jaw, open and slow, kissing a line down to your neck. Each press of his mouth burned, his breath fanning across your damp skin, making you feel dizzy with how much you wanted–how much he wanted.

“I must’ve woken up your sex drive,” You whispered, breath shaking, as your fingers slid into the damp strands of hair at the nape of his neck. He hummed against your throat, dragging his teeth along your pulse point, before licking the thumping spot.

“With how perfect you were last night…Yeah…You definitely did. I’m under your spell.” You let out a small gasp as he brought his tongue down to your collarbone, his lips following with an open-mouthed kiss that lasted too long to be innocent. His hand slid up the side of your waist now, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs until his palm cupped the underside of your breast.

He kissed across your chest like he was starved for it, like your body was the only thing he needed to survive the day. His mouth was warm and wet, kissing the top swell, then lower, before he paused and looked up at you–blue eyes glassy with want.

“Did I mention how amazing you look this morning?” You tugged gently at the curls at the nape of his neck, just enough to make him lift his head off your a little more. His lips were swollen and shiny, face flushed, he looked like something holy and ruined–your favorite kind of contradiction.

“No,” You murmured, a breath of a laugh escaping you, “But thanks for lying.” Bob blinked at you like you’d just spoken in tongues. Then, with a faint scoff, he shook his head and dipped down again to kiss the same breast he’d been worshipping seconds before, his mouth slow and warm and defiant.

“I’m not lying,” He replied, his voice vibrating into your skin, “You really do look amazing.” You rolled your eyes and laughed softly, your breath catching a little when his teeth grazed your skin.

“Sure…” He hummed, trailing his mouth across the valley of your chest, his hand skimming up your side, palm broad and warm against your ribs.

“Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you, then.” He whispered, leaning in to wrap his lips around your nipple, his tongue flicking across the sensitive peak. Your back arched almost instantly, a breathy groan slipping from your throat as you buried your fingers deeper into his hair. You could feel the heat of his mouth, the way he moaned quietly like he was the one being touched, like your body in his mouth was enough to drive him wild.

He pulled off with a quiet pop, dragging his mouth to the other breast, giving it equal devotion. He licked, then sucked again, slower this time, savoring. You let your eyes flutter closed for a second, overwhelmed by how soft and filthy he was all at once.

”Maybe we should shower before you go down on me again,” You breathed, the words tumbling out as your hand threaded into his hair again, though you didn’t sound very committed to the idea. Bob lifted his mouth from your chest, lips wet and parted, and looked up at you through the curtain of his lashes.

“Why?” He asked, cocking his head just slightly, voice low and teasing. “You think I’m not gonna like the taste because I came inside you?” Your brows shot up. The statement was so blunt, so casual, it caught you off guard in the best way.

“Most guys typically don’t,” You replied. Bob let out a soft, incredulous laugh, one that made your stomach tighten, and flutter.

”I don’t really care,” He said simply, dragging his hand along your side, his thumb brushing over your wet, peaked nipple, “It came from me, for Christ’s sake. There’s no harm in it…And it’s kinda hot, honestly.” His voice was warm and steady, and his eyes never left yours. There was no shame in his gaze. No hesitation. Just honest desire, unwavering and adoring.

“But,” He continued, fingertips gliding along your ribcage in a slow stroke meant to test your reaction, “If you really don’t want me to…” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “We can take that shower together.” Another kiss, lower now, dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers hanging low on your hips. “And I can do it there.” You bit your bottom lip, hand resting against his flushed cheek.

”Only if you want to…” Bob didn’t hesitate. His lips curled faintly, a boyish cocky smile appearing on his mouth. Then–without breaking eye contact–he leaned in and gave your stomach a slow, deliberate lick, dragging his tongue just above your navel.

“I do.”

The breath fled your lungs in a stuttering sigh, and your hand slid into his hair as if by instinct.

“Okay…” You whispered, barely audible.

Bob pressed a kiss just above the waistband of your boxers before his fingers slid beneath the elastic, knuckles grazing your hips. He shimmied them down slowly, and you lifted your hips to help, watching as he peeled them past your thighs and down your legs, pushing them off to the side of the mattress.

He settled between your legs, spreading them gently, kissing the inside of your knee, your thigh, then again higher–closer, messier. His hands grasped your hips firmly like he needed to anchor himself, mouth dragging upward until the heat of his breath ghosted over your bare core.

His voice rasped as he looked up at you through heavy lashes, lips shiny from the trail he left on your skin

“Can’t believe I get to taste you again.”

Then his tongue was on you.

He started slow–broad strokes, flat and wet, working from the base of your folds up to your clit with aching patience, remembering what he had done to you the night before. You gasped, back arching instinctively, one hand gripping the sheets, the other sinking into his messy hair.

He groaned against you, like he’d just taken a bite of something divine.

“So sweet,” He muttered, voice muffled as he licked again, faster now, messier. His mouth was hot and slick and eager–tongue lapping in rhythmic strokes, pushing and curling at your entrance, before dragging up to circle your clit with maddening precision.

“Still sore?” He asked, pausing to kiss your inner thigh before diving back in, voice teasing and dark. “You feel so tight…I can’t get over how good you feel, even on my tongue.”

“Mmh–Bob,” You whimpered, rolling your hips up against his mouth, instinct taking over, “Please…Don’t stop.” He groaned again, grabbing your thighs tighter and pulling you closer, burying himself between your legs like he wanted to live there. His nose brushed your clit with every motion of his tongue, the sloppiness of it all making it hotter. His spit and your arousal were smeared everywhere–down your thighs, across his chin, into the sheets.

“Want you to ride my face a little…” He mumbled, voice thick and ruined, “Please…Grind down on me. Use me…I want you to take everything from me.” You moaned, hips bucking as you obeyed, gasping as you rolled against his mouth, your thighs trembling. His tongue flicked fast and firm now, in perfect rhythm, and when he slid two fingers inside you–curling them just right–you broke.

Your orgasm surged over you hard, sudden, and hot. You cried out, clenching around his fingers, your thighs pressing around his head as your body arched off the mattress.

He moaned through it, tongue still moving, easing you through every wave.

When you finally slumped back, dazed and still twitching, he slowed his motions–one last kiss to your swollen clit before he slid his fingers free with a filthy sound.

You watched, breathless and wide-eyed, as he licked them clean–slow and shameless, making eye contact the whole time. Then he crawled back up your body and kissed you.

It was hungry and messy and warm. You could taste yourself on his tongue, but also him–his breath, his sweat, the rumble of his satisfaction humming through his chest. When he finally pulled back, he was grinning–flushed and cocky and wrecked in the best way.

”God, that was fantastic,” He whispered, brushing your hair back from your face, “I’ll take you up on that shower though…” His lips ghosted your cheek.

”We can get all washed off and…” A pause, then a wicked grin appeared on his lips, “…Finish up there. Easy cleanup.” You laughed, half-delirious, heart still galloping as you dragged him into another heated kiss, carding your hands through his short strands of hair. You pulled back from the kiss with a soft, dazed breath, your lips still tingling, the taste of him and you mingling on your tongue. But the moment was threatening to spiral again, and you could feel yourself getting lost in it–his body pressed to yours, his hands still wandering, the cocky glint in his eye paired with the heat of his skin.

“Let’s get up before we’re stuck in this bed for the rest of the day,” You murmured, breathless but smiling, trying not to get swept back under by the weight of his body against yours. Bob groaned, letting his forehead drop briefly to your shoulder before he kissed it, warm and reluctant.

“I really wouldn’t mind that…” He mumbled, voice low and drowsy and filthy again. Then, with a final sigh, he pulled back and added, “But you’re right.” He shifted slowly, slipping out from under the covers, his skin bare and flushed, his movements slow like every part of him was still humming from you. As he sat up on the edge of the bed, he adjusted himself inside his boxers, clearly already hard again, even as he reached for the towels hanging off the back of his desk chair. He grabbed two–one dark grey, one soft blue–and tossed the lighter one toward you.

“I don’t think anyone’s up here,” he said, tone low but cautious. “But we’ll rush to the bathroom anyway.” You laughed softly and sat up, taking the towel from where it landed on the bed. Your legs wobbled beneath you as you stood, and you immediately grabbed the bedpost for support, laughing breathlessly.

“Jesus,” You muttered, wrapping the towel around yourself. “I feel like a newborn giraffe.” Bob turned, already halfway to the door, and burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You look like one too. All wobbly and cute.”

“Don’t make me smack you with this towel, I’m really good at snapping it perfectly, you’ll be left with marks,” You warned playfully, pointing it at him as you tightened it around your body. He just grinned and reached his hand out.

“C’mon, baby giraffe. Before someone sees the state of us.”

You placed your hand in his, warm and firm, and the two of you tiptoed out of his room, breath caught in your throats, muffled laughter barely held back as you rushed down the hallway. You passed a poster half-ripped from the wall and the unmistakable stench of stale beer, but somehow managed to avoid being spotted as you slipped into the shared bathroom.

Once inside, Bob turned on the light, blinking against the fluorescent brightness, then quietly closed the door behind him and flipped the lock.

“I know I was in here last night…But I’m still surprised it’s weirdly clean here. I was expecting a crime scene.” Bob laughed as he took your towel out of your hands and hung it beside his, going towards the shower to turn it on.

”That’s because people probably peed on the lawn to be honest. Usually it’s absolutely destroyed here.” You grimaced and let out a laugh, wrinkling your nose.

”Bad for the grass.” You commented, and he smirked.

”We have a sprinkler system so…It prevents the lawn from yellowing.” He explained.

“No wonder the grass always looks healthy.” The both of you laughed, as steam started to rise from the shower head, the water hissing in the background of your mundane conversation. The mirror above the sink was already fogging at the corners when Bob nodded toward the shower.

“Go on in first,” He said, voice dipping low again. “I’ll be right behind you.” His eyes didn’t shy away from glancing down at your body, like seeing you under this light was a different experience than seeing you in his bed. You gave him a small pat on his hip, before stepping into the steam-filled shower, the hot water kissing your skin, immediately contrasting the chill you were beginning to feel on the tiled floor. You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head back beneath the stream, the warmth rushing over your face, your chest, your thighs.

The moment Bob stepped into the shower, steam swirled around him like it belonged there–curling up his flushed chest, catching on the tips of his messy hair, dancing down his thighs. His boxers were gone, his skin pink and kissed by cool air and anticipation, and his eyes immediately locked on yours through the soft fog. There was a flicker of something boyish in his expression when he saw you standing under the water, hair wet, skin glowing in the dim light, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You turned toward him slowly, letting the water roll down your shoulders and between your breasts, and gave him a small, intimate smile–the kind that said I missed you, even though you hadn’t been apart for more than a few seconds.

Bob closed the space between you in a few quiet steps and leaned in, cupping your face gently before kissing you. It was soft–slower than the ones before. Less frantic. Like he needed this one to mean something. His lips were warm and pliant, parting just enough to let your breath mingle with his, and his hands settled on your hips like he wanted to memorize how you felt in this moment.

The water ran over both of you in steady sheets, and you tilted your face into the kiss, your hands drifting down his chest–slick and steady–until they met between your bodies.

Without breaking the kiss, you wrapped your fingers around him, your hand warm and slow as you began to stroke him. His cock twitched in your palm, already heavy and hard, the skin silky beneath your fingers. Bob’s breath hitched against your mouth, a soft, broken moan slipping out as his other hand came up to cradle your cheek.

You started slow, dragging your fist from base to tip with deliberate precision, twisting slightly at the top just to hear him gasp.

”Oh fuck,” He breathed, voice low and wrecked. You smiled into the kiss, your grip tightening slightly as you began to build a rhythm, and Bob’s hips jerked forward ever so slightly, like he was chasing your touch. The sound of water hitting tile only made everything feel filthier, more intimate. His mouth fell open against yours, and he whimpered into the space between your lips–breathy, desperate.

You pressed a finger to his mouth, shushing him gently with a teasing smile.

“Gotta stay quiet,” You whispered. “It’s echoey in here.” Bob’s head tilted back, mouth still parted, steam curling up his jawline. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his hands now gripping your waist like he was trying to ground himself.

“Y/N…” He moaned, voice cracking with need. “I want to be inside you so fucking bad… You’re gonna make me cum like this if you don’t stop.”

You sighed softly, a breath of indulgent defeat, and nodded. “Okay…” You began to turn around, ready to brace yourself against the tile, the logical, easy position in a slippery shower–safe, secure. But before you could fully spin, Bob caught your arm.

“Woah, woah…What’re you doing?”

You blinked, confused. “We’re having shower sex…This is literally the easiest and safest position.” Bob’s eyes met yours, and they were so open, so earnest–shimmering with warmth even through the haze of lust.

“But I want to look you in the eyes…So…Come back.” His voice was so soft it barely reached over the pang of water against the porcelain shower. Your brow arched slightly, surprised by the sudden tenderness in his tone.

”This isn’t porn, Bob. You’re gonna end up hurting yourself.” Bob let out a low laugh, the sound rasping up from his throat.

“Let me prove to you that I won’t.”

You squinted at him, skeptical. “Bob, if you drop me, we’re gonna end up in the ER.” He sighed, but there was a flicker of defiance in his grin.

“Y/N…Trust me. I’m strong. I may not be built like an Adonis…” He stepped closer, arms slipping around your waist, “…But I can certainly hold you up for a few minutes.” You hummed, biting your lip as he suddenly lifted you–strong arms sliding under your thighs as he pressed you back against the tiled wall. The tile was cool against your spine, a shocking contrast to the heat of his skin and the humid air that clung to every inch of your bodies. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist as instinct took over, clinging to him as he adjusted his grip. Bob kissed your cheek first, then your jaw, his voice a whisper as his lips brushed against you.

“Keep your legs wrapped around me for a second?” You nodded, breath quickening as he shifted one arm, balancing you with practiced care, and reached between your bodies with the other. You felt the tip of him brush against your entrance–already ready from the past ministrations–and you gasped again as he guided himself forward and slowly pushed into you. Your face dropped against his shoulder, your gasp muffled by the damp curve of his skin as he filled you–inch by aching inch, deep and slow and perfect. His breath faltered, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he sank in fully, his forehead pressing to your temple.

“Jesus Christ…” He whispered, voice strangled with how tightly your body welcomed him. “You feel…Incredible.” You could only whimper in reply, your legs tightening around his waist, your arms slung over his shoulders for leverage. Bob brought his hand back to your thigh, using the grip to roll his hips into you with a slow, controlled rhythm. His body pressed yours deeper into the wall with each thrust, water pouring over both of you in steaming rivulets, making your skin slick and warm and trembling.

“Could get lost in you forever.” He panted against your ear. You turned your face, catching his lips in a kiss–sloppy, desperate–your moans spilling into his mouth. His hips snapped forward harder, deeper, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing faintly off the shower walls, as his grip faltered just for a split second before tightening again.

“Don’t let me go,” You whispered breathlessly. Bob kissed your cheek again, the corner of your eye, your temple.

“Never…I’ve got you…” His thrusts quickened, and the way he looked at you–like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth–made everything spiral even faster. The heat, the weight of him, the way your bodies clung to one another like they’d always known how. You knew the high was coming again, coiling low in your belly like fire licking at your spine.

And Bob… Bob held you tighter.

“Wanna feel you fall apart around me just like last night. Want to feel you squeeze me till I can’t hold back anymore. Keep me under that spell of yours.” Your fingers threaded into his hair, sliding over his scalp until your palm flattened at the back of his head. You gripped hard–not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough to make him moan into your skin. Your other hand clutched at his shoulder, nails biting in for something to hold as he drove into you, deeper, harder, with the kind of desperate control that made your vision blur. The tile was cool against your spine, slick now, water cascading over the two of you in a fogged-up cocoon of steam and heat and muffled breath.

Bob’s rhythm didn’t falter–his hips continued to roll forward with relentless precision, pressing you into the wall like he was trying to leave a mark on your soul. Your breath came in stuttered bursts, every exhale breaking on a moan, every inhale shaky and full of him.

“Fuck Bob…You’re so deep–“ You gasped, your words nearly drowned by the rush of water and the wet slap of skin against skin. Your body was shuddering, tightening around him with every stroke, that unbearable coil twisting inside you, drawing tighter and tighter, the pressure mounting to an almost unbearable edge.

He was murmuring now–low, half-coherent praises against your ear as his teeth grazed the shell of it.

“That’s it, Y/N, god you feel so good, you’re gonna make me finish just like this.” Your thighs clenched tighter around his hips, and you gave his hair another tug, your mouth falling open as your climax slammed into you like a freight train. It ripped through your spine, white-hot and shattering, your body convulsing in his arms. Your eyes fluttered shut as you cried out, legs trembling around him, breath catching in your throat in a soundless moan.

Tears welled in your eyes–not from pain, not from anything bad–but from the sheer overwhelming sensation of it. Of him. Of the way he held you through it like he was afraid you’d disappear. The way he slowed for a second just to feel you clench around him, whimpering your name like it was sacred.

Bob groaned–long and low–and then he was burying his face in your neck, his rhythm faltering as he thrust once, twice more, and spilled inside you with a choked sound. His body trembled against yours, muscles quaking beneath your touch, and his arms locked around you tighter than ever as he pressed you to the wall, holding on like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You both stayed there for a long moment, tangled and breathless and shaking under the hot stream of the shower. The water couldn’t wash away the high you were both riding, or the way your heart raced like it was trying to chase his.

Bob kissed your cheek again, softer now, reverent. You could feel him still inside you, the occasional twitch of him as your body slowly unclenched around him. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, lips brushing your temple.

”I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you.” He whispered. You ran your fingers through his hair, gently this time, calming both of you as the water cascaded down your backs. You rested your forehead against his and replied.

”Me neither.” He smiled–boyish, ruined, completely undone–and leaned in for a kiss. It was slow, and warm, and tasted like rainwater and breathlessness and promises neither of you had spoken yet. His hands cupped your thighs, keeping you steady, even as he slowly pulled out of you with a wince and a soft grunt. You whimpered at the loss, your hips twitching slightly, still over stimulated and pulsing.

Bob leaned in, his breath still rough against your temple, and whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded, chest still rising in shallow waves, your hands resting lightly against his shoulders. “Never felt better.” A quiet laugh passed between you, both of you too blissed out to do anything but smile and breathe in each other’s air. The water continued to cascade around you, soft and rhythmic, like it was trying to lull you back into that warm, quiet pocket of time where nothing existed but him.

“You okay if I put you down?” He asked gently, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah…” You gave a teasing grin, voice a little breathless. “You’ve done enough lifting for the day.”

Bob let out a low, sleepy chuckle, clearly pleased with himself, and kissed you again–softer this time. “Did I impress you?”

”Definitely.” That word alone made his whole face soften, his chest puffing slightly, not out of arrogance, but pride. He smiled at you, then leaned in and kissed you all over–your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your jaw, anywhere his lips could reach, they were there. You laughed, squirming just a little as he dotted your skin with affection.

”I’m glad,” He murmured, “Now, let’s get washed up before the hot water runs out.” You nodded, and Bob finally, slowly, let go of your thighs. He kept his hands on your hips as he lowered you with great care, like he was handling something fragile. Your feet touched the warm porcelain again, slick beneath your toes, and you stumbled just slightly–your knees still wobbly, your body humming from everything he’d just done to you. He caught you instantly, steadying you with both hands, fingers warm and sure against your sides.

”Still a bit wobbly, huh?” He teased, grinning down at you.

”I told you. Newborn giraffe.” You deadpanned, earning another laugh from him, this one soft and sweet and chest-deep. Bob reached for his shampoo on the little ledge, surprisingly it wasn’t a generic four in one like most guys used–it was expensive, you could tell from the bottle. He uncapped it and squirted a little into his palm, releasing the faint citrusy smell of it–lemon, lime, and cedar.

”Turn around?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

”You wanna wash my hair?” He gave a sheepish shrug, cheeks tinged pink beneath the stream.

“I’m still trying to make a good first impression…And I want to show how much I want to take care of you.” Your heart twisted, caught off guard by how tender he was, and you sighed, giving in to his request, turning your back to him.

And then–his fingers were in your hair, working the shampoo into your scalp with slow, careful strokes. His touch was gentle, but firm enough to make your eyes flutter closed. You could feel his chest brushing your back occasionally, his breath fanning over the back of your neck every time he leaned in closer. He scratched lightly at your scalp in just the right way, and a hum slipped from your throat before you could stop it.

”Feels good?” He asked, voice smug but still gentle.

”Mmm…Of course.” He chuckled and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder.

“Good…I like hearing that.” Bob’s fingers continued their steady rhythm, massaging the shampoo into your scalp with slow, patient care, nails grazing just enough to make your knees weak again. The water streamed down your back in warm sheets, steam rising around the two of you like a veil.

“Hey,” You murmured after a few quiet moments, voice soft and lazy from the bliss of his touch, “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” He paused, his fingers halting in your hair for just a beat too long before resuming again–slower now.

“Of course we are,” He replied, like it wasn’t even a question, “Why?” You shrugged, tilting your head into his hands a bit more.

”Just wanted to confirm.” Bob leaned in and kissed your shoulder again, lips warm and damp against your skin.

He lingered there for a second before murmuring, “I wouldn’t cancel, if that’s what you think…This’ll be my first actual date in a while, and–well, this one I’m actually looking forward to.” He kissed your shoulder again, a little firmer this time, “Cause it’s with a pretty awesome girl.” A laugh slipped from your lips–soft and breathy, surprised and a little giddy.

“Oh yeah?” You teased, “Do I know her?” Bob hummed, his fingers gently slipping off your scalp.

”I think so.” You bit your bottom lip, smiling into the mist.

”She hot?”

”The hottest,” He said without hesitation, “Smart too. Like, intimidatingly smart, she’s a chem major. And funny, and really, really good at towel snapping, apparently.” You laughed again, as he urged you under the stream of water to rinse out the mass of suds he had created.

”She sounds like an absolute catch.” You commented, tilting your head back to let the water rinse through the shampoo.

“She is,” He agreed, wrapping his arms around your waist, joining you beneath the stream, pressing his nose into the curve of your neck, “And she’s kind of already wrecking me a little bit.”

————————

Thirty minutes later, you stood near Bob’s desk, the soft rain still pattering against the window, wrapping his scent around the room like a blanket. You were drying your hair with the towel he’d handed you, wearing one of his oversized crewnecks–navy blue with the faded emblem of the frat house in the corner of it. It swallowed your frame, warm and worn and soft against your freshly scrubbed skin. His boxer shorts sat low on your hips, the waistband rolled once, and you could feel the lingering ache in your thighs as you moved.

Bob was already dressed–grey t-shirt clinging to his damp chest, the neckline slightly stretched, a pair of dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His silver framed glasses were perched on his nose now, making him look devastatingly smart and devastatingly soft all at once. His hair was still a little messy from the shower, damp strands curling slightly at the ends, and he looked like every girl’s half-formed daydream come to life.

Without a word, he crossed the room and handed you a pair of his navy sweatpants–slightly faded, drawstring frayed at the ends, but clean and warm from where he’d just tugged them off a stack in his drawer.

“You can give them back to me tonight,” He said, a faint grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. You raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Already planning on me sleeping over…Oh Bob,” You teased, drawing out his name like a line of silk.

He let out a breathy laugh, cheeks pinking slightly as he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “Or maybe I’ll pick them up,” He murmured. “No expectations or anything.” Your heart stuttered a little at the sweetness of it, and you leaned up, brushing your lips against his. A quick kiss–gentle, sure–before you stepped back and pulled the sweatpants up your legs, tying the waistband tightly.

You sighed softly, adjusting the waistband, “I’m going to give you a slight warning…If we see Jake, we’re probably going to get ripped into.” Bob raised his brows, reaching for his keys from the desk.

”You two don’t get along?” You shook your head.

”We’ve got some beef.” He made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, kissing his teeth like he was offended on your behalf.

“Well,” He started, slinging a hoodie over his shoulder, “We have even more in common now. I don’t have beef with him, but he definitely judges me.” You stepped closer, reaching up to brush a few strands of his light brown hair off his forehead.

“Perfect, that gives me permission to get into a bit of a verbal scuffle.” Bob chuckled, the sound warm and low in his chest as he slung the hoodie over his shoulder and adjusted his glasses.

“I’m looking forward to it,” He said, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You smirked and bent to slip on your shoes, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath your feet. The ache between your thighs flared just slightly as you stood back up, and you shot Bob a look that clearly said it was your fault. He just held his hands up in mock innocence and gave you a wink.

The two of you left the room together, Bob locking the door behind him. The hallway was quiet at first–muffled voices leaking from a room down the hall, the occasional thud of footsteps or laughter echoing off the old walls. The deeper you got into the house, the more the haze hit you: thick and earthy, laced with the unmistakable sharpness of weed.

You descended the stairs slowly, your hand brushing the railing, Bob close behind you. The moment you turned the corner and stepped into view of the living room, the air changed.

The room was a half-lit haze of smoke and low music–some lo-fi beat that was probably playing off a speaker perched precariously on the arm of the couch. Three guys lounged across the cushions, passing a blunt between them, while a fourth fiddled with a vape near the kitchen. The noise dipped the second they saw you. Like someone had hit mute on the house.

“Well well well,” Jake drawled, eyes scanning you from head to toe, then flicking to Bob beside you with exaggerated surprise, “Y/N? An overnight with a boy? What will the other nuns say when you return to the convent?” You didn’t even blink. Jake took a slow drag from his vape and exhaled, the smoke curling upward into the air.

“Oh wait…” He added, voice thick with smugness, “You probably still have your virginity, especially if you’re doing it with one pump chump Floyd over here.” He jerked his chin towards Bob with a smirk. You could tell he thought he’d scored some kind of point, like his jab had landed with weight. But instead of shrinking, you tilted your head and gave him a slow, syrupy smile–the kind that never meant anything good for the person on the receiving end.

“Oh, Jake,” You started, tone thick with faux pity, “At least Bob wasn’t resorting to his hand last night.” The other fraternity brothers coughed a bit, sharing glances, as Jake’s brows twitched, his face staying stoic, “Heard Jess abandoned ship around midnight. Something about how your ‘stroke game’ had all the rhythm of a dying Roomba?” You definitely embellished on that, but you had to start hitting low blows. Jake narrowed his eyes and leaned back, his jaw clenching slightly.

“Oh yeah?” He fired back, “You looked like you were barely walking down the stairs. Someone is clearly overex–“

”Do you always talk this much shit when you’re jealous?” Jake opened his mouth, but you pressed on, not giving him the air.

”It’s okay, really. Not everyone’s built for it.” Jake rolled his eyes.

”Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I sleep just fine,” You stepped closer, letting your grin curl into something razor–edged, “Especially when I’m getting thoroughly wrecked by a guy who actually knows what he’s doing.” Jake blinked, and for a split second, you saw it–the hit landed. Solid and clean. Before you could continue your little spat, Bob finally spoke.

”Alright, zipper tongue,” He started, grabbing onto your hand, “Let’s get your clothes from the dryer so I can walk you back to your dorm. You’ll need a nap to recover from all that sleep you missed out on last night.” He smirked, leaning in to murmur the last part just for you, “And so you’re ready for our date tonight.” You nudged him gently with your elbow, unable to fight the laugh that rose in your throat. The smug warmth of your win hadn’t even begun to cool as you followed him toward the laundry room, your bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floor.

Just before the hallway turned and the room faded from view, you glanced back over your shoulder at Jake.

“See you tonight, Jake,” You called, voice honey-sweet. “I’ll be sure to collect some pamphlets for the seminary. I’m sure they’ll take in a non-virgin, the priesthood is a very forgiving pathway.”

#lewis pullman #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #top gun maverick smut #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun movie #lewis pullman the man you are #lewis pullman characters #sweet sweet bob…Oh sweet bob #did i self indulge a bit? Yeah kinda. Happy Wednesday lol #Spotify

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maxxiemoa · 20 days ago

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~Snotlout x reader Pt 1~

An: Guess who went to the theater again to see httyd. MEEEE! Guess who has a little crush on Gabriel Howell. ME!

Summary: Snotlout is being his normal big egoed self. But ever since hiccup and Astrid got together he promised Hiccup he’d stop flirting with Astrid. But of course that meant Snotlout had a new object of affection, you.

Sfw

Snotlout was a real Viking. Big, loud, and egotistical. You’ve seen the way he throws himself at girls. He flexes his muscles and waits for them to swoon. You didn’t find him appealing. He was too arrogant. Despite this you still hung out with him. He was friends with your friends so it’s not like you could really avoid him.

As usual while you were sitting in the mead hall with your friends Snotlout came bashing in showing off the huge fish him and hookfang caught. Hookfang could probably eat it in seconds flat and just like that it would be gone and Snotlout would have nothing more to boast about.

You didn’t so much mind his need for attention as much as you minded the way he expected the attention. Like it was his right. You knew his father didn’t pay him much attention but it still bothered you that Snotlout would pout and throw a fit if he didn’t get the attention he wanted.

He came over to the table that Astrid, Hiccup, Fishlegs, the twins, and I were sitting at. I didn’t bother to look up from my stew to see where he would sit. I pretty much knew his routine. Sit right next to Astrid, flirt with her, get punched, and waddle over to sit next to the twins.

You felt the spot near you get warmer and realized that Snotlout sat down next to you. Why you? His spot is next to Astrid or pouting next to the twins. Why is he next to you? And why is he so close? You could practically hear his heart beating.

“Snotface why are you so close? Do you mind?” I slide over on the bench to create some distance between us.

He lets out a sad “hey” at the name calling but just slides over to meet my side again.

He smells of fish and sweat. If he was on the other side of the table that would still be too close. “Snotlout please, you smell like fish. If you wanted to sit so close to me you could have at least washed.” I groan at him attempting to shove him over on the bench. But to no avail. He once again scoots closer. “I give up” I say throwing my hands up. I get up and walk out the doors of the hall.

Later in the day I go out to the big hill that looks over the village, its a nice place to relax. I was drawing up some fun armor for my dragon and just enjoying the way the wind feels blowing on my face and through my hair.

Suddenly a big gush of wind hits me. The strong flap of hookfang’s wings nearly knocks me over. “Snotlout what are you doing?” I ask not so much caring as I am just looking for an explanation to why my nice afternoon is being so rudely interrupted.

“Hiccup said you hang out here sometimes” he says like it’s obvious.

“And you are here……because…..?” I try to my best to not jump on his head and wrestle him to the ground for being so annoying and self centered.

“I wanted to see what a pretty girl like you was up to.” He shoots me a smile and slides off of Hookfang. “So what are you doing? Reading?” He points to my sketch book. “Ohhhh drawing. I didn’t know you could draw” he plops himself down next to me. Thankfully he isnt practically sitting on my leg.

“Yeah I come out here to get away from it all and just create. Sometimes I just doodle and sometimes I draw up some armor that hiccup helps me make.” I’m not quite sure why I’ve decided to tell him all of this but I chalk it up to assuming he won’t leave me alone if I ask.

He leans over to take a look at my sketches. “Woah! Those are really cool. Do you think you could draw hookfang and I up something?” I giggle and agree. I can’t help but notice he smells much better than early. More fresh and less like fish. “How was fishing?”

He shoots up from his spot next to me and he is beaming. “It was great. Hookfang and I found this spot by the beach and there are tons of fish. They are much bigger than ones I’ve seen before. There are also a few shiny colorful ones. We didn’t want to fish them because they looked so nice swimming around. I can take you to see them. It’s dark but I can take you in the morning.

“Were there any fancy red fish?” I ask him patting the spot next to me.

His eyes light up and he takes a seat. “There were! There were mostly some orange and purple ones but there were a few other colors. I think I saw a pink one but hookfang called me crazy.”

I’ve never really seen this side of Snotlout before. He was calmer and passionate. Like he really wanted to share with me rather than boast.

“So said you could take me to see them in the morning?” I say wrapping my arms around myself. The wind has started to go from cooling to chilling.

Snotlout moved in a little closer and offered up his body heat. “Hookfang and I will come by your house in the morning. You should bring your dragon too. There are plenty of fish to eat.”

I lean into his side and take in his warmth. “Yeah. Sounds like fun..but can we head back to the village. It’s starting to get really cold up here. “ he nods his head and we start walking back to the heart of berk.

The next morning I hear knock at my door. I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and shuffle to the door. “Hmm, Snotlout it’s still so early. Why are you here so early?” I ask with my eyes half closed.

“I thought seeing the sunrise on the beach might be nice or whatever” Snotlout looked around the house and picked up my childhood toy pony. “Who’s this?” He asked prancing her around.

I laugh at his playing “Thats stargazer. My mom made it for me when I was little.” I take it from him and put it on my bed. “So are you ready to go see the fish?”

“Sure am” he put his arm around me and guided me to where hookfang was. “You wanna ride with me princess? Hookfang is like a seat warmer”

“I am going to ride my dragon…but thanks for the offer Snotlout” I duck out from under his arm, pat hookfang on the head, and hop on my dragon.

Once we arrive at the beach hookfang bucks Snotlout off his back. After he got up out of the sand he ran over to me and offered me a hand off my dragon. “Wow what a gentleman.” I take his hand sliding off my dragon and straighten out his helmet. “Does hookfang always throw you?

“We are just practicing an emergency escape plan incase we ever have to split up really fast. Hookfang would never throw me off his back on purpose. He respects me” just as Snotlout said that Hookfang huffed and knocked him over with his wing. “Bad hookfang! There will be repercussions for this!” Snotlout shouts with sand all in his hair.

I laughed a little bit. “Oh hookfang you naughty dragon”. I helped Snotlout up and brushed the sand out of his hair. “Hmm. I don’t think I’ve seen you without your helmet. You actually have really nice hair Snotlout.” I say still brushing the sand from it.

“Yeah my hair is pretty awesome isnt it. You can like totally play with it whenever you want or whatever.” I could feel his ego starting to drop.

“You wanna show me the fish now?” I ask walking over to the water.

He walks over to the edge of the water and points to a shiny purple one. “That one is nice but it’s not as nice as the red one we saw yesterday”. I hang off of Snotlouts arm and wiggle with excitement. He turns to me and says “I’ll make sure you see a red one.” I smile at his determination and take a look at the beach. The way the sun is coming up above the water is beautiful. “Snotlout look” I point to the horizon.

We watch the sunrise as we look for the pretty fish in the sea. Our dragons are playing around and getting to know each other better. Snotlout and I have taken a seat on some rocks near the waters edged. It’s just high enough to look right over the water without feeling like we will fall in. But even so he has an arm wrapped around my back just incase.

“You are really nice company when you aren’t worried about impressing people. Why do you care so much anyways?” I say leaning on him a bit more.

“I don’t care. People should just know how cool I am. I’m a great Viking” he puffs out his chest flexs his muscles and nearly knocks me off the rocks. “Snotlout!” I loose my balance on the rock but he quickly grabs my hands and I regain my balance. “I almost just cracked my skull opened on these rocks because you are so worried about how you appear to others.” I scoff.

He sighs and doesn’t look at me. “I just want people to know I’m strong. Youve seen my dad. Hes a great big ol’ Viking. Hes tough and nothing can take him down. He doesn’t do feelings, he makes people fear him. I need to be just like him. I want him to be proud of me.”

I feel bad for him. He shouldn’t have to beg for his father’s approval but I just wish he would be his own person. Just act the way he truly wants to. “Snotlout. You don’t have to be your dad. You are different from your father. You train dragons. You are apart of Berks best riders. You are known all around the village. You are Snotlout and you are impressive in your own way.”

Tears well up in his eyes and he try’s to blink them away but to no avail. I hold his face and wipe the salty tears off of his face. “It’s ok to just be you Snotlout. People will like you for who you are. Not for who you are pretending to be.”

#how to train your dragon #gabriel howell #snotlout x reader #snotlout jorgenson #httyd snotlout #httyd #hookfang

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ickbite · 5 days ago

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I’LL KEEP YOU MY DIRTY LITTLE SECRET!!

Pairing: Spiderman!jake x waitress!reader

Synopsis. When spiderman comes to your window after saving you a few days prior, you couldnt help but let him in, especially if it means a chance to kiss him!

Note: sooo so so messy ive been working on this at nightfor the past month so not checked (lmk if u find errors)!! 15k words, jakes lovestruck, no smut but a lot of kissing —

enha masterlist

The clock above the register ticked louder after midnight, each second dragging like syrup down a cold plate. You wiped the counter again even though it was already clean, more out of habit than necessity.

The diner buzzed in low fluorescent hums, casting pale yellow halos over the Formica tables and cracked leather booths. Neon light from the sign outside flickered like a broken promise—JIN’S DINER—the “I” sputtering every few seconds like it couldn’t decide whether to exist.

There weren’t many customers left at this hour, just the usual scattered souls: a couple of old men nursing mugs of coffee that had long gone cold, a student passed out over a plate of untouched pancakes, and him—Jake Sim. He always sat in booth five, the one by the window, and never ordered more than a black coffee and a slice of apple pie.

You didn’t know much about him except that he always left a tip way too big for what he ordered and smiled like someone who’d grown used to hiding something behind it. You wouldn’t call him charming—at least not in the way he probably wanted—but he had this warm-eyed thing going for him, like someone who spent more time thinking than speaking.

He wasn’t here tonight.

You glanced at the door more than once, trying to play it off as routine, but your hand hesitated slightly over the stack of menus. “Guess he’s skipping pie tonight,” you murmured under your breath, unsure why you even noticed.

The wind outside howled against the big front window, and the smell of rain snuck in every time the door opened. You were halfway through re-counting the cash drawer when the crack of glass and a scream rang out from just outside.

“Shit.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it.

Instinct moved faster than fear. You rushed around the counter and through the doors, heart slamming hard in your throat.

The alley beside the diner was narrow, boxed in by dumpsters and metal fire escapes that moaned in the wind. A man had a knife—he looked twitchy, young, like he didn’t want to be doing whatever he was doing—and the woman pressed against the brick wall was crying, one heel snapped, her purse at his feet.

“Hey!” you called out, too loud and too brave for someone without a plan. “Leave her alone!”

He turned, wild-eyed and desperate, and you immediately regretted opening your mouth. The knife shifted in your direction.

You didn’t scream. You froze.

And then he dropped from the sky.

Or not the sky, exactly—but it felt like it. One moment it was just the attacker, the victim, and you holding your breath—and the next, something swung down between them, cloaked in red and black, a blur of motion and silk.

“Bad night to pick the wrong alley, man,” Spider-Man said casually, as if he were walking into a classroom late.

He moved fast, inhumanly so, a blur of limbs and precision. The man didn’t stand a chance—two webs, a thud, a grunt, and he was stuck to the brick wall like a forgotten poster.

“Let me go!” the attacker yelled, struggling against the webbing.

“You brought a knife to a web fight,” Spider-Man replied, his tone light but edged with something colder.

The woman scrambled away, crying thank-yous, and you stayed planted on the concrete, suddenly aware of how cold the rain had become. Spider-Man turned slowly, his chest rising with sharp breaths, and though his mask gave away nothing, you could feel him watching you.

“You okay?” he asked, voice soft now—deeper than you expected, a little out of breath but controlled.

You nodded automatically, then forced yourself to speak. “Yeah. I’m—fine. I think.”

His head tilted just a bit. “You’re shivering.”

You looked down. Your hands were shaking, your shirt soaked from the rain. “Didn’t realize I ran out here without a jacket,” you said, trying to play it off, though your voice betrayed the adrenaline still racing through you.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, quieter this time, more serious. “Running into danger like that.”

Your brows furrowed. “She was gonna get hurt.”

“I had it handled.”

“I didn’t know that,” you snapped, before softening. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

That made him pause. For a moment, the air felt charged, full of unsaid things. Then, quietly, he added, “I usually am.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked up at the fire escape like he was about to leave. “Nothing. Just… be careful next time.”

Then he turned, climbing the wall like it was nothing, disappearing into the rain with one clean pull of his web. Just gone—like smoke slipping through fingers.

You stared after him for a long moment, heart still racing, the imprint of his words echoing through your head.

I usually am.

You didn’t know what he meant, but somehow, it felt personal. Like something about you had been on his mind before tonight.

The woman ran. The attacker sobbed, stuck six feet up and webbed like a fly.

You stayed there, the streetlight painting the puddles with soft golds and oranges, thinking not about the danger, not about the woman, not about your own shaking hands—but about him. About the way he lingered.

The next Tuesday felt heavier than usual, like the city had draped itself in thick fog and unspoken tension. Rain hadn’t returned, but the clouds hung low like they were waiting for a cue.

You arrived at the diner five minutes late, hair barely dry from a rushed shower, apron still wrinkled from where you’d crumpled it in your bag the night before. Jin—the owner—didn’t say anything, just grunted from behind the grill like always and slid you the list of specials nobody ever ordered.

The bell above the door jingled three minutes after your shift started. That familiar sound, sharp and casual, had always blended into the background—until now.

You didn’t look up at first, more focused on wiping yesterday’s fingerprints off the dessert case. But then you heard the voice.

“Black coffee. No sugar.”

Your spine went a little straight.

Jake Sim.

He stood on the other side of the counter like no time had passed, like he hadn’t vanished for a week after the most terrifying moment of your month happened twenty feet from where you were now. His hoodie was pulled tight around his shoulders, the drawstrings lopsided and frayed. There was a faint purplish bruise along his jawline, like someone had elbowed him by accident—or not by accident.

You looked at him for a second too long. “Rough week?” you asked, pouring the coffee into the thick white mug that had the tiniest chip on its rim.

He shrugged, then smiled. “You could say that.”

“You missed pie night,” you replied, sliding the mug toward him. “Thought the universe might’ve imploded or something.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I had to break the streak eventually.”

“Mmm. Tragic.” You leaned your hip against the counter, tapping your pen against your order pad. “The usual booth?”

Jake hesitated. “Mind if I sit at the counter today?”

That was new.

You blinked. “Uh… sure. No law against that.”

He climbed onto the stool with slow movements, like something in his side ached. You noticed, because you always noticed small things—especially when people tried to hide them. Still, you didn’t ask.

“So,” he said, hands wrapped around the mug like it was doing more than just warming his palms. “Did you hear about the alleyway thing last week? By here?”

You raised a brow. “You mean the thing where some guy tried to rob a woman, and Spider-Man dropped from the sky like a horror movie jump scare?”

His smile faltered a little. “Yeah. That one.”

“Was there a follow-up? I haven’t seen anything in the news. Not that the news cares about stuff that happens in this part of town.”

“They caught the guy,” he said, eyes on the steam rising from his coffee. “Apparently Spider-Man webbed him up so tight it took three cops and a crowbar to get him down.”

“Sounds about right.” You didn’t mean to sound so casual, but the moment still lived behind your eyes like a photograph burned into your mind. “He didn’t say much. Spider-Man, I mean.”

Jake’s gaze flicked toward you. “What’d he say?”

You thought back. The way he looked at you. The way he told you to be careful. The way he lingered.

“He told me I shouldn’t run into danger,” you murmured, then forced a smirk. “Which is hilarious, considering he wears spandex and jumps off buildings for fun.”

Jake laughed at that, a soft huff that sounded more like relief than humor. “He’s probably trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah,” you replied, almost too quietly. “He was.”

There was a moment of silence after that—one of those heavy, stretching pauses that doesn’t feel awkward until you notice it. Jake sipped his coffee again, eyes distant like he was replaying something in his head.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Did he scare you?”

The question surprised you. Not just the words—but the way he asked it, like it mattered to him on some level you couldn’t see.

You shrugged. “No. He didn’t scare me. He just felt… I don’t know. Like he’d been watching already. Not in a creepy way, just—”

“Like he knew where to be,” Jake finished.

“Yeah,” you said, brows pulling together. “Exactly.”

He nodded, and that was the end of it.

You worked the rest of your shift like normal. The diner filled up briefly around nine—mostly tired truckers, delivery guys, and late-night wanderers. Jake stayed put at the counter, refilling his coffee twice and scribbling something in a small notebook he kept in his hoodie pocket.

You didn’t ask what he was writing. You weren’t sure you were supposed to.

When your break came around midnight, you stepped outside for some air. The alley where it happened was still roped off with caution tape that had lost its fight against the wind. You leaned against the brick wall and tilted your head back toward the sky.

There were no stars—just the faint glow of city haze and one flickering streetlamp near the end of the block. You thought about how quiet the alley had become. How fast everything had changed in one second flat.

The air moved behind you.

Not loud. Not enough to startle. Just enough to remind you that something was there.

You turned your head slightly.

A figure crouched on the edge of the rooftop—Spider-Man, perfectly still, the red of his suit a muted silhouette under the dim light. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just watched.

You didn’t know how long he’d been there. You didn’t know why he was watching you.

You also didn’t know why your chest tightened slightly when your eyes met, even from a distance. Not fear. Not discomfort. Something else. Something you couldn’t name.

You took a step back.

“I’m not gonna run into danger,” you said softly, half-smiling up at him. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

He didn’t say anything. But you could tell he heard you. His head dipped ever so slightly before he stood, turned, and vanished across the rooftop with one silent leap.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until you walked back inside, the sound of the bell above the door grounding you again in the real world.

Jake was gone.

His coffee cup sat empty on the counter, and there was a folded napkin under the edge of the plate.

You opened it and read the words scribbled in black ink.

You shouldn’t be alone out there. Even if you’re brave.

—J

Your fingers tightened slightly around the paper.

You didn’t think much of Jake Sim.

But that night, for the first time, you wondered about him.

The heat came early that week.

Not in temperature, but in the way the city moved—restless, sticky, unsettled. Even the diner felt warmer than usual, the ceiling fans spinning too slow, doing too little. Your apron clung to your waist, and you rolled your sleeves up higher than you usually did, trying to ignore how the sweat clung to the back of your neck.

It was Tuesday again, which meant Jake.

Booth five had already been claimed when you came in—he was seated there with a book he never seemed to read and a mug of coffee that hadn’t been touched. You slid behind the counter, tying your hair back with an old rubber band, and tried not to glance at him more than once.

He smiled when you passed by, that familiar half-tilted grin that felt like a habit instead of a greeting. “Thought you might call in,” he said quietly, voice soft beneath the sizzle of the fryer.

You looked over your shoulder. “Why would I?”

Jake shrugged, watching you with unreadable eyes. “Just a hunch.”

He looked like he hadn’t slept. The shadows under his eyes weren’t dramatic, but they were there. His hoodie sleeves were pulled down over his hands, but you noticed the slight stiffness in how he moved when he reached for his cup.

You frowned. “You’re limping.”

Jake didn’t flinch. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

He looked up at you—really looked. The air between you tightened like it had its own pulse.

“You’re observant,” he said finally.

“And you’re not good at lying.”

His gaze flicked to your lips for half a second before he dropped it back to his coffee.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured.

You didn’t know why the words made your stomach twist.

Later, during your break, the sun had long dipped below the skyline. You slipped out the back entrance, ignoring the way the wind tangled your hair and caught on the corners of your sleeves. The alley looked the same. Maybe a little darker. A little quieter.

You weren’t afraid. Not really. Not anymore.

Your back was against the brick wall when you felt it—that familiar shift in the air. Barely perceptible. Like gravity had bent slightly.

“You’re starting to make a habit out of this,” you said to the shadows, your voice low and casual, almost teasing.

Spider-Man stepped from the rooftop edge, dropping into view with silent ease. His landing was controlled, slow, like he didn’t want to startle you.

He didn’t answer at first.

“I could say the same,” he said after a beat, and you didn’t miss the softness in his tone. “You come out here a lot.”

You crossed your arms, the wall cool against your spine. “Break time.”

His head tilted slightly. “Even when it’s not safe?”

You narrowed your eyes, not in challenge—but in curiosity. “Are you watching me?”

A pause.

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

The silence that followed was full—not awkward, not empty. Just full. Like the space between you two had become a container for all the things neither of you was saying.

He took a step closer.

You didn’t back away. You didn’t need to.

“I don’t mean it in a weird way,” he added quickly, his voice lower now, almost rough. “I just—keep an eye out. In case you ever…”

“In case I ever what?” you asked.

His breath caught. “Needed someone.”

You didn’t reply for a second. Your eyes met his—what little you could see of them through the mask. The fabric moved slightly with each breath he took.

The air between you felt warmer. The kind of warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. The kind of warmth that started behind your ribs and burned slowly through your veins.

His hand twitched slightly at his side, like he thought about reaching for you. But he didn’t.

“You don’t have to keep checking on me,” you said, your voice soft now. “I’m not—helpless.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “That’s not why I come.”

You didn’t ask why. You didn’t have to.

He stood there, not even a foot from you, tall and quiet and still soaked with city noise clinging to his suit like dust. You could see a scrape along the side of his jaw—just under the mask, raw and red like it had only barely stopped bleeding.

“You’re hurt,” you murmured.

“I’ve had worse.”

You didn’t think. You just reached up.

Your fingertips brushed the edge of his mask, right where the fabric met his skin. Just a touch. Just enough to feel the heat of him underneath.

He inhaled sharply—but didn’t move.

“You should be careful too,” you whispered. “I get the feeling you’re not invincible.”

“I’m not,” he said. His voice was barely above a breath now. “Not around you.”

That stopped everything.

The wind. The sound. Even your heart.

You looked at him��really looked—and for the first time, you wondered if maybe you did know who he was. Not by name. But by presence. By the way he stood. By the way he spoke like he meant every single word.

Your hand lowered slowly.

And still—neither of you moved away.

Not quite a kiss. Not quite a touch.

Just that crackling, skin-humming closeness. Enough to make you feel like if either of you leaned in even a centimeter more, everything would come undone.

Then, just as fast as he arrived, he stepped back.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the night, like he’d never been there at all.

It started with a margarita the size of your face and a promise to “unwind” for once. Sophia had just broken up with her clingy on-again-off-again situationship, and Chaewon had decided that meant shots were mandatory. You didn’t argue. You never argued on Fridays.

You hadn’t even planned to go out. But your shift had ended early, and someone had said something about neon lights and karaoke and too much glitter on a bathroom mirror, and suddenly you were there—spinning in a booth, laughing at things that weren’t that funny, with a lime wedge in your mouth and someone’s coat draped around your shoulders like armor.

By the time you realized everyone else was leaving, your phone was already at 3%. Chaewon kissed your cheek, her eyeliner smudged and perfect, and told you not to talk to strangers. Sophia promised she’d order you a cab, but her app glitched, and your own screen had turned black by the time you staggered out of the bar and into the air that hit you like a soft slap.

You weren’t falling over. But you were floating a little. The sidewalk swam beneath your boots. You clutched your bag too tightly.

You turned down a side street to take the shortcut to the station.

And that’s when you heard them.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Your head turned slowly. There were three of them. Not old, not exactly young—just that bored, lazy kind of dangerous that always smelled like cheap cologne and entitlement.

“Little late to be walking home alone, isn’t it?” one asked, stepping into your path.

You blinked. “I’m not alone,” you lied, your voice fuzzy around the edges. “I—someone’s meeting me.”

They laughed.

Your heart kicked against your ribs.

“Where’s your someone, huh?” one said, and the other moved closer. “He let you out like this? Tight little dress and nowhere to go?”

“Back off,” you said. You meant to sound sharp. It came out slurry.

A hand reached toward your arm—gentle, but wrong. Too casual. Too assuming.

You flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re not scared, are you?”

You opened your mouth to scream—

—but it never made it past your lips.

Because he dropped from above like lightning splitting the sky.

A blur of red and black. The thud of boots. A body between you and the worst-case scenario. And silence, so sharp it cracked.

Spider-Man.

One of the men swore under his breath.

“Go,” Spider-Man said, voice low and lethal. “Now.”

They didn’t argue. They didn’t even try. Two ran. The third hesitated—until Spider-Man took one step forward and he bolted, footsteps echoing into the alley’s dark spine.

Your knees trembled, and you realized your palms were sweating. You hadn’t realized how cold it was.

He turned to you, fast but careful.

“Are you hurt?”

You stared up at him, throat tight. “I—I think I’m okay.”

“You’re drunk.”

You nodded, then frowned. “I didn’t mean to get this drunk.”

His eyes—wherever they were under the mask—felt warm. “You shouldn’t be walking alone.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said again, suddenly emotional. “My friends left. My phone’s dead. I—ugh, I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

“I am,” you insisted, swaying just slightly. “You shouldn’t have to keep showing up for me.”

There was a pause.

“I want to,” he said.

The words hit you harder than they should have.

Your voice cracked. “I don’t wanna go home alone.”

Spider-Man shifted. “Do you want me to take you home?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

The city blurred beneath you.

His arm was around your waist, strong and steady, the wind biting at your cheeks. Your eyelids fluttered from the rush, the rooftops passing in flashes of shadow and neon. You’d never flown before—not really—but this came close.

He landed on your fire escape like he’d done it a thousand times.

You fumbled with your keys.

He watched, wordless, until you turned and looked up at him. “Do you—do you wanna come in? Just for a minute?”

His breath hitched. “Y/N…”

You blinked. “How do you know my name?”

Shit.

You stared at him.

He froze.

You stepped back slightly, lips parted. “Wait—how do you—?”

“It slipped,” he said, voice tight. “I’m sorry.”

You stared at him for a beat too long. The world tilted slightly again—not from the alcohol, but from something deeper. Something unraveling.

Still, you nodded. “I don’t care. Just… stay. Please.”

He stepped into your apartment like a shadow, quiet and careful, not touching anything. You flicked on the light and immediately regretted it—your little place looked smaller than usual, full of dishes you hadn’t washed and a half-made bed.

You kicked your shoes off and collapsed onto the mattress, watching him from over your shoulder.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured, voice half-gone. “I just—don’t want to feel alone tonight.”

Spider-Man stood in the center of your room, uncertain. You could hear his breathing.

“I won’t touch you,” you added. “I just… want you here. For a little while.”

Slowly, carefully, he crossed the room and sat on the floor near your bed, legs folded, arms resting on his knees.

Neither of you spoke.

You closed your eyes.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—your head heavy, the air thick with things unsaid. But for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

He didn’t leave.

You woke up alone.

At first, you weren’t sure if he’d even been there at all—there was no note, no trace, not even a dent in the pillow beside yours. But the window was still cracked open, the curtain fluttering in the quiet morning air, and your boots had been lined up neatly against the wall. You don’t remember doing that.

You stared at the ceiling for a long time. The headache was manageable, the memory clear. He hadn’t touched you. Hadn’t crossed a single line. He’d just stayed—silent, steady, watching over you like you mattered.

No one had ever done that before.

You didn’t think about him for the rest of the day. At least, you told yourself you didn’t.

The sky was bruised that night—gray fading to violet, clouds cracked along the seams. You were just about to close up the diner when the bell above the door rang.

You looked up instinctively, expecting Jake. But no one came in.

Then you heard it—a soft, muffled knock on the alley door.

You hesitated. The last time someone knocked back there, it didn’t end well.

But something in your chest pulled you toward it anyway.

You pushed the back door open.

And he was there.

Leaning hard against the brick wall, half-sitting, half-collapsing, one hand pressed tightly to his ribs. His suit was torn—black and red fabric slick with blood, one shoulder gashed open, his breathing shallow and sharp.

Your breath caught. “Oh my god.”

His head lifted weakly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You rushed forward. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ve been worse.”

“You always say that,” you snapped, crouching beside him. “Doesn’t make it less true.”

He let you help him inside. It wasn’t easy. He was heavier than he looked, and every movement made him wince. You dragged one of the chairs from the break room and lowered him into it, grabbing the dusty first aid kit from under the counter.

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his side.

“I’m fine.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t lie to me right now.”

He didn’t argue again.

You peeled back the shredded suit carefully. His skin beneath was slick with sweat and blood, a deep gash running from the bottom of his ribs to just above his waist. You sucked in a breath.

“This needs stitches.”

He shook his head. “Just clean it. I’ll be okay.”

“Barely.”

You cleaned the wound as gently as you could, biting back every curse, every shake of your hand. His muscles twitched under your touch, and he hissed when the alcohol met open skin.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“You’re good at this,” he muttered.

“I used to patch up my brother after every fight he picked. Got a lot of practice.”

There was a quiet beat.

“I’m not picking fights,” he said.

“I know,” you said, softer now. “You’re saving people.”

He didn’t reply. His jaw was clenched, knuckles pale where his hands gripped the chair. You glanced up at his face, and that’s when you saw it—a cut on his cheekbone, just under the edge of the mask. A streak of blood had already dried near his jaw.

“Hold still,” you murmured, and before he could protest, you reached up.

Your fingers found the edge of his mask. He tensed.

“I just want to clean it,” you promised, barely above a whisper.

After a moment, he gave the slightest nod.

You slid the mask up slowly, just over his lips and nose, revealing the sharp line of his cheek, the curve of his mouth, the vulnerable dip under his eye.

Your breath caught.

His eyes weren’t visible—but his lips were parted slightly, and the way he breathed—like he wasn’t sure what would happen next—made your pulse spike.

You dabbed the cut gently, your hand trembling. The alcohol made him flinch.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, not for the sting this time—but for the way your hand lingered.

He turned his head slightly toward your touch.

And suddenly, you couldn’t look away.

His lips were right there.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward—slowly, unsure—and pressed your mouth to his.

Soft. Barely a breath. Just enough to feel the heat of him.

He didn’t move for a second.

Then he kissed you back.

Not hard. Not greedy. Just aching.

Your hand curled near his shoulder, careful of the wounds, and his fingers brushed lightly—just barely—against the side of your hip, not holding, just present.

When you pulled back, you kept your eyes closed for a second longer than necessary.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

He adjusted the mask back into place with shaking hands.

You went back to cleaning his wounds, pretending your heart wasn’t about to give out. Pretending you hadn’t just kissed a stranger whose name you didn’t know, but whose breath now lived inside your lungs.

And somewhere deep in your chest, you felt the first crack of something you couldn’t take back.

You were brushing your teeth in an old sweatshirt and socks that barely matched when you heard it—three taps against your bedroom window. Not a knock. Not a bang. Just a careful, light rhythm like someone testing the edge of your attention.

You froze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.

There it was again.

You padded toward the window, heart already halfway up your throat, and pulled the curtain aside.

Spider-Man stood on your fire escape, casual as anything, crouched low with his head tilted like a curious cat.

You stared. “Are you dying?”

He shook his head.

“Is someone else dying?”

He shook his head again.

You opened the window. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

He stepped inside with practiced ease, barely making a sound. “Just… checking in.”

You blinked. “At midnight?”

“I keep weird hours.”

You raised a brow, still holding your toothbrush. “Do you always drop in uninvited?”

“Only when I think I might be welcome.”

The room felt warmer suddenly. Maybe it was the heat off his suit, or maybe it was just the way he stood there, taking up space in the quiet—like it was normal. Like this was something you did all the time.

You turned back toward the bathroom. “Well, I’m brushing my teeth. You can… sit. Or stand. Or crawl on the ceiling. Whatever.”

You expected him to leave. Or at least hesitate.

But when you peeked back into the room five minutes later, he was still there—standing at the edge of your bed, gloved fingers brushing over the spine of a book you left on your nightstand. The copy of Turtles All The Way Down that you never finished.

You leaned against the doorframe, towel slung over your shoulder. “You read?”

He looked over. “Not enough.”

You walked past him to sit on the bed, one knee tucked under your leg, watching him. “So what, you were swinging through town and thought, ‘You know who probably needs company? That girl who let me bleed all over her kitchen floor’?”

“Something like that,” he said, voice quiet.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was almost easy. The kind of silence that exists between people who don’t need to explain why they’re sitting still in the same space.

You glanced at him again.

His posture was relaxed now. Less superhero, more… person. The lines of his suit glinted faintly under the warm bedroom light, and you noticed again how close he was. Not hovering. Just there.

You tilted your head. “Why me?”

He looked at you for a long moment. “What do you mean?”

“You could be anywhere,” you said. “Saving anyone. But you keep coming back here.”

His breath caught, just barely. “Because you make me feel like I’m not just… a mask.”

That shut you up for a second.

You swallowed. “You’re not.”

He stepped closer. Just one pace.

“Then let me stay,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, without breaking his gaze, you pulled back the blanket beside you and nodded once.

He sat. Not on the bed—on the floor, next to where your knee dangled off the mattress, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed more than that.

You curled into the blanket. “You know you don’t have to act like I’m made of glass, right?”

“I’m trying not to scare you,” he murmured.

“You don’t.”

His voice was almost a whisper. “I want to kiss you again.”

You exhaled, heartbeat climbing.

You looked down at him—his face mostly masked, but you could still see the shape of his mouth under the fabric. Familiar now.

“I want to see you,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Just once.”

A pause.

Then: “Not yet.”

You nodded, slow. “Okay.”

He leaned his head back against the bed frame. Close enough to touch. Far enough not to.

You turned off the light.

And for a while, neither of you spoke. You just listened to the quiet rhythm of each other’s breathing—two people, a mask, and a thousand unspoken words between them.

You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard it—the soft tap-tap-tap against your window. It wasn’t cautious this time. It was quick. Urgent. Familiar.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t hesitate.

Towel still clutched around your shoulders, hair dripping down your neck, you padded barefoot across the room and pulled the curtain back with damp fingers.

He was already sliding the window open.

“Spider-Man?” you whispered, more breath than sound.

He stepped inside like he couldn’t wait another second.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t limping. But something in his body screamed need. Not for rescue. For you.

You froze. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer.

He reached for you.

His hands were still gloved, still trembling slightly, but they cupped your jaw like they’d wanted to forever. Your breath hitched. You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

“I tried to stay away,” he whispered, voice rough. “I thought I could. I can’t.”

Then he kissed you.

This time there was no hesitation. No pause. Just mouth on mouth, fast and full and wrecked with all the things he hadn’t said.

You gasped against him, your fingers tangling in the suit near his shoulders, and he groaned—soft, low, like your touch unraveled something he hadn’t let himself feel until now.

You pulled him closer.

He tasted like city rain and late-night fire escapes, like silence and wanting, like everything that had built up between you since the first time you looked at him and felt that tight, impossible spark.

He kissed you harder.

His hands roamed your back, slow but insistent, slipping beneath the edge of your shirt, touching skin like it was something sacred.

You broke the kiss only to breathe, foreheads pressed together, your chest tight with wanting.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered.

“I haven’t stopped since I left you,” he said. His voice cracked. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You kissed him again—slower this time. You let it burn, let it sink in deep.

The kind of kiss that felt like a promise and a problem at once.

He moved with you toward the bed, not rushing, just guiding, as if his body already knew the rhythm of yours. You sat first, and he followed, settling between your knees, hands braced on either side of your thighs.

You could feel the heat of him through the suit. Your hands found the edge of his mask and he tensed.

“I won’t take it off,” you said, fingers curling against the fabric. “I just want more of you.”

You lifted it halfway—just enough to expose his lips again. The curve of his cheek. The jaw you’d kissed once before.

He leaned in.

The next kiss was deeper.

Messier.

One of your legs slipped around his waist, your hands gripping his back through the suit like he was the only real thing in the world.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and desperate, and you moaned—quiet and real and completely undone.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

Your fingers brushed his bare cheek.

He stared at you.

You could’ve said anything. You could’ve told him how you’re getting fond of whatever this was between you guys. But instead, you kissed him again, hoping that it gets the message across.

The diner buzzed with the familiar noise of a Friday night rush — the clatter of plates, low conversations spilling across booths, and the steady hum of the old jukebox playing soft tunes in the background. You moved behind the counter, wiping it down carefully, your hands working on autopilot while your mind drifted somewhere else, somewhere quieter.

Sophia slid into the stool beside you, pushing a loose curl from her face with a playful grin. “Okay, spill it,” she said, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. “You’ve been different lately. Happier. More… sparkly. What’s going on?”

Chaewon leaned in too, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah, you’re practically glowing. We’re demanding answers.”

You laughed, the sound soft and easy, but a blush warmed your cheeks anyway. “It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been casually seeing a guy.”

Sophia’s eyes brightened. “Ooo, a guy? Spill! What’s he like?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light and casual. “Nothing special, really. Just hanging out. No drama, no expectations.”

Chaewon gave a knowing nod. “Sounds like fun.”

You smiled, but didn’t offer more. The truth was, you enjoyed the simplicity — the way it wasn’t complicated or heavy. Just a guy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Unnoticed by you, Jake stood quietly near the diner’s entrance, leaning against the wall with a coffee cup in hand. His dark eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, tracing the easy smile you wore, the way your eyes lit up with your friends. There was a crease in his brow, a quiet ache masked beneath his calm expression.

He said nothing. Didn’t move or interrupt. Just listened.

You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, but by then he was already turning away, slipping out the back door like a shadow.

The air felt heavier suddenly, like you’d just let a secret out you hadn’t meant to share, even if the words themselves were harmless.

Later, when the crowd had thinned and the neon “Closed” sign flickered on, you leaned against the counter, the quiet settling around you like a soft blanket. The night air was cooler now, the streets bathed in amber streetlight.

You were just locking the door when Jake’s voice came softly from behind you.

“Hey.”

You turned, startled but not frightened.

He stepped closer, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“You okay?”

You nodded, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, just tired.”

He smiled briefly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You looked different tonight.”

“Different how?”

“Happier,” he said quietly. “Like someone’s got you walking on clouds.”

You laughed, brushing your hair back. “It’s just… casual. Nothing worth worrying about.”

Jake’s gaze softened, but the tension around his jaw didn’t ease.

“Just casual, huh?”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with words neither of you wanted to say.

Jake swallowed. “I’m glad.”

You blinked, surprised by the simple honesty.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He stepped back, hands lifting slightly like he was ready to disappear again.

But then, his voice dropped, hesitant. “If you ever want to talk… or if you need anything…”

You smiled, the warmth in his tone seeping into your chest.

“I’ll be around,” you said.

Jake nodded, then slipped away into the night, leaving you standing there with a new, quiet ache you couldn’t name.

It starts like always.

He climbs through your window with his suit half unzipped and his breath uneven, like he ran all the way across the city just to touch you. You don’t say anything at first. You just step aside and let him in, like you’ve been doing this for weeks.

He reaches for you without hesitation, fingers curling around your waist like a reflex. His mouth finds yours before you can even breathe his name, and it’s like flipping a switch—heat, pressure, want. All of it there in an instant.

He kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s scared it’ll be the last time. You tilt your head and let it happen, let his hands pull you closer, let the weight of the day melt into something warmer.

“You looked so pretty at the diner,” he says between kisses, voice low and rough and close to your ear. “When you were sitting with Sophia and Chaewon.”

The words don’t register at first.

His mouth is on your neck now. His hands are at the hem of your shirt. He’s saying more—something about how you laughed when Chaewon told a story. Something about how you looked away when Sophia teased you. Something about your voice when you said you were seeing someone.

Your heart stops.

You pull away.

His breath hitches, hands still hovering near your waist. He looks at you with the mask still on, lenses wide, unreadable.

Your voice is cold. “What did you say?”

“I—” He straightens slightly. “I said you looked—”

“No. You said I was talking to Sophia and Chaewon.”

He goes still.

You stare at him. “No one else was around that night. Just us. It was slow. We were cleaning up. There were no customers. No one came to the counter.”

He doesn’t speak.

Your chest tightens. “Except Jake.”

His posture shifts. Not much. But just enough.

Just enough to confirm everything you didn’t want to believe.

Your throat burns. “You were sitting in the last booth. Hoodie. Headphones. Vanilla milkshake.”

The mask says nothing. But the silence behind it screams the truth.

You step back, blood rushing to your ears. “Say something.”

He doesn’t move.

So you whisper it, voice sharp with betrayal. “You’re Jake.”

Still nothing.

“Take it off.”

He flinches.

You take another step forward. “Take. It. Off.”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he says softly.

“I don’t care what you meant.” Your voice is trembling now, but you don’t stop. “You touched me. You kissed me. You watched me talk about you without knowing. You owe me this.”

His hands slowly rise.

He presses his fingers to the edge of the mask and pulls it up—slowly, carefully—until it peels over his jaw, his cheeks, his eyes.

And there he is.

Jake.

Messy hair. Wide eyes. That same guilty half-smile he gave you every time you refilled his coffee at the diner. But now it’s cracked open, raw and real and exposed in a way that makes your stomach twist.

You stare at him.

It’s worse seeing it for real. Somehow, it always is.

“I wanted to tell you,” he says, voice barely holding together. “But every time I tried… you looked at me like I was just Jake. And I wanted to be more than that to you.”

“You already were,” you whisper. “You just didn’t trust me to know it.”

He swallows, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly, even though nothing about this feels okay. “You should go.”

He doesn’t fight it.

He just lowers the mask again, step by step, until it hides the truth once more.

Then he climbs out the window, leaving behind the version of himself you’ll never see the same again.

And you don’t cry.

You just stand there in the quiet and wonder if any of it was real—or if it was all just another mask.

The bell above the door jingled at exactly 9:42 a.m.

You didn’t look up.

You were pouring coffee into a chipped white mug, the pot warm in your hand, the scent clinging to your clothes the way it always did after an hour behind the counter. Sophia was already in the back prepping waffles, and Chaewon had just started sorting silverware into trays like it mattered.

He slid into his usual booth.

You could feel it without even turning around—the shape of him, the weight of his presence. You didn’t need to see his face. You could trace the silence he carried like a line straight through your chest.

You didn’t say hi.

Didn’t ask if he wanted the vanilla milkshake this time.

Didn’t ask if he was tired from swinging across rooftops and kissing you like you meant something.

You just grabbed the coffee pot again and moved toward him slowly, like your body hadn’t registered what your heart already decided: you weren’t ready to forgive him.

He looked up when you approached.

His hair was still slightly damp like he’d showered in a rush. His hoodie was soft and wrinkled. His fingers were curled around the edge of the table, knuckles white.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

You said nothing.

You poured the coffee into the mug in front of him—half full, just how he liked it—and turned to leave without another word.

“Y/N…” he tried again.

You didn’t stop. Not until his next words caught you mid-step.

“I didn’t sleep. Not at all.”

You turned your head, slowly, your eyes barely landing on him. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have lied.”

His face cracked—just a flicker—but you caught it.

You were good at reading people. You just weren’t good at reading him.

He opened his mouth to respond, but you held up a hand.

“No, Jake. Not here.”

He blinked. “So… you’re just gonna act like you don’t know me?”

You gave a bitter little smile, one corner of your mouth twitching. “I know you better than I ever asked to.”

Chaewon poked her head out from the kitchen just then, eyes landing on you both with curiosity. She didn’t say anything, but her eyebrows raised a little like she was preparing for gossip.

You turned back to the counter, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.

Jake didn’t move.

He sat in silence while his coffee went cold. He didn’t drink it. Didn’t even touch the spoon.

Eventually, Sophia came out front and started asking him if he needed cream or sugar. You didn’t listen to his answer. You just watched the light on the countertop catch the reflection of the glass door as it swung open again.

This time, when it closed, Jake was gone.

And still—you didn’t feel better.

Just more certain that pretending he didn’t exist was going to hurt both of you.

The city never really sleeps, but tonight it feels miles away from your small apartment. Streetlights spill pale orange through the curtains, casting long, lazy shadows across the floorboards. Outside, distant sirens echo faintly, reminders that life pulses somewhere else—somewhere you’re not sure you want to be.

You drop onto the couch, worn cushions sighing beneath you like an old friend. Your knees press into your chest, arms wrapping around them loosely, as if holding yourself together is all you can manage right now. The apartment smells faintly of cold coffee and something forgotten—a hint of vanilla from the last late-night batch you made.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the frayed fabric of the cushion, each thread like a memory you can’t quite untangle. The words he said—no, the things he didn’t say—loop in your mind, turning over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

The way he kissed you, as both Jake and Spider-Man. The way he knew things no one should know. The quiet confession hiding behind the mask. The betrayal.

Your chest feels tight, the weight of it pressing down like a physical thing.

Your phone vibrates once, sharply, slicing through the silence. You glance at the screen. No name. No message. Just a notification that feels too heavy to open.

You don’t.

Instead, you push yourself up and walk to the coffee table where your old notebook lies. You haven’t touched it in months, not since life became a tangled mess of half-truths and broken silences.

The cover creaks as you flip it open, pages yellowed and edges curling with age. You pick up the pen beside it and press it to paper.

You don’t write about him. You don’t write about Jake or Spider-Man. You write about you.

The ink flows slowly, like breathing underwater—each word a step toward understanding the storm inside.

You write about the diner’s quiet hum on slow afternoons, the way the sunlight feels too sharp after nights like this, how you sometimes crave silence even when your thoughts are loud.

You write about trust—how fragile it feels when it’s cracked, how hard it is to rebuild something that’s broken.

You write about loneliness. Not the kind that comes from being alone, but the kind that comes from standing too close to someone who keeps parts of themselves hidden.

Hours pass as the ink stains your fingers and the city outside fades further into background noise.

Your breath steadies. The knot in your chest loosens, just enough to let a small, tired smile escape.

You close the notebook, tucking it back on the shelf with gentle care, like a secret you’re not ready to share.

Tonight is yours.

No masks. No lies.

Just the quiet truth, and the slow, steady beating of your own heart.

The morning light streams through the diner’s wide windows, soft and warm like a delicate invitation. It spills across the linoleum floor in golden patches, settling over the worn booths and gleaming countertops as if nothing had shifted in the world overnight.

But everything has shifted.

You stand behind the counter, hands moving out of habit as you wipe down tables and refill syrup bottles. Your fingers linger over the familiar glass jars, the sticky sweetness reminding you of simpler days—days before the mask slipped, before the lies took shape, before you realized how fragile trust could be.

Your mind drifts, weaving between the moments you replay over and over. The way he kissed you, both as Spider-Man and as Jake. The way he knew things you hadn’t told anyone, secrets shared in the quiet moments with your friends. The ache of betrayal still raw beneath your skin.

Sophia steps out from the kitchen, the clatter of plates quieting behind her. She pauses beside you, her gaze catching yours with a softness that makes you almost want to break down. Almost.

“You okay?” she asks quietly, voice a gentle thread in the morning hum of the diner.

You force a small smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She watches you for a moment longer, eyes sharp and steady. Then she reaches out, handing you a cup of freshly brewed coffee without a word.

Your fingers brush hers for a brief second, a simple contact that feels more comforting than any words could.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely carrying beyond the counter.

Sophia nods, her presence steady and reassuring. She doesn’t press you for answers, doesn’t demand you to share what you’re not ready to say. Instead, she stays near, a quiet anchor in the swirl of your thoughts.

You take a slow sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading through your chest and grounding you. For a moment, the chaos of last night recedes, replaced by the familiar rhythm of the diner and the soft murmur of customers beginning their day.

Chaewon joins you then, carrying a tray of freshly toasted bagels, her smile bright despite the early hour. The three of you share a quiet glance, an unspoken understanding passing between you—a small reminder that even in the midst of uncertainty, you’re not alone.

As the morning unfolds, you find yourself breathing a little easier, the tight knot in your chest loosening just enough to let a flicker of hope through.

Today is yours, even if the past still lingers in the corners.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

The diner’s lights flicked off one by one as you finished the last round of cleaning, the soft clatter of dishes and low hum of the city outside creating a familiar lull. It was later than usual, and the air in your small apartment felt thick with exhaustion and something you couldn’t quite name.

Outside, the world was quiet — deceptively so. The kind of quiet that fills the spaces just before chaos erupts.

You slid your phone into your pocket, the vibration from an unanswered message still buzzing faintly against your thigh. No name. No words. Just a silent echo.

Locking the door behind you, you stepped out into the night. The cold air bit at your cheeks, sharp and electric against your flushed skin.

Then you heard it — a harsh, sudden crash that ripped through the silence like a jagged blade. It was close. Too close.

Without thinking, your feet moved faster, adrenaline snapping tight through your veins. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure it would burst free from your ribs.

Turning into the narrow alley beside the diner, you froze.

There, crumpled against the cold brick wall, was the flash of red and blue — Spider-Man.

His body was twisted, broken in ways no human should be. A deep, angry gash ran across his cheek, blood staining the fabric of his mask and trickling onto the pavement.

Your breath hitched.

Panic slammed through you like a tidal wave. Kneeling beside him, your hands trembled as you reached out, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

“Jake,” you whispered, voice trembling, barely daring to speak the name you’d come to know so intimately yet so secretly.

His eyes flickered open, dark and clouded with pain and confusion. For the first time, you saw him not as an elusive hero or mysterious stranger, but as a fragile, human man — vulnerable and broken.

Your chest constricted, a sharp ache blossoming deep inside.

You pressed your palm against the bleeding wound, fingers trembling as you tried to steady both him and yourself.

Tears blurred your vision as the realization dawned—this was more than admiration, more than curiosity.

You had fallen for him. For Jake.

Not the mask. Not the myth. The man beneath it all.

The distant wail of sirens grew louder, but you didn’t want to let go.

“I’m here,” you promised softly, voice steady even as your heart shattered.

And in the cold night, holding him close, you finally understood the weight of love—its fragility, its power, and its fierce, unrelenting truth.

You didn’t take him to a hospital.

You couldn’t. He whispered it once — not there, don’t take me there — voice broken and laced with panic beneath the blood and bruises. It wasn’t pride. It was fear. Fear of being unmasked, exposed, vulnerable in front of people who wouldn’t see Jake, only Spider-Man.

So you took him home.

It was slow, agonizing. He leaned heavily on you, half-conscious, his breaths shallow and uneven. Each step felt like a mile, his weight shifting in your arms as you tried to keep him upright. You didn’t stop. Not once. Not even when your legs trembled beneath his.

By the time you reached your apartment, your arms were shaking from the strain and your lungs burned from holding in every sound that wanted to escape — the panic, the heartbreak, the truth.

He collapsed onto your couch the second you let go, one arm slung over the backrest, the other curled protectively around his ribs. His mask was still on, though it hung loosely, barely clinging to his cheekbones.

You knelt in front of him, hands already reaching for the emergency kit tucked beneath your bathroom sink.

Your voice was quiet. “I need to see.”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded — a barely-there motion. Trusting you. Giving in.

You peeled the mask away gently, trying not to wince when it tugged against dried blood. His eyes fluttered shut as the air touched his skin, and for a moment, he looked like a boy. Not a hero. Not a name whispered in awe across rooftops. Just Jake. Broken and breathing.

Your breath caught when you saw the full damage — the bruises already blooming across his ribs, the cuts along his collarbone, the torn skin at his temple. His lip was split. His left wrist swollen and scraped raw.

You whispered his name like a question. “Jake.”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled. “It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s a lie,” you said, your voice cracking.

Still, your hands moved with careful purpose.

Warm washcloth first — soft, wet, stained with the grime of soot and blood and the city. You wiped gently at the wounds on his face, watching his brow twitch with every press. His breath hitched when your fingertips brushed too close to the edge of a bruise, but he didn’t pull away.

Next came the antiseptic. The hiss of pain from his mouth made you flinch, but he didn’t curse. Just gritted his teeth and looked away, jaw tight.

You pressed a bandage to the cut on his cheek. “You’re lucky I didn’t listen to you and take you straight to the ER.”

He smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only with people who lie to me,” you said.

His smile faded. The silence between you turned heavier, more intimate somehow. Fragile.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said softly. “Like I could break.”

You dipped your head, pulling gauze around his forearm with slow precision. “Too late.”

He exhaled through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re mad.”

You tied off the bandage, not looking at him. “You’re lucky that’s all I am.”

He was quiet for a moment, then: “You could’ve left me there.”

You looked up. His eyes were glassy, bloodshot. Honest.

“I couldn’t,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you like that. I couldn’t… lose you.”

The words escaped before you could stop them. And they hung in the air, trembling.

He looked at you like he heard everything you weren’t saying.

You pressed your hand against his chest, right over the bruise spreading beneath the suit. “You scared me.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve died.”

“I know,” he whispered again, voice thin. “I was thinking about you when I hit the wall.”

You blinked, breath catching. “What?”

He closed his eyes. “I thought about how I never told you properly. That I was Jake. That I was sorry. That I—”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Not now.”

He opened his eyes again. “Why not?”

“Because I need you to stay awake. And alive.”

His lips curved gently, even through the pain. “Then sit with me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You eased onto the couch beside him, lifting his arm carefully to rest against your shoulders. His head dropped slightly, forehead grazing your temple. He smelled like sweat and concrete and something warm beneath the bruises. Something safe.

You stayed there for hours.

And as he drifted to sleep, breath shallow against your skin, you pressed your hand to his chest again — to feel it.

His heartbeat.

Steady.

Alive.

Yours to keep safe tonight.

The apartment was quiet.

The kind of quiet that follows long nights and heavy truths — not heavy like sadness, but heavy like something honest finally laid down between two people.

The first light of morning slipped through your curtains, brushing against the edges of the living room like soft breath. You stirred on the couch before he did, one arm still looped around Jake’s shoulders, your other hand resting gently on his chest.

He hadn’t moved all night.

His breathing had stayed shallow and steady, his face peaceful despite the bruises, and you’d stayed exactly where you were. Awake for most of it. Watching him sleep. Listening to the sounds of the city slowly restart outside.

You weren’t afraid anymore. Not of him. Not of what it meant to know who he was.

You didn’t pull away when he finally stirred.

He shifted slightly, groaning under his breath, one arm tightening loosely around your waist.

“I didn’t die,” he muttered, voice low and cracked with sleep. “Cool.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, tilting your head toward him. “Shocking. Your dramatic fall against a brick wall wasn’t fatal.”

His lips twitched. “I’ll try harder next time.”

“Don’t you dare,” you said, and even though it came out dry, he heard the weight in it. He heard the fear that hadn’t left you yet.

Jake’s eyes opened slowly. They were dark and warm and still tired. “How long did you stay up?”

You looked away. “I didn’t count.”

“You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Nope.”

A pause.

“I didn’t want to miss anything,” you added, quieter now. “Like your breathing stopping. Or your heart. Or you just disappearing.”

“I wouldn’t leave like that.”

“You almost did.”

Jake didn’t argue. He reached up with his unbandaged hand and gently brushed your hair behind your ear.

You didn’t stop him.

There was no kiss. No bold declarations. No need to name what this was.

But something had changed.

The closeness wasn’t strange anymore. The touches weren’t careful. You both moved around each other like something shared had finally settled — something real. A middle place between love and caution. Between healing and wanting.

You sat up slowly, stretching your arms as the sunlight caught on your skin. “I’ll make you something.”

Jake blinked up at you. “Like… food?”

“Yes, genius,” you said, standing. “You almost died. You need eggs.”

He smiled fully this time. Not the nervous, half-smile you’d seen at the diner. Not the flirtatious smirk he wore behind the mask. Just Jake. Tired. Bruised. Comfortable.

You made scrambled eggs and burnt toast because that’s all you had, and he sat on your couch, wrapped in a throw blanket like a very injured and slightly cocky ghost.

He didn’t ask to leave.

You didn’t ask him to stay.

But you both knew he would.

It started to feel normal.

Not everything. Not the bruises that still dotted Jake’s ribs or the way you sometimes caught yourself staring at the scars on his back when he changed in your bathroom. Not the fact that his phone would buzz and his entire body would tense like the city itself was pulling him back through a tether.

But the rest of it — the in-betweens — started to feel easy.

He came through the window now, not like a secret, not like a ghost, but like someone who knew the way. You didn’t flinch when you heard the soft thud of boots on the fire escape. You didn’t rush to hide whatever you were doing. You just opened the window wider and stepped back so he could crawl inside.

“You keep leaving it unlocked,” he said one night, ducking in with his suit unzipped halfway and his hair damp from either rain or a rooftop leak — you weren’t sure which.

You didn’t look up from your book. “Maybe I just like the breeze.”

He scoffed quietly, toeing off his boots and setting them beside the window like he lived here. “Right. It’s the breeze. Definitely not the charming superhero with a mild head injury.”

“You hit your head again?” you asked, glancing over the top of your pages.

“Only a little.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it. He knew where the first aid kit was now. He knew how to use it. You weren’t going to hover — not anymore.

Instead, you scooted over on the couch.

He hesitated, just for a second, then sat beside you with a soft groan. The blanket was already pooled on the cushion. You didn’t offer it. He didn’t ask. He just pulled it over both your legs like he belonged there.

And maybe, in this moment, he did.

You read while he rested his head back, eyes closed, breathing steady. Not asleep, just… still. Like he was giving himself permission to stop moving for once.

After a while, he spoke. “I told Heeseung I was hanging out with someone.”

You turned a page. “You told him it was me?”

Jake smirked faintly, eyes still shut. “No. I told him I was ‘seeing someone who likes their eggs too dry and their coffee too sweet.’ He figured it out.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Rude.”

He hummed. “You like your coffee sweet.”

“Not that sweet.”

He opened one eye and looked at you. “Okay. But the eggs part was accurate.”

You bit back a smile, lowering your book. “So… you’ve told people.”

“Just him. And Sunghoon maybe suspects something.”

“Are you going to tell him you spend every night at a diner girl’s apartment in flannel pajamas?”

“I don’t spend every night,” he said, grinning now.

You arched a brow.

“…Okay, most nights,” he admitted.

You let the silence fill the space again. Not heavy, not awkward. Just comfortable. Like music that didn’t need to be played out loud.

Neither of you had called this anything.

Not dating. Not not-dating.

But the space between you had changed. No more pretending. No more hiding behind masks and diner counters and clever banter. Just late nights, burnt eggs, bruised bodies healing slowly, and the occasional forehead touch when words felt too big.

And every time the window opened, so did something else.

The rain starts around midnight.

Not a storm, not quite — just a steady, silver hiss outside your window, soft against the glass, soft against the fire escape. The kind of rain that makes everything quieter. Slower. Softer.

You’re already in your pajamas — a threadbare tee and sleep shorts — when the knock comes. Not on your door, but rather on the glass.

You don’t flinch anymore.

You cross the room barefoot, your toes brushing against the cold hardwood, and pull the curtain aside.

He’s there.

Jake.

Not in the suit. Not this time. Just a hoodie and jeans, both slightly damp. His hair is wet too, clinging to his forehead, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets like maybe this wasn’t planned. Like maybe he didn’t know he’d come here tonight but somehow ended up here anyway.

You open the window without a word.

He ducks inside, movements quiet, careful not to drip too much on your rug.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, like the rain outside.

“Hey,” you say back.

No explanation. None needed.

You hand him a towel from the bathroom. He pulls it over his head and ruffles his hair while you move toward the kitchen.

“I was going to make grilled cheese,” you offer, like he’s just any friend stopping by and not the boy who bled on your couch last week.

He perks up. “With tomato soup?”

You glance over your shoulder, lips curving. “Do I look like I have tomato soup just lying around?”

“…Yes?”

You snort. “You’re in luck.”

He smiles, the warm, quiet kind he only gives you now. Like he’s finally stopped waiting for you to shove him away.

Ten minutes later, the soup is bubbling, and the smell of butter and cheese fills the apartment. He’s leaning against your counter, damp towel draped over his shoulder, watching you slice bread like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You always make that face when you’re concentrating,” he murmurs.

“What face?”

“That one,” he says, pointing at your mouth. “The pouty one.”

You swat a dish towel at him. “Shut up and go set the table.”

It’s not even a real table — just the low coffee table in front of your couch — but he does it anyway. Two bowls. Two mismatched mugs of water. He even lights the small vanilla candle you forgot you left there.

You sit beside him, the grilled cheese warm in your hands, the soup steaming gently between you.

He dips his sandwich first. You watch the way his eyes flutter closed when he takes a bite.

“I’d die for this,” he says dramatically.

“You almost did.”

He opens one eye.

“…Fair.”

You both laugh — soft, sleepy laughter that settles between you like a blanket. The food disappears slowly. Not because you’re distracted, but because you’re both enjoying the silence. The nearness.

You take his plate when he’s done.

He follows you into the kitchen, trailing a little too close behind, fingertips grazing the small of your back. Not obvious. Not urgent. Just… there.

You wash. He dries.

At some point, you both end up in your room — not rushed, not planned. It just happens.

He lies down first, facing the window. You crawl in behind him.

Your knees press into the backs of his. Your hand slips into the space between his shoulder blades. Your forehead rests against his spine like it belongs there.

“Stay?” you whisper.

His answer is immediate. “Always.”

And in the quiet hush of rain and candlelight, you fall asleep like that.

You woke up to buzzing.

Not the lazy kind. Not the 7:00 a.m. alarm you always snoozed or the “we’re out of eggs again” group chat from Sophia and Chaewon.

No — this was frantic buzzing.

Back-to-back notifications hammering your phone like someone set the internet on fire.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes and grabbed the phone from under your pillow. The screen was lit up with texts. Mentions. Twitter screenshots. Names you didn’t recognize. And one group chat name you did.

[Chaewon 🪩]

GIRL.

GO.

LOOK.

RIGHT. NOW.

You’re viral.

Your heart skipped.

The first post you opened was blurry — pixelated and shot from below — but unmistakable.

A streetlamp. The shape of Spider-Man crouched on the edge of a fire escape. His mask pushed halfway up, just enough to show his jaw. His hand reaching down.

And you.

The photo wasn’t clear enough to catch your face fully, but it was you. You knew it. The diner uniform. The hair. The way you tilted your head when you were trying not to smile.

You knew the moment.

Last week. You’d been locking up the diner. He’d dropped down from the roof like always, dramatic and a little smug. You told him to stop scaring you like that, and he laughed.

He kissed you before vanishing again, slipping between buildings like smoke.

And now it was everywhere.

“SPIDER-MAN SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL — COULD IT BE LOVE?”

“Brooklyn’s Friendly Neighborhood Hero Might Be Taken 👀”

“Who Is Spider-Man’s Real Life MJ?”

You dropped the phone.

It hit the comforter with a dull thud, and your stomach followed.

The knock on your window came less than five minutes later.

You didn’t open it right away.

Jake knocked again, this time gentler. You could see him through the curtain — no mask, just a hoodie pulled low over his brow, eyes anxious even from this distance.

You opened the window.

He stepped inside, quiet. Careful.

“They got a photo,” you said before he could even speak.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“I didn’t even see anyone. How—”

“I don’t know. Someone probably lives in that building. It was… stupid of me to do that there. I wasn’t thinking.”

You didn’t answer.

“I never wanted this to touch you,” he said, voice low. “I’ve kept my identity hidden for this long for a reason. Not for me. For people around me. For people like you.”

“But now it has,” you said, words falling heavy between you.

He looked up at you, eyes dark and threaded with guilt. “We can shut it down. Deny it. Say it wasn’t you.”

You almost laughed. “Jake, I was wearing my name tag.”

He flinched.

You stepped back, away from the window, arms folding tight over your chest.

He followed, just far enough to keep the space between you soft but careful.

“They don’t know your name. They won’t find your apartment. I’ll keep you safe,” he said.

And maybe he believed that. Maybe he could fight off half of Brooklyn’s crime ring and swing through fires and save kids from collapsing buildings.

But this?

This was different.

This was people watching.

Talking.

Wanting something from the both of you.

You looked at him — this boy you’d held while he bled, this boy you fed soup in silence, this boy who looked at you like he already knew how you tasted when you laughed.

“I don’t want to be your headline,” you whispered.

Jake swallowed, stepping closer, close enough to lower his voice.

“Then let me be yours.”

You blinked.

“I don’t care if the city knows. I don’t care if they guess. I care that you don’t run.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

“I won’t run,” you said finally. “But I don’t want to be someone’s theory or some TikTok guessing game.”

He nodded. “Then we don’t give them anything. We keep it how it’s been. Quiet. Ours.”

You looked at him.

And slowly, you nodded back.

Still not dating or defined, but something real and even now — especially now — worth protecting.

The diner was already buzzing when you walked in.

Not busy. Just buzzing. Like the air itself had caught wind of something and couldn’t stop humming about it.

Sophia looked up from where she was leaning over the counter, scrolling on her phone with a smirk already tugging at her lips.

“Well, well, if it isn’t New York’s most mysterious love interest,” she said.

Chaewon popped her head up from the pastry display. “Are we still pretending you don’t know Spider-Man?”

You froze halfway to the break room, then let your shoulders fall with a practiced sigh.

“Guys.”

“No, no, don’t ‘guys’ us,” Chaewon said, rounding the counter and pulling you by the elbow. “We gave you weeks. We gave you space. But now you’re literally a trending topic.”

Sophia held up her phone screen. Your face, blurry and tilted, next to Spider-Man’s unmistakable red-and-blue suit, was on every gossip account in New York. #SpiderBae was trending.

“You look cute,” Sophia added. “Also terrified.”

“I was terrified,” you muttered. “He dropped out of the sky like a vampire. It was dark.”

Chaewon narrowed her eyes. “That’s not a denial.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Then opened it once more just to say, “We’re not dating.”

“But you know him,” Sophia said.

You hesitated. “I know… a version of him.”

Chaewon gave you a look. “So you are his Pepper to your Tony.”

“I am nobody’s Pepper,” you said, sliding into the break room before they could follow.

They didn’t push it. Not yet. But you knew this wasn’t going away.

By noon, five customers had commented on how much you “looked like that girl.” One even asked for a selfie “just in case.” You laughed it off. Smiled through it. But the back of your neck stayed warm the whole time.

And then the door chimed.

You were pouring coffee, distracted, half-listening to Sophia hum a Taylor Swift song behind you, when you turned — and froze.

Jake.

Not Spider-Man.

Not swinging in.

Not masked.

Just Jake. In a gray hoodie, jeans, windblown hair, and a look on his face like he already regretted this.

Your breath hitched.

He met your eyes. Briefly. Softly.

Then sat at the counter like he belonged there.

Sophia blinked. “…Is that?”

Chaewon squinted. “That’s the guy who always orders cherry pie on Wednesdays.”

You nearly dropped the coffee pot.

You wiped your hands on your apron and walked over slowly, heart hammering.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, low enough that no one else could hear.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “You always talk about how good the soup is.”

Your eyes searched his. “Jake—”

“I used the front door,” he said. “I thought maybe it was time I stopped hiding.”

You stared at him. At the quiet bravery in that sentence.

“Okay,” you said. Then, gently: “Don’t look too heroic while you eat. Someone might take a picture.”

He grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

You walked away.

And when Sophia and Chaewon cornered you in the kitchen three minutes later, you didn’t lie.

You just smiled. Shrugged.

“Okay,” you admitted. “He likes my eggs. I like his face. That’s it.”

Chaewon screamed. Sophia threw a napkin in the air like confetti.

And through the diner window, Jake lifted his spoon like a toast — just for you.

482 notes · View notes

materia-girl88 · 2 months ago

Text

Third Date Shenanigans

18+, minors dni

you're on your third date with bucky and a little mishap and shared clothing leads to some good times

warnings: smut smut smut, oral (f and m receiving), fingering

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Bucky Barnes didn't have many weaknesses. Having a past as traumatic as his and pushing through to become a better person tended to strengthen someone.

However, you may just be his undoing.

Your third date was a more relaxed affair, the two of you enjoying some dinner you made together and watching a movie at Bucky's apartment.

You were both sat on the soft cushions of his couch with crossed legs, facing each other with bowls of spaghetti balanced on your laps as you talked and laughed.

It was nice.

However, things took a turn when you were both laughing over a story you were telling from your days in college, and as you were lifting a forkful of your pasta to your mouth the noodles slipped and slid down your shirt.

The surprise of it caused you to jump, and in turn your bowl tumbled and your jeans were ruined too.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, Bucky." you huffed, using your napkins to clean the mess on your lap. Thankfully none had gotten on the couch. "I swear I'm so clumsy sometimes. I knew we should've ate at the table."

Bucky let out a laugh as he set his own meal aside on the coffee table and helped you, "It's okay, doll. It happens."

Once the mess was cleaned, you both take in the damage done to your clothing.

While the noodles were cleaned up, there wasn't much saving the saucy mess left on the fabric of your shirt and jeans.

"Well this sucks. I guess I'm gonna have to go early so I can clean up. I really am sorry," you sighed, aggravated with yourself.

Bucky looked over you contemplatively for a silent moment before speaking.

"I could let you borrow some clothes if you want? We're just staying in to watch a movie. It's no big deal," he shrugged.

You bit your lip at him before a small smile spread across your face.

You really hadn't wanted to leave him this early anyways.

"If you really don't mind?" you said, and the way you peered at him through your eyelashes made his chest flutter.

"Not at all, one sec," he stood, heading to his bedroom and grabbing a black t-shirt and some sweats, taking his time to change into his own comfy clothes so you didn't feel alone, then leaving a quick scratch to his cat Alpine's head where she was snoozing on his bed before heading back you.

You smiled at his change of clothes and stood as he came back before you took the ones handed to you. As you passed him you raised on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek and give him a soft "Thank you" before you head to the bathroom.

He took the time that you were in the bathroom to clean up your dinner and head back into the living room to set up his newly acquired Netflix account.

He was settled back on the couch by the time you came out and all he could think as it was probably a good thing as he may have fallen over otherwise.

"The sweats were too big even when I tied them," you said, flushing as you fiddled with the soft fabric of the shirt that fell to just above your knees, you bare legs poking out underneath, "Is this okay?"

He couldn't help but have to swallow down the lump in his throat before nodding, "Yeah, it's uh. It's no problem at all."

You smiled shyly as you made your way to him, curling back up on the couch with your knees tucked under you.

The dark metal of his vibranium arm moved to grab the blanket he had on the back of the couch, bringing it to you.

"Don't want your legs to get cold, doll" he said and watched as you gratefully took the blanket and spread it over your lap.

You both bickered playfully on what movie you would watch before settling on an old horror movie that you loved and Bucky hadn't seen before.

You weren't long into the beginning of the film before you had scooted into his space, his flesh arm winding around you.

"I love this movie but I always forget how much it freaks me out," you said, looking up at him and a grin.

"It's a good thing I'm here, then," he said, leaning down to press a soft peck to your lips.

Your first kiss had been after your second date, chaste and with a taste of wine that you both had enjoyed at the restaurant you had gone to and since then you had been nearly craving the next one.

"My hero," you said softly, leaving one more kiss to his plush mouth before leaning on his shoulder.

Everything was going great.

Until, that is, you had shifted to get into a more comfortable position and stretched your legs out over Bucky's, letting the blanket rest on both of your laps.

It was meant to be an innocent cuddle, but the feeling on your warm smooth legs against him as you were now practically propped up on his lap was slowly becoming a distraction, his thoughts becoming clouded as the scent of your perfume overtook him, and he couldn't help the tightening he felt in his sweatpants.

Especially when he had risked a glance at you and saw a flash of dark blue lace where you hadn't realized that your shirt had ridden up some.

You could feel his eyes on you and you turned to look at him, wanting to make sure he was still enjoying the movie.

You couldn't help the way you froze when you saw the look in his eyes, hungry yet apprehensive.

"Bucky?" you asked softly, but you let out a surprised gasp as he leaned in and kissed you again, his lips harsh this time.

You couldn't help but let your eyes slip closed as you responded, shifting to wrap your arms around his neck.

Even if you were shocked at the slam of his lips, you weren't upset by it in the least.

You couldn't help but press your thighs together when you felt the slick heat of his tongue against your lips and you were quick to open up to him, letting it brush against yours.

"God, angel. You don't even know what seeing you in my shirt and feeling you against me is doing to me, do you?" he growled as he pulled back just enough to speak.

Your pupils were blown and your lips were red, a bit of stubble burn on your chin, but you loved it.

"I think I have a notion of it now," you said with a breathless laugh.

You made the move this time, leaning back in to kiss him again.

Before you even realized what was happening you were laid back on the couch, head resting on a throw pillow as he positioned himself between your thighs.

His shirt had fully ridden up to your hips now and he couldn't help the groan he let out at the sight of the dark blue panties you wore, a patch of fabric in the middle nearly black with arousal.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his vibranium hand on your right thigh. He wanted nothing more than to trail his fingers upwards and feel the warmth of your skin and the wetness of your need. He was grateful that having full sensation to match his flesh arm was one of the touches added in when he got this arm in Wakanda.

You smiled at him, a bit nervous, and nodded.

"I don't want to...do everything. Not tonight. But you can touch me, Bucky. I want to touch you. I trust you," you told him.

He grinned down at you before he kissed you once more with more heat and need than any of your previous ones.

A soft moan left you as his hips shifted and pressed against you and you reached down, your hand grabbing the metal of his on your thigh, and began to slowly push it towards your panty covered mound.

Your lips broke from his as he cupped you, a gasp leaving you at the sensation.

It didn't deter him as he began to trail his lips to your jaw and then your neck, soft sucks and kisses left to the smooth skin there, leaving marks that you would admire later on.

"Bucky, please," you whimpered, hips moving as he began to rub circles into your wet panties.

He pulled back from you, a whine leaving you as he gripped the bottom of his shirt that you wore, waiting for your nod of permission before he pulled it up and tossed it away.

Your nipples hardened in the cool air of the room and he couldn't help but admire you as he let his flesh hand come up to cup one of your full breasts, wasting no time in getting to work playing with your perked nipple.

At one particularly sharp pinch to it you moaned, back arching.

"Stop teasing me and do something," you huffed.

A chuckle left him as he leaned down to peck your lips once more.

"As you wish, doll."

His lips began back on their trail down your neck but this time they continued on, leaving kisses to your chest and licks to your nipples until you were squirming, before kissing his way down your belly.

When he got to the edge of your panties, he glanced up at you.

"Can I taste you?" he asked, lips brushing your abdomen as he spoke and causing your muscles to tense.

You bit your lip.

"Nobody's ever done that before," you told him, a bit embarrassed over it.

You were by no means a virgin but no guys you had been with before had ever taken an interest in giving oral, even if they received it themselves.

He shook his head.

"That's a crime, baby. I could live between these thighs." he said, turning to press a kiss to the thigh on his left, "We don't have to, but I would love to."

Fuck, this man was a dream come true.

"I want to. With you, I want to," you told him, and a grin graced his beautiful features.

He went back to trailing kisses along the waistband of your underwear before pulling back, hands sliding up your thighs and to your hips, grabbing the fabric and sliding it down.

You helped him get rid of them, lifting your hips and laughing as he tossed them carelessly over his shoulder.

You were naked beneath him now and you let out a yelp as he tugged you closer, your thighs being slid over his shoulders.

You had no time to say anything before you felt warm heat sliding over your clit.

"Oh," you gasped, thighs seizing at the sensation.

Your hands flew to the messy hair that was currently between your legs, fingers entwining in it while his head moved.

His tongue ran from your soaked entrance up to the hard bud of your clit.

"Doll, you taste amazing," he groaned against you, leaving a quick suck to the pulsing bud, "It's a shame nobody has done this for you. I could feast on this pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

A breathy laugh escaped you before it turned into a moan as he got back to work.

"Bucky, holy shit," you whined, and he had to use one arm to rest over your hips as he worked to keep you still.

His free hand soon joined in and he pushed one, then two fingers into your soaked entrance, stretching you open. He explored for a moment before finding the spot within you that had you yelling out your release.

He continued flicking his tongue against your overstimulated clit until you couldn't take it anymore and you pulled him away gently.

He looked up at you, and you were sure your flushed cheeks matched his.

His lips were swollen and glistening but you didn't care as you pulled him up to kiss you, humming at the taste of yourself on him.

Your fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt and pulled it up a bit, "We're a bit unevenly matched here, babe."

He hesitated for a second before letting you pull the shirt off of him.

Your eyes landed on the scar of where his arm used to be where it met the dark metal of his artificial one.

You met his eyes for a moment before leaning in, kissing the gnarled skin.

"You're beautiful to me, Bucky." you told him and a soft smile graced him.

You leaned back up to brush your lips against his as you spoke.

"Now, lean back so I can suck your cock," you commanded softly.

Bucky didn't think he had ever moved so fast, leaning back and taking in the glory of your nude body laying in front of him.

You could see the evidence of his need pitching a tent in his pants and you sat up, quickly switching roles so now he was laying back as you hovered over him.

You leaned down and kissed him as your hands wasted no time in finding the waistband of his pants, tugging them down to expose his cock.

Your jaw dropped at the sight, easily the biggest you've seen.

But you were up for the challenge.

Your right hand came down to wrap around him, barely able to make it all the way around, and you laughed at the soft grunt he let out.

"This is impressive, baby." you told him as you began to stroke the hard length of him.

You straddled his thigh so you could reach him easier and you couldn't help but grind yourself against it just a bit, feeling arousal grow in you once more at the sight.

Bucky was unable to speak, jaw slack as he watched you.

After stroking him for a moment longer you leaned down and let your tongue come out, licking him from root to tip and feeling pride swell in you at his groan.

Your lips wrapped around the tip of him and you sucked, letting your tongue dip into the slit.

"Fuck, doll, you're gonna kill me," he growled, eyes nearly black with arousal.

A giggle left you, causing him to moan once more at the vibrations of it.

Your eyes closed as your head began to bob on him, cheeks hollow as you went.

Your hips began to pick up their pace as you ground on his thigh and he lifted it to help you get a better angle.

The feeling of your moans around him were driving him wild and he grasped the back of the couch with his metal hand, the wood base creaking with his strength as his flesh hand went to cup your cheek, thumb tracing your lips wrapped around him.

You opened your eyes to glance at him through your eyelashes, your free hand that wasn't holding him coming up to tease his balls, and he was done for.

"Goddammit, baby" he growled, and tried to tug you back in case you didn't want him to come down your throat.

You shook your head, speeding up both your mouth on him and your hips, determined to come at the same time as him.

A shout left him as he came down your throat and you whined as you ground your soaked pussy onto him, releasing for a second time.

You took a page from his book and suckled on his tip until he pulled away, unable to take it anymore.

You sat up straight, licking your lips before crawling up to lay on his chest, your naked bodies pressed against each other.

He grabbed the blanket you both had been using before, pulling it over you both before glancing at the movie on the TV that was now scrolling through the credits.

"I think date three was a success," he teased, and you laughed as you propped your chin on his chest to look up at him.

"I can't wait to see what date four brings," you said teasingly, leaning up to kiss him.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel smut #marvel

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moonstruckme · 11 months ago

Note

hey sooooo I have a fic request for u babe! What about reader with Remus and it's like the first time she's sleeping over and she unexpectedly gets her period and she's like sorry I ruined our night I can go home and Remus is just like what?? No stay and just him soothing her through the cramps

Thank you for your request ml!

cw: period pains, mention of blood, brief allusion to mdni activities (though they truly could just have been making out if you want)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 960 words

It’s rare, this early in your relationship, that you and Remus can sit down to watch a film and actually watch it. But it seems you’re both thoroughly spent from partaking in those other activities so frequently during the day, and now you’re both just winding down for the night, waiting to see who will admit to wanting to go to bed first.

Remus is just as content with this, your arm pressed against his and your head heavy on his shoulder, feeling your ribs expand and contract with relaxed breaths. He could get used to having you here. It’s taking more restraint than he could have imagined to keep himself from just offering you his spare key and begging you to come and go as you please.

“Oh, shit.”

It’s a whisper, not particularly alarmed, but the way your muscles go stiff tells Remus it’s not nothing. You sit up, taking your weight off of him.

“What is it?” he asks.

You don’t answer him at first, squeezing your eyes shut. Your expression is one of unmistakable mortification. You look agonized. Remus tries to let you have the time you need to think, but a worm of unease eats further into his gut with every second of your silence.

You push out an exhale that sounds laborious. When you open your eyes, there’s enough apology in them for a capital crime. Remus thinks that he’d probably forgive you if you told him you’d committed murder (and maybe that should scare him more than it does).

“I think I’ve just stained your couch,” you admit.

“Okay,” he says slowly. He doesn’t see the cause for such distress, but he also isn’t sure what you’re talking about. You’re not holding a drink, so how could you…oh. “Oh, is that all?”

His nonplussed reaction doesn’t seem to affect your unease. “I’m so sorry,” you say, wincing.

Remus tuts. “Don’t be, you can’t help it. Do you have anything with you, or do I need to nip to the store?”

“I’ve got stuff.” You stand to get your bag, turning to grimace at where you’d been sitting on the couch.

Remus’ reaction skews in the opposite direction. It’s only a splotch; by your response he’d been half convinced you were sitting in a veritable puddle of blood.

“I’m so sorry,” you say again. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re alright, love,” Remus promises you. “Take whatever time you need.”

While you’re in the bathroom, he addresses the stain. Truly, it’s no great hassle. With friends like his it’s hardly the first trial his couch has faced, and besides that Remus has an unusual amount of experience with getting blood out of things.

It’s soaking when you come back, a small rag covering the spot from your view. You’ve changed into your pajamas, presumably because you’d stained your pants as well, but this is far from an unwelcome development. You look terribly cuddly.

“You alright?” Remus asks as you come back to stand by the couch.

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat quietly. You seem suddenly timid, like a guest in his home. He wants to hug you.

“Does it hurt?” he presses.

Your mouth pulls to the side, which is answer enough. “A little. It’s been hurting for a while, I just didn’t recognize it for what it was. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting it this early.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He reaches for you, hiding his disappointment when you only put your hand in his. “That’s not a very nice surprise, is it?”

“No,” you agree with a halfhearted smile. When Remus squeezes your fingers, you squeeze back, and you at least seem up to holding his gaze even if you still look sheepish. “I’m sorry to ruin our night. I can go home.”

“What?” A bit of hurt bullies its way into Remus’ tone. Your expression changes like you’re surprised to hear it. “No, I think you should stay.”

You look hesitant, so he tries again, gentler this time.

“I mean, if you’re hurting and you want to be in your own home, I understand,” Remus says, “but I hope you’re not leaving on my account. I’d like for you to be here.”

You watch his face as though looking for discrepancies. “Really?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says earnestly. “Of course I’d love to keep you. Getting your period doesn’t change anything, except that now you’re in pain and I’d like even more for you to stay so I can be with you.”

The muscles around your eyes relax, your expression softening into something so tender Remus feels his own heart turn to mush.

He gives your hand a little tug, and you take the cue, sitting back down on the couch between his open legs.

“Can I put my hand here?” he asks you, touching your stomach.

“Sure,” you say, still somewhat timidly. You take his hand in yours, moving it down a couple inches until his fingers are skimming the soft fabric of your pajama bottoms. “But it’s more like here.”

“Oh, okay. Can I put my hand there?”

With your nod, Remus slips his hand beneath your waistband, to that plush stretch of skin between your belly button and your panty line. He presses down gently.

“Oh.” Your body goes lax.

Remus chuckles, dropping his head to kiss your shoulder. “That helps?”

“Yeah,” you sigh contentedly. “A lot, actually. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He pushes on a tense spot experimentally, rewarded when you sink further into his front. “Just don’t try to run out on me the next time something like this comes up, yeah?”

You agree readily. “Mhm. I wouldn’t have, if I’d known this was going to happen.”

Remus smudges another kiss onto your shoulder, smug. “Just remember this then, I suppose.”

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nathanbatemanfucker · 4 months ago

Text

Beyond Misconceptions

summary: joaquin is usually the poster child for positivity, but sometimes the doubt creeps in.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: angst, jealous/insecure!joaquin, arguing, depictions of anxiety

wc: 1,675

an: based on this requested concept! it went a bit different than expected but i hope yall still enjoy <3 (and also hope it will hold yall over until vuelve pt. v is done!!!)

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Most of the time, Joaquin loves his job. He loves the brother he’s found in Sam, the tangible way he sees himself helping people day in and day out. The feeling of soaring through the sky, the invincibility that he seems to find in the wind.

But, what Joaquin doesn’t love about the job is the rift that it can sometimes create between you. One could say he’s being dramatic by using the word rift— you have never once complained, never made him feel guilty for the unpredictability of his schedule.

You always tell him that you know what you signed up for when you fell in love with him. And you do.

Joaquin is certainly grateful for your love and understanding, but it’s days like today that make him want to find some 9-5 to nurse.

When he steps into the party you two were meant to attend together an hour and a half late, he’s eager to see you. That eagerness twists into something ugly when he sees you. You, standing in a group, but primarily talking to some guy he doesn’t recognize.

You look…happy. Happy to be talking with a guy who showed up on time. With a guy who doesn’t put his life on the line, and your relationship on hold at the drop of a hat.

He can’t decide what he wants to do more— leave and let you be happy or put himself between you and this mystery guy.

As if you can feel him, you glance over in his direction, lighting up at the sight of him. That restless mix of jealousy and guilt fades a little with you so excited to see him.

“Quino,” You call to him, waving him over. When he makes it to you, you reach for his hand immediately, drawing him so that you can place a kiss on his cheek. “Made in one piece, I see, cariño.”

“Siempre lo hago,” he murmurs, snaking an arm around your waist. “So who’s this?”

You introduce Joaquin to the guy easily, slipping him into the conversation without missing a beat. Paul. Joaquin nods along, lets you pull him closer, listens as you chat, and laughs like nothing is wrong. Like he wasn’t late. Like you weren’t having a perfectly good time without him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He does. It’s just that tonight feels like a reminder of everything he isn’t—someone who shows up on time, someone whose job doesn’t put you second. And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it doesn’t matter, but it still twists something sharp in his chest.

His grip tightens just slightly on your waist. You glance up at him, brows furrowing in quiet question, but he just shakes his head, forcing a small smile. You don’t push, but something in your gaze lingers. You know him too well. You always do.

You’re driving the two of you home, music spilling softly out of the speaker when you decide to break the tension that’s been building.

“So what was that?”

“What was what?”

“You were being…possessive?” The word comes out of your mouth like a question because you’re not entirely sure. Nothing like this has ever happened with Joaquin— it’s unfamiliar territory.

“Claro que no,” he insists.

You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes. “Yeah, because that wasn’t defensive at all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes flicker over at him momentarily, and you soften at his visible tension. You’re gentler when you speak again, “Soy yo, Quino. We don’t lie to each other, we don’t do this… jealous thing that you did tonight. I don’t know that guy, I probably won’t ever see him again and I’m fine with that.”

“It wasn’t about that.”

“Oh, but it was about something? What could I have possibly done when I hadn’t seen you in days?”

“Querida— you didn’t do anything— it’s not… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You purse your lips, feeling a little frustrated. “I want you to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. And if you can’t now, then think about it and we’ll talk about it before bed. Deal?”

The silence stretches between you, the music sounding much louder in the wake of your breaths.

Eventually, Joaquin says begrudgingly, “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“What do you want?”

“You,” He says softly, and nothing more.

—

Once you and Joaquin get home, you don’t push. You refuse to when he’s being so elusive, so guarded in a way he’s never been. You aren’t really sure what to do with it and it makes your stomach churn. You make your way straight to the shower without so much of a glance in his direction.

Joaquin wants to call after you, but can’t find his voice. Not a surprise when he feels his mind is completely scrambled.

All of this has tilted you off your axis. You make sure the water is scalding hot, hoping that the steam will steep out your thoughts of insecurity and unease. By the time you make it out, it just feels like they’ve grown louder, rooting deeper into your brain stem.

You make your way into the kitchen, walking past Joaquin where he’s sat on the couch. He watches you quietly as you make tea, unsure if you still want to talk or if he’s created the catalyst for his worst fear; losing you.

“So are we gonna talk about it or are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“Mi amor—“

You huff as you sit the chair across from him, “No, don’t mi amor me when you won’t even tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not that I won’t, it’s that—“

“If you say you can’t, Joaquin, te juro por Dios.”

“I was gonna say that I’m struggling to figure out how. There’s too much up here, you know that. Usually, it’s just cheery.”

“I’m not asking you to be cheery, I’m asking you to be honest.”

Joaquin sighs, leaning forward to place his face in his hands. “When I saw you with him, I just— it made me wonder if you deserve better than me.”

Your brow furrows. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re in a relationship with a man you’re going to outlive. I’m never home, I’m always late as hell. Every day I force you to wait— for me or for a call that’ll break your heart. Don’t you think you deserve somebody that can be there for you? Someone, you aren’t afraid of losing every damn day?”

“I knew what I was getting into when I chose to start this with you. I know that you want to be around and be more consistent, but Quino, you’re out there saving the world. I can’t ask you to put down your dreams because you missed the first hour of a party.”

“I‘ve missed more than just an hour of a party. What happens when it’s our wedding? Or if you get sick? What if you need me and I miss something big? That guy, he could give you that.”

You lean forward, reaching across the coffee table to place your hand over his. “Then we’ll reschedule. Or my parents will take care of me. Or I’ll need you and I’ll be really sad that you’re not there but eventually, you will be. I don’t give a fuck about that guy. I don’t even remember his name. What I do remember, is how much I love you and how long it took me to have the courage to tell you that.”

Joaquin looks down at your hands before interlacing your fingers together. Your words soothe him even as he wrestles with the fact that he wants to give you more. He’ll try to give you more— you deserve it and so does the health of your relationship.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?” you challenge, wanting him to truly think about it.

There are things about your relationship with Joaquin that are less than ideal and certainly compromise but that’s part of love. Compromising and making things work with the people that you love. Joaquin is loyal, loving, and tender; he always makes you laugh and takes your feelings seriously. He just happens to be a superhero, one you have to share with the world.

How selfish would it be to take him away from people that need him?

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “I’m sure. ¿Me dirás si algo cambia?”

“Lo prometo.”

Joaquin leans back into the couch, patting his lap, “Ven.”

You quickly make your way to sit in his lap, wrapping both your arms around his neck as you let your legs dangle across the couch.

“Te amo, princesa.”

“I know, I love you too,” you murmur, running a hand affectionately through his hair.

Joaquin’s eyes fall to your lips, and when he finally leans in, his mouth brushes yours softly, a quiet promise that everything will be okay. His thumb traces your cheek, and it feels like all the unsaid words are finally spoken in the wax and wane of this gentle kiss. You close your eyes, grounding yourself in the feeling of him, of home. As he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his breath shaky, and you both linger there, knowing that in this moment, everything is enough.

After several moments of silence, Joaquin’s lips find your ear, “Paul.”

You lean away from where you’d gotten comfortable on his chest to look at him quizzically. “What?”

“The guy’s name— fucking Paul.”

You laugh, shaking the both of you. “I’ve already forgotten again. I’m more focused on this marriage you’ve mentioned.”

“I’m thinking under the cherry blossoms.”

“You should think about the blow your bank account is gonna take getting me a ring.”

Joaquin raises a brow at you, “Who says I don’t already have it, hermosa?”

You squint at him— usually, you’re pretty good at telling if he’s bluffing but his features are smoothed into the perfect poker face. “You lying?”

“Guess you’ll just have to find out, baby.”

lmk if you'd like to be on the sfw (or nsfw for 18+) joaquin taglist!

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dollzstrology · 5 months ago

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When you and JJ are having a heated argument, going back and forth about something stupid, you’re tired of talking so you think of the perfect idea to shut him up: flashing your tits in his face.

Music Advisory — Featuring: JJ Maybank // fem!reader, light angst [slight arguing], light teasing, smutty descriptions/mentions [breasts, titty fucking, implied p in v], flashing [from reader] very suggestive ending, usage of pet names

Duration — 1.0k words

Words from Artist — This is the first time I’ve written for JJ so I’m excited for you all to be reading this! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I enjoy reading y’all reactions and would love to hear your thoughts <3

Current Platforms — main m.list・obx taglist・navigation

The argument started over something stupid, something neither of you will probably even remember tomorrow but currently JJ’s standing in front of you, red-faced and fuming, hands on his hips as he runs his mouth about something you could honestly care less about. “You always do this!” he accuses, blue eyes blazing with fire. “You push and push, and then when I call you out, you act like—like I’m the crazy one!”

You scoff, not believing JJ is trying to make it seem like you’re the crazy one. “Oh, I’m the crazy one? JJ, you’re the one yelling like a lunatic over—what was it again? Me going to that party with Sarah?”

“Yeah, that damn party with Sarah!” JJ repeats with emphasis, throwing his arms in the air, pacing like he’s about to wear a hole in the floor. “You know damn well there was gonna be trouble there with those kooks, but do you care? Nope! You just do whatever the hell you want!”

You roll your eyes, not appreciating his attitude or tone of voice. “Oh my God, JJ, it was just a party. I wasn’t walking into a war zone.”

“You might as well have!” He turns around to face you again, frustration practically radiating off him. “You know how crazy those parties get! And when shit hits the fan, guess who’s gotta deal with it? Me!”

You’re so done with this argument now, you’ve practically checked out and just let JJ argue with himself. His protectiveness is sweet. You love that he wants to make sure you're safe at all times and out of harm's way but right now, his concern is just annoying when the party wasn't even that bad.

The fact that he looks ridiculously good all riled up and upset isn’t helping. While your eyes are focused on his large callous hands waving in the air, imagining how they would feel for his palms to roam your body, an idea pops in your head. A terrible, impulsive, yet perfect idea that’ll make him shut up, carry you to the bedroom, and put you through the mattress.

“Jayj.”

“What?”

With his attention fully focused on you, without a second thought, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lift it, flashing him mid-sentence. When his eyes hone in on your round, plump breasts, JJ completely freezes up. His mouth hangs open, his train of thought derailing so fast it’s almost comical. His hands, which had been wildly gesturing a second ago, drops to his sides like his brain had short-circuited.

You bit back a smirk, enjoying watching his eyes dart down, then up, then down again. JJ’s is definitely a tits type of guy, he’s practically obsessed with yours and loves giving them his attention whether that’s in the bedroom when your having sex, when you both are cuddling and he wants to use them as a pillow, or coming up to you and giving them a light squeeze just because.

JJ’s still standing there, looking like you’d just knocked the wind out of him. “Are you—” His voice cracks, trying to reframe his thoughts. “Did you just—?”

“Did i just flash my tits in your face? Yes, I did.” You say smugly while letting your shirt fall back down, feeling proud of how one look at your breasts and he’s practically lost for words.

“That’s—that’s dirty.” he mutters, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his mind and ignore the strain that’s forming against his pants. Then, as if remembering why he was mad in the first place, he straightens up, his expression going. “But that doesn’t change the fact that—”

You sigh dramatically, not understanding why he’s still running his mouth about the same topic. You realize that you have to crank things up a notch, do something that you know will shut him up for good. You move closer until you are right in front of him, your voice dropping to something teasing and sweet. “JJ,” you interrupt, tilting your head with a sly smirk dancing across your lips. “Do you really wanna keep running your mouth about some dumb party or you wanna come show your girls some love?”

When your boyfriend watches you pull your shirt up for the second time, putting your breasts on display and swaying your chest lightly, causing them to move in the wind, his breath hitches. His jaw clenches like he wants to stick to his argument, but with the warmth stirring in his groin, his cock aching, begging to fuck your tits until his cum spills onto your flesh, he decides to put the argument on hold and accept your alluring invitation.

“You fight dirty, princess.” He grumbles, his hands cupping your breasts, running his thumbs over your hardened nipples, making a soft whine come from your lips. “You think flashin’ those pretty tits in my face is gonna get you out of trouble?” He says with a heated tone, dipping his head so his lips hover just over yours. “Nah, sweetheart. That jus’ earned you some.”

Before you can react, JJ bends slightly, gripping your thighs and hoisting you up against him, making your breasts press against his chest. You yelp, your hands flying to his shoulders, clinging to him while he’s already walking, carrying you toward the bedroom like he’s got a plan brewing in his mind.

“You wanna distract me? Fine.” he says, kicking the door open before tossing you onto the bed. He stands at the edge, eyes raking over you like he’s deciding what area of your body he’s going to give his attention to first. His smirk turns sharp, almost predatory as he starts unbuckling his pants, pulling his boxers down and allowing both articles of clothing to fall at his ankles. Once you're naked underneath him, he lines the bulb of his cock with your already dripping entrance and slipping the tip inside, making you gasp from the delicious stretch. “Let’s jus’ see if you can handle what happens next.”

Fanbase — @sturnstarkeylvr @desigyall @princessadaniii8 @gillybear17 @rafestoothbrush @daisywonderland @saturnsdevilz @shadyshadyy @m-mally @jj-maybank944 @jordscosplay @taylormarieee @ims1 @ietss @shimmeringana @anything4yooongi @genesis-p4l-love @oatmealisweird @rafesslutt @artbymin @hot-cheeto5739 @maiacroson @7ds4ever @miaaalovesyou

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justauthoring · 5 months ago

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The is the Beginning [3/?]

Summary: You never thought you'd be able to escape Buggy, and yet, a boy with a straw hat, a man with three swords and a girl with orange hair somehow manage to free you. The journey that follows afterwards is your chance at freedom and maybe something more.

A One Piece Live Action Rewrite

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Pairing: Live Action!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

TW for this chapter: canon typical violence, jealous!zoro, self-depricating talk, angst but fluff too! & Sanji content because I love him

Word Count: 10,710

A/N: I am so excited for this chapter. Literally so much happens in this chapter and AHHH I hope you all enjoy <3

Tag List: @emmaiscool22 - @bethleeham - @veryunoriginal - @sun-rae04 - @medievalfangirl

Chapter Three - Together

“Did you just call that guy grandpa?”

Mouth still left parted in shock, you stare at the back of Luffy’s head, waiting for him to answer Zoro’s question. Or, at the very least, clarify what exactly he meant by calling the Vice Admiral of the Marine Corps grandpa—because surely he was not actually related to your captain; your captain of a pirate crew.

Though, you’re at a loss to think of what else Luffy could have possibly meant.

Meeting Zoro’s gaze, the two of you stood directly behind Luffy, his expression matching your own.

“Hit the deck!”

You barely have time to register Usopp’s warning, only seeing something black and something very much like a cannon heading straight your way, before arms are grabbing you and pulling you down. You’re tucked into a chest, your own arms coming to protect yourself as you try to ignore the ache the sudden movement pulls on your stitches.

The rumble of the cannon hitting the ship fades, and slowly, you pull away, meeting Zoro’s gaze first, realizing then he’d been the one to pull you down (you don’t have time to think about how that makes you feel), before both of your gazes fall on the broken fence of your ship deck.

Pressing a hand to your waist, you move to stand, Zoro shuffling back to give you room. He offers a hand, to which you take, letting him help pull you up to your own feet.

“Everybody okay?” Luffy calls, and your eye falls on him in front of you.

“I think so,” Nami calls back, breathless. Both her and Usopp were further back from the explosion, up on the helm deck.

“No,” Usopp cries, popping up beside her. “Not okay. Not even close to okay.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore your own panic that’s bubbling inside of you. “We need to do something,” you urge, facing back towards the marine ship. “They’re just gonna keep shooting at us until we sink.”

Meeting your gaze briefly, Luffy nods. “Usopp!” He calls, pointing directly at the marine ship and his grandpa. “Fire back at them!”

“Or how about we sail away as fast as we can?” Usopp offers.

Luffy turns to look at him, looking bewildered that he’d even offered the idea. But Nami only extends a hand towards Usopp, clearly in agreement.

“Run from the Marines?” Luffy breathes, “no. Never! Nami, trim the… the sail thing. Let’s sink their ship.”

Usopp, probably despite his own fear, comes to meet Luffy with the cannon ammo.

“You want to sink a marine ship?” You echo in disbelief. “That’s… insane.”

“Not to mention, we don’t have time!” Nami argues, “they’re stealing our wind. If they pull up alongside us, we’re finished.”

Luffy just ignores her. “You’re the navigator. Do something.”

Turning to her, she meets your gaze. You offer a helpless shrug.

Nami huffs. “Zoro,” she calls, shifting her gaze past you. “Sheet in and hard to port! Y/N, stay there and don’t get more hurt.”

Feeling useless, you huff, but listen to Nami regardless. You knew you’d only pay worse if you didn’t.

“You know how to load a cannon?” Luffy asks Usopp, who chuckles nonchalantly in return.

You seriously doubt that.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve loaded thousands of them.” Almost as soon as he says that, he hesitates with the cannon in hand. “Uh, this just must be a different model than I’m used to.”

Huffing, you shuffle forward. “Load the cannon in the barrel,” you explain, pointing at the barrel as he turns to look at you helplessly. “Light the fuse and then get out of the way.”

Nodding at you, he shuffles forward, moving to the front of the cannon. Only, before he can load the barrel, he drops all the cannons in his hands.

“Usopp!”

Eyes widening, you rush forward to help, but Luffy holds a hand out to you, shaking his head as he moves to run after Usopp and the cannons which have gone down the stairs.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, you sigh.

“We’re so gonna die.”

Somehow, you don’t die.

After Luffy somehow manages to deflect a cannon with his belly, Nami quickly makes the five of you disappear into the thick of the fog. The second you’d gotten away, Luffy had crawled up to the bow and taken a seat. He hadn’t said a word since.

Nami had taken to steering, and since she was probably the most qualified person, you’d left her to it. You instead decide to lean against the railing, letting your eyes stay focused on the back of Luffy.

It wasn’t like him to be quiet, and you had no doubt it had something to do with the fact that his grandpa had nearly just destroyed his ship and killed him and all his friends. With how Luffy was, you figured he probably hadn’t come to terms with that reality yet and he would probably continue to ignore it until forced to otherwise.

“How’s the ship looking?”

Inhaling sharply, you glance over your shoulder, eye falling on Zoro as he shakes his head at Nami. “Broken railing,” he answers, “minor damage. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Nami rolls her eyes; “could’ve been better.”

“Can’t see the Marines anywhere,” Usopp assures.

“Can’t see anything in this soup,” Nami corrects. “What we need is a place to lay low, wait out any reinforcements they send after us. My charts are useless in this fog.”

Zoro nods. “What did Luffy say?”

You sigh; “he’s on the bow,” you point ahead of yourself. “He hasn’t said anything since we hightailed it. I’m…” Hesitating, you chance one glance at his back before turning back to the three. “I’m worried about him.”

“Somebody needs to talk to him,” Nami says. “About this and that other thing.”

Zoro frowns. “What other thing?”

“Oh gee, I wonder,” Nami says, obviously sarcastic.

The expression on Zoro’s face tells you he really doesn’t know what.

“The Vice-Admiral-of-the-Marines-is-my-grandfather-thing.” Nami explains, looking at you all like it’s obvious.

You offer a shrug; “I’m confused too… but it feels wrong to interrogate him about it. Especially after the guy tried to kill us.”

Nami just blinks over at you.

“Yeah…” Usopp drawls, “I don’t really know the guy that well, so…”

Zoro nods; “doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that it isn’t a big deal…” You say tentatively, wary of Nami’s reaction and unable to deny the curiosity you feel. It did beg questions and it was a little wrong that Luffy had chosen not to tell any of you. “I just don’t know…”

Nami hesitates a moment, before shaking her head, turning to Zoro. “You’re his first mate,” he reminds, “kind of seems like that falls under your job description, hmm?”

He glances at you and Usopp, probably hoping one of you will do it instead of him. Usopp sends him a sheepish smile, holding the straps of his overalls and rocking on his feet, making his answer clear. When Zoro meets your gaze, you press a hand to your waist and smile nervously; “I’m injured?”

You were worried, but you also had no idea how to breach a conversation like that with Luffy of all people.

It’s obviously an excuse, but Zoro doesn’t argue. With a blink, he turns; “fine.”

You watch him leave, before meeting Nami’s gaze.

“You’re aware that Zoro is probably the worst person to check in on Luffy, right?” You raise a brow, “no way he’s actually gonna find anything out.”

Sighing dramatically, Nami presses her forehead to the helm.

Sure enough, a minute later Zoro comes back, shrugging; “seems fine to me.”

“Did you even ask him?”

Before Zoro can respond, if he even was going to, Luffy suddenly stands; “hey!” Pausing, he sniffs, raising his finger. “You guys smell that?”

Your brows furrow. “Smell what?”

Luffy’s quiet for a moment, taking in the air, before he breathes out; “there’s something on the breeze.” Sniffing again, his eyes widen. “Smells like butter. Soy sauce. And meat.”

He grins back at the four of you.

“I can’t smell anything,” Usopp frowns, moving towards Luffy. He seems almost disappointed he can’t smell anything.

“Think he has brain damage?” Zoro asks you and Nami.

Nami huffs, crossing her arms; “I think that every day.”

You let out a nervous laugh.

“Look, Luffy,” Usopp scratches his head. “Playing follow the smell is fun and all, but we really got to get out of this fog.”

“I know,” he calls back, “but I smell food, which means that there’s someone somewhere cooking.”

You’ll never doubt Luffy’s nose again.

Turns out what he was smelling was a whole restaurant, and without having anywhere else to go and needing food, you’d all decided to dock there and get something to eat. Luffy and Usopp had been roaring to go the second the ship docked, barely able to stand still, which made Nami eager to get off the boat just so she didn’t have to deal with two idiots. You’re pretty excited yourself, but just as the ship docked, you’d noticed a bit of red on your shirt. You very quickly deduced it was your wound and obviously, after the excitement of nearly being hit by a cannon, you’d aggravated your stitches.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Nami frowns, hesitating to follow Luffy and Usopp off the ship. Zoro was hanging by the plank too, you couldn’t help but notice. He wasn’t offering to stay, of course, but he seemed concerned.

Shaking your head from the thought, you smile at Nami. “Positive.” You assure, sending her a thumbs up. “I just gotta change the bandage and my shirt and I’ll meet you guys there. Just let the host know I’m coming.”

Hovering for only a moment longer, Nami nods. “You can borrow one of my shirts again,” she offers. “Remind me next time we’re on an island to get you some clothes. When we’re not being chased by Marines.”

You laugh, nodding at her and turning to head to your and Nami’s shared room. You pause, however, when your eye catches Zoros’ once again. He looks like he wants to say something, and for some reason you find you can’t offer anything in return. It takes Nami, who’d seen the rather obvious and embarrassing display, to grab Zoro by the arm and pull him with her to get either of you to move.

Cheeks burning, you rush down to the room, trying to ignore the flutter of your chest or the nerves flooding through your entire body.

Seriously, it was starting to get too much. Before, you’d at least be able to brush it off as being intimidated by Zoro since he was, well, a pretty intimidating guy. But since the whole Kuro incident and you getting hurt, every time Zoro’s eyes seemed to fall on you, that narrowed and heavy gaze lightened into something soft. It was hard to ignore or not let get to you when he’d already made you all hot and flustered before.

He was attentive in a way you hadn’t experienced or expected from him. Everyone had been worried when you’d gotten hurt. You distinctly remember being surprised by how bothered Nami had seemed by it and even Usopp, who you’d just met, had checked in on you. But Zoro? Zoro had been concerned in a whole other way. Rather than just asking you or checking in like Luffy had, he’d hovered. He stayed near when Kaya had cleaned and stitched your wound for you, helping you walk there and then back to the ship even when you assured you were fine.

You’d never had someone so worried about you, let alone a man you were clearly attracted to.

You didn’t know if Zoro had any idea of what he was doing to you, but he was killing you. Your heart was always racing when he was near, which was always, and he made you feel like a fumbling fool, mind short-circuiting to the point of silliness whenever his eyes fell on you.

You’d never forget what he’d said about your eye. How he’d made you feel about it. Luffy and Nami had been endearing too, you would never deny that, but Zoro had spoken up first. And the look on his face…

Pressing your hands to your cheeks, you try to cool the heat you feel and your racing mind. This was silly. You were being silly. Zoro was just being nice and he probably just saw what a helpless fool you were and felt pity. There was nothing more to it.

Zoro was a strong swordsman, a renowned bounty hunter and Luffy’s first mate and you were… you.

Swallowing thickly, you sit down at the desk in your and Nami’s shared room, pulling up your shirt and glancing down. As expected, your wound has bled through your bandage. Momentarily, you worry that you’ve ripped your stitches, but the second you pull the bandage off, you’re assured that isn’t the case. You clearly just aggravated the wound and, pausing to clean the blood and apply the salve Kaya had given you, you place a new bandage on.

You take a moment more to find a shirt to wear, thankful Nami was being so generous with her clothing. You could tell the girl took her fashion seriously and you felt bad enough borrowing her clothes, but now you were ruining them with blood. You’d have to make it up to her somehow.

Cleaned with a new bandage on, you smile to yourself, feeling your stomach rumble almost as if reminding you.

Without a second more of hesitation, you make your way up and off the Going Merry. The Baratie is buzzing with people and you can’t help but let your gaze wander across the millions of different people going on with their lives, each in their own world. You continue to do so until you find the front entrance to the restaurant, and with a simple explanation to the host that you were here with friends and a small description of some friends, you’re led to the table.

You pause, however, when you realize the waiter is already taking your friends’ order.

The host leaves your side and with only a second more of hesitation, you make your way to the table, not having realized you’d taken so long.

“Do I still have time to place an order?”

Everyone's eyes fall on you at your question, and coming to a stop on the left of the waiter, right in front of Zoro. You frown when you notice the tense look on his face, concerned, but before you can ask, your captain is beaming at your arrival.

“Y/N!” Luffy calls, grinning. “You’re just in time! I ordered one of everything for us!”

You shouldn’t be surprised, but his words still pull a laugh from your lips. Of course Luffy would order the entire menu.

“I didn’t know I would be greeted by two beautiful maidens today. And one with such an infectious laugh.”

Freezing, it takes you a second to realize that the words had come from the waiter and that he was talking to you. Eyes widening, you turn to him, meeting his eyes with your left one, only to see him smiling at you. One hand is shoved into the pocket of his dress pants as he turns towards you with a certain suaveness.

Cheeks warming in embarrassment, your hands rise. “Oh, I—”

But before you can finish, the waiter is taking your left hand in his, pulling it up to his lips and pressing a kiss there. No longer just warm, your cheeks burn.

“Such beautiful eyes too, madam,” he grins, “I’ll never forget either of them.”

You’re hyper aware of the fact that your entire crew is watching this happen and that you’re standing there, gaping like a fish. You’ve never had anyone flirt with you, especially not someone so… persistent.

The waiter continues to stare back at you, never once looking upset by your lack of response.

An achingly long minute passes.

“Y/N.”

You don’t even have time to turn to Zoro at him calling your name before you feel hands fall on your hips, tugging you forward. A small yelp leaves your lips in response, stunned stupid, as Zoro pulls you in front of him, practically on his lap for a brief second, your hand slipping from the waiter's grip. Zoro moves you so you’re sat next to him, in between him and Nami who sends you a knowing smirk as you try to ignore your racing heart and flaming cheeks.

“Oi,” the waiter calls before you can, again, say anything. “Don’t be so rough with her.”

Zoro glares right at him. “Don’t be so handsy,” he growls back, not missing a beat. “Y/N doesn’t even know you.”

“She can get to know me,” the waiter challenges, curling a brow at your swordsman before his eyes shift back to you. “I’m sorry our introduction got interrupted, my name is Sanji. It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

You’re sure you look as stupid as you feel.

“N-Nice to meet you too, Sanji,” you echo back, voice small.

Sanji grins just as Zoro leans forward, cutting you off from view. “Shouldn’t you be getting our food and drinks? The ones we ordered, waiter?”

The smile on Sanji’s face tenses, but he holds back whatever he clearly wants to say to Zoro, side stepping to meet your eyes once again. “Certainly, but first… what would you like, madam? Water like your lovely friend or something else? A sweet wine, perhaps? I can recommend some to you.”

You meet Nami’s eyes who just scoffs, obviously having received similar attention as you were now.

“Water,” you squeak. “Like her.”

“Not sparkling? Mineral? Ice or no?”

“Just water,” you nod, noticing the tick in Zoro’s jaw.

“Coming right up, Y/N,” he winks at you, smirking, before he turns away.

Silence follows, thick and heavy.

“Don’t worry,” Nami is the first to break the ice, lightly nudging you. “He was the same with me.”

Usopp snickers next to her, meeting your eye; “looks like you and Nami have got a boyfriend.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami just laughs quietly to herself. “Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s me we should be worried about.” Her eyes shift to Zoro, as does everyones, even Luffy who looks a bit lost, and finally, you turn to look at him too.

Your cheeks are still warm with embarrassment, mainly from Sanji’s flirting, but also the way Zoro had grabbed you. It wasn’t that you minded, because really, you didn’t, but—what the hell was that?

Meeting her gaze, arms crossed over his chest, Zoro huffs; “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Nami drawls, smirking.

“I never seen you so angry, Zoro,” Usopp teases, grinning ear to ear. “Jealous?” He sings the word, wiggling his brows at the swordsman as you sink into your seat further.

“Of a waiter?” Zoro scoffs, careful not to glance your way. “Of course not.”

You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hadn’t denied he’d been jealous because of you.

With a little bit more laughter, the conversation drifts off as Luffy starts to ramble about the food. Once the attention is thoroughly off you and Zoro, you turn to him.

“Are you okay?” You ask in a soft voice, concerned and perhaps wanting to know more about why he’d done what he had.

Finally turning to look at you, you watch as Zoro swallows thickly. “Fine,” he says gruffly and you flinch, frowning. Seeing your reaction, Zoro sighs. “Just didn’t like the way he touched you…”

He says it with a grumble, and if you hadn’t been right next to him, you wouldn’t have heard it.

Lips parting, you blink; “oh.”

“No guy should touch you like that.” He adds.

You turn to him but he’s already looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

You can’t help but think to yourself, however, that he’d touched you like that.

And that you liked it.

“So… how long do you think the owner will make Luffy work for him?”

You glance up at your friends at your own question, curious. Instead of mirrored curiosity staring back at you, you find blank faces instead.

Frowning, you huff. “Is no one concerned?” You ask, genuinely worried. “We all ate that food… and he’s the one working for it.”

“I didn’t eat,” Zoro shrugs, “I just drank some beer.”

You glower at him.

Turning to Usopp, you hope maybe he’ll say something. Of course, he doesn’t and instead, he continues to slurp up the fancy fruity cock-tail drink he’d ordered, promptly avoiding your eye. You already know that Nami won’t be any help since she seemed rather hurt by Luffy lying about his grandpa, and while you couldn’t fault her for being hurt, you were frustrated at all of their lack of concerns.

Sighing, you push yourself to a stand, taking a step forward. Zoro catches you by the wrist before you make it two full steps.

“Where are you going?”

You glance down at him. “To find Luffy,” you gesture forward, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. Which it should’ve. “I don’t feel like drinking or…” You let your eyes drag across the bustling crowd of the bar. “...dancing. Maybe I can talk the owner into going easy on him.”

You go to do that, except, Zoro still doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“We should probably stick together,” Zoro says, never taking his eyes off of you. “In case the Marines come.”

You shake your head, pulling at his grip. He lets go easy, but the frown on his face makes it clear he’s annoyed by your persistence. “I’ll be fine,” you brush off his concern. “The worst thing I’ll be doing is washing some dishes, I reckon.”

Zoro looks like he wants to argue, but it’s clear he isn’t sure how.

You just sigh; “stay and relax. I’ll be fine.”

And then you turn before he can say anything else.

Shifting your way past the crowd of the bar, you make your way back down the steps that lead out into the outdoor bar. It isn’t hard to get back into the restaurant, but you’re careful not to catch the attention of any of the chefs or staff. Instead, you carefully slink your way towards the employee section.

At the sight of a chef with blue hair coming towards you, you’re quick to duck behind a wall. You hesitate, hovering, trying to listen for his footsteps to grow distant. Except, your ears pick up on something else.

Luffy.

Turning in the direction of the noise, your gaze falls on the hallway in front of you, seeing a door at the far end. With one more glance behind you to make sure no one was there, you make your way down the hall, eyes brightening when you see the word ‘KITCHEN’ labelled at the top of the door. A glance through the small circular windows only confirms your suspicions, lips curling into a smile at the sight of Luffy.

You also make note of the waiter from before standing in front of him and… it looked like the two were talking to a man you didn’t recognize. Sanji is ushering the man out the back entrance of the kitchen, and you use that as your chance to sneak in.

Pushing open the door, you pop your head in.

“Luffy?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face brightening at the sight of you.

“Y/N!”

You wince when he all but yells your name, confident you were definitely not supposed to be back here. With one last glance back, you slip inside, letting the doors swing shut behind you as you make your way over to your captain.

“What’re you doing here?” He grins, confused. “I thought you and the rest went up to the bar.”

“We did… but I left.” You explain, frowning slightly. Setting your hand on his arm, you glance up at him. “It was a little awkward, Luffy. Nami’s pretty upset about the grandpa thing.”

Luffy’s face wavers at that, the same way you noticed it had during dinner when Nami had brought it back up then. Frowning at the sight, you squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“But mainly I came because I was worried,” you smile. “I didn’t know how hard that owner guy was working you.”

Luffy instantly eases at that, and his lips curve into a genuine smile.

“I’m okay. He just has me doing dishes,” he juts his thumb behind him, and you eye the stack of dishes with a grimace. “Though, I think I found—”

“Y/N?”

Startled at the new voice, you glance over Luffy’s shoulder to see the waiter back from wherever he’d escorted that man you’d seen before. He seems baffled at the sight of you, while you freeze at the sight of him, worried he’ll be mad you snuck in.

“Hello, S-Sanji,” you greet, offering a small wave. “I know I’m not supposed to be here but I was worried about Luffy—”

“I’m not mad you’re here, love,” Sanji grins easily, making his way over to you and Luffy with a shake of his head. “I just hoped you were having fun upstairs in the bar.”

Still not used to his charm, you flush. “Oh, well…” Eye trailing, you turn to Luffy. “I was actually going to ask Luffy if he needed help with—”

“Absolutely not,” Sanji cuts you off for the third time, leaving your lips parted in bafflement. He’s crossing the distance in the kitchen over to you two in two seconds, and before you can even realize it, his hands are on your shoulders, gently turning you towards the door to the kitchen. The one you’d just come from. “A lady like yourself should not be getting her hands dirty at all.”

“B-But…” Words trailing in your bafflement, you glance back at Luffy who grins back at you, unbothered.

“The chore boy will be fine.”

“I should really…” You reach weakly towards Luffy who just raises his hand in an eager wave, completely unbothered by Sanji who is all but shoving you out of the kitchen.

Before you realize, the two of you are back out in the restaurant and Sanji, still with his hands on your shoulders, is easily maneuvering you up the stairs and out of the restaurant completely. In fact, he doesn’t stop until he’s outside the restaurant, far away from anyone.

When he lets go of you, you turn to him, nonplussed.

He grins down at you, sincere and wide.

“Do you always drag girls you just meet to secluded areas to get them alone?”

He seems momentarily stunned by your words, as if not even realizing where he’d lead you, before his face eases and he leans back against the wall of the restaurant. You watch as he reaches into the pocket of his dress pants, pulling out a pack of smokes. “Not usually, but I thought this was the perfect opportunity to get to know each other. Like I’d offered before.” He sends you a wink that has your cheeks warming, eye watching as he places a cigarette between his teeth, lighting it.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you curl a brow at him, ignoring your flush. “Very… forward of you.”

He just grins, taking a puff of his smoke. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

“Only because Luffy didn’t seem bothered by you leading me away like that,” you shrug, moving to lean against the wall next to him. “Anyone Luffy trusts, I do too.”

Sanji raises a brow. “You sure have faith in him.”

“He saved my life,” you explain, thinking back to that moment he’d offered you to join his crew. Even before that, in that pub… you had no idea then how much Luffy and the rest would change your mind. “They all have.”

Sanji’s smile turns more soft at that, and he turns his gaze up to the sky. “That’s sweet.” You turn to look at him, and sure enough, a moment later, he’s adding with a smirk; “just like you.”

You scoff. “It seems you can’t control yourself.”

“Not when I’m around you,” he laughs, taking another puff of his smoke.

“Sure,” you drawl, snorting.

A second of silence passes, before Sanji speaks up again. “So, what’s going on between you and that moss head?”

Almost instantly, the light flush you’d had before burns into something more intense, as you jump, facing Sanji as you wildly shake your hands in front of you. “No-Nothing!” You squeak, unable to control the pitch of your voice.

Sanji eyes you for a moment, then, he chuckles; “sure.” He drawls, matching your previous tone.

“Seriously,” you argue, trying to calm your voice to sound more sure. “There’s nothing going on between me and Zoro.”

“Beautiful, anyone who gets jealous like that over a little flirting doesn’t think there’s nothing going on.” Sanji shakes his head, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Or, he hasn’t man-upped enough to tell you the truth.”

You’re positive you’re on fire with how hot you are in embarrassment.

“Zoro does not like me.”

“Okay,” he pauses, “but do you like him?”

Lips left parted, you blink up at Sanji.

“I-I… It’s none of your business.”

Humming, Sanji takes another puff. “Seems like you want to get it off your chest, love.”

You pout. “You’re annoying.”

He leans towards you, smirking; “I’m right, beautiful.”

Shoulders falling, you kick your leg out at a random pebble. “Fine,” you huff, glancing at your feet. “Maybe I like him… a little bit!”

You don’t see the way Sanji’s face softens down at you, and you almost think something’s wrong when he doesn’t say anything. But when you glance back up at him, he’s turned his gaze back up. “Shame,” he sighs, almost soulful. “You truly are enchanting.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip. “Shut up.”

“It’s true,” he pushes, looking unbothered by your embarrassment. “You deserve far more than that moss head.”

“You don’t even know Zoro.”

He shrugs. “I can tell.”

“I—”

Whatever you’d been about to say falls silent on the tip of your tongue when you see a familiar Straw Hat run by in front of you. Stepping back Sanji, you glance past his shoulder, you watch as Luffy and Usopp run towards the Going Merry.

“Where’s Y/N?” You hear Luffy yell distantly.

“I thought she was with you!” Usopp calls back.

You frown.

“Something wrong?” Sanji asks, hand falling on your shoulder and your gaze turns up, realizing he’d seen the same thing.

“I don’t know…” You breathe, concerned. Stepping back from Sanji, you turn to him apologetically, lips parting to explain.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” he brushes your apology off. “You should go make sure everything’s okay.”

Face easing at his words, you smile; “thank you, Sanji.”

Cigarette in his lips, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. You send him a genuine smile and a wave, before turning around to run off in the direction Usopp and Luffy had gone.

You’re quick to pick up the pace in your step, reaching the Going Merry in now time. You can hear the distinct voice of Nami and heart racing at how upset she sounds, you’re making your way down the stairs and towards them in seconds flat.

“But you are not better than him!”

Coming to a stop right at the bottom of the stairs, everyone’s eyes fall on you.

Nami instantly turns on you; “there you are!” Reaching you, she tugs you forward, and as she does, you see Usopp glance at you helplessly and Luffy softly smiling which gives you very mixed signals.

Finally, you turn to Zoro, who is… getting his swords ready?

“What’s going on?” You ask, helpless.

Nami huffs next to you. “Will you talk some sense to him?”

Lips parting, you shake your head at Nami. “Sure… but for what?”

“He’s challenged Dracule Mihawk, one of the Seven Warlords, to a duel.”

It’s like you can hear your heart plummet to the pit of your stomach. Nami, who is too busy turning back to Zoro in frustration, doesn’t notice the way your eye shifts, something distant flooding in. Usopp and Luffy don’t see it either.

But Zoro, who’d chanced a glance up at you, nervous for your reaction, sees it. His face falls briefly, everything else fading as he watches you closely.

“Y/N,” Nami presses, voice pitching in distress. “Tell him how reckless he's being.”

Still stunned, your mind a reckless bout of realization and terror, your gaze finally shifts towards Zoro. He quickly turns away and the sight makes dread flood you. “Z-Zoro,” you breathe, feeling as if your voice sounds like an outside extension of yourself.

Distantly, you realize that you’re not helping Nami and most of all, acting suspiciously. Swallowing thickly, you lean forward on the table. “You cannot fight… h-him… fight Mihawk.”

“Yeah,” Nami nods. She looks relieved you agree with her and you figure, even in the midst of your racing mind, the boys hadn’t been much help. With a frown and a huff, she throws her hand in Zoro’s direction; “he wants to go through with it! Even though it’ll get him killed.”

Zoro turns to her, still avoiding your gaze, and asks bluntly; “why do you give a shit?”

Nami visibly blanches, head jerking back in hurt. Her lips part, twisting to say something, and then, blinking back the betrayal in her eyes, she breathes out; “because you’re my friend, you idiot.”

“You said it yourself. You don’t have any friends.”

You see it in her eyes. His words are harsh and even though you’re still reeling from the realization of what was happening and clearly having walked into the middle of something, you see as the walls she’d slowly let fall around you all come back up. Brick by brick.

She glances around the room, meeting your eye last and then, she leaves without another word.

All of you, except for Zoro, watch her leave.

No one says anything, and then, Usopp is following Nami out, meeting your eye with a nervous panic before slipping out. Luffy follows him a second later, patting your shoulder.

You stay standing there, as if glued to the spot. You can’t bring it in you to chase after Nami even if you were concerned, but you also can’t find the words to say something to Zoro. You want to tell him off for being cruel to Nami like that, you want to tell him he was being an idiot that was going to get himself killed and you want to tell him…—

It takes Zoro a minute to speak up. “Not going to try and convince me like Nami?”

Swallowing thickly, the lump in your throat remains despite. With your hands hanging helplessly at your sides, you try to blink back the tears that well in your eyes. It was all too much at once. Your heart was aching with this anchor that had been thrown at you and it was too much to bear.

Still, deep in your heart, you know; “it wouldn’t stop you,” you whisper, voice cracking at the end.

You could beg and plead, get on your hands and knees, and you know nothing could stop Zoro from doing this. The only thing that might… you weren’t sure if you were ready to admit.

Zoro pauses, hands hovering. Then, he agrees; “probably not.”

Your breath hitches. “You could die.”

He turns to look at you. You don’t meet his eyes.

“He’s my goal.”

Fists clenching, you shake your head. “Zoro, please listen,” you cry, “you cannot fight Mihawk. He’s… He’s…”

But you can’t form the words.

“He’s what?” Zoro pushes, leaning towards you. “Say it, Y/N. I saw your face when Nami told you. Mihawk is what?”

You flinch, stepping back. You can’t look at him even as the guilt and panic tears you apart inside. You couldn’t.

Your mind races for something, something else, and then you remember your conversation with Sanji before. You remember your feelings. “W-What about me?”

“What about you?” Zoro’s tone is even, careful, but his blunt question hurts all the same.

Finally, you look up at him. His eyes are already on you, face flat and expressionless.

You come to terms then it’s pointless. Zoro wasn’t going to cancel the duel and nothing you were willing to say would change his mind. Anything more, and you’d just get yourself hurt. You think once again, in that moment, back to your conversation with Sanji.

You’d known of your feelings all along, just hadn’t been able to realize it. But you’d finally let yourself admit how you felt about Zoro. Finally let the truth out and the relief you’d felt in that moment, to a man you’d only met that day no less, had been imminent.

You’d gotten ahead of yourself then. Forgot that you were the only one who believed in Luffy’s wish to be a crew. Forgot that all the people you’d met had their own goals and you were someone just drifting alongside with them until it came time for them to leave.

You forgot that your life wasn’t just being a part of Luffy's crew.

You forgot that even if Zoro felt anything of what you felt for him, you were still just some girl he’d rescued from a pirate and nothing more than that. Zoro had his own goals and dreams, and you weren’t part of them.

What about you?

Answer made clear, you turn and walk without another word.

Zoro doesn’t see the way tears fall from your face the second you’re out of sight and you don’t see the way his leg kicks out in frustration at himself for being so stupid.

It was clear Mihawk didn’t know who you were, despite being your father.

You couldn’t blame him, though. He’d never met you. He didn’t even know that the random woman he met that one day eighteen years ago and spent the night with, had ever gotten pregnant. It wasn’t like Dracule Mihawk to stick around places for long, after all.

And the only reason you even knew he was your father was because your mother had told you the day she died. In her deathbed, with your hand clutching hers, she’d whispered his name and told you if you ever needed help, to go to him.

Something told you he wouldn’t be helping you here.

You watch him best Zoro in every single one of his attacks. He dodges his attacks without even having to lift a finger. It’s a fight unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and the reality of watching Zoro unable to land any attacks is cruel and unforgiving.

Everything about this is cruel.

With your heart racing and your palms sweaty, you visibly flinch when Mihawk stabs Zoro with the tiny sword he told Zoro was the best match for their duel. It hits him directly in the chest, and you watch the flicker of pain in Zoro’s eyes as he stares his goal down.

And as you listen to Zoro refuse to give up, you can feel your heart tear into two.

Mihawk brings out Yoru. You watch as he unsheathes it from his back, heart plummeting. And you watch as Zoro places the Wado Ichimonji in his mouth, bringing the two black-handle katanas into either of his hands. This is it, you realize. This is the final attack.

After watching Zoro be unable to land one hit, you know this final one won’t be different.

There’s a moment of stilled silence, no one moves. And then, Zoro is running forward and Mihawk watches his pace. They clash, the sound of metal hitting metal reverberates in your mind, rattling your insides.

Zoro slides on his knees across the deck in front of Baratie, stopping just a few feet in front of you. He’s breathless, silent, and you feel your friends around you as you all watch with bated breath.

The two black-handle swords shatter into pieces.

The sob that wretches from your throat is beyond your control. It rips out of you, body shuddering in the reality you’re forced to face, watching as Zoro stands to his feet and turns to face Mihawk.

“You’re defeated,” Mihawk shakes his head. “Why do you persist?”

Sheathing the Wado Ichimonji, Zoro says without hesitation; “wounds on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame.” Raising his arms in defeat, he holds them to his sides, waiting for Mihawk to make his final move.

“Magnificent.”

Tears welling in your eyes, you feel a hand slip into your own.

Glancing down first and then following the arm, you find Nami’s similarly tearful eyes staring back at you, squeezing your hand. You don’t know if it’s to comfort you or herself, but you appreciate it nonetheless. You turn to your other friends, seeing that Nami is holding Usopp’s hand too and he’s looking at you with concern. The final person you turn to is Luffy.

He meets your eye, and your whole body trembles.

You turn your head back in Zoro’s direction, and the second Mihawk’s arm swings to attack Zoro, you turn away again.

Your head tucks into Nami who startles at your movement, but her hand slips from your own to wrap her arm around you. You can’t see, but you hear the slice of skin and the sound of Zoro’s body hit the ground a minute later. You feel Nami’s body jerk in response.

“Zoro!”

Hugging your knees to your chest, you stare at Zoro. You let your eye drag across his sleeping figure, every curve of his face, the dip of his nose, all the way down to his chest, where his wound is tightly bandaged.

It was thanks to Sanji and the Baratie owner, Zeff, that Zoro’s wounds had been cleaned, stitched and dressed. It was thanks to them that Zoro even had a chance of surviving.

Talk to him. That’s what Zeff had said. The only thing any of you could do for Zoro now was talk to him and hope that that was enough to pull him from the purgatory between life and death.

You’d offered the first watch and no one had argued. Everyone was worried about Zoro in their own way, but the tears streaming down your cheeks and the visible mess you were in left no one willing to argue with you. One by one, everyone had left the room, with Luffy only glancing back at you one last time, before it was just you and Zoro.

You hadn’t moved from the spot since then.

That had been hours ago. Nami had come in at one point and asked if she could read to Zoro. you’d nodded without a word, sitting back but never leaving the room. Nami didn’t say anything and even if she had, you would’ve refused to leave. Luffy had followed her in shortly after and that had turned sour quickly when it was apparent that Nami felt Luffy held some responsibility for not telling Zoro to back out of the duel. You watched them argue, not saying a word. Then, Nami left.

“You should eat,” Luffy had said a minute after she walked out the door.

Never taking your eye off Zoro, you’d shaken your head. “I will when he wakes up.”

“Y/N, you—”

“When he wakes up.” The words had come out sharper than you intended and instantly, you’d felt guilt when you’d seen Luffy jerk at the sound. But you didn’t get up nor did you say anything else, and a minute later, Luffy left too.

That had been an hour ago. No one else had come in since.

You’d moved back to the chair next to Zoro, and let your hand slip into his and you hadn’t moved since.

Talk to him. How were you supposed to talk to him? What could you possibly say to him after everything that happened?

Head falling, you let out a shaky sigh.

“This is all my fault,” you whisper, barely even registering you’d said the words aloud. And as you breathe the words into existion, you realize that that was the only thing you could say.

Raising your head, you glance at Zoro’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, squeezing his hand. “I should’ve… I should’ve told you the truth.”

Your chest feels tight, your body heavy. You know what you want to say, but you don’t know if you have the courage to speak the words. Mihawk was your father, it was true, but he meant nothing to you. That isn’t what made it hard to say. Not even seeing him in person for the first time today could make the feeling of indifference toward him fade. Mihawk didn’t even know who you were and he never would.

Today would’ve been your chance to tell him and it hadn’t even crossed your mind.

What you found hard to admit was that you’d been too scared to tell Zoro the truth and that cowardness is what got him hurt. If you had just been honest with him, maybe none of this wouldn’t have happened. Zoro wouldn’t have gotten hurt and nobody on the crew would be upset.

Why couldn’t you have just been honest?

“I was scared,” you tell Zoro. “Scared because there’s so much about my life I don’t know and the only thing I do know is so unimportant.” Breathing in sharply, you force the words out. “So what if Mihawk is my father? It hadn’t mattered before. But it mattered last night and I should’ve told you… If I told you, you wouldn’t be hurt and the crew wouldn’t have to be worried about you not waking up.”

Pressing your free hand to your forehead, you shake your head. “I’m so sorry, Zoro,” you sob, feeling your eyes water as curl into yourself. “I’m so sorry because you’re hurt and because I think I may love you… and my life is so utterly unimportant that you deserve better than someone like me… Someone who will just ruin your life.”

Your hand leaves his, pressing against your lips as you let yourself cry. You let yourself cry out the anguish in your chest that weighs you down and hurts. You cry and cry, stifling your sobs behind your hand, letting it all out.

Until, eventually, you fall asleep from the exhaustion.

The exhaustion of not sleeping the night before, of being tense and terrified for Zoro, for the guilt that feels like it might eat you alive.

You stay like that for a while, until soft hands gently shake you awake.

“Come on, love. Wake up.”

Letting out a soft groan, your eyes flutter at the voice, hands moving instinctively to rub at your eyes. It takes you a second to wake yourself up, confused as you slowly straighten out. You first see Zoro before your head turns, and your eye falls on Sanji who’s standing behind you.

“Sanji?”

“You need to eat,” Sanji says, ushering you. “Come on.”

You turn back to Zoro, licking your dry lips. “I shouldn’t leave him.”

Your eyes are puffy and your eyelids ache. The last thing you remember is crying, and it occurs to you you’d fallen asleep in the midst of your break down.

“Luffy can watch him,” Sanji offers, gesturing behind him.

Turning towards the door, Luffy smiles at you warmly.

“I’ll watch Zoro for you, Y/N. I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

Dazed and still a little sleepy, you let Sanji pull you to your feet, not fighting his grip as he guides you towards the door. You glance back at Zoro one last time, feeling that crushing guilt stab at you, just as Luffy squeezes your shoulder.

“He’ll wake up, Y/N,” Luffy grins at you. “I promise.”

You nod at him, finding his words reassuring and comforting despite the doubt festering inside you.

“I’ll whip you up something tasty, Y/N.” Sanji smiles softly down at you, “okay?”

He’s incredibly gentle the entire time. You relish in it.

“Can I have a moment alone with him?”

Meeting Nami’s eyes, you nod, moving to stand. She sends you a smile, though it seems off, as you walk past her.

Letting the door fall shut behind you, you make your way into the kitchen. You bite your lip, trying to ignore the nerves rattling your body. After Nami had come running into the kitchen where you and Sanji were, you eating after he’d made you a meal like he promised, it was instantly clear something was wrong. She had been going on about some pirate named Arlong, calling for Luffy in between explaining to you. Most importantly, she looked terrified.

Turns out Arlong was attacking Baratie looking for Luffy and the Grand Line map.

Nami’s attempt at getting Luffy to take the Going Merry and run had been fruitless and he, Sanji and Usopp had gone to confront Arlong. Luffy had told Nami to stay behind to protect the map, before turning to you and telling you to watch over Zoro for him. When you’d tried to argue and say you could help, he’d just shaken his head and said you were still healing from your last fight and Zoro was more important.

So, for the last twenty or so minutes, you and Nami were in the Going Merry. She’d disappeared elsewhere on the ship the second the three left, so you assigned yourself back next to Zoro, opting to read to him like Nami had before in the hopes that maybe that’d get him to wake up.

You had, at least, until Nami had popped her head into the room.

You hoped everything was going well. Honestly, you did want to go out and check on them, but you knew Luffy was right. Even if he hadn’t said it in that way, it was clear he didn’t want you coming because you didn’t know how to fight. You’d be more of a hindrance than any help and that reality left a sour taste in your mouth.

Hearing footsteps approach, you turn, face easing when you see Nami coming out of the room.

“Everything okay?” You ask, despite knowing in fact nothing was okay.

She nods, stepping out of the room and you smile at her as you walk past her, squeezing her shoulder in an attempt to comfort both her and yourself. You think nothing of the look on her face, chalking it up to everything that had and is happening just making her a little off.

At least, until you hear the door slam shut behind you.

Stilling right next to Zoro, your head snaps towards the door. You hesitate for a moment, baffled, before your feet instinctively carry you towards it, hand falling on the knob. Maybe she’d shut it by accident? Or maybe she wanted to give you privacy as you had for her?

Except, the door won’t open when you turn it.

“N-Nami?”

You know she’s by the door. You can see her shadow through the small opening at the bottom. You can hear her heavy breathing.

“Nami,” you call again, voice louder. “Why is the door locked?”

There’s a moment that passes before she answers.

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t let you out.”

“What?” You breathe, bewildered. There’s something awful twisting in your chest. You try the door again, it doesn’t open. “Nami, what the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

“I’m doing what I always planned to do.”

Her voice is muffled through the door, but the low tone scares you all the same.

Using your left hand, you slam it against the door. “Let me out, Nami. Now.”

“You’ll be safe in there.”

You hear her take a step toward and your heart lurches, yanking on the door as you start to pound against it more aggressively. “Nami?”

“I’m sorry.”

You see her shadow disappear and soon, her footsteps are gone too. You stand there, stunned, before you start to yank on the door again. You pull at it, trying to twist it. But it’s clearly jammed shut.

Nami had made sure you weren’t going to be able to get out.

Minutes pass of you banging on the door, with no luck, until eventually you tire yourself out.

Head hanging in your hands, you try to ignore the shake of your body as you sit there, forced to wait.

At the first sound of footsteps, you jump to your feet.

“Hey!” You call, banging on the door. “Luffy? Usopp?”

“Y/N?”

It’s Usopp.

Yanking on the door, you call out to him; “let me out!”

It takes him no more than a few seconds to open the door, yanking it open as you meet his eyes with relief.

“Usopp,” you breathe, “you have to listen to me. It’s Nami. She—”

You move to ramble out what had happened, but fall silent the second you see the look on Usopp’s face.

“Usopp?” You question, voice quiet. “Why are you…?”

Just then Sanji comes stumbling down the stairs of the kitchen, with Luffy in his arms, the latter looking beat up and hurt. Both of them are sopping wet.

Your eyes widen.

“Nami, she…” Usopp speaks up, looking nervous. “She betrayed us.”

“Y/N, seriously!”

Shaking your head, you stumble behind Usopp. “Seriously what, Usopp?”

You’re mildly annoyed, but you figure he has a good reason—whatever that reason is. He hasn’t elected to tell you yet.

You’d been getting some sleep after Luffy had practically forced you to, letting you sleep in his and the rest of the guys’ cabin since Zoro was currently occupying yours and… Nami’s. After everything that has happened, it was clear you all needed some time to digest and recoup. Even though you’d been reluctant to leave Zoro’s side, you also knew you needed some sleep or you were going to make yourself sick.

And a twenty minute sob-induced cat nap hunched over a bed didn’t count.

Only, your sleep had been cut short but Usopp all but ran into your room, yelling your name with a wide grin on his face. You couldn’t even possibly begin to think what he could be smiling about given that everything was the worst it could be, but you didn’t get the chance to ask either before he was yanking you to your feet and dragging you with him.

“Usopp—”

Whatever you’d been about to say falls silent, however, when you realize where Usopp is leading you. Body freezing, you turn to him, him already grinning at you, letting the two of you come to a stop. You glance at him, then the room, and then realize you hear a very familiar voice speaking.

Your feet move before you can stop yourself.

All chatter stops the second you come running into the room, and sure enough, still on the bed, Zoro stares back at you, but awake.

“Y/N, look, Zoro’s—!”

You don’t let Luffy finish. You don’t even really hear him speak. You run over to the other side of the bed in seconds and practically fall onto Zoro. In your excitement, you forget about his wounds, to which Zoro groans in response to your hug. Your eyes widen, your first word to him about to be ‘sorry’, as you scramble to pull back.

His arm falls around your waist before you can.

Stilling in his hold, and now careful to not let your weight fall on him, he holds you for a moment, the entire room distinctly quiet.

Then, his arm leaves and you pull back, staring down at him.

“Hey,” you breathe, unable to stop the curl of your lips. Despite everything, that short greeting is what feels right.

It’s all you can manage.

His lips curve into a soft smile; “hey.”

Raising your hand, you softly knock on the door.

Zoro’s head snaps towards you, easing when he realizes it’s you.

You step into the room with a gentle smile, and nod at him; “let me.” You offer, gesturing loosely to the bandages surrounding him. “I got pretty good at it after…” You let your voice trail, and Zoro huffs.

“I’d bet. You never let anyone help you.”

Sitting next to him, you shrug. “I could do it on my own.” Laughing quietly, you pick up the bandages that are wildly thrown about the bed. “Unlike you.”

Zoro scoffs but he doesn’t stop you as you start to unwrap the bandages he’d loosely wrapped around himself, redoing it.

Silence echoes for a moment, before Zoro speaks up.

“I can’t believe the waiter is joining us.”

Huffing a laugh, you roll your eye. “Sanji is nice,” you defend. “And a good fighter I hear from Luffy.”

Zoro frowns. “He’s a waiter.”

You just shake your head, snorting to yourself.

Then, you hesitate, hands hovering. You can't help but ask, since it’s been weighing on you since she’d left. “You think Nami meant it all? That she never actually cared about us?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe.”

Biting your lip, you frown. You don’t want that to be the truth.

“Y/N.”

His voice is serious as he calls for you, and it makes you freeze.

“I heard you.”

Your muscles tense, and you refuse to let your gaze wander from your hands, fiddling with your fingers.

Zoro doesn’t let you. In the next second, his hand is falling over your own, pulling them away from what you’d been doing. Your lips part as he does, heart fluttering as he shifts his hand so his fingers threads through yours instead of just being wrapped around your wrist.

Your cheeks warm instantly.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

His voice is raspy from being asleep for so long. It sends shivers down your spine.

Still, you listen, raising your head and meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t think you could hear me,” you whisper.

“I could,” he nods. “About your father and…” His voice trails.

Swallowing thickly, you choose to focus on the first thing first. “I… Does it bother you?”

Zoro’s lips part, stunned at your forwardness and you realize your mistake.

“About… Mihawk.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “No.”

It’s not what you’re expecting. He says it so bluntly, so sure of himself.

“It… doesn’t?”

“You have your reasons,” he shrugs, still holding your hand. “And it wouldn’t have changed my mind. Defeating Mihawk is my goal, that won’t change.”

His words hurt you, but you also know that you have no right to argue otherwise.

“I’m still sorry you got hurt.”

Zoro shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” Then, when you don’t respond, he squeezes your hand. “It wasn’t.”

His voice is sharp and leaves no room for argument.

You nod. “Thank you,” you say, “I’m… so relieved you’re okay.”

Zoro breathes in sharply, and then he lowers his hand, taking yours with him.

There’s a beat of silence, then; “I think I love you too.”

It seems that Zoro is just full of surprises at that moment.

Body turning rigid, you blink at him.

His cheeks have a light flush and he’s now the one turned away. “I… You were wrong… I don’t deserve someone better than you. I… I want you.”

“Zoro…”

He turns back to you, quickly, as if the words are both hard to speak but leaving him before he can stop himself. “But I… I don’t know how to be… I don't know how to be with you,” he explains, the words awkward and forced. You can tell he’s trying, words stumbling off the tip of his tongue. “I’ve only had one friend in my life and she’s dead. Before you guys, I had no one. I don’t know how to be someone you can depend on.”

You let his words sink in and you take in the look on his face. He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but he’s waiting for you to respond, patiently. You realize he’s leaving the decision up to you.

You think of, once again, your conversation with Sanji. You think of how you felt when Zoro had been unconscious in that bed. You think of everything that’s happened.

“I…” You start, voice soft. “I don’t know how to either,” you explain, shoulders dropping with the weight of your confession. “I’ve been alone for so long too, Zoro. And at first I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t understand my feelings so I was just going to ignore them. But then… seeing you fight like that and get hurt… waiting for you to wake up… I know that it can happen again. To either of us. I know that neither of us will ever be completely safe. I know you will never give up on your goal.”

Zoro frowns, and there’s a flicker of disappointment in his gaze.

It’s you who squeezes his hand this time, pulling his attention back on you.

“But I don’t want to do any of that without you,” you finish. “I… want to do this all with you. I want to save Nami with you. I want to explore the Grand Line with you. I want to help you complete your goal. Not just as your friend but more.”

The second you finish, breathless, Zoro is pulling you towards him. His actions speak louder than words and it seems his instincts allow him to act without any fluster of embarrassment. It pulls a gasp from your lips but you don’t stop him, hands falling on his shoulders as you lean into his touch. You’re careful of his wounds as he tugs you into his lap, his hands settling on your hips as his forehead falls against yours, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he inhales sharply, before shuddering a breath. “Can I kiss you?”

You smile at his response, thinking it’s so very Zoro, and nod. “Please.”

His lips are on yours instantly, pulling you close to him as you cup his cheeks, letting your hands thread through his hair. Your stomach flutters at the kiss, feeling your insides turn to jelly at the sensation. His hands on your skin feel like fire in the best way possible, molding your lips against his as he tugs you closer and closer even when there’s nowhere else for you to go.

You let your nails drag across his scalp, his lips warm and soft against your own.

And then, just as your lips part to allow his tongue to slip inside, a voice calls out;

“Zoro!”

You both pull back, startled. Zoro groans softly as he twists his body wrong, agitating his wound while your head snaps round to see Luffy.

He pauses, hovering at the door, at the sight of you two, you on Zoro’s lap with the both of you looking thoroughly flushed.

Luffy looks confused.

“Luffy,” Zoro huffs, pressing his hand to his forehead, one still gripping your hip, as you laugh quietly to yourself. “Leave.”

Oblivious as always, Luffy just nods; “sure thing, Zoro.”

You’re positive you’ll be getting an earful from Usopp later.

His footsteps fade and you turn back to Zoro, giggling.

“He never knocks,” Zoro groans, pulling at his hair.

You pull his hand away, moving instead to hold it. Zoro flushes at the action.

“That’s okay,” you shrug. “I imagine it’ll be like that a lot.”

Zoro only groans further at the thought, but he knows you’re right.

You move to stand, slipping off his lap and panicking when you realize you didn’t finish bandaging him properly. Zoro laughs as you fuss over him, moving when you tell him to and watching you with amused eyes.

Just as you sit down next to him, though, he whispers out;

“Together, then.”

You blink at his words, cheeks still a light flush, before you remember your earlier words.

You smile; “together.”

End of Chapter Note: I know that I’ve made the reader Mihawk’s daughter who is canonically light-skinned. I have left the readers mother open to try and be as ambiguous and inclusive as possible. Apologies to anyone that finds this detail stops them from being able to “insert” themselves into the story.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece live action #one piece zoro #opla #opla x reader #opla x you #opla zoro #zoro roronoa #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa imagine #zoro x reader #zoro #opla zoro x reader

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admirationandromantics · 7 months ago

Text

Keeping Warm

Another request, thank you so much. Again, reminding people that these usually take some time!! I loved the concept of this one, and believe me when I say that I love to write smut (blog is 18+ minors get away). It's not exactly like the request, but I still hope you like it.

And Merry Christmas and happy holidays! Not gonna be active today, so please enjoy this one and send requests if you want me to take a look at them later. Have a nice day everyone <3

Basically, reader comes to the lodge with Josh a day earlier to set everything up, and they have to get the guest cabin ready. Snow storm, they're snowed in and have to keep warm (you can imagine where this goes).

Word count: 3,3k (Unedited)

i absolutely adore your work, especially the drugged chocolate ones was such a trip!! i was hoping if you could write about josh and reader being stuck in a snow storm. being stuck somewhere, a car or a small cabin (whatever works for you!) and having to have sex for warmth. i know this request is kind of silly but i could totally imagine josh asking this just to be funny and being shocked that reader agrees to do it.😭 (@dissolvedprincess)

“Should we go and set up the guest cabin for Emily and Mike?” I ask, fluffing the last pillow on the sofa.

“Are we done here?” Josh comes into the room, looking around for any imperfections. Everything is cleaned, changed and heated up. I take it all in, the coziness of the lodge is like no other. It is perfect.

“Yes we are, don’t you think?”

He comes up behind me, seeing everything from my perspective.

“Yeah, looks great, guest cabin next”

We take our jackets, not bothering with extra sweaters and outerwear. We aren’t going to be long, just change the sheets, check if there’s firewood and do a quick cleanup.

Everyone is arriving at the lodge tomorrow night, and I volunteered to come with Josh to prepare for it. The weekend was going to be awesome. Drinking, dancing and talking. I do have an ulterior motive to the kindness I’m paying him. Usually he does these things himself, but by coming with him, we could get some alone time. Not that it would lead to anything, either way, I enjoy his company.

We go outside, the snow-filled wind immediately hitting us. I knew it was brewing up for a storm, but I didn’t expect it to come so early. I look over at him, and he has his hand in the air, reaching out for me. I grab it, holding firm so I don’t lose him. We can barely see, barely open our eyes to follow the path before us.

He leads me down, an occasional swing to the side and a little hill here and there. We walk up a couple of stairs when we suddenly hear a loud wolf’s howl. Fucking hell, was this mountain trying to kill us? Luckily, he’s basically grown up here, and knows by heart the way. I finally glimpse the little cabin in the distance, dark and empty. I collect my last strength, one hand still in his and the other in my pocket to keep its warmth. There’s a bunch of snow in front of the door, but he kicks a little away, as if that’s going to help. Hands go in his pocket, finding the keys. He fumbles with them, finally finding the right one and unlocking the door. He struggles to open it, the snow going too high. I try to help him, using my hands to mow as much of the white coldness away that I can. It finally opens, just enough that one of us can press through at a time. I go first, letting him hold the door open. He quickly follows, squeezing his body through the tight space.

As the door closes, a blissful silence falls over us. The only sound being the wind howling outside, slamming against the wood walls. I look around the cabin. It’s dark and cold, probably dusty as well.

“Fuck, what a weather” he exclaims relieved, taking a deep breath and going straight for the bedroom. I follow suit, helping him find new sheets, organising, cleaning stuff away, and sweeping the floor. We share one lamp, moving from room to room as we do the tasks.

“You know, it was great having someone up here with me this year”

“Don’t worry about it, give me a treat and I’ll come next year as well”

“You’re that easy?”

“In this area, yes”

He laughs at my response, and I sit down on the couch, finally being able to relax a bit. He sits down beside me, legs touching as he makes himself comfortable. I look over, noticing that his gaze is already on me. Eyes move up and down, taking in every inch of me as I’m laid out on the couch.

“Staring a bit much are we, Washington?”

“Can’t help myself”

“I mean, if I was wearing a bikini and sitting in a hot tub, I’d be flattered. But you’re literally looking at wool and a massive jacket”

“Hey, I know what I’m into, you don’t”

I smile, the playfulness of it all getting to me.

“I don’t know what you’re into or what I’m into?”

“The first one you know”

“That you’re into wool and big jackets”

“Like thinking about what’s underneath”

“Good play Josh”

I laugh, standing up and taking a last lap around the cabin. The bedroom’s good, the kitchen’s good and the living room’s great.

“I think we’re good to go back”

He stands up as well, grabbing his knees and grunting like an old man. He takes a quick look around, being satisfied with the result.

“You’re right, it’s starting to get cold”

We go to the door, and he tries pushing it open. It doesn’t budge. He tries again, putting more force into it than last time. It still doesn’t open. He keeps trying, and I move over to the window to look outside. We’ve been in too long, and the snow is now reaching up to our waists, the storm still going strong.

“Josh, I don’t think we’ll be able to get out”

He moves to my side, seeing the snow balling on.

“Windows” He comments, eyes widening in realisation, glad for the solution he conjured. We try to open it, but to no avail. We try the other one as well, but they’re both frozen shut.

“Shit, shit, shit”

“Do you have your phone?”

I reach in my pockets, making myself aware that I left it back at the lodge. He hums, trying to think.

“Okay, I think I’ll pass sometime during the night, right?”

“I believe so” I try to stay hopeful, even with our clothes, the cabin was freezing.

“Hey Josh, how about we start a fire?”

He answers by moving over to the fireplace, sitting down and giving a loud sigh. What was the problem now?

“Out of firewood”

“You’re joking”

“I wish I was”

I whine out loud. What the hell were we gonna do? The only way out is blocked. Even if we manage to remove some of the snow, the storm would replace it easily, leading to us being exhausted and frozen.

He walks over, hands going to either side of me and holding tight. I look up, finding his eyes oddly comforting, though being anxious himself. I take a deep breath, meeting his gaze before leaning on him, burying my head in the crook of his neck. I wasn’t going to be so shameless to sniff him, but my body listens before I think. Like warmth and fire, how ironic.

“Listen, this is going to be great”

I move away, rolling my eyes and giving him a ‘oh, really’-sarcastic look. He smiles, hands gripping even harder and moving up and down, warming me up.

“It is! Look, we’ve been cleaning and preparing all day, now we’ll relax, talk and just enjoy the night”

“Josh, it’s freezing”

“We have each other. At least I didn’t send you here on your own” He laughs, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Would you?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t”

I sit down on the couch, and he goes into the bedroom to get the covers and some more blankets. We get cozy, sitting beside each other in front of the cold fireplace and telling stories. We talk about Chris and Ashley, as well as Mike and Emily.

“You have noticed the tension between Jess, Emily and your sister, right?”

“Who hasn't?”

We go into detail about our lives, and just now, I realise how little I actually know about him. I haven’t gone beyond surface level, which is partly his fault because of the fake persona he always displays, but still…

“Wait, you had a thing for me?”

My eyes widen at the realisation, a book which I could never imagine was opened. He once liked me. He thought about me, and felt a certain way.

“Well, had and had… But, you know”

“Yeah, would be a bit weird for the others, don’t you think?”

“Not as weird as Mike’s triangle-drama” he states, laughing at the man.

“Isn’t it technically a quadruple-drama?”

“Wouldn’t that be a foursome?” I think for a minute, intrigued by the affairs. I could be, I bet Mike would love it, but I don’t think that’s the right term.

“No, that’s just sexual, this is just drama”

“Speaking of sex and sexual appeal…” Josh starts, and I can help but snort. How the conversation has turned. I never imagined myself talking about this, with him, here.

“Was all this a plot just to make me tell you this?”

“Maybe” he answers, a playful smirk on his lips. He loves the direction this is going, he’s intrigued, interested. Of course he is. It’s freaking Josh Washington.

“Okay then, let me tell you. If we had a fire here, I might do it right here”

“Really?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time”

His eyes widens in surprise, brows furrowing in confusion. Oh, it sounds like I’ve done it ‘here’ before, which is absolutely not what I meant

“You mean that time you and Sam shared this cabin…”

“No, no! Sorry, I worded that wrong. I just meant to say that fire in itself is a bit of a vibe, mood lighting and all”

“Ohhh, yeah”

“Not that I’ve done it here, I’ve never had sex on a mountain before”

“You don’t say” his tone is different, something darkly curious in it. I smile at him, aware that I’ve shared a bunch and he hasn’t shared anything.

“I do, have you?”

He pauses, looking at the imaginary fire we’ve constructed, keeping us warm. None of us are, which is why we’re automatically sliding closer and closer. We can’t help it, it’s just instinct at this point.

“No I have not”

“I’m surprised”

“What, why?”

“Well, bring a girl up to a mountain, your secluded beautiful bachelor pad. Who knows what might happen”

“Are you saying we should…”

“You wish Washington”

He puts his hands up in defeat, grinning at my smiling face. I’ve never connected with him this way before. There’s something different about it, as if everything happening is supposed to. We’re supposed to be trapped here, in the ice cold cabin, fighting for warmth together.

“Maybe I do”

I laugh, thinking back on all the things I’ve imagined before. I know I have a dirty mind, but when my thoughts are filled with this man, I can’t help myself. I lean my head against his chest, pulling all the layers over us as I close my eyes.

“Let me know when the storm is over”

“You know you should never sleep in situations like these”

“You’re here, I’ll be okay”

***

I wake up shivering. The wind is still howling outside, and the room is icy. Josh has his eyes closed, probably sleeping.

“Psst, Josh” I whisper, my body vibrating as I speak. He opens his eyes, body suddenly aware of the cold air surrounding him.

“Shit, it’s cold”

“Should we try to get back to the lodge?” I propose, breathing coming in quick and fast. This was not good. We’re literally going to get hypothermia if we keep like this. He stands up, arms around himself as he looks out the window.

“It has calmed a bit, but seeing our condition, we’ll not be able to get all the snow away”

“Fuck” I shutter, pressing the covers harder on me as if it’s going to work. He sits down beside me again, starting to remove his clothing. My mouth opens as he keeps going.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Body heat, take your clothes off”

“You know the first factor that you have hypothermia is that you want to remove your clothing?” I add, the idea being odd. I know it’s a legit thing, but at this point, the covers seem like the best options.

“So, I guess you are not reason enough?”

“If I wasn’t freezing to death, I would laugh at that”

He finally reveals himself, taking the last shirt off before moving to his pants. I shake my head, what am I going to do?

“What are you waiting for, I’m going to freeze to death alone and you have to wait here for backup with my dead corpse”

I oblige, starting to take off my clothes. The jacket, the sweater, the shirt…

“How much am I taking off?”

“As much as possible”

“Josh, is it really necessary t-”

“Oh, fuck it” he exclaims, taking hold of my pants and dragging them off, leaving me only in my underwear. He’s quick to lay down, pulling me on top of him and the covers over us. I almost faint from the warmth. His chest is hot, heart beating rapidly as his cold hands run over my naked back. Our legs tangled together, his crotch by mine as I try not to think about our position. I do my best to adjust my breathing, calming myself and forcing my brain to stop the conjuring of dirty images. The silence is deafening, and I ask the only appropriate question that comes to mind.

“Why shouldn’t you sleep in situations like these?”

“What?”

“I know we shouldn’t, but why?”

His hand keeps drawing circles on my back, occasionally touching the hem of my bra.

“Because our body temperature lowers when we sleep, we don’t use as much energy, like an energy-saver”

“Oh, yeah, makes sense. You keep active and work out so your body gets hotter. It’s such a simple concept, I just didn’t really think about it” I exclaim, a bit embarrassed it didn’t click faster.

“Yeah… You know, there’s other ways to keep warm too” he continues in a whisper, and I move my head, holding myself up as I look down on him. Our faces inch closer, hot breaths colliding.

“Like…” his hand moves under the hem of my panties, tugging at the fabric. I feel him getting harder under me, poking at my dripping heat.

“Like-” I interrupt him with my lips, crashing into him. He answers quickly, opening his mouth and grabbing my ass. He squeezes, causing me to moan into him. My arms fly up, one beside his head and one feeling down his toned stomach. I take him in, his warmth, tracing every curve and muscle.

I start grinding on him, elevating his hardness and making him groan into me. He grabs my thighs, pushing me closer and moving underneath. My body is on fire, kisses getting sloppier and wetter. One of his hands moves to my heat, letting me grind down on his fingers.

“So this is how you’ve felt about me all this time” he coos, stroking the wet fabric. I force myself not to make sounds so early, after all, he gets me all worked up so quickly. How am I going to keep it up?

“I can say the same about you” I state as my hand goes down to cup his bulge. He grabs my thigh harder, a weak attempt at controlling himself. My hand goes to trace the hem of his boxers, teasing him with the movements. He jolts into me, making me yelp and lose my balance, falling over him once again. He grabs the back of my neck pushing my lips down on his. His teeth clasp around my lower lip, definitely colouring it red.

His hands move up to my back, fiddling with the clasp of my bra. It takes a couple of tries, and I try to hide my smile.

“Need help?”

“It’s the position we’re in”

“What, me on top of you?”

“More the freezing cabin-bit, but maybe you’ve got a point”

He manages to unhook it, dragging it off my arms and throwing it in the clothing pile. I’m about to kiss him again, when he takes hold of my body, one hand on my back and one on my thigh, and rolls us around, making him lay on top. The action leaves me in surprise, it was unexpected, but so is he. I should always be on my toes around him.

He captures my lips again, mouth moving to my jaw and down my neck. I can’t help the sounds I make, each one a result of his tender touches. He’s warm and cozy, knowing exactly how to make me melt underneath. His mouth travels down my stomach, leaving kisses and bites all over. I whine at the pain, but he quickly licks and kisses the areas better again. Hands are kneading my breast and thighs, coming slowly up to my wet heat. I grab hold of him, not wanting him to go further down.

“No, please, stay up here with me”

It’s cold without his chest against mine, it feels empty and alone. He smiles at my request, pushing himself up again and letting me feel his lips.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to, but-”

“I know, we’ll keep each other warm”

He speaks in a tone I’ve never heard before, making butterflies flap around in my stomach. It’s loving and caring. A deep voice which makes my toes curl. I’ve never felt as safe before. He takes hold of my underwear, dragging it down my legs. I help him, kicking it off my feet. He does the same with his, leaving both of us pressed together, in an ice-cold cabin, with a bunch of blankets, naked. I feel him stroke my folds, his hardness pressed against me. I yearn for him, waiting for him to take the first move.

He does. Chests pressed up against each other, he lowers himself, slowly filling me up. Head is in the crook of my neck, breathing heavily as he keeps going. Shit, he’s big, not even feeling his thighs yet and still pressing in.

“You’re doing so good for me” he whispers, breathing unevenly and struggling to form the words. Knowing that he’s also feeling this way makes it better. I take hold of his torso, quickly pushing myself completely down on him. We both moan in response, and he doesn’t waste time, starting to move immediately. The cabin fills up with the sound and smell of sex, whimpers and moans in symphony, no one close enough to hear. We’re here, alone and together.

His pelvis rubs against mine, giving me that extra bit of friction to my core. It starts building up, the warmth, the withholding pleasure wishing to cave. His arm takes hold of my leg, lifting it up, letting him dig himself even deeper. My back arches as he does, reaching my cervix, pain and pleasure shooting through me at the same time.

“Fuck, Josh I’m gonna come”

“Mhm, yeah me too”

He pumps in and out, almost leaving me before slamming into me again. His hand grabs my side harshly, leaving marks which’ll stay for days. My arms go around him, pressing him harder against me, elevating the friction and rubbing. I can’t help it, my nails digging into his back, scraping and crying for release. His lips capture mine in a passionate kiss, and I finally come, clenching around him. Feeling my whole body twitch with pent up energy and ecstasy. He rides me through it, pumping until he digs himself deep, coating my walls in white release.

The room is filled with deep breaths, bodies tight as his arms go around me, head moving up to kiss my cheek. I stroke his back hand hair, not getting enough of him. I just had sex with Josh Washington, but… was it just to keep warm? My own insecurities get the better of me, and as if on cue, he meets my eyes with his, looking for something.

“You okay?”

“I mean, I’m warm”

“That’s not what I mean”

I sigh, the high slowly falling, making my body limb and tired.

“What happens now?”

He smiles, leaning down and kissing me again, this time, more romantic, more real.

“I guess we lay here until the sun comes up. Then we get to the lodge, and maybe we can do this again”

“Again?”

“You know, really do it again”

“Fucking hell Washington, that’s not what I mean”

“I know what you mean, and you should probably stick to calling me Josh”

#until dawn #joshua washington #josh washington #josh washington x reader #josh washington x reader smut #until dawn josh #josh until dawn #josh washington smut #josh washington imagines #josh washington until dawn #joshua washington x fem reader #joshua washington smut #joshua washington x reader #joshua washington x reader smut #until dawn smut

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lyinginmeadow · 2 months ago

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Make the clock reverse I Paul Lahote x reader

Summary: You had been dating Paul for what feels like an eternity, his loyalty was something you never thought you'd have to question until she appeared, tearing you two apart. Word count: 2,2k TW: cheating (kind of), insecurity, violence, angst, hurt and absolutely no comfort (you had been warned) a/n: I feel like I should apologize in advance. Also I don't hate Rachel, I just used her character since I didn't feel like creating a new one.

You never were a jealous person by any means. The first glimpse of jealousy came when you first became an imprint. People might believe that the whole ordeal affected mainly the wolf who imprinted, but boy, were they wrong. You might not have been as possessive as Paul, or as vocal about it, but the bond still made you want to remind everyone that he was yours.

You didn't run into any issues until she became close with the pack when she returned from college. Rachel Black was becoming a thorn in your side, causing many problems within your relationship with Paul.

He, of course, didn't believe the accusation that you spat in his face once you had had enough. After you both had time to cool down, he assured you that nothing could ever happen. You were, as the fates decided, the only person in his heart. That he would choose you even if you weren't his imprint, fates be damned. It did the trick to soothe your worries for a while. But a little bug still lived in the back of your mind, quietly reminding you whenever he was with her that maybe fate was wrong.

Tonight was the bonfire that everyone in the pack was to attend. The imprints were invited, and you hoped Rachel wouldn't show up. That, of course, was ridiculous and wishful thinking since she was in fact Billy's daughter, and since coming back to the reservation, she became part of the annual events happening within the tight-knit community. Your insecurity was like a bright beacon for her. Shining, tempting her. You could almost swear she was doing it on purpose. She was part of the community ever since she was born, and you were an outsider who somehow ended up as an imprint. Hand in hand, you arrived, greeting all of your friends. They were always there to assure you of Paul's adoration for you, seeing what jealousy was doing to you. ''Em, do you need any help with the food?'' You asked your close friend who was there for you when you became an imprint, and ever since then, you had become inseparable. ''No, I got it covered. But thank you.'' She smiled, nodding to Sam, who had just come into view with five plates.

You laughed and let Paul take you to a seat near the fire. Just as you were about to sit, he pulled you onto his lap, snuggling his nose into your neck. ''I love you.'' He mumbled almost inaudibly. You giggled. ''I love you, too.''

As everyone gathered, you could feel the daggers sent your way. You tried to focus on Billy and his legends. Ever since the tribe let you listen in, you had been invested. Today was different. You were not able to concentrate on a single word. Shivering out of discomfort, your gaze shifted to the fires burning bright. She made you feel as if you didn't belong. Your imprint, however, pulled you even closer, trapping you with his arms. ''You okay?'' He asked, worry lacing his voice.

''Yeah, the wind is just cold.'' You whispered, setting your head on his shoulder. That was not the best excuse you could master since his embrace was always warm, and you sat near a fire, but he didn't seem to hold you hostage over your little lie, probably thinking that you could talk about it in a private setting of your home.

As the legends and stories came to an end, music and laughter replaced Billy's voice as the elders retreated to their respective households. Paul reluctantly let go of you, so you could stand up. You joined the girls as you gushed over Kim's new job. Rachel, as per usual, didn't join you. Instead, she took the opportunity that your boyfriend was just with his pack members to get closer to him. You rolled your eyes, not having the energy to deal with her. After all, you trusted your imprint to be loyal, he never gave you an excuse to do otherwise. And you believed she wouldn't try anything with you present.

''So I have this weird colleague who is like obsessed with his lunch. Which I would get, food can be a touchy subject,'' She gestured toward the guys, earning a laugh from you both. ''But he has a camera in the fridge. A camera. Who does that?'' She shook her head in disbelief.

''I can see Quil doing it, so don't give him any ideas.'' You laughed. ''No, you're absolutely right.'' Emily agreed.

"Soo, how was the honeymoon?" Kim turned to Emily. After the events of a near war with the vampire royalty, the world around you fell quiet, peaceful. Tranquility called for celebrations, weddings, and time spent together without looking behind your backs, expecting another danger to follow. Paul and Jared tried their best to fill Sam's role while he was gone with Emily. But you could tell neither of them particularly enjoyed that task.

''Well, let's just say it's about to get even more crowded around here.'' You and Kim squealed and hugged her. ''Emily, that's amazing, congratulations.'' You were ecstatic for her; she always wanted to be a mother, and you knew that she would make an amazing one.

While discussing all the ways you and Kim would spoil the newest addition to the pack, you looked around, noticing that Paul's missing. Frowning, you tried not to jump to any conclusions, trying and failing to find Rachel in the crowd. Excusing yourself to get a cup of water, you left your chattering friends behind.

As you entered the kitchen, reality seemed to crush down around you. Paul had his back to you, but the action was unmistakable. The intimacy of the moment made your heart drop into your stomach. She snaked her arm around his neck, pulling him even closer to her. His hands were slack, hanging alongside his body. Her eyes opened, meeting yours as she moaned into the kiss.

Your whole world crumbled as you quickly spun on your heel, walking out of the house swiftly, tears gathering at the edges of your eyes, blurring your vision. Your mind was drawing a blank, trying to recover from the shock.

The ringing in your ears was nearly deafeng as you took the couple of steps down the porch into the clearing. You wore a distraught expression, feeling numb as if someone had just torn your heart out of your chest. The widened eyes of your friends were on you in an instance. ''What's wrong, what happened?'' Emily asked.

''Paul, he..." You stopped yourself, "I just want to go home. I'm so sorry, Emily. I-'' You couldn't find words, stumbling over them as you tried to remove yourself from the situation, looking around like a wounded animal.

''Do you need a lift?'' She asked, concerned for your safety.

''No, no. I'll call a taxi or something. Don't worry about it.'' You answered as you continued walking from the premises. The looks of pity from your friends followed you, haunting you. Would you now lose them, too? They were Paul's friends first, and since he was in the pack, it wasn't like they could banish him.

You wanted to rage and scream until your throat was raw, but the fire within you was extinguished. Embers of the anger dimmed in comparison to the deep, unending sense of devastation, as if your very soul had been ripped from your body. Because losing him felt like a fate worse than death. The bond stretched thin, aching with every breath you took.

It was so cold that evening, a clear sign that autumn was about to begin. You walked along the road, night enveloping you. You wished it could swallow you whole. Moonlight shined dimly, letting you see just a few inches ahead. If you weren't so distraught, you wouldn't be walking alone in these woods. Paul wouldn't let you, given that the vampires roamed around, looking for their next victim. But he was not with you.

He was with her.

Before you found out about the supernatural surrounding the Olympic Peninsula, the woods made you feel safe. At peace. Walking alongside it helped you feel grounded even now, when the world was crumbling. But not even the forest was enough to fade the memory of Paul and Rachel kissing.

Shuddering from the sudden pick-up in wind, you realized that your sobs weren't the only thing keeping you company. You stiffened, shivers traveling down your spine. The woods fell silent, watching the scene unfold. Holding its breath in the wake of a predator stalking its prey.

''I'll make it quick, I promise.'' A low hiss was the last sound you heard before fire enveloped you, threatening to swallow you whole.

''What the fuck, Rachel!'' He exclaimed as he pushed her off of him, "I have a girlfriend. An imprint. You know this. For fuck's sake.'' He started to pace around the kitchen, fingers pulling on his hair. ''What were you thinking? She was right. Fuck.'' He didn't know what to do. He needed to find her, tell her what happened, and apologize, even if he didn't technically kiss her on his own free will. How does one even explain this?

"I'm sorry, okay? Geez, I just thought-"

He turned swiftly, nostrils flaring. ''You didn't think. Who do you think you are?'' He yelled, feeling his temper rise as he began to shake. ''Dammit... I need to find her.'' He left her behind, stumbling out of the house, looking around, trying to catch a glimpse of you. Usually, you were the first thing his eyes automatically searched for in the crowd.

Instead, he was met by his friends. ''What did you do to her, Lahote?'' Yelled Kim as she closed the distance between the two of them. He looked around to find you again, but you weren't there. The implications of you leaving and Kim's yelling made his mind go blank. You saw them. You saw them and left. He trembled once more, shouting, ''Where is she? Where did she go?''

''I asked you first, so fucking answer.'' She shoved him, but he didn't move an inch. He growled as he towered over her, not appreciating her getting in his face. She should know better than to cross paths with an angry shifter. Jared made his way to his imprint, his boyish grin long gone. Baring his teeth at Paul, he took a protective stance next to Kim.

''I don't have time for this.'' Snarling, he began to leave when Rachel walked out, stopping on the steps of the porch, avoiding the gazes of onlookers. Shame coated her cheeks as she gnawed on her lip.

''You didn't...'' Said Emily, a knowing look crossing her features. Paul turned back to her, anguish glimmering in his gaze. ''You did.'' She whispered, her expression falling in disappointment.

Paul had begun to shake again, this time changing into his wolf form as he ran away from the angry faces of his friends. The whole situation made his heart beat faster, pumping blood into his ears. He couldn't wait for their answers; if you saw them, he had to fix it. He would fix it. He had to tell you it wasn't how it looked. That he would never betray you like this.

You told him how Rachel made you feel. He reassured you times and times again, that she was no one to him and that he only saw you. Which was the truth, he would never do that to you, he couldn't. Only now, you didn't believe it. Didn't believe him. And rightfully so. To you, this must have cut deeper than any knife could.

Running through the woods, he tried to catch your scent. Your words kept replaying in his mind, taunting him. His vision grew hazy with the images of your face, the betrayal in your eyes he didn't see but could vividly imagine. He stumbled, paws digging into the moss-covered ground as he picked up the scent of blood in the wind.

Human blood.

His pace quickened as he ran onto the road.

He saw it. You. In the arms of an unknown pale figure.

A vicious growl left his throat, catching the attention of the vampire. Crimson washed across his vision as the cold one pulled his bloodied teeth from your neck, hissing at the intruder. Without a second thought, Paul charged at him, teeth snapping in the direction of hard, cold skin. The vampire lost his grip, sending your body crumbling to the ground like a house of cards. Your head collided with the concrete with a bounce that echoed through Paul's mind.

Suddenly not interested in his prey, he started running toward the shadows of the woods, choosing life instead. A life he didn't hesitate to take from someone else. He wasn't quick enough when the grey wolf pounced on him, ripping his head off in a swift movement.

The taste of your blood sat heavily on Paul's tongue, making his stomach turn. Spitting the head out, he let it fall with a sickening thud. His gaze shifted to your unmoving form, lying lifeless on the road. Your eyes were staring at him, the light in them extinguished, as if taunting him further. His whole world shifted while he stood there, processing the image before him.

The whole pack could hear the sorrow-filled howls shaking the earth itself beneath him. Begging anything, anyone to change the fates' design. The woods fell quiet once more. Listening, watching as the two souls, that were destined to be tethered together, get separated in a single moment.

#meadowwrites #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #twilight #twilight wolfpack #angst #no happy ending #hurt/no comfort

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heathermason6060 · 9 months ago

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Serial Killer!Rick Grimes x f!Reader Smut: Trophies

Warnings/Mentions: Murder, use of alcohol, Rough sex, choking, slapping, biting, hair pulling, spitting, overstimulation, Rick is a sadist in bed and gift giving is his love language, but also just likes to see you wearing belongings of people he's killed

Summary: Rick gets tired of putting his kill trophies in a box, so he puts them on you instead. Then you fuck.

Notes: I finally got around to finishing this yippee! There's 2 smut scenes, first is kind of short and tame, and the one at the end is a few pages long and contains the more aggressive parts. Somewhat proofread!!

There were many routines in your life, and the lives of the people around you.

Rick was no exception.

Any time he'd leave the prison he'd go through the checklist in his mind; revolver, ammunition, his machete, water and a little bit of food.

And his cassette player, with that single tape.

Every note of the unnamed female's voice was engraved deep into his brain. He knew every hum and breath, every strum of her gentle fingers across her guitar.

It was just some tape he'd found. Didn't have a sentimental meaning to it from life before, wasn't some artist he was a fan of. He found it in that old rundown music store the two of you spent a night in back in Atlanta, and he took it.

You'd seen him with it plenty of times but you'd never actually seen him listen to it. You never gave it a second thought until you were on a run together, driving in silence down the long winding back roads.

You asked if he wanted to play his tape on the car stereo, and his friendly calm demeanor was instantly replaced with that look you'd only seen very few times.

“No.” The look on his face was enough to change your entire mood for the day.

His later attempts at cheering you up were only met with feigned smiles and laughter, something he was quick to pick up on.

“Why don't we go see that river you told me about, long time ago.” He looked over at you in the passenger seat, giving you that trademark Rick Grimes smile.

“Oh, if it's not out of the way, yeah.” You shrugged. It was clear you were still feeling unnerved by the ice thrown in your direction for seemingly no reason.

“If there's as many fish as you said there were, then it don't matter.”

“Okay, yeah, should be fun.”

Rick grinned when he could sense your attitude reaching a more positive level. “Alright. River first thing in the morning. Know of any place around here we can camp out for the night?”

“There's some old camping grounds a few miles up from the entrance point to the river. They used to set up tents near this fishing shed, tents are probably gone but the shed won't be. There's a few larger cabins up the same road but I have a feeling they're probably occupied. Was a real nice place.”

Rick nodded and continued driving.

He said, come wander, with me, love

Rick closed his eyes as he sat in the front room in the largest cabin. If his timing was right, they should be walking up the steps now.

Now at the door. Now opening the door. Now walking in. Now they saw him.

It was careless, what he was doing. Careless. You were asleep down the road in that little fishing shed, you could wake up at any minute and find the bedroll next to you cold and empty. Get worried, wait a few minutes, then get out your gun and come looking for him. It was stupid.

He just couldn't help himself. It'd been so long.

He opened his eyes.

One woman, three men. The first man was scrawny, easy. Rick could take him out with little to no effort. The woman was a bit chubby, but very short. She looked horrified already, she'd be easy too.

The other two men would be a bit of a challenge. Tall and well built.

Their mouths moved as they stared at the strange man sitting in their house. He could make out a few ‘what’s but that was about it.

He caught them off guard by walking right up to them.

First big man caught a knife to the head. The other pulled his gun and shot, barely missing Rick's shoulder.

Rick yanked the knife free and grabbed a wrist, pinning it against the front door, smashing over and over against the wood until his grip spasmed, and the gun fell with a clatter.

The woman was pulling at him like a sick dog. He reared back and elbowed her in the face, breaking her nose and knocking her unconscious. She fell to the floor with a thud, and the scrawny man dropped to check on her.

Rick turned back to the man he had pinned against the wall. He was angry, cursing, little white bubbles of foamy spit spraying from his lips. A trembling hand reached up, desperate to poke an eye or anything that could potentially stun Rick, only succeeding in ripping out the buds in the older man's ears.

He set his jaw as his heart began to race. Now it would get sloppy.

Rick reared back, and slammed his head forward so hard he felt the bridge of his nose instantly crack against his forehead. Blood spewed from his nose down his face, spraying Rick in the process.

The man reeled before collapsing. The hard part was over. The easier ones were more of a chore.

Rick stood back and admired his work.

The woman had a plastic bag over her head, but it was still obvious she'd been bludgeoned. Poor thing, didn't even wake up before she'd been so brutally slaughtered.

The scrawny man had his neck snapped. It was by complete accident, Rick didn't expect him to be so… fragile. He laid in the living room next to the woman and the first man he'd stabbed.

Rick looked down at the dog tags in his hand. They were fake, he could tell that much. Ordered at some flea market from cheap metal. The back had worn away to copper.

He balled up the rest of his rope and stuffed it in his duffle bag before finally leaving, the pleads and begging falling on deaf ears.

It took their people three days to find them.

“You, that's the man that killed Javier. I saw you leaving the same night we found him.”

That didn't alarm you. You knew Rick had killed people before. The words that followed soon after were a different story.

It was the third day of your scavenging run. The first day you spent on the road looking for a spot. The second day you spent on the river, mostly fishing and picking out places on a crinkled old map to go on the third day.

You'd just woken up, eyes still foggy with sleep as you walked out of the fishing shed to see Rick standing in front of a small group of people.

“Your man was a threat to my people.” Rick used the barrel of his revolver as he spoke like some sort of pointer rod, making the three strangers flinch each time it aimed at one of them.

“No. You tied him up like a skinned deer, was he still alive when you cut his stomach open?” Their leader's questioning was cut off with a quick gunshot to the head.

You gasped, not expecting that, and brought your hand to cover your mouth.

“No!” A blonde woman shrieked and fell to her knees beside her lover's limp body. She looked up to Rick then, venom in her spit as she spoke. “You're worse than the dead ones!”

Rick killed her just as well as the silent man behind her. Then it was just you and him, and now you were the mute.

You weren't thinking, really. Your eyes were still wide and burning from not blinking, staring into the pile of bodies that had been alive only seconds ago.

“Hey, you alright?” His voice was back to normal and you blinked, seeing he was now knelt beside you with that familiar look of compassion. That was the Rick you knew, not that cold thing that used his body only minutes before.

“Yeah, just, I wasn't expecting that.” You breathed. Your lips and fingers felt numb, despite it being a warm October day.

Rick nodded, looking down at the dirt between his feet. He chewed on the inside of his cheek before speaking.

“I keep forgetting you're not as… seasoned as the rest of us.”

No. That wasn't it.

You were no stranger to killing, but the people you killed were in self defense.

What Rick just did was cold blooded murder. And the way he made it seem like the most normal thing a man could do had your chest feeling tight.

“I'm hungry.” It was all you could think to say.

He snorted at that, taken aback by your words. “Hungry? Okay. You okay staying here for a few? I can go search that old country store down the road.”

You nodded, glancing at the bodies only a few feet away. He followed your gaze and squeezed your knee to redirect your attention back to him.

“Keep your radio on. I'll just be a little while, okay?” He smiled when you nodded. “Don't use your gun unless you have to.”

You were thankful he drug the bodies away before he left.

Come wander with me.

Rick took a deep breath.

It had been two weeks, his self control was slowly slipping. He'd gone a year without killing once, when Carl was born. At the time it was easy.

The old brown house, threatening to crumble at any moment from the massive amounts of dry rot and termites, was a perfect place to look for people out on their own. They loved staying in the inconspicuous hole in the walls, places that you would never notice unless you were desperate and terrified.

He moved out of the shadows and dug his knife into the base of a skull. They died in his arms and he held them there, closing his eyes as the struggles grew weaker and weaker, until they finally stopped all at once.

He opened his heavy lids to see a woman screaming, her hands covering her mouth from the opposite side of the small living room. The buds in his ears prevented him from hearing most of it.

Rick let the lifeless body slide from his arms, and stood. He was quick as he walked towards her, grabbing her by her hair and letting out a disappointed ‘tsk’ at her state of shock. She could have easily escaped but she chose to stay there and wail.

He came from the sunset, he came from the sea.

Rick held her against his chest as she squirmed in his arms, pounding her fists against his chest, her movements futile, weak from starvation and dehydration. He closed his eyes again as he held her there, dragging his knife up the base of her spine. He could hear her screams now, they'd transformed from anger to terror, dry screeches as she pleaded for her life.

Rick found his thoughts drifting to you, and now it was your voice humming in his ears, replacing the unknown feminine voice he'd grown so accustomed to.

You truly were a sight to behold. Even if it was just in his mind.

A sharp kick to his knee snapped the image of you out of his mind, and sent him into a state of anger. He opened his eyes and gritted his teeth before yanking her head to the side, looking down at her soft tanned skin.

A mother Mary coin sat at the base of her throat, dangling on a thin chain, only for a second before Rick gently took it off.

She jerked against him as she realized she was bleeding, streams of warm blood gushing down her neck and chest.

Her already weak movements became weaker as she bled out, only managing to give a last ditch attempt of escape when his knife was removed from her throat. Her jerking against him stilled, and he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes glued to hers as he watched her blue eyes turn glossy.

Rick took the earbuds from his ears and put them in the back pocket of his jeans, along with the necklace.

He wouldn't need to put his trophies in a box anymore.

You smiled in surprise as you looked at the jewelry in your open palm.

“Do I seem the religious type?” You mused, running your finger over the gold oval. Mother Mary. You didn't expect Rick to think of you when seeing something like that.

“No.” He hummed, a soft smile on his lips. He looked so sweet then, the orange reflections of the campfire dancing across his face.

You wanted to question him, ask him where he found it and why he decided you were fit to wear it, but your lips closed when he moved to put it around your neck.

He was gentle, gentle as he moved your hair over your shoulder, and gentle as he closed the clasp and brushed your hair back in its original position.

“Thanks Rick. It's really pretty.” Your fingers stroked the charm at your neck, the metal warm from being in his back pocket. You decided then you didn't care to know about the where or the why, the hows or why there was dried blood on the back of it.

“Dinners ready. Go get Daryl and come eat.” He brushed your hair behind your ear and smiled. He was looking at you, but not really looking at you.

“Okay.”

You managed to drag Daryl down from the watchtower for dinner without much complaining. But to your confusion, the group only stayed around the table for about ten minutes to chat, eat their roasted trout and canned asparagus, and then they left. Not one at a time either.

When you finished the last few bites of your dinner, Rick took you into the warden's office, a nice secluded space with comfortable chairs and a pretty brown desk table.

You looked up from the table to see Rick walking back with a bottle of wine in hand, a sly smile on his face.

You raised a brow and smirked as he poured it into two plastic cups, setting yours in front of you before sitting down.

“This what I think it is?” You teased, taking a sip of wine to cool your nerves. You were anxious as hell, although your calm and amused exterior didn't show it.

Was Rick Grimes, leader of your group, seriously flirting with you? Beyond the usual innocent playfulness?

“Depends on what you think it is. Date? Yes. Work conference? No.” He took a sip.

“So, you just tell them all to stay away from here? They know?” You suddenly blushed at the idea of the group knowing Rick was sweet on you. It felt like dating the cool kid in school all over again.

“Well, not exactly that, but yeah, they know.” He looked at you then in a way that made you nervous. It was the way he used to look at Lori. All soft eyed and smiles.

You barely knew him, like really knew him, you hung around Carol, Carl and Glenn more than anyone else, it just felt too out of place for you to hang out with Rick or Daryl. That role was better suited for Maggie or Michonne.

When he had asked you to go out on that run a few days ago with him, just him, you were stunned. And now here he was, serving you dinner and fancy wine like you were his wife.

“Why? I mean, why me?”

He furrowed his brows and looked at you thoughtfully, as if he didn't quite know the answer himself. He took another sip of wine before answering.

“I don't know why. I just know I like you.”

You grinned a bit at that. “You like me, huh? It's cause of my Kardashian looks isn't it?”

Rick laughed and shook his head. “Kardashian looks huh? Yeah, sure.”

The tension from your end quickly faded the more you talked.

You couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of guilt the more Rick flirted with you. Lori had died not too long ago, and even though he seemed completely fine, you worried it was him finding unhealthy ways to cope.

You didn't know he already had a lifelong coping mechanism, and you were another thing entirely.

Murder was always common in the apocalypse. You'd seen more victims of humans than you could count.

Moving into Alexandria though, it seemed like almost every time you went outside the walls you'd find a new dead body a few miles away, obviously done by a human and not the dead.

“Jesus.” Daryl muttered, using a stick to move a dead man's head to the side, showcasing the dramatic knife wound to his cheek.

“They're getting closer to home.” You muttered, looking down at the body near your feet as Daryl poked at it.

“Yeah.” He agreed. He dropped his stick and stood up, shaking his head. “Sorry sonvabitch that did this better hope he don't come any closer.”

That night Rick gave you another piece of jewelry. A silver thumb ring, long but not visually remarkable.

“This is actually really pretty.” You said as you slipped it on your thumb, opposite hand of the other ring Rick gave you in the past.

“Yeah?” Rick grinned, looking over his shoulder as he took the dishes from dinner to his sink.

He'd invited you over for dinner. You appreciated it, it had been a while since you had time alone with the man. You'd begun to miss him and his daring flirtation.

“Yeah, don't need to worry about it snagging on anything either. Can wear it when I go out.” Your fingers continued fidgeting with the ring, spinning it around your thumb as you watched him clean up.

He dried his hands and walked over to you, offering out a hand, an act that made your stomach do flips. “I'm glad you like it.”

You took his hand, warm, his fingers so large and thick they made yours look like they belonged to a pianist in comparison.

He led you from your seat at the dining room table to his living room, leaving you on the couch while he went to dig through a basket.

You watched him from your spot on the couch as he put a DVD in the player under the living room tv. You wondered then, would they be gone all night? Carl, Michonne, Daryl? Did he tell them to find somewhere else to sleep for the night?

You blushed wildly at the idea of everyone in Alexandria knowing Rick was trying to have sex with you.

“How long will they be gone?” You blurted.

Rick turned to you after turning on the TV, a brow raised. “Couple hours. Why?”

“Well, if it's gonna be a sleepover I gotta get my stuff.” You laughed nervously, cursing yourself for sounding so awkward and timid.

“I didn't plan on it, but,” he groaned dramatically as he plopped down onto the cushy couch next to you, “-the idea is tempting.”

You realized you were wrong in your assumption that he was trying to get laid. Fuck. That was embarrassing.

He seemed open to it though, right? Or were you just so touch deprived that you were fooling yourself into reading him the wrong way?

You watched the first Twilight movie and laughed most of the time, but you caught Rick watching intently at the baseball scene.

“I'm so pissed the outbreak had to happen when it did. We were two months away from the sequel. Two months! That means they finished it and it's on some hard drive somewhere, never to be seen.”

Rick smiled at your complaining, that same look of strange admiration on your face.

You still didn't know how to react to it, on one hand, it was extremely flattering and you were starting to get turned on, but on the second hand it rationally was a little off-putting. Maybe he really did just have a thing for you, maybe it was just as simple as that.

His gaze should've made you blush and swoon, and it definitely did, but… there was something about it that set your teeth on edge. Far too intimidating.

“Maybe we'll find it one day.”

“That would be the day we have a real slumber party. Popcorn, sodas, everything.”

“Yeah? Gonna braid each other's hair too?” He teased.

You scoffed and playfully punched his shoulder. The man didn't even budge, like he was made of stone. “Can you braid?”

“Damn good at it.”

You gaped at him in amused disbelief. “No shot!”

“C'mere.” Rick's knees spread and he tapped his shoe on the floor between his feet.

You gulped some wine before quickly shrugging, and got on the floor, your feet tucked neatly under your butt.

His hands felt illegally good. He brushed your hair over your shoulders and ran his fingers through it, from your roots down to the ends. Each time his fingertips ran down your scalp you were given a fresh wave of goosebumps, and when they brushed against the back of your neck you visibly shivered.

Rick wasn't lying. He managed to give you a beautiful braid, working with what was given to make something you'd be happy to wear on a fancy date. You ran your fingers over the braid and scoffed in shock.

“It's so pretty.” You admired the way the necklace he had given you back at the prison was on full view, no longer hidden or covered by your hair. It sat right at your collarbone, and the neckline of your black and red dress framed it perfectly.

When Rick said ‘wear something nice’ for dinner you immediately panicked and went to Rosita. She picked out a beautiful dress for you, it was classy but not over the top, pretty to look at but also comfortable to lay around in.

You looked at him in the mirror in front of you. He was looking at you again, but different this time.

Less wholesome admiration, more… desire. He had little readable expression but the bit you could read had your lower stomach flipping with excitement.

You turned to face him and took a second to appreciate the way the black button up shirt hugged his muscles just so slightly. It wasn't the cover of some smutty werewolf or vampire novel, but fuck, it had your knees feeling weak.

“Told you.”

It took you a moment to process what he meant, but when you did, you smiled and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you did. Where'd you learn to braid like this?”

“Same place they taught me how to pick up women.” He winked. You both laughed.

You ended up back on the couch with a different movie put in. Neither of you were paying any attention to it though, your focus slowly shifting to each other.

“Think they'll be back soon?” You had the courage to flirt all of a sudden.

Maybe it was the wine that had loosened you up, or maybe it was the fact he looked so hot in that shirt and smelled like sandalwood and jasmine.

“Hm, maybe.” He flirted back, an edge of tauntful tease to his voice. “Why?”

“Well, usually after a date goes this well…” You trailed off and wiggled your eyebrows. Your boldness surprised the both of you, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

“Yeah? What's that?” He hummed, his smile slowly fading when he looked from your eyes to your lips.

“Girl shows the guy a good time.”

“That right?” He leaned in, and you could smell his cologne stronger than before. You closed your eyes and bit back a sigh.

“Maybe, I don't know. Never been on a date this good.” You leaned in, mirroring his movements, looking down to his lips.

“How about the guy shows the girl a good time, huh? How about that?” His voice was breathy then, warm and smelling like expensive wine.

You nodded and he smiled, breaking past the last few inches to kiss you.

He was so soft. His hands cupped your cheeks with a featherlight caress, and his lips were equally as gentle. He moved them against yours, his tongue slipping out to trace along your wine stained lips. You parted your lips and moaned at the feeling of his tongue in your mouth.

Rick guided you on your back, just as gentle as every man you'd seen on all those romance movies you pretended to cringe at. His hand under the small of your back had a wave of wetness seeping out of you, you had underestimated how truly touch starved you were.

It wasn't long before he had led you up to his bedroom. You were astonished at how neat everything was. Bed was made, sheets looked fresh out of the wash.

He had his revolver laid out on his dresser along with a few other melee weapons, his machete, axe, and a long dagger. Everything was perfectly organized.

And there, in the duffel bag peeking out from under his bed, sat his cassette player.

Once the door was closed behind him he wasted no time in undressing you, popping open the buttons on the back of your dress. He moved slow and meticulously, brushing the sleeves off your shoulders to plant a few kisses on the warm skin there.

You sighed at his touch and pressed your back against his chest, aching to feel him envelop you in his warmth.

He took his hands away from your sides to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt but you turned and placed your hand on top of his. He looked at you curiously and you returned a sheepish smile.

“You look really good in these clothes.”

He grinned when he realized your intentions and he left his shirt buttoned, save for the three at the top.

Rick looked unbelievably sexy then, a few golden curls of chest hair visible from the slit in his shirt, his hair slightly ruffled from your hands, and a face so blown with lust that you could touch yourself to it for more than one orgasm.

Then he had you on his bed sprawled out for him, your arms lying above your head as you watched him unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. When he pulled the zipper down, and pulled his cock out, you literally whimpered at the sight. It was beautiful, like the picture perfect example of a male penis. Perfect girth, perfect length, even the mess of brown and blonde pubes were stunning.

You could go on forever about Rick Grimes’ dick.

He gave a smug smirk as he moved to take his place over you, pulling down your dress the rest of the way and immediately planting his smug little face between your legs.

You gasped and threw your head back against the mattress. He nuzzled your clothed clit with his nose, inhaling your scent and sneakily stroking his dick with his right hand. With the other he held onto your left thigh, fingers digging into the skin there.

He took his time working you up, licking and sucking and even once nipping your clit through the fabric of your panties.

You were a whimpering mess by the time he pulled his head away and went to take your panties off.

He stopped your hand and you looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“These look really good on you.” He smirked.

Your head fell back into the mattress when he pulled your panties to the side. Thank GOD you took the cute panties Rosita offered you. If you were wearing one of your practical sets of underwear you would've died from embarrassment.

He rubbed his finger through your folds, gathering your slick to rub across your clit. You let out a pathetic whine and grabbed fistfuls of cotton sheets beside your head.

He took his time. He slipped in his middle finger up to the knuckle, curling it painfully slowly. Bless Lori, or whoever the fuck taught him that. You were definitely coming tonight.

“Rick, ah, mmm, god.” A hot puff of air from your lips blew a stray lock of hair from your face, a result from your braid having become messy.

He tsked once and drew his finger back, wiping the wetness off on the head of his cock.

You were basically on the edge of your seat at this point, leaning up on your elbows to watch every move he made.

He ran his hands over your torso, ignoring your breasts which made you whine in disappointment.

His eyes flicked up to you, and you were filled with an unexplainable sense of anxiety. Like there was something in you, dating way back to when you needed instincts to survive. Your instincts were telling you that you needed to leave, now. You were in danger.

Every hair on your arms, thighs, the back of your neck, they all prickled. Your upper lip twitched, as if it wanted to pull back and show him your teeth.

“You just tell me to stop, and I will, okay?” His voice was low.

Your blood ran cold.

“What?” You whispered, your bottom lip trembled, and you found breathing became a difficult task.

He repeated himself, his voice still just as low, that same dangerous look on his face. He moved quickly.

He was inside you before you had time to adjust, his hand covering your mouth to muffle the pained noises you made. He groaned into your neck and buried himself deeper inside you, his dick twitching as your walls spasmed around him. He pulled out slowly, savoring the tight drag of your hot cunt, before plunging back in.

Rick was rough, rougher than you could have ever predicted. It was so strange, earlier he was so soft and gentle. He fucked you hard and rough like that for a few long minutes before flipping you over on your stomach.

His hands were on your hips. His fingers digging painfully into your soft skin. He used his upper body weight to render your lower half helpless beneath his open palms.

He groaned as he watched his dick disappear back into you, his eyebrows knitted tightly together and his mouth hanging open.

“Je-jesus christ.” Your moan was strangled in your throat as his hands closed around your neck.

You didn't have time to take a preparation breath, he squeezed quick and hard, immediately cutting off all blood and air flow to your brain. You tried to pry his fingers away and off of you but he didn't relent, only squeezing harder.

Your vision blurred and your head swam with thick panic, you dug your fingernails into the back of his hand until his grip loosened.

The lungful of air you sucked in felt fresher than any breath you'd ever taken. You didn't have long before his fist was in your hair, yanking your head to the side to stuff your discarded panties into your mouth.

You whimpered in protest but he just shoved your face into his pillows and plowed deeper into you.

It wasn’t quick at all, quite the opposite.

He fucked you like that for what felt like hours. It was realistically maybe twenty minutes, but that was still a long time to get fucked.

Your body trembled underneath him from the exhaustion of back to back orgasms. He had already came inside you once, and you felt a small sense of relief, but he didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He just moaned into your neck and continued battering your insides.

You were spent. Every part of your body ached, your pussy felt raw and your clit throbbed painfully. Your stomach and chest chafed against his comforter, and right before it got too much he flipped you over.

Rick looked down at you like you were a painting he finally finished after months of perfecting.

He slid his warm rough hands over your chest, pinching your sore nipples, squeezing your red breasts.

His eyes found your necklace and he rolled his hips, earning a muffled whine in response. Then they found the ring on your middle finger, and rolled into you again. The thumb ring on your other hand. Your body shivered when he slammed his pelvis forward.

You couldn’t respond in any way, you pulled your panties from your dry mouth and panted, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

He changed completely after he finished. He peppered kisses all over you, sweet and soft against your cheeks, down your neck and chest, tender and soft on your nipples.

He took care of you after, he cleaned you with a cool rag and brought you one of his white t shirts to change into. He silently asked you to stay the night with more gentle kisses after you attempted to leave.

You shouldn't have been snooping, you knew it was wrong.

The song felt chilling after what you’d witnessed throughout your time in knowing him, and the night you'd shared.

You sat at the foot of his bed and listened, unaware of the way your fingers had begun to twitch around the tape player.

Something about it felt wrong, like you were listening to Gloomy Sunday after hearing the legend surrounding it as a child again. Your heart raced as the song finished and you put the cassette player back where you found it, in his duffle bag at the foot of his bed.

You made it down the stairs before you rounded the corner and smacked right into a large chest.

“Jesus woman.”

You let out a breath when you saw it was Daryl. Covered in dirt and smelling like cigarettes and gasoline, a familiar sight that sets you at ease.

“Shit, sorry.”

He'd been slightly annoyed at the way you startled him, but something had caught his eye and his irritation faded.

“Y'alright?” He grunted, looking at you with a raised brow.

“Yeah, I'm okay.” You nodded. He eyed you suspiciously before leaving without a goodbye, heading up the stairs to Rick's room.

“He's not here.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look down at you. “Where's he at then?”

“I don't know.”

You found out the reason for his staring when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. You'd need to wear turtlenecks for the next few days.

Rick was thrown off his game without his music. He was more aggressive, sloppy, and hateful in the way he killed.

“Please!” His voice sounded pathetic. It made Rick curl his top lip in disgust as he watched him squirm against his restraints, the bodies of his loved ones littering the ground next to him.

“Don't leave me here.” He begged as the chill of night crept through the thick trees they found themselves in. It carried the smell of rain, rotten leaves and cigarette butts.

“Give me one good reason.” Rick held his bloodied machete as he observed the man.

Young, maybe early twenties. Black hair, a black ‘beard’, which was too patchy to really qualify as one, and an orange sweater. The sweater had been mostly stained a reddish brown from his blood, and the blood of his friends, which all had the mercy of a better fate than what awaited him.

His body sagged as he twisted against the pine, his wrists burning and bruising from the frayed rope.

“I'm a good man. Never done anything wrong. Never killed, never raped anyone-”

“Aw, well, ain't that nice of you?” Rick sneered, slipping the machete in the back of his belt. “How gracious.”

“I got a dog, man, please.”

Rick chewed on the inside of his cheek before taking his machete back out again.

The man erupted into more begging and crying as Rick approached him. He let out a short lived scream before looking down to see his hands were now freed and in front of him.

“Wh-”

“Ten seconds.” Rick's revolver felt firm in his grip. “Ten,”

The man stood stunned for a moment, holding his aching wrists, his eyes darting from Rick to the bodies at their feet.

“Nine.” Rick's voice was louder then, like a father giving his child one last warning to start acting straight.

“Eight!”

The man took off through the woods, and there was no reason to count any longer.

You ran your fingers over the cold metal in your hands. It was stunning, something you never would've dreamed of holding before the outbreak. A gold chain, thin but strong. Not dainty enough that it could be broken off with a snag.

Small red beads dangled from the chain, twelve rubies spread out along the length. They looked like little drops of wine.

“Where did you get this?”

It was the first time you'd asked him a question before thanking him for his gifts.

He silently took the bracelet from your hands and clasped it around your wrist, his fingertips ghosting over the veins of your arms.

“In a jewelry box. That neighborhood I stopped at last week.”

You watched his fingers part from your wrist and the dangling rubies sway. You knew it was a lie.

“You ever get stuff like this for anyone else?”

He chuckled and leaned back on the couch, his eyes never leaving your form. “No.”

You looked over your shoulder at him and sighed, unable to keep the smirk from spreading on your face when you saw the way he was looking at you. “You know, I really like sweets too.”

He raised a brow and broke into a grin. “Sweets, of course,right. What, chocolates? Candy?”

“Mhmm. Dark chocolate with sea salt. Or, chocolate with raspberries.” Your mouth watered as you recalled the old luxuries you'd once taken for granted.

“Alright. Noted.”

Being alone with Rick in his house was something that should've scared you. Especially considering what you'd seen in the past, and the darker side of him in bed.

But looking at him in his form fitting white tee-shirt, the fireplace covering him in a warm orange glow, your degenerate lust filled brain made none of that matter.

“C'mere.” His hand beckoned you to him from its spot on the back of the couch.

You hesitated for appearances, not wanting to come off too eager, before eventually giving in and leaning back.

His arm slipped from the couch above you and wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his embrace.

You rested your cheek on his chest and inhaled the smell of his cologne. It was deep and dark, you recognized it as his bottle of “Leather and Embers”, whatever the hell that meant. As you savored the smell he pressed his face into your scalp and soaked in your smells, rose and eucalyptus shampoo, wisteria lotion. It was so light and feminine and so utterly you that just the smell made his dick twitch in his jeans.

“Gonna go on a supply run with a few others tomorrow. Need some ammo. You wanna join me?”

“Depends.” You pretended to think about it for a second, a playful smirk on your lips. “Who’s all going?”

Rick hummed and squinted, playing along with your thoughtful act. “Me, Carol, Aaron, Glenn, Maggie. Daryl might come, hasn’t decided yet.” You snorted at the idea of Daryl ever turning down work.

“All of us gonna fit in that itty-bitty car?”

“Taking separate cars. Cover more area that way.” His hand gave your shoulder a slight squeeze and you looked up to see him leaning in for a kiss. You met him halfway and smiled against his lips as his other arm wrapped around you.

You grinned, full of pride, as you walked through the gap between two small houses to find Rick, holding two ammunition boxes. One was half full of buckshot shells, the other completely full of 9mm ammo.

He started searching the first house on the block, so he should be at the third right about-

You froze in the doorway as you took in the scene in front of you.

You could see the back of Rick standing in the center of the dining room, the bodies of one man and two women laid across the long table in front of him.

He was taking earbuds out from his ears and putting them into his back pocket, his hands so covered in blood that his fingers seemed to melt together.

You must've made a noise because he turned around.

What was once a look of serenity instantly turned like the tides of an ocean. His eyes no longer resembled a warm blue sky, instead a clash of dark and stormy gray.

His lips moved in the form of your name, but you didn't react.

You looked from body to body, taking in the gruesome ways they'd been killed. One woman had her throat slit with so much force that you could see bone.

Another had countless stab wounds in her chest and a few on her neck. It looked angry, and much more violent than anything you'd ever been unfortunate enough to see.

The man had been gutted, his organs sloshing out of him to lay between his body and what you assumed to be the body of his wife.

Your body didn't react when his hands grabbed your shoulders. You didn't even notice that he'd approached you, his hands raised, his knees slightly bent to make himself appear smaller, less of a threat.

When he turned you around to lead you out of the house you caught a glimpse of three chocolate bars in a plastic bag sitting at the front door.

“I need you to look at me.”

You blinked and took in your new surroundings. You were sitting on the hood of your car, his bloodied hands on your knees. The contrast of deep red against your skin had a groan catching in your throat.

Rick's voice snapped your name and you looked to his face. He looked prepared, as if he'd imagined this scenario countless times before.

“What you just saw-”

“I know.”

“No, you don't. I had to, I-”

“Rick.” The coldness of your voice had him forgetting the way he'd been frustrated at you for interrupting him again. “You don't lie to me. Not me.”

His face softened, but he felt an uncomfortable tightening in his throat and chest. He nodded, his eyes falling away from yours to look at your knees.

When he saw the blood he drew his hands away as if he'd been stung.

“You killed them and you liked it.”

As quick as a snake his hand shot out and grabbed the base of your throat. His eyes were back on yours now, freezing you with a cold stare. “It’d be in your best interest to forget what you saw here.”

Your body didn't react the way either of you expected it to. You grabbed at his wrist and let out a whimper, your thighs clenching together so hard they trembled.

His grip loosened as he saw your form tremble under him, not from fear, but arousal. He furrowed his brows and looked back to your eyes, studying each and every flicker in them.

It was an unsteady standoff, neither of you knowing which move to make next. He experimented and tightened his hand again, earning another whimper from your lips.

He took it a step further and with his other bloodied hand, he slipped his fingers between your knees, gently spreading them apart.

With your thighs spread he filled the gap with his waist. He hooked two fingers in the belt loops of your shorts and tugged you down the hood closer to him, your pelvis bumping against the semi he had growing in his jeans.

Rick groaned at the contact and leaned in to plant his face in the crook of your neck, his hand departing from your throat to trail down your chest. He toyed with the gold coin of your necklace, rubbing his fingertips over the warm metal.

“Rick-”

“No, shh-shh-shh, you were being so good.” He groaned, his jeans rubbing your thighs as he softly pushed against you.

“I just, a shower, let's wait-”

He growled in your ear and squeezed your thighs so tightly you let out a yelp. “No, think I'll have you right here.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine and before you could react, he pushed you flat on your back.

You were finally there, your muscles relaxing and your eyes closing, ready to surrender to Rick and let him have his way. But as always, something had to go wrong.

The gurgling sound of a walker snapped you from your daze.

Rick pulled away from you and used the machete from his belt to take out the first two.

“Rick!” You called in a nervous voice, your eyes locked on the group of walkers behind the car.

“Shit. Alright, get in.” He cursed and opened the passenger door for you. You slid into the seat, pulling your knees back just in time to avoid the heavy metal door being slammed after you.

Your eyes followed Rick round the front of the car. Then, as if he was playing some weird joke, he took his hand back from the door handle and ran back into the house.

“Fuck.” You whispered, watching three walkers follow him to the door. You had your hand on the car door handle, ready to jump out after him and help, but before you could dig out your knife he reappeared in the doorway.

You shook your head when he finally sat down beside you and started the car.

He plopped the bag in your lap and you stared down at it.

The three chocolate bars.

“I know you said dark chocolate, salt and raspberries n’whatnot. But this is all I could find.” He said it like he was apologizing, like he was dissatisfied with his findings.

“Rick, I haven't had chocolate in so long that it could be some nasty rainbow white chocolate with sprinkles and I'd love it. Fuck.” You unwrapped the first bar and snapped off a small square.

As soon as it hit your tongue you moaned, completely forgetting the scene from earlier. It was your favorite type, something you hadn't had in God knows how long.

Rick smiled fondly as you swirled the chocolate around your tongue, looking at you the same way he'd looked at you at dinner, the same way he used to look at Lori.

You were blissfully unaware, your eyes closed as you savored the flavor.

He bit his bottom lip and looked back to the road ahead, slowing down as he passed the road that the others had gone down.

He raised a hand out the open window to Glenn, who'd returned a thumbs up, going inside to gather the others to head back home.

“Want a bite?”

You smiled sweetly as he looked back to you and the open Butterfinger that was in your left hand, your favorite chocolate in your right.

“Indulging ourselves, are we?” He smirked playfully as he took the Butterfinger from you and took a heaping bite. It was so big he'd taken half the bar and you scoffed, smacking his shoulder.

“Geeze! Talk about being indulgent!” You teased and snatched the chocolate back, finishing it off with three more bites.

You ate your sweets in silence, and soon it had turned from a comfortable silence to a thick cloud of tension when you pulled up to the gates of Alexandria.

He called your name and you forced yourself to look at him.

Rick's expression was hard to gauge.

It almost seemed like a mask, now that you'd seen what he was capable of doing, it felt like you were sitting beside a stranger. Your heart sped up, you were suddenly scared of saying or doing the wrong thing, sending him into aggression or something worse.

“Yeah?” Your voice sounded foreign to you. Almost as foreign as the way Rick was looking at you.

He waited a few painfully long moments before the essence of a smirk formed on his lips that were still speckled with blood. “I'm making dinner tonight. You should come.”

You blew out a lungful of air and nodded. “Okay, yeah, I will.”

“Wear somethin’ nice.” His voice was barely a whisper. You didn't have time to ask him to clarify before the gates opened and he drove you in.

You felt a bit ridiculous in your dark blue dress. It was extremely snug, almost uncomfortable, ending right at your knees, drawing attention to the curve and dip of your hips and waist. There was no one else for dinner, thank god, because you felt seconds away from a panic attack.

Fettuccine noodles with Carol's homemade alfredo sauce. Despite your painful anxiety you wolfed the creamy noodles down, along with a heaping glass of dark red wine.

It was painfully tense. You found yourself wondering how the car ride home had been completely fine, it hadn't been awkward at all, not until you pulled up to the gates. It might have been the adrenaline and shock.

Now it had worn off and you were finishing your second glass of wine, praying for the buzz to kick in so you wouldn’t feel like you were on the verge of an anxiety attack anymore.

“Can we talk?” His voice made you jump. You looked up from your empty plate to his face, which had been thoroughly cleaned of the blood from earlier.

You didn't respond verbally. You gave a small nod and he inhaled deeply, his eyes falling from your face to the table.

After a moment he looked back up to you.

“I need to know you won't… you won't tell anyone. Things are still pretty tense here, these people already see me as someone to watch out for. I don't need them fearing me.”

“Fear could be a good thing.” You don't know why you said it.

He managed a slight smile, clasping his hands together in front of his chin. “Yeah. It can be. But not this type of fear.”

“So what are you? Jack the ripper of the apocalypse?”

Rick cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest, his fingers tapping on his biceps, covered in a thick black sweater.

“Alright. Nevermind.” You sighed. You finished off your wine and scratched your chin absentmindedly, still looking at his face. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Long time.”

You managed to hide your shock, and nodded. “Before the outbreak?”

He nodded, his eyes not leaving the silverware crossed over his empty plate.

He didn't look guilty or ashamed like one logically should be. A bit uncomfortable, uncertain, a hint of worry and dread. You knew he was praying this conversation would go well and he wouldn't have to do anything devastating to secure keeping his position in the group as the fearless, honorable leader.

“Did Lori know?”

Now he looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “No.” Of course she wouldn't have, what a stupid question.

“Okay.” It was quiet until you finally gained the courage to address the elephant in the room. “Rick, are any of us in danger?”

Your question caused a drastic change in his demeanor. He leaned forward with an expression that was a mix of hurt and assurance, and you already knew the answer.

“No, of course not.” He breathed, his hands tentatively crossing the table. “I would never hurt any of you people. You're my family. All of you. Even those,” he waved a hand over his shoulder, “stuck up pricks Deanna led.”

You wanted to believe him. You had no choice, honestly, you had no other option. You knew Rick was a good leader, even if he made rash and emotional decisions. He always listened to the opinions and advice of others, he always took their says into account. If he hadn't done it this far, there was no reason to believe he'd start doing it now that you knew.

You weren't justifying it by any means. What he did was vile, monstrous, egregious. Nothing would ever change that. It just wasn't the old world anymore, you had bigger problems to worry about, as ironic as it sounded.

“Okay.”

You closed your eyes as he rounded the table and put his hands on your shoulders. You wished you could just turn your brain off, wipe your memory and forget, and your stomach churned with nausea. Not at the memory or knowledge of his little weekend hobby, but at the realization that it didn't bother you as much as it should've.

“Can I make it up to you?” His breath warmed your ear as his palms slid up and down your biceps.

God, you were sick. You were disgusting.

“Yeah.”

Carl was home, and so were Carol, Michonne and Daryl, so you led him back to your house across the street.

Your house was almost an exact mirror image of his, same porch, same paint, same layout and everything. In fact, your bedroom window was a straight shot across from his.

You shivered, remembering the times you'd play with him through your window, randomly flipping him off or giving him a thumbs down for no reason at all. It was so innocent.

A tingle spread through your core knowing the man who'd make silly gestures and faces at you through his window at night just to see you laugh was the same man who had gutted humans for kicks.

You stood in your room, looking at his black window across the street as his hands worked to free you from your tight dress. He chuckled at the sight of your ass stuffed in the fabric, running his hands down your waist to grab the bottom of your dress and pull up.

“Where'd you get this thing?” He mused, attempting to fix your hair from the battle of pulling it over your head.

“Tara. She found it on a run, said the color suited me.” You snorted.

His arms wrapped around your now bare body, hands cupping the soft flesh of your breasts and kneading.

“Hmm.” His face nuzzled in the back of your hair, inhaling your clean scent and enjoying the way it felt against his skin. You were just his polar opposite, so soft, sweet, where he was hard and rugged. So kind, patient, his pretty feminine contrast.

You were trying so hard to hold it together and not beg him to fuck you the same way he'd fucked you the other night. You craved it.

Ever since he had you that night you craved it. Craved the raw pain and utter helplessness. You craved more.

“Rick.” You whispered, placing your hands over his, their position still tender and gentle over your chest.

“Hmm?” The sudden feeling of his knee between your thighs made you moan. He pressed it up higher, pushing firm against your panties, the soft gray pair that was far too tiny to wear in any other scenario.

He grinned against the back of your neck at the realization, you'd put these on just for him.

“Speak, sweetheart.” He breathed, parting your hair to kiss your neck.

Rick was doing a good job of making it hard to remember what you were planning on saying in the first place. He kissed down your neck, his hands sliding down your torso to rest on your hips to guide you forward towards your bed.

“Got you something.” He muttered into your neck before he pulled back to push you on the bed.

He dipped his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a folded napkin. He glanced up at you, his eyes almost looking hesitant.

You swallowed hard and watched him unfold the napkin, his movements slow, until he knelt on the floor in front of you and showed you his gift.

“Oh.” You couldn't think of what to say. Earrings, small orbs that were a deep red color. On either side of the orb sat two diamonds, much smaller than the rubies.

“You like ‘em?” He urged, looking up at you, eager, desperate for your approval. Like his life depended on you putting them on.

“Of course I do.” You nodded, and took them from the napkin in his open hands.

His lips bloomed into a smile as you put them on. His eyes followed each move you made.

The second you put the last one on he was on you, his lips on yours, a hand on your throat giving a gentle squeeze that sent excitement fluttering in your stomach.

You groaned, tilting your head back to give him better access. Wordlessly begging him to squeeze harder.

He didn't get the hint, only dipping his head down to kiss the bottom of your chin.

“Rick.” You drawled, your head dizzy and light from his touches and kisses.

“Hmm.”

“You know how,” you sucked in a sharp breath as he nipped the skin below your ear, immediately going to kiss the reddening spot in an apology. “The other night you- you were rough?”

He pulled back, his hand relaxing around your throat, his fingers unfolding to simply press against the side of your neck.

There was a look of sympathy, regret maybe. He nodded, his eyes soft and locked on yours. “I shouldn't have, I'm sorry. You're just…” he sighed, the sound coming out with a shudder. “Was it too much?”

“No.” You immediately answered, shaking your head. “I liked it.” Your words had an obvious affect on him. The sympathy was gone, completely replaced with building excitement.

“I want that again.”

He closed his eyes. His fingers twitched against the side of your neck before slowly bending back into a firm grip around your throat.

“Don't, don't hold back this time, please.”

When his eyes opened you got that same shock of fear you felt the first time, but unlike the first time there was no uncertainty.

You whimpered when you felt his hold on your neck loosen. “I can take it.”

He took his bottom lip between his teeth, his jaw flexing as he bit down. Putting on a good show, pretending he had to think about it. Pretending he was cautious. He knew what he would look like if he dove right in without hesitation. He'd look like the selfish, self indulgent man he truly was when it came to sex.

He raised his eyes to yours, his lips splitting into a grin. You mirrored his expression, your heart hammering against your chest, grinning as he slid on top of you and onto the bed.

“Tell me to stop an’ I will.” He reminded.

“Not gonna happen.”

He chuckled, low and deep in his chest. His lips found their place back on your neck, and his hips between your thighs.

You groaned the second you felt his dick through his jeans pressed up against you. The sensation was rough, almost painful the way he ground against your thin panties.

The feeling of your nipples being pinched had you squeaking in surprise, your back arching. There'd been no warm up, just an immediate burning pinch.

Then a twist.

“Oh, god!” You groaned deeply, your eyes clenching shut. The pain radiated much further than just your nipples, shooting down your breast tissue, almost all the way over your entire chest.

“Sounds so good.” He muttered, planting his feverish lips against the cheeks of your scrunched up face. “Such pretty noises.”

You put on a brave face, keeping your mouth tightly shut as he tested your limits, switching between pinching and twisting your sore buds.

He was impressed. You whined and groaned, but you never told him to stop. He released them and you sucked in a breath, your back relaxing back into the mattress.

“You have no fuckin’ clue,” Rick spoke, kissing down your chest. “How sexy you are. How sexy that was.”

You wrapped your fingers in his curls as he kissed your sides, clenching his hair in your fists when he opened his mouth and gave a hard bite on your waist right below your ribs.

“Fuck!” You gasped. Your legs instinctively bent at the knees, clenching around his torso under his armpits.

“Too much?” He hummed, releasing you from his teeth. He rubbed a finger along the bite mark and you winced, but shook your head.

Rick couldn't help but chuckle at the look on your poor pretty face. “Don't feel like you've got to impress me, sweetheart.”

“No.” You shook your head again, quicker this time. “Not that.”

“Good.” He went back to working you over, planting kisses down to your thighs.

Your body was beginning to relax at the gentle touches of his lips on you. But true to his nature, Rick ripped that feeling away, sending electricity through your heart and heat through your core when he sunk his teeth into the inside of your upper thigh.

Right below your panties he bit, over and over, sometimes just a nip, then a rough, teeth-gritting bite on the other thigh.

You were unbelievably wet. Your hole burned, desperate to have something inside it, anything.

His fingers grabbed your panties and tugged them down, and you got exactly what you'd prayed for.

The middle finger, his longest, slipped into you and pulled out a moan from your lips. He watched your face as he curled it, each curl and drag making you come more and more undone.

He'd be content to finger you for hours. Watching the glint of red on your ears when you'd turn your head, or the glimmer of gold under your collarbone when you'd arch your back. He almost came when he saw your fingers wrap around the golden pendant.

You were having the time of your life, squirming on your bed as he knelt between your knees and made you come.

“Oh, fuck, Rick!” You gasped, bending your knees again, wanting to wrap your legs around something, a waist, a head, but they were empty and you just slammed your knees together when the cord in your belly snapped.

“Shit.” Rick cursed, watching your face as you came. The faces you made, it made his chest tighten and the smallest, faintest, tiniest lump form in his throat. You were too beautiful. Too perfect, covered in his trophies, his trophy. All his work in the last year perfectly laid on your naked body.

You moaned behind closed lips, your eyes finally opening as your orgasm died down.

Your stomach flipped at the sight of Rick sitting there, staring at you. His eyes flicked up to yours when he saw them open. His shoulders rose and fell heavily, his nostrils ever so slightly flared.

“Rick?” You breathed his name, blinking away the fog in your eyes.

The image of him spreading your knees with his hands, those beautiful big hands, and crawling up your body set your core on fire again. You felt more wetness leaking out of you as he pushed his hips back between yours, forcing a soft moan from your throat.

He fumbled with his belt, leaving it through the loops, knowing you liked the clinking sound it made when he fucked you.

Your heart leapt into your throat when you saw the first flash of his dick. It looked much darker in the dim lighting of your room and the sight of his thick pubes made your stomach flip again. It was so masculine, so primal, it drove you insane.

“C'mere.” Rick huffed before kissing you again, tearing your gaze away from his dick.

You hummed into his lips, wrapping your fingers back in his cold hair. You'd succeed in making his slicked back hair messy, and thick curls fell down his forehead and tickled yours.

He smelt so good, his shampoo and his cologne. His breath as well, which led you to believe he'd brushed his teeth when he used your bathroom. With your toothbrush.

Even though he was sliding the tip of his dick around your slippery pussy, the thought of him using your toothbrush made you blush.

“Mmm, hah-” He grunted as he pushed into you, spewing out a string of curses as your walls squeezed him the way he'd squeezed your neck.

You felt a bit of pride at his reaction, and bit back a smile when he pressed his forehead against your shoulder to steady himself.

The feeling of his heavy cock sitting unmoving inside you finally sets your mind into a blank state. You breathed through your lips, slow and deep, trying to control your racing heart. The anticipation was killing you.

“Did you mean it?” He spoke, the sound of his low voice startling you.

When you didn't immediately answer he rolled his hips, and you moaned.

“When you said you can take it?” He continued, his hands moving from their place on your hips up your sides.

“Yes.” You answered with an eager nod.

He breathed out, and grinned, looking down at you with a sleazy and cocky expression. “Should've fucked you a long time ago.”

Before you could agree he pulled out an inch, and slowly pushed back in. You whimpered and tilted your hips upwards, already becoming greedy and impatient.

He teased you like that for a while, barely pulling out, slowly pushing back in, and it soon had you a whiny mess.

“Harder.” You whined, your fingers curling repeatedly around a lock of his hair.

“Yeah?” He hummed with a smile, pulling back out a little further, but still pushing back in just as slow. He pulled back out and caught you off guard by slamming back into you, making you see stars and birds.

“You like that? Huh?” He drawled, pulling back out even further, fucking his dick into you with another brutal thrust. "This what you want?"

You didn't respond with words, only nodding and moaning.

The quick and rough snatch of your chin in his fingers had you sobering up real quick. He forced you to look at him, his pupils blown, his open lips in a breathy smile. “Asked you a question.”

“Yes. I love it. I love it Rick.” You babbled, nodding faster. “Please don't stop.”

He dug his thumbnail into your chin, holding your face in place as he thrusted into you. His index finger slipped between your lips and forced your mouth open. Before you could react he was spitting on your tongue, and using his finger to slide down the back of it.

You gagged, a short and easy gag that wasn't uncomfortable. You could feel his dick twitch inside you at the sight and sound of you gagging on his finger.

He fucked you normally for a minute, his pace rough and deep, but still not fast enough for your liking.

“Sit up.” He grunted. You don't know why he even told you to because he was already moving you for him, grabbing you by your hips and moving until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet planted on the floor and you in his lap.

The new angle had his dick much deeper. If he was only a few millimeters longer it would've been unbearable, but the pain was sharp and you loved it.

“So pretty. Pretty girl.” He cooed, squeezing the flesh of your hips as he rolled his hips up against you.

The image of him still fully dressed and you completely naked on his lap brought you closer to orgasm. As much as you loved it he was getting hot, and he had to take his jacket off and throw it behind you.

The white T-shirt that was a little too small was just as hot.

You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt so you wouldn't fall backwards and moved on him, lazily raising your hips in a way that complimented his own movements.

Each time you moved back down he'd move up, forcing himself as deep as possible, deep bolts of pleasure shooting through your core each time you sank back down.

Oh, finally, finally.

He picked up the pace.

He gripped your hips and started moving you on his own, bouncing you up and down on his length.

“Oh, god.” You blurted, tightening your grip on the front of his shirt. His rough mound of pubes dragged against your clit each time he tugged you down against him, and you were close.

“Gonna -”

He quickly cut you off. “Gonna cum for me?” He breathed, and one hand left your hip. He dropped you down on his dick and started using the strength in his thighs and core to fuck up into you.

You didn't have time to wonder where his hands went before his left one was in your hair, and his right was around your throat.

He squeezed, much harder than before. Your face immediately felt tight and hot, and you had to fully open your mouth to gasp down air. Thankfully he was only cutting off blood flow, and you could still breathe.

Not that it mattered much, because he quickly took your breath away with a slap to your face.

You came hard and with a sharp cry, your thighs squeezing his waist as your hips jerked in his lap.

“That's right.” Rick hissed, and wrapped your hair around his fist and yanked.

You didn't think it was impossible to reach a second high in the same orgasm, but you did. Your head spun as your body trembled against him. You couldn't process much of what happened, your mind was too fuzzy, your body buzzing to the point of shivering, twitching, and he slapped you again.

You cried out, your eyes snapping open to find his face.

He looked so beautiful. Face red in the dim lighting, that sexy stubble, his eyes dark with dilation. He looked just as ruined as you, but he was holding it together far better.

“S’it okay?” He slurred, his movements slowing as he took a moment to rub your red cheek.

You never in your entire fucking life thought you'd enjoy being slapped on the face. And certainly not by a man. But you didn't just enjoy it, you loved it, you loved the feeling of Rick hurting you and getting turned on by it. You loved his wide hand making your cheek burn.

“Stings a little.” You admitted, your voice raw from your vocal orgasm. “But, I liked it.”

“It stings?” He grinned lazily, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “Was being gentle.”

You groaned, jerking your hips forward and earning a low grunt from Rick.

“Told you not to be gentle.”

“You're right.” He leaned in and kissed you, deep and firm. He pulled back, but not before catching your bottom lip in his teeth and pulling you back with him.

He rolled you over on your stomach and pushed back into you, taking a moment to kiss your shoulders and neck before getting back to screwing your brains out.

You pushed your ass into him, eager to feel him as deep as you had when you were in his lap. It worked, the tip of his dick slipped past the curve of your walls and rubbed against the soft spot inside you.

You should've pissed before sex, but it was too late for that now. You'd have to wait. Besides, the feeling was a guilty pleasure, something you'd feel embarrassed to admit, feeling him fuck into you when you needed to pee made each thrust feel ten times more intense.

He wrapped your hair around his fist again, his movements extremely deliberate and precise, the same precision as braiding your hair.

Rick used the grip on your hair to yank your head to the side. You let out a little yelp, and his other hand slid under you, finding your throat again.

“How's it feel?” he lowered himself down to your ear. He held your head in place with your hair, his grip tightening and pulling every so often, bringing sharp tingles down your scalp and neck.

“Having my hand around your throat.” He breathed. He kissed around the back of your neck, the tips of your shoulders, his hips slamming down against your upturned ass.

“Feels so good.” You rasped, pushing yourself back into him to prove your point. You shoved your pillow to the side so your nose wasn't covered anymore, enjoying the feeling of air on the side of your hot face.

“Is that right?” His teeth dug into the skin above your shoulder blades. "Love these hands?"

You couldn't answer. He'd tightened his grip around your throat and it wasn't just blood cut off from your brain anymore.

“You know what I've done with these hands?” He groaned after you clenched down around him at his words. The feeling you got and the reaction you gave to his words was morally reprehensible. It was fucking disgusting.

“Know how many?”

You should've felt ashamed that you came after that. But you didn't. Not at that moment, at least. Your walls squeezed around him and you tried to moan, but it was strangled out of you.

It felt like seeing God, or something holy and ethereal. Your vision was flashes of white and black, flickering like strobe lights, your head felt like it was about to explode with pressure. Your eyes burned, but your pussy felt amazing.

All you could do was grip onto the sheets beside your head and enjoy it, and pray you didn't pass out and miss the best post-orgasm glow of your life.

Rick let out this strangled groan behind your head, his brutal bulldozing of your spasming cunt growing sloppy. He squeezed your throat harder as he came into you, fucking each drop back up inside you as he fell down from his high. He drew out every single wave of pleasure, even to the point of it becoming uncomfortable for him, his dick burning and tingling with overstimulation.

His hand left your throat, and your head throbbed as the blood and oxygen rushed back up into it. You groaned, soft and pained, pressing your forehead into the mattress in an attempt to minimize the pain.

You couldn't really focus on it, thankfully, because the feeling of his dick dragging down and out of your trembling walls was too jarring.

“Fuck.” You grunted, your waist moving to the side to get his dick away from where he had it sitting against your pussy.

If you thought he was sweet after the first time, then he’s a bonafide angel this time.

He turned you over and sat you up, brushing your damp hair away from your sweaty face.

“Hey.” His palms smoothed down the sides of your head, fixing your wild hair. “You okay?”

“Mhmm.” You managed a very weak and crooked grin.

He smiled in relief, and swiped his tongue under your nose, wiping away the small drop of blood that peeked out.

After cleaning you up and helping you to the bathroom he slipped your favorite night dress over your head, not bothering with underwear.

The post orgasm clarity was trying its damndest to make you feel like an awful piece of shit. Knowing what Rick had done to people who didn't deserve it. It was something you could never be okay with, but his lips kissing over every bite and bruise he'd given you did a good job taking your mind off it.

“Beautiful.” He whispered against the bite marks on your neck and chest, planting another kiss on the next mark. “Look at you.”

You knew you probably looked like you'd just crawled out of a car wreck. Your hair was still messy even though he'd tried to fix it, and your neck was a whole new problem. Bruises from his teeth and hands. Blood blisters from where he'd bitten down way too hard in some spots. Even though no vessels had burst in your eyes they were still red, and that wouldn't go away overnight. There were more turtlenecks in your future.

It was like art to Rick. You looked like art. He kissed your rings. His hands holding yours felt like they belonged to a completely different person, so gentle and light, as if you'd suddenly turned into glass and the slightest pressure would break you.

He kissed your throat, the bottom of your chin, and your swollen lips. There was the faintest twinge of purple on your bottom lip, a line fitting the exact measurement of his top left incisor.

“First time I've ever been fucked like that.”

Rick chuckled, raising his head from your lips to look down at your blissed out face.

“First time I've fucked like that.” He kissed your cheek before finally laying down beside you.

It surprised you, even though it shouldn't have. You were the first person he'd fucked since Lori, and she seemed like the type to blanch over simple restraints like fuzzy handcuffs, no disrespect intended.

“Is that what you think about?” You whispered, feeling your already burning cheeks get hotter. “When you're… Solo…”

He let out a gruff chuckle. “Yeah.” He laid out his arm for you to move into him, and you did. You pressed against his side and rested your head on his chest, inhaling the scent of his deep sweat and the remnants of his cologne.

“Is that all?” You asked, trying to sound confident. “Or, was there more?”

“More I wanted to try?” He humored you. You knew he was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, but the urge to know more was gnawing at you. When you nodded, he tilted his head to look up at the ceiling, which was now black from the lights being turned off.

“Yeah. There's more.” He finally answered.

You forced yourself to stop asking questions. You nodded against his chest and pressed yourself tighter against his side, nuzzling your head in an attempt to get more comfortable.

“Can talk about it later, if you want.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

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