#does he have too much? too little? does he only have what he thinks he should have?

[randompiecesofwriting]

Coffee Snob (pt 3)

Summary: Robby removes readers stitches, she brings food to the Pitt as a thank you much to his coworkers glee

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Nothing really just another super fluffy one as things start to get more serious!

Author’s Note: I had absolutely no idea this would grow to be this many parts when I wrote the first one but I am so over the moon with the reception I’ve gotten from the first two parts so I wrote this one too! I’m having so much fun with these two and I’m planning already one more part I think so look out for that! As always please please please let me know what you think! I incessantly reread every comment and reblog with cute tags or extra words they’re my favorite things seriously you all are the best!

Part 1 Part 2

Phone, wallet, keys, phone, wallet, keys.

This was the mantra that resonated through your head as you paced back and forth through your apartment, grabbing anything you could think of to throw into your bag.

Chapstick, hair tie, charger, it all got thrown in.

A book even for while you were waiting, though this had to be a new one since you discovered Robby was keeping the one you were currently reading hostage in his apartment prompting you to now possess a “Robby’s apartment” book and a “your apartment” book. A needlessly complicated system that somehow still worked.

You patted down your pockets making sure that at the very least the essentials were still on you.

Phone, wallet, keys.

With one last look you slipped on your shoes.

Phone, wallet, keys.

Grabbing the door handle you gave the room one last look before turning it.

Phone, wallet, keys

Phone- Robby?

Swinging open your apartment door you came face to face with the familiar physician, warm brown eyes blown open in surprise, fist slightly raised as if to knock on your door.

For a brief moment all the two of you could do was simply stare at one another, the shock starting to ware off as he slowly dropped his arm and the corner of your lips quirked up in a small smile “hey neighbor”

“Hey” he answered softly, another silent beat passing before his eyes snapped to the bag on your shoulder, and the shoes on your feet “headed out?”

“Yeah” you nodded, waving your arm in the air in front of you “finally time to get these out”

He smiled back at that, nodding his head softly “we’re on the same page then, I was just coming to get you”

You furrowed your brow slightly at that, tilting your head to one side in a silent question, had he planned to come walk with you to the clinic?

Seeming to misunderstand your question he shoved his hands into his pockets as he spoke and gestured vaguely down the hall with his head “Yeah I grabbed a removal kit before I left today, come on I’ll get it set up”

Only then did his meaning hit you. He thought you were coming to get him to remove them. “Oh no that’s okay I’m on my way to urgent care”

His smile dropped instantly, eyes scanning over you briefly “why are you going to urgent care? Is everything okay?”

You chuckled softly at his concern, waving him off as you stepped into the hallway and shut your door behind you “yeah I’m fine, just need to get them removed, no biggie”

He seemed almost taken aback by your answer, a frown growing on his face as he brought his arms up to cross over his chest “I can take them out for you”

“Aren’t you supposed to be back on shift in a few hours” You asked with a laugh, the statement being a little hyperbolic but the sentiment behind it all the same “go rest I’ll be fine at urgent care”

His frown only deepened at that, arms tightening in front of him “so you’re just going to let anyone go at you with a blade?”

“Go at me with a blade” you couldn’t help but laugh at his phrasing, smile only dimming slightly as his serious façade still didn’t crack “that’s a bit dramatic don’t you think? Besides I’m fairly certain they all have medical degrees”

“And you know who else does?” He countered quickly “me. They guy right down the hall. Who doesn’t have a wait time and will not charge you”

“Who’s off the clock” You could feel yourself start to get defensive under his disapproving gaze, not realizing how serious he would take this, desperate to make him understand where you were coming from “this stuff is trivial I just didn’t want to bother you with it but if you don’t mind-“

“Of course I don’t mind” he cut you off, his tone almost disbelieving as if the statement itself were absurd “I told you to bother me with things like this”

“You told me to bother you next time I was at the Pitt” Again you were on the defensive “then it was about bothering you with work things while you were at work. You’re off the clock now I don’t want to make you do more work stuff when you don’t have to”

An almost scoff escaped him but the tension held in his stance seemed to fade slightly, brows no longer furrowed quite so severely in frustration “I meant bother me when you’re hurt. Unless it warrants a 911 call come to me” he paused briefly, almost seeming to contemplate his next words before he spoke “I want you to come to me”

You eyed him almost skeptically, watching his face intently, looking for any hint of mistruth “I just feel bad making you work in your free time”

With a dramatic groan he ran a hand through his hair at your words, giving the short strands a quick ruffle before speaking again “you don’t let me take out those stitches and from now on I won’t eat anything you make”

A surprised laugh escaped you at that, your own arms coming to cross over your chest as you mirrored Robby’s posture “what?”

He grinned maliciously at that, nodding slightly as he spoke “I just feel bad making you work in your free time”

You rolled your eyes as your words were thrown back at you “now you’re just being ridiculous”

“Correct” he answered immediately starting to grow smug “this line of logic is ridiculous”

“It’s different” you shot back “I like cooking for you”

He only raised a brow in response, shooting you a pointed look, practically daring you to connect the dots yourself “you’re telling me you enjoy removing stitches in your free time”

He rolled his eyes at that, debating something in his head for a second before speaking, his voice slightly gruffer than before “I like making sure you’re okay in my free time”

You froze on the spot at his words, chest aching slightly as you felt your face start to flush, something Robby seemed to notice as his tone grew smug once more.

“something you did for me just a few days ago when I was sick”

You narrowed your eyes back at him in response, Robby’s expression telling you he knew he had backed you into a corner with that one “I’m making you dinner to make up for it”

He only grinned at that, taking a small step back to allow you room to continue down the hall towards his apartment “you promise?”

Mostly feigning a look of frustration you slipped past him towards his door with a small huff “smug doesn’t suit you Robinavitch”

Robby only laughed in response.

-

This was ridiculous you weren’t nervous to meet Robby’s friends.

That was something people who were dating would do. Something people who were invested would do. Certainly not something a simple neighbor would do.

Maybe if you just thought of them as coworkers that would help.

For better or for worse you couldn’t really dwell on your feelings about the situation, the bags your arms were weighed down with kept you from being able to debate actually going into the hospital for too long.

So fueled more by a desire to rest your aching muscles than anything else you forced your way to the ER of PTMH for the second time in about a week, already regretting the move as a familiar wave of bodies greeted you upon entry.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you made your way to the front desk, bypassing the line of waiting people and flagging one of the nurses who was off to the side doing paperwork.

“You’re going to have to wait in line” she barely spared you a glance as her pen flew across the page.

“No I’m here to see Dr. Michael Robinavitch” You tried to put as much confidence into your voice as you had when you had practiced this interaction earlier.

The move, however, did not have the desired effect as still the nurse’s gaze only came up to quickly sweep you for injuries before returning to her paperwork “As I said you’re going to have to wait your turn in line, a doctor will be by to see you shortly”

“No I-“ you tried to wrack your brain for a way to properly convey that you weren’t a patient, coming up mostly blank leaving you with only one option, one that left you with a too-high-to-be-comfortable chance of completely embarrassing yourself in the process “I’m blue tumbler girl?”

The woman behind the desk froze on the spot, pen hovering just over the surface of the paper as her wide eyes shot up to connect with yours. Your words even had the woman currently dealing with the line snapping to attention, the two woman sharing a silent glance at one another before gaping openly at you.

You tried hard not to squirm under their attention, knowing you were failing miserably in the process and instead deciding to steam-roll ahead “I just wanted to-“ you started to lift the bags in your arm to show them when you were cut off by a loud buzz from the door behind you.

“You can go ahead through that door we’ll let him know you’re here” one of them directed you with a polite smile.

“No that’s okay you don’t have to-“ you tried to protest but the two were already huddled together from behind their desk, rapid fire whispers bouncing back and forth between the two women, both of whom sported expressions you knew would spell trouble for Robby later.

Relieved to at least have their attention off of you, you pushed your way through the door and walked through the hallways back to where you remembered the nurses station to be, coming face to face with the exact person you had been hoping to see.

Dana’s face lit up with a warm smile the minute her eyes connected with yours, dismissing the woman she was talking to quickly and making her way across the room to you, not hesitating to grab one of the heavy bags you were clearly struggling with as she engulfed you in a one-armed hug “hey kid what brings you to the Pitt?”

“Dana” you sighed in relief as you hugged her back “I just wanted to thank you guys for taking care of me last week. I brought food if that’s okay?”

“Of course that’s okay” she waved off your concern without a thought, a steady hand placed on your back to lead you to one of the side rooms as she did so “come on I’ll show you to the break room”

“good I just wasn’t sure if I would just be in the way or if no one would end up wanting it” you gladly followed her lead into the small room, placing the bag you held onto the table.

“please with these animals it’ll be gone in twenty minutes” she shook you off again, working to start removing trays from the bags and set them out for easy access “plus Jianna’s? Better be careful or you’ll spoil them, this couldn’t have been cheap”

“ahhh I-“ you trailed off a bit, suddenly bashful beneath the older woman’s gaze as you helped her “I head chef there so you could say they sort of owe me”

She whistled loudly at that making you chuckle and squirm slightly as she gave you an appraising once over. Eager to turn the attention elsewhere you reached into the bag and plucked one of the drinks from the carrier within.

“Speaking of I came straight from work so no pour over coffee for you today but we do have a kick-ass espresso machine there so…latte?”

Her eyes gleamed as she eagerly took the to-go cup from you and popped the top off, sticking her nose close to the surface and humming softly as she took a deep sniff of its contents. A quick sip later and she was putting the lid back on and bringing up a hand to your cheek, cradling your face in it as she appraised you with a lopsided smirk “I think I’ll keep you”

You laughed through the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as you swatted her hand away “there’s one in there for Javadi too if she wants it. Tell her I said thank you again when you see her”

“You got it kid” she winked at you as she took a deep sip of her drink, heading back out towards the door “I’ll go find Robby and let him know you’re here”

“Oh no you don’t have to” again you were stuck trying to persuade people not to bother Robby during his shift.

And again you were being completely ignored for it “nah kid you’re not slipping away from this one”

“Please I don’t want to be a bother I really just came by to drop off some food”

“Think of it as helping me out then” she countered, resting one hip on the door as she spoke “I don’t want to have to deal with a grumpy Dr.Robby if he knew you’d been here and I hadn’t told him”

You deflated slightly at the argument, knowing you weren’t going to win this one, desperately trying not to put too much weight into her words “Yeah okay I’ll be here”

“That’s the spirit” she chuckled back at you as she pushed the door open and disappeared through it.

You were alone for barely two minutes before the door to the room was harshly pushed open and a familiar looking doctor was storming in.

“Hey what’s wrong are you okay?” Robby flew into the room in a rush, barely giving you time to breathe before he was reaching for your arm and bringing the injury up to his eyes to examine it “was it the cut? Did something happen?”

You were laughing before you could think to form proper words, pulling your arm from the man’s grasp without a second thought “Robby you literally took the stitches out for me last night what could’ve possibly happened in the hours it’s been since then”

“A lot for the record” he glared at you, despite everything the corners of his mouth perking up slightly in amusement “but you know it’s not usually healthy people who come into the Pitt”

“I just wanted to bring you guys some food” you forced some extra exasperation into your tone in hopes of hearing him chuckle as you gestured to the half un-packed bags on the table “It was just supposed to be a quick thank you I didn’t mean to bother-“

You cut yourself off at his look, could see the way he was gearing himself up to tell you once again that you weren’t a bother for coming to see him in the ER, something you felt you could push back on since the circumstances surrounding this trip to the Pitt were drastically different than the ones before.

But hoping to spare yourself the lecture you’ve already received you simply corrected yourself “-interrupt. I didn’t mean to interrupt your busy schedule”

The smirk on his face at your correction was much too smug for your liking but you let him have it anyways, a part of you always happy to let him revel in anything that had him smiling.

Reaching into the bag closest to you, you dug amongst the boxes for a brief moment before finding the one you were looking for, pulling it out and pushing it into his hands with a soft “here”

He looked down at the meal appreciatively, raising a single eyebrow at you in silent question.

“Remember that recipe I told you the other day I was working on? I think I’ve got it nailed down so I wanted to have you try it” you desperately tried to downplay the importance of it, the intimacy of Robby being the first person other than yourself to try a new recipe of yours, silently praying he wouldn’t pick up on how much his opinion of it meant to you.

“Ahhh so you needed guinea pigs”

You snorted at his response, relief surging through you at the joke “Guinea pig singular. Rest of the crew gets regular menu items. I wasn’t going to subject them to untested material”

He grinned at you in response as a soft huff escaped him “just me then that gets the risk of inedible food”

“Perks of being my favorite doctor” the words slipped out of you before you could think twice, a brief panic at being too forward surging through you before you leaned into a joke to deflect the sincerity “don’t tell Dana I said that though”

He chuckled at that with a soft shake of his head, the pink tint coloring his cheeks telling you the deflection didn’t land completely “she’s a nurse so you can argue the semantics of the epithet if need be”

“Good I’m not sure if I’m terrified of her or in love with her”

“Yeah she has that effect on people”

A silence fell over the two of you at that that for the first time with him it felt tense, but thankfully not uncomfortable, neither of you doing anything more than staring at one another before you acknowledged that one of you needed to break it. You nodded to the door behind him “I should head out, gotta start my prep here soon, but you’ll let me know what you think of that yeah?”

“Yeah” he nodded in the affirmative, a soft and dare you say found smile on his lips as he moved out of your way from the door “I take me duty as guinea pig very seriously”

“good it’s always such a hassle to find a new one” you found yourself lingering in the doorway, hesitant to leave just yet “oh and there’s a mocha in the bag for Javadi if she wants it as a thank you for stitching me up”

“You’re going to spoil my staff with all this specialty coffee” despite the comment you could see the appreciation in his eye, the complete lack of heat behind the jab.

You shrugged nonchalantly “gotta win them over, maybe one day I’ll graduate from blue tumbler girl to just coffee girl”

He laughed back at that, his head ducking slightly as he did so, crossing his arms over his chest in the process.

You took a brief second to relish the sound, giving him one last look before nodding and pushing the door open with your hip, resigning yourself with going back to work when your name being called halted you in your tracks, your gaze snapping back into the break room to meet his “Thank you. For the food I mean”

You couldn’t have bit back the grin on your face if you had tried “Anytime Michael”

-

“Whoa what’s all this? You order us food Robby?” Langdon asked, never once questioning if the food was even meant for him, hands already digging into the bag to pull out a box, handing it to Perlah on his left without a thought.

“No I didn’t Y/N my uh-“ he faltered suddenly, the words dying on his lips as he struggled for what to classify you as “Y/N brought it in for us, a thank you for stitching her up”

His tone had the two freezing before him, devious smirks passed wordless between them already making Robby roll his eyes before any words could be said, Perlah piping in eagerly with news “Front desk said blue tumbler brought in bags from Jianna’s”

“So blue tumbler’s name is Y/N” Langdon smirked at Robby who was doing his best to tamp down his exasperation, knowing it would only spur them on further.

“I still don’t understand why the blue tumbler was that big of a deal” still the annoyance dripped from his words as he muttered them

“Robby you came into work smiling”

“Humming even” Perlah pipped in, eyes already back on the bag of food as she dug through it.

“Humming” Langdon repeated with wide eyes and a wicked grin.

“Thought Abbot was going to have a stroke trying to process what he was seeing”

“And holding a coffee tumbler that was definitely not your own in a death grip” Langdon was looking much too smug for his liking at the observation.

With a deep sigh Robby rubbed tired hands deep into his eyes “I spend way too much time with you people”

“Dana said the coffee you had in there was good shit too. Way better than the stuff you normally drink” Perlah steamrolled ahead as if he had never spoken, finally choosing one of the take-out boxes and extracting it from the bag.

“Dana’s been drinking from a new green tumbler here lately” Langdon pointed out “plus she walked out of here with a cup that looked an awful lot like this one” he said as he extracted a to-go cup from the bag he had been looking in.

Robby almost regretted having to speak up about it now, knowing it was exactly what they were fishing for, running an anxious hand through the hair at the back of his neck as he did so “don’t, that’s a mocha for Javadi”

“How come Dana and Javadi get coffee from blue tumbler lady” Langdon pitched his voice to sound almost petulant, completely ignoring the glare Robby sent his way.

“She’s not supplying the whole floor with coffee”

“Would you look at that he’s already possessive over her” Langdon was downright giddy at Robby’s reaction, eyes cutting down to meet Perlah’s “think Abbot’s heard about that yet”

Robby groaned dramatically and swiped his box off the table as he made his way out the door before the other two could say anything further, muttering under his breath as he left the breakroom “why is he everyone’s go to”

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 7

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

You thought your heart couldn’t take any more damage. That you were immune to the idea of Sylus and his soulmate hurting you anymore. How naive. For all that you called Sylus a fool, it was you who was the dunce between you two.

Miss Hunter and Sylus came back not too long ago. The atmosphere between the two was even worse than before. And it got even more horrific when they decided to eat together.

You, of course, kept your distance. Being around Sylus was too much for you, and Miss Hunter was always near him. She clearly didn’t want to be, but she was. And there was something going on between the two of them.

Maybe that’s why the sight before you hurt so much. They seem so distance, so uncomfortable in each other’s presence. Any closeness was off the table, and you could pretend that they weren’t destined for one another. Until now.

The two of them are in bed together. Miss Hunter sits on Sylus lap. His robe is open, his hand cuffed to the bed, and he sits there with an amused look on his face. She pats down his body. She moves her hands down his body in such an unbothered way that it makes your blood boil.

Why does she get to do what you’ve abstained yourself for years from doing? Why does she do it with such callousness and such ease? Maybe that’s just another bit of proof that the universe has favorites.

You certainly aren’t one of them.

Further proof comes when Sylus finally notices you and his face drops. You’ve never seen him so… scared. Not for a very long time.

He scrambles to get Miss Hunter off of him. She falls and that’s when she also notices you.

“I-it was part of our deal,” she begins. “He had this brooch and I was trying to get it and one thing lead to another before I—“

You’re gone before she can finish.

The retreat from the room is anything but quiet. Banging footsteps. Sounds of protest from both Sylus and Miss Hunter. Your own heartbeat. You wander the maze of the base until it all stops.

You open a random door and close it. You don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything. And even though you feel yourself breath in and out, there’s no noise. Nothing to cling to. Even your heart has gone silent.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.

You put your head in your hands. What else were you to do in this situation, a situation you always told yourself you knew and were prepared to happen. You just didn’t expect it so early.

Maybe it’s a good thing your relationship to Sylus had already fallen apart before this.

He’s stopped calling you sweetie or sweetheart since Miss Hunter arrived. And while that’s only been a few days, you’ve missed it. You’ve longed for those stupid nicknames. Now he only calls her them. Granted you also call her sweetie or angel, but that’s different. She’s not your soulmate.

Every pet name, familiar or new (like kitten), makes you die a little more. They make your heart crack a little more. They make your lips looser, desperate to confess the love you’ve held onto for so long. But what you just saw made that desperation vanish. It reminded you of your place.

You begin to get your bearings and look around the refuge you decided to hide in. You recognize it as the room Luke and Kieran fled to during the first few weeks of you knowing the boys. It was the farthest room in the base from Sylus’.

Fitting. Maybe I should camp here until my foolish heart stops loving him.

One would have to go out of their way to find you here. And, apparently, Miss Hunter thought to do exactly that.

“Just let me explain,” her words come out in a rush and her voice is full of panic. “Please! It’s not what you think.”

“You have no earthly idea how much you sound like a partner who’s just got caught cheating, do you?”

Miss Hunter splutters and looks embarrassed for a moment. However, that quickly goes away in favor of a determined gaze. She doesn’t flinch. Your anger just drains away from you at that moment.

Because she never did anything wrong. Sylus never did anything wrong. Only you did. You did something wrong by falling for a man destined for another, for someone better. Someone with less baggage. Someone more beautiful. Someone perfect.

“Calm down. It was just a joke.”

“A poorly worded one.”

“Yes, yes, I know. You’re right. It was poor of me to make such a joke,” you pause for a moment. “That feels strange to say, given my occupation.”

Miss Hunter scoffs. Though she stands at the door, she's close to you. She leans into your space, comfortable and relaxed. So different from how she’s been with you the past few days.

“There a reason you’re so nice to me? Guilty over sleeping with my man?”

You say the last part with the fakest mock scandalized voice you can muster. Which is pretty good given your past experience selling stuff to rich people. Making a false story sound convincing and enthralling was all a part of job back then. And it still applies now.

“Would you please stop saying that!” She can barely look at you, her cheeks burning red, and you chuckle a bit. “I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“We are having a conversation. You just suck at conversing.”

“Maybe if you talked like a normal person…” she mumbles.

“What was that, sweetie?”

She makes a sound of embarrassment again before rolling her eyes at you.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Ever thought of changing that?”

“Ever thought of not chasing taken men?”

You can’t help yourself. That little voice in the back of your head, the one that blames her for your heartache, speaks up in that moment. It’s far less of a joke. It’s far closer to the truth of your emotions than you care to think about.

Miss Hunter screeches at you. Her face is even more red.

“You really make me regret coming after you.”

“Sounds like your problem, my friend,” you continue when she seems to have no problems with you calling her that. “Ya know, since you slept with my boss?”

“I did not!” She appears even more appalled. “I would never… we would never…”

She takes a moment to collect herself before finishing, “I hardly know your ‘boss’ anyways.”

It won’t be like that for long.

You sigh at Miss Hunter, “Alright, alright. I’m done teasing you. How about you come in? Have some one on one time with someone who didn’t kidnap you at any point whatsoever?”

“That’s such a low bar.”

You laugh a little, “I know. Upstanding citizens aren’t really a thing here, sweetie. I’m just more… morally inclined than the others that live here.”

“You don’t say?”

Miss Hunter closes the door, and you both plop down onto the bed. She sits rather close to you.

“Can I explain now?” She gives you a look for a moment, “Without you making any jokes?”

“I make no promises.”

She rolls her eyes, straightens her spine, and begins. And your blood boils the minute she does.

Experiements… Modification…

All you see is the twins in your minds: their small, scarred bodies. Black crystals taking over one while the other screams in agony. They were just boys; 14 year old, innocent, little, boys who suffered the unspeakable. All in the name of science.

And Sylus tried to the same to her.

“He did what?”

Miss Hunter startles. Makes sense, given this is the first time you’ve ever been remotely hostile around her. Anger isn’t really a thing you tend to express to others. It’s harmful in your job.

You force the feeling to fade as soon it comes up. You stuff it down a wave of calm and force it to vanish into the ocean of your heart.

“Apologizes. I was just… perturbed by what you said. I’ll be having a word with him. Continue.”

Your tone is off, judging by her hesitance to speak. But after a little more encouragement, Miss Hunter moves on.

She finishes quickly, scrambling through the details of her deal with Sylus and avoiding your gaze when she talks about it. You don’t press her.

Finally, after she relaxes and you two bask in the brief silence, you speak.

“Ok,” Miss Hunter narrows her eyes at you. “I believe you, alright? No need for such scrutiny.”

You fall back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to your own heartbeat to calm down. To forget about what you just heard.

Sylus later. Miss Hunter now.

Repetition of those words creep into your thoughts. They’re your mantra at the moment, the thing that keeps you grounded.

Miss Hunter fidgets beside you. You tap the bed to beckon her to lay next to you. She does so with a bit of hesitance.

The two of you just bask in one another’s presence. She occasionally glances at you, but you keep your eyes glued to the ceiling. All the easier to avoid even a glimpse at her damn threads and what they do to your state of mind.

“Why did you come after me?” You say after a bit of silence.

Miss Hunter turns her head to look at you fully, her expression a weave of disbelief and almost pity.

“Because you looked so… betrayed.”

You laugh at her to cover up how vulnerable her words make you feel.

“Betrayed? Sweetie, you and Sylus are grown ass adults. And if there was consent on both sides, it is none of my business what you two get up to.”

You keep your tone bubbly and playful to convince yourself that you believe it.

“For the last time, we weren’t doing anything, “ she huffs before she continues in a softer voice. “Your boss is just an ass who likes to play games with people.”

You smile at that, “You don’t even have the slightest clue.”

“Oh really? He plays those ridiculous games with you too.”

You shrug, “Sort of. He has since the day we met. His games have just… shifted. He knows better than to truly piss me off.”

Maybe that’s why despite how much Sylus clearly wants to speak with you, he doesn’t try to. He’s seen how you can destroy people, how you use your words to bend their reality and use your hands to pull the life out of them. He knows what you’re capable when rage consumes you.

“So you two are close then?”

Miss Hunter lays on her side and props her head up by a hand on her cheek. You mirror her and give her an impish smile.

“I’d say we’re close.”

“Close? Close how? You only really ever call him boss around me.”

“Because he is my boss,” you say with a bit of attitude. “It’s an appropriate title.”

“Boss and employee don’t act the way you two act.”

“How so?” You ask despite it being a stupid question.

Miss Hunter doesn’t say anything for some time.

“He was worried, you know,” she’s so quiet, you almost think you imagine it.

“Hmm?”

“When you…,” she searches for the right word. “Collapsed.”

“You can say it as it is: I fainted due to extreme panic and lack of oxygen. Which is very unbecoming of someone in my position.”

Miss Hunter winces at your callousness.

“I’m not even entirely sure what brought that episode about. It’s not the first time I’ve seen my boss be shot, and it won’t be the last.”

You play off your words with humor, making sure the emotion drips from every syllable that falls from your lips. Even when you know the truth.

Miss Hunter looks like she wants to say something. She closes her mouth as soon as she opens. She does this a few times.

“Spit it out, sweetie. I’m not a mind reader and I believe you said you were trying to have a conversation with me.”

She hesitates, eyes flickering around the room and body squirming. A reassuring smile crosses your lips and you soften your gaze.

“W-what made it different this time?”

You, you almost say. But that wouldn’t be fair.

You play it off, “I was curious about that myself. Maybe the stress of being the sole sane person here in this ridiculous mansion has finally gotten to me?”

Miss Hunter knows you’re lying, judging by the minuscule frown on her face. She doesn’t press. You’re thankful.

Stupid. You pushed for her to ask and give such an inadequate and foolish response. Stupid stupid stupid—

Miss Hunter cuts off your thoughts, “So what exactly is your relationship with Sylus?”

You blink at her.

“He’s my boss turned work partner, sweetie. I don’t know what else you want me say.”

She snorts, “Bullshit.”

Your eyes widen at her sudden crass language.

“Colleagues don’t act the way you two do.”

“You’ve been at your current job for how long now?” She flushes and stutters at your words.

You sigh and roll over your side to face her again, “Sylus and I face death together every day, every second, of our job. It makes sense that we’d form some sort of bond.”

“You say that,” she says your name. “But, you didn’t see his face when started panicking. You didn’t see how held you, and how afraid he was. You didn’t see him fall apart like I did.”

The words she says and the way she says them makes everything click for you. Like the final piece of the puzzle was just discovered and you get to see the whole picture.

Oh.

Suddenly everything makes sense. She thinks Sylus loves you. You want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. At the irony of it all.

“Sylus and I do have quite the history,” you shrivel at your own words, scared for a moment you might’ve just made things worse.

Your words are ironic. Painful. Pitiful. As if you’re trying to overshadow the history she shares with Sylus and compare to meager one you have with him.

How can you compare the two? She was the one who taught him to be human. She was the one who first showed the fiend love. She took his curse, his burden, and made it into something beautiful. She was his everything.

There was no place for you in all that.

You continue, “He cares for me like I care for him. And regardless of what you think of him, anyone would be frightened by what happened. You barely know me and you’re shaken up.”

Miss Hunter just hums. And you pray that you’ve convinced her. Because nothing’s going on between you and Sylus. Not ever will go on between the two of you.

We’re business partners and friends. Nothing more. You will never have anything more.

Miss Hunter suddenly breaks the tension. Something flickers across her face before she speaks, and for once, you can't tell what it is.

“So, ummm, Sylus gave me this dress, it’s in the room I’ve been staying at apparently, and I, uh…”

You wait for her to find her words. Not judging, but just silent companionship.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. Or what to expect.”

“I figured. Hunter training doesn’t cover fancy galas full of people who’d kill you an instant?”

“No. No it doesn’t.”

“Come with me. I’ll help you get ready. And I’ll give you a few tips.”

“Thank you,” she sighs with relief while you smile.

As you walk with her back to her room you wonder, is this what it’s like to have a little sister?

You don’t know Miss Hunter well. She knows you even less. But you can’t help but be drawn to her. Maybe that’s why she has so many soulmates? Even the universe itself can’t help but love her.

The pair of you arrive in the room, and you see the red dress. It’s perfect for Miss Hunter. It also reminds you of the first gala you went to with Sylus; he had you two match outfits back then as well.

But all you can think is: she’s wearing his color already.

It’s a stupid thought. A useless thought. But it permeates throughout your mind. It infects you as you hold it up against her body and shuttle to the bathroom to try it on. It’s still there once she comes out.

“Here.”

You reach into your pockets to take your mind off of your foolish thoughts.

You take out the earrings there causally, holding them to her ears for a moment before smiling, “They’re perfect.”

The earrings are some of your finest work: small studs of a dragon with red datura flowers as the back piece that holds it to her ears. On the nose in terms of her history with Sylus? Yes. But maybe they'll jog her memory even just a bit.

“Where’d you get these? They’re gorgeous…” she gawks at the pieces and you fluster from both embarrassment and pride.

“I made them, sweetie. For you.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you’d look pretty in them,” you state, and her cheeks goes red. “And as a precaution, since my boss doesn’t seem to be doing any of that.”

“Precaution?”

“They have built in trackers, which you can disable if you so please,” you add on once she gives you a look and tries to hand the gift back. “The trackers only exist so that if you press here, it’ll send a distress signal to me and only me. God knows what kind of nonsense the twins would pull if they had access to such information. And I know you wouldn’t trust my boss for such an emergency.”

As you explain to her, you think about the bracelets you’ve given the twins and the necklace you’ve given Sylus. They each function the same way. And sure, the twins mostly use theirs to fuck with you. And Sylus uses his to drag you out of your office when you’re buried in your projects or any other time he just wants to spend time with you.

You respond every time, even when you know that it’s more likely to be a nonemergency. Better safe than sorry. And besides, it always makes the boys smile; especially Sylus. Their smiles make whatever frivolous or tired journey you had to make well worth it.

One day, those smiles will be hers as well.

Shockingly, you’re slightly happy at the thought. Because Miss Hunter deserves a family after all she’s been through. She and Sylus deserve happiness and they’ll find that with each other. The twins will also find happiness with her in their lives.

You're simply not needed now that she's here.

“I really must get going. I have my own preparations to begin.”

“Preparations? Are you sure you’re not going to talk to your boss? Because your face says otherwise.”

What face?

You bring your hand up to your face, feeling the familiar furrowed brows and creases of your mouth. Were you truly so lost in thought, in bitterness, that your facial expression changed?

Her openness is rubbing off on me.

“Quiet, you.”

Her laugh follows you out the room until you close the door. You school your expression immediately, retreating to a place of comfort behind a mask of lies.

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[silksandcravats]

No Sleeping Alone - Dean x Reader HC

headcanon on boyfriend!dean who does NOT condone sleeping apart from you.

After years of lonely trips and no true closeness, Dean finally has you. And he refuses to spend any more nights alone, at least, not when you’re under the same roof.

No matter what.

Lovers quarrels are inevitable. Dean had always been a hothead, his anger boiled fast, and his sharp words shot out even faster.

Going into the whole thing, you knew your relationship would require strong patience on your end.

But you’re only human, so sometimes you’d snap, and call him out on his shit.

The fight grew to a peak, and to his credit, Dean was the one who stepped away first. Biting his tongue and exiting the room before he said something he really couldn’t take back.

You both keep your distance the rest of the day, opting to cool off in private.

The bunker was vast enough for you to comfortably avoid each other. Even through dinner, you both had found your own quiet moment to sneak in and out of the kitchen in record time.

You don’t know where to go as the day winds down, so you end up back in your old room. It was only a few doors further down the hallway, and you’d occupied it for quite a while.

Only it felt unfamiliar now. The very same room that was once your personal sanctuary now seemed cold and empty.

And damn it have queen mattresses always been this big?

It was just too much empty space for one person.

Still, it felt like the right thing to do, you both needed space to cool off. And the bedroom you now shared had been Dean’s first, so of course you should be the one to go.

This was the most logical place to spend the night.

It all made perfect sense, but you were still feeling sad and lonely as you curled up under the covers.

You pressed your eyes shut, trying to force sleep to come to you. Surely if you just held them shut long enough you’d drift off.

But you didn’t.

You wiggled around the ample empty space of the mattress, unsure what to do with yourself. So uncomfortable with the lack of a second, larger, warmer body, with grabby hands and little regard for how much space he took up.

You tapped out first most nights, you had no problem keeping late hours, but you needed your eight hours. Dean, on the other hand could go on four, even less sometimes. (No matter how many times you tried to convince him he needed more.)

So it took a while for Dean to realize what you’d done. But realize he did.

Eventually the door to your old room creaked open, and you didn’t flinch, you didn’t even have to turn to know who was there.

“There you are,” he sighed with relief.

Realistically, you’d always been somewhere in the bunker, where would you ever go? But in his panic, that logic hadn’t held.

“Why the hell are you in here?”

He’s irritated, but not like before. He’s not irritated at you, he’s irritated at the absense of you.

“I think we both need some space,” you sighed, back still to him. You heard his heavy steps as he moved deeper into the room, towards you.

“No.” He dismissed firmly.

“No?” You questioned back.

“We’re not fucking doing this,” he announced, decidedly gripping you and tossing you over his shoulder in one swift move.

You yelped, wriggling in his grasp until a firm swat to your backside stilled your squirming.

“Damn it, Dean! Did you forget we’re fighting?” you grunted, his shoulder digging harshly into your stomach.

“Well then we’ll work it out now, or tomorrow, I don’t really care but you’re sleeping with me.”

He deposited you on the side of the bed further from the door, your side.

You shuffled under the covers, propping your pillow so it was just so. You were trying to busy yourself with anything other than watching him strip down to his boxers and crawl in beside you.

Even in the early days, before anything was official, sharing a bed with Dean had always meant cuddles. Back to his front, chest to chest, you laying atop him.

You’d even managed to spoon him a few times when he was very very tired. The position was awkward, and your arms would ache the next morning, but for all that he did you felt he deserved to be held sometimes.

Now, for the first time, you were trying to keep space between you. It felt appropriate. It wasn’t as if you could erase the events of the day just because it was bedtime.

(Dean disagreed.)

“I’m too tired for this. C’mere,” He grunted.

He moved your unwilling limbs like a ragdoll, forcing you where he wanted you.

First, the hand around your waist tugged you, middle first against his body. His other arm around your back brought your chest completely flush to his, while a thick, muscled leg around yours brought the rest of you in. He had effectively trapped you against him.

“You go right here,” he hummed decidedly, tucking you in beneath the blanket.

“Dean-“ you protested weakly, not even convincing yourself.

“Where you belong,” his voice was low, content, and final.

As you laid in his arms your mood shifted, time had a way of making old anger feel pointless. You sank into his hold without even meaning to.

However mad you’d felt earlier couldn’t compare to the peace you felt now. The utter relief of being him his arms superseded any other feeling.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you whispered after some time had passed.

You didn’t know if he was still awake, if he’d heard you until he answered.

“M’always gonna come get ya.” His tired voice croaked, chest rumbling against you. “You’re not going anyway.”

“Don’t want to go anywhere,” you agreed sleepily, wiggling closer against him.

“Good.”

[blank-potato]

need that

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror. Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him. He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?” You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Or You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, confessions, pining, yearning, all hours are yearning hours for reader

WC: 2.3K

A/N: Thank you @fire-joestar for this request and idea! I have another one for Bob with the same concept coming out at some point. Hope you all enjoy it!

☆☆☆

You wanted John Walker so bad that it was becoming a problem. Friends weren’t supposed to be crazy in love with other friends, but here you were, heart racing every time he so much as looked your way.

It came to the point where he’d be standing still, and you’d just be absolutely losing your mind. The way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirts, it was enough to short-circuit your brain.

Like when he caught you staring and started talking to you about his guns, “This one is pretty good for close-quarters. Lightweight, easy trigger…”

You nod along and pretend to pay attention, but it’s hot the way he’d handle them, all casual and confident. The way his fingers curled around the grip, the intensity in his eyes when he explained the mechanics, you’d transform into a gun right now if you could, just for the chance to be held like that.

“You still with me?” John asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you that crooked half-smile that never failed to melt your brain.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, even though he’d lost you as soon as you saw the veins in his hand flex around the barrel. You’re not even sure what he’s talking about anymore. Tactical specs? Firing range? Who cares. 

"Cool," he says, and goes right back to talking shop, completely unaware that you're about three seconds away from combusting.

It was an everyday occurrence. But during training, it was something else entirely. That’s when things really test your self-control.

Flipping you over like you weighed nothing during sparring sessions, he was strong and agile, all precision and power wrapped in that unfairly good-looking package. You found yourself on the mat more often than not, too distracted to fight properly. 

Not to mention listening to him talk, helping direct you on how to angle your arms, how to keep your balance and improve your fighting stance. It was so distracting the way he’d give directions, voice low and focused.

“Right foot here, and I want you to put all your weight behind it when you punch,” he’d say, tapping the mat lightly where he wanted your foot to go.

“Alright,” you murmur, trying not to sound like you're dying inside, and you try again, not quite doing as he instructed. He observes you for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. 

“Can I?” he asks, hands hovering near your hips, asking for permission, like you wouldn’t let him do pretty much anything. 

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

He moves your hips into place with a firm, steady grip that has no business being that gentle. “Now,” he continues, voice closer now, “shift forward and twist your hips, it has to be all one movement.”

He’d basically been manhandling you, guiding your arms, adjusting your hips until you were exactly where he wanted you. But still, he was gentle and patient, never getting frustrated, always calm, always in control.

And it was so unbelievably hot.

You could only imagine where else those firm instructions and steady hands would come in handy. The way he said, "twist your hips"? Yeah, you were already spiralling.

“I’ve lost you again,” John says, catching the faraway, glazed-over look on your face, one brow raised.

“No, no, I��m… I’m here,” you stammer, blinking hard and trying to pull yourself back into the moment, even though your brain had very much left the building five minutes ago. He smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And you’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

But you’re hopeless whether or not he’s interacting with you or not. Watching him work out in any capacity was a dangerous game. You were at risk of keeling over and dying on the spot every single time.

Watching him run on the treadmill, sweat glistening on his skin, shirt clinging to every sculpted line of muscle. Or when he boxed, the way his muscles rippled with every jab, every hook, every fluid, powerful movement. You were obsessed.

You put your head in your hands for a second, trying to cool down your spiralling thoughts, then looked back up at him.

He turned to you just then, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and asked, “Did you need something?”

“N-nope,” You stutter out as you walk backwards out of the room, bumping into multiple walls, your eyes not once leaving his shirtless body. 

Though you liked the little things too.

He offers to drive you wherever you need to go, because, well, after a few incidents of reckless driving, your license had been suspended.

In your defence, it was a matter of life and death. Several times. But try explaining that you were being hunted by sword-wielding assassins and not getting laughed out of the room. 

You climb into the passenger seat, trying not to feel awkward about it. 

“Thanks…” You mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He glances over at you, mouth tugging into a faint smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, teasing just enough to make your chest flutter.

He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. The windows are down, wind in his hair, sun in his eyes. Then once you reach your destination, he does the thing. 

The thing where he puts his arm around the back of your seat as he reverses, his jawline sharp in the golden wash of afternoon light, the clean, strong line of his neck exposed beneath the collar of his shirt.

You don’t know why it has you holding your breath, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual way he does it, like he’s done it a hundred times. Or the fact that he’s so in control and completely unaware of how stupidly attractive what he’s doing is.

You’re gawking, and you know you’re gawking, but you’re only human. Gawking was your speciality, and you’re always putting yourself in situations to do it. 

Like when he’d be on cooking duty and you’d jump at the opportunity to be his unofficial sous-chef, just to be near him. You’re currently struggling with this godforsaken onion. Eyes watering, grip awkward, and the knife refusing to cooperate.

“I can do that for you,” John offers gently, taking the onion from your hands with that same ease he handled everything. “The blade’s dull, that’s why you’re having such a hard time…”

You nod, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you watch him grab the knife-sharpening rod. He starts working the blade against it with practised movements.

John Walker is an acts of service king; you noticed it early on. One time, you had barely even acknowledged that you were thirsty. There was no glass of water in front of you, you barely even sighed, but before you could even stand, John had quietly placed one in your hand without a word. 

Or when you fell asleep on the couch, and felt the weight of a blanket being placed on top of you, the warm, familiar scent of his cologne letting you know it was him. You didn’t even have to open your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wake you.

Just made sure you were comfortable and tucked the blanket around your shoulders. He could be loud, commanding, the centre of attention when he needed to be, but moments like that reminded you of how soft he could be when no one was looking.

You snap out of the memory, focusing back on him as he now dices the onion with mechanical precision, the knife gliding like it was an extension of his hand.

“See? Easy when your tools actually work,” he says with a half-smile, glancing your way.

You try not to swoon. Or stare. Or let him see how completely ridiculous it is that someone chopping onions could look that good. But honestly? It’s a losing battle.

A few days later, you were searching for him to get some insight on a mission you’d all be heading out on later that day.

“John?” you called out from outside his door, your knuckles tapping lightly.

“Come in!” he called back casually.

You step inside. His room was as clean and precise as you’d expect. Neatly made bed, organised, everything in its place. You glance around, not seeing him at first, but the moment you step into the bathroom, your soul threatens to leave your body. 

You’d seen him shirtless often enough that you should be used to it by now, but nope. Especially not like this. The room was steamy from the shower, and he stood there with only a towel slung low around his hips, v-line in full view, chest gleaming slightly in the light.

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror.

Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?”

You blinked, realising you’d been staring.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, I… just came to ask about the mission.”

He turned slightly, not even trying to cover up. “Sure. Just give me a second to finish up. Unless you’re in a rush?”

You shook your head fast. “No rush. I can wait.”

So you stay there, doing your best to focus as he continues to shave.

You start going over the mission details to distract yourself, letting him know the objectives, listening to his responses, but it’s nearly impossible. 

Thankfully, the next, next mission, you sat out with Bob, spending the day chilling and playing Mario Kart with him. It was easy and a perfect distraction from the John problem, as you started dubbing it. Until the rest of the team walked back in.

They looked rough. Bruised, dirty, clearly fresh off a firefight. John was at the front, jaw tight, a few shallow cuts on his arms and a particularly nasty one near his temple that definitely needed attention, yet he still somehow looked unfairly good.

You barely had time to blink before his eyes found yours. Then he was moving, across the room, straight to where you were still curled up on the couch.

Without a word, he jerked his head toward the hallway. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, glancing at the others like someone might tell you what the hell was happening, but no one seemed surprised. With a sigh, you stood and followed him down the hall to a quiet, empty corner. Why this was his number one priority after a mission was beyond you.

“We do?” you asked, arms crossing defensively.

“You’ve been looking at me weird for a while now,” he said, tone unreadable but eyes locked on yours.

You froze. “What?”

He stepped a little closer. “You have. In the kitchen. In the gym. In my car. You stare.”

Your mouth opened but closed just as fast. How on earth would you rebut any of his claims? You doubt you had been subtle in the slightest; if someone made a compilation of you staring at John, they’d have enough footage to make a movie. 

“You’re imagining things,” you said, way too quickly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Am I?”

You step back, but your back hits the wall, the space between the two of you impossibly small.

“You like me, don’t you?”

Hearing that you’re sure it’s over for you. You stand there waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, but then his fingers are under your chin, tipping your head up gently.

“It’s okay if you do,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like me too.”

You let out a breathy laugh and swat at his chest playfully. “Asshole…”

He laughs with you, but soon his expression softens, the teasing giving way to something deeper.

“I like you too,” he says quietly.

The words hit like fireworks going off in your chest. You mean that?” You ask to which John answers genuinely, “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you…” You start, heart racing, “Do you want to show me how much you like me?” you ask, voice dropping, the boldness rising in your chest before you can second-guess it.

He smirks at you, then he pulls you in, his hands cupping your face like you’re something fragile and precious. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt as you hold onto his arms. Without them, you’d be a puddle on the floor. The kiss slowly deepens, becoming more passionate, more desperate. Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer like it’s instinct. He groans softly at the touch, one hand slipping from your cheek to your waist, then he slots his knee between your legs and…

“No, no, no. Not outside my room,” Yelena interrupts with a sigh, “Take that somewhere private.”

Alexei is grinning like a proud dad, arms folded, nodding approvingly. Bucky is concerned about how quickly you guys started making out against the wall.

Ava just throws up her hands in relief, muttering, “Finally,” under her breath, clearly thrilled that she no longer has to witness you making heart eyes at John during every single meal, briefing, and training session.

And Bob? Bob’s smiling, warm and supportive, genuinely happy for you both… though mildly overwhelmed, like he just walked into something he isn’t entirely sure how to exit.

You groan into your hands, face burning. Yelena’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. If you two are going to be gross again, do it behind a closed door.”

John chuckles, slipping his hand into yours. “Well… you heard the lady.”

He pulls you towards his room, and the second you get inside, you shove him onto his bed, trying to peel his suit off. 

“Eager, aren’t you?” John chuckles. 

“Shut up.”

Masterlist

[venusheartsyou2]

me and my husband | bucky barnes

summary: bucky asks a lot of you. like that time he asked you to marry him, no-strings-attached, of course.

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

warnings: explicit. 18+ only, MDNI. afab!reader. marriage of convenience. many mentions of alcohol and drinking! yearn city over here, reader is a chronic people pleaser, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, tad bit of angst. flashbacks to endgame, mention of steve and nat death & grieving. mention of benjamin poindexter. vague timeline. oral (female receiving), piv sex, unsafe sex, no use of y/n.

wc: 10.6K (FUUUCK)

a/n: oh my holy guaca-freaking-mole. this. took. fucking FOREVER to write. i hope yall like it, i really do. anyways.. self-indulgent! yippee!!

EDIT: i forgot bucky cant get drunk. please pretend he can for my sake.

heavily inspired by love me more by byexbyez (aka the better written version of this trope, lol)

The soup you made earlier in the day had gone cold. Chicken noodle. It wasn’t your favorite, but your husband usually asks for it when you offer to cook. Your husband’s late again, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He was busy. He always is. Life as a congressman isn’t easy. It’s monotonous, boring, and soul-sucking. As much as the empty yet somewhat grand house bothered you, you learned to get over its suffocating hallways. 

The sound of keys jingling in the door knob breaks you out of your little trance. The key sounds act as a little warning that someone’s coming in. Bucky enters quietly and he knocks off his shoes and removes his worn out tuxedo jacket and leaves on the coat hanger next to the door.

“Long day?” You ask. Bucky didn’t expect you to be up still, proven by the little jump he does when he hears your voice. He sighs, it’s just you.

“Yeah, when isn’t it?” He responds. You let out a light breath disguised as a laugh.

“Made soup. It’s a bit cold now, but I can go warm it up if you’d like.” You say as you start heading to the kitchen.

“I’m not that hungry.” Bucky replies. Bucky’s reluctance to eat made you bitter, however there was no use. Behind closed doors, there was no need for pretending. Bucky had asked you to sign that marriage license, however long ago, but there was no sentiment tied to it. It was simply a means to an end.

“You should eat Bucky. I’ll leave it out.” You respond, trying not to push too much. Bucky simply nods, a sign he’s not too interested in continuing chatting. At least when the topic is about him. Stage fright, maybe.

Bucky nervously fidgets with the cuff of his shirt. After a moment, Bucky lets out a deep breath and breaks his silence. “You’re gonna hate me.”

Your immediate reaction is anxiety. “What did you do?” You say, cocking your head slightly.

“There’s a charity event tomorrow.. ”

“Yeah, and?”

“I made a promise I would come.” Bucky says. What Bucky means to say is, ‘we would come’, but he thinks laying you into the news slowly will make your reaction easier to handle.

You would be fine with it, usually. You knew that these superficial galas and events came with Bucky’s profession. The only problem was that your mother was visiting the city for the day, and you had full-day plans for dinner and catching up. Bucky knew about them, as you told him the moment it was planned.

Your lack of a response was enough for Bucky. “I’m sorry. I know you have plans with your mother.” He says, apologetic enough to seem genuine.

“And I have to go?” You ask.

“It would look weird if you didn’t.” He responds. It’s always about looks, isn’t it?

“Right.” You reply, already planning out a long apology text to your mother, who would definitely understand. Can’t help but feel bad. You whip out your phone to start texting your mother.

“I’m buying a dress for you to wear tomorrow.” Bucky says, hoping that works as an incentive.

“Did you choose the dress, or did your secretary? You know I like her taste in fashion better.” You grin at Bucky for a second, then you look back down at your phone to begin typing your large paragraph of an apology.

“She helped.” Bucky laughs weakly. He can’t help but look at you frantically typing.

“Well, I’ll leave the soup out if you want it. You should eat something. ‘Gonna be a long day tomorrow too.” You say, finally, after you send your apology.

Bucky purses his lips and nods. “Okay. Thanks.” He says, so casually.

If anyone had seen how the two of you talk, they would assume you were roommates. Which you essentially were. The two of you weren’t very romantic, at least when the both of you were sober, or while you weren’t in the public eye, of course. Any non-public romantic passes were swiftly ignored the next day. It’s not that you didn’t find Bucky attractive, because you most certainly did, it was mainly the fact that Bucky made it clear from the beginning this relationship was strictly for political gain. Nothing really so hot and heavy about that.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Bucky.” You yawn as you head to your bedroom, which was a guest bedroom that Bucky randomly assigned you.

“See you. Be ready by 6PM.” Bucky tells you off-handedly. You give him a thumbs up as you walk to your room.

It’s hard for you to go to sleep, usually. It’s partially your fault. You know that being on your phone before bed isn’t best for getting the optimum amount of sleep. However, you find yourself researching your husband’s political moves every night. Bucky hasn't been able to pass a single bill since he joined Congress, so you note to yourself to avoid talking about that while at the event tomorrow. You hated studying in school, but yet you find yourself studying every night. You have to present yourself as a good wife, or at least a believable one.

You sigh, shutting off your phone after reading a large amount of hate comments on Bucky’s surprising political career. People don’t like change, or at least the fact that an ex-assassin somehow got into office. You shrug it off. Weirder stuff has happened, anyway.

You groan as you get out of bed. You accepted the fact you just weren’t going to get your desired hours of sleep tonight. Maybe it’ll be easier to go to bed after a glass of water?

You walk downstairs into the kitchen to get your glass of water. You enter to see Bucky, sitting with his laptop, with a bunch of paperwork splayed all over the kitchen island. Bucky hears the sounds of your footsteps, and he smiles at you weakly when he sees you. He’s tired, it’s clear by the look on his face. 

You walk over next to Bucky, looking at all of his work. Just a bunch of political mumbo-jumbo; nothing of interest to you. You rub Bucky’s shoulder and neck, trying to massage what you can without seeming too touchy. Bucky groans a little, and he’s broken out of his little trance. He realizes just how tired he really is.

Bucky pats your hand on his shoulder and gently takes your hand off him. You’re not sure if that gesture was too affectionate. It shouldn’t be, but you can’t risk making anything awkward. “Thanks.” Bucky mumbles, his voice almost at a whisper. He rubs his eyes and yawns.

“You should go to sleep. You’ll work better after sleeping.” You tell Bucky, as you always do. You see an empty, used bowl. Bucky ate your food. You find yourself smiling.

“You like it?” You ask, heading towards the pot of soup that was sitting on the stove. You mix the soup around.

“It was perfect, thank you.” Bucky grins.

You grab a spoon and taste the soup you had made.

What the hell was Bucky talking about? It was the most watery, unflavorful soup you had made yet. And the soup you usually make is nowhere near gourmet. “What the hell are you talking about? This is ass.” You grimace at the taste.

Bucky grins and shrugs. “Tasted good to me.”

“HYDRA must’ve fucked you up bad.” You joke. Were HYDRA jokes too far? You were about to find out.

To your relief, Bucky let out a light laugh. “Guess they did. I’m just lucky that someone is willing to cook for me at all.”

You smile at Bucky, while continuing to stir the pot of soup. “It’s not a big deal. I’m glad you’re willing to eat it.” You say, while adding copious amounts of salt and herbs to make up for the lackluster taste.

After a moment, Bucky reveals, “I called your mom.”

You turn around. “You did?” You ask, looking a little concerned. Your mother didn’t know the true nature of you and Bucky’s real relationship. When you had told her the news, she was excited that her only daughter was getting married, but she was furious about the fact that she had never known about him before. Which is understandable. However, it wasn’t like you had much time before the fake marriage ceremony to introduce him.

You had asked for a wedding. With a nice dress. As a kid, you had always dreamed of having a perfect wedding, where most of the focus was just on you and your future partner. Bucky tried to deliver, but the wedding just didn’t feel complete. Probably from the lack of true feelings on either party, or the fact that you had to prepare for a new life under spotlight and public scrutiny soon.

The wedding you had was small, mainly just family and select friends. The only proof of the wedding’s existence was a photo you had taken with Bucky at the altar, along with the grotesque amount of photos your mother insisted on taking. You told her to keep the photos private, to which she begrudgingly agreed. All that, and yet the wedding also didn’t feel complete without Natasha there, as she was the woman who had introduced the two of you to one another many years ago.

It’s still weird Nat’s gone. You thank her for a lot of things. She provided you with your first job in the city. She convinced Tony that the Avengers needed a manager to handle all of their public appearances. She then convinced Tony that it should be you, and even with Tony’s unbearable stubbornness, she got you that job. It was there when you met Bucky, or the Winter Soldier, as he was named at the time.

“She wasn’t too mad about you canceling.” Bucky says about your mother, which knocks you out of your trance.

“She wasn’t? That’s a relief.” You respond.

“I’m still sorry that you had to cancel. I’ll make it up to you one day.” Bucky promises. While you’re sure Bucky means to keep the promise, he’s always so busy with work, so you wonder how long you’ll have to wait for Bucky to make it up to you — with whatever he plans to do.

“It’s fine, Bucky.” You shrug off as an instinct. 

Bucky looks remorseful, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. “Good night then.”

“Night.”

In the morning, you wake up to an empty house. Bucky leaves for work early in the morning. You work from home – something you had wished for a while – but you have to admit, it gets pretty lonely. After a long day of pointless powerpoints and spreadsheets, you get a text from Bucky’s secretary.

“Mr. Barnes will be bringing your dress for tonight in 30 minutes.” She texts you, overly formal. You’ve told her that there’s no need to be formal, but she insists as she’s on the clock.

Bucky gently knocks on your door. You turn to see him with a box in his hands. “Surprise.”

You grin. “Wow, a present for me?” You say as you open the box. It’s a gorgeous white dress with gold accents. What a surprise – there’s no way Bucky picked this out himself.

“Mia.” Bucky mentions his secretary, notioning that it was her idea. You look up at him and nod. “Makes sense.”

You check your watch. 4:30PM. “I should start getting ready soon.”

“You’ll look good either way.” Bucky compliments, seeming more affectionate than it should. You clear your throat. “That’s kind of you, Bucky.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Bucky says, leaving the box on your bed. 

You say bye, as you start unfolding the dress. How the hell do you put this thing on? The dress had two strips of loose fabric, which were meant to be tied together in the back, similar to that of a halter top. At least you think they’re meant to be tied. You brace yourself to fit into this dress. You squeeze in a little, as the dress is a little tight in the back.

The dress was cute, from what you could see. The dress still needed to be tied, and there wasn’t a way for you to reach the back of the dress. You sigh a little as you try your best to make a knot. “Bucky?” You shout out.

“Yeah?” He calls out from downstairs. 

“Can you come up?” You ask.

You can hear Bucky’s footsteps slowly come closer to your room. You turn around. The top of the dress folds over the waist of the dress. You turn around, your back facing the door, as your chest is exposed, and you’re not so keen on giving Bucky an unwanted surprise when he enters your room.

Bucky enters your room, surprised to see your torso exposed. He clears his throat and asks you what you need. You tell him to tie the back, instructing him on how to assemble the knot.

“Tie it tight.”

Bucky hums a little ‘mm-hm’. As he finishes the knot, you turn back around to show off the dress. “How does it look?”

Bucky grins a little. “Perfect.”

–

Later, you and Bucky enter the fancy ballroom. Charity events were a bore to you, as bad as that sounds. It always surprised you how much money people had to just give so freely, as you had grown up with so little. Perhaps it was best not to focus on that. It’s good that these people are donating so much for good causes.

Bucky had cleaned up, his hair was slicked back and he was in his best suit. Your hair was tied up and curled neatly. It had taken forever to do, so at least it turned out nicely. You accessorized with gold jewelry, to match with the gold accents of the dress, of course.

Bucky’s arm lays on the small of your back. Servers pass by with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, to which you pick up naturally.

Small talk between politicians killed you. You could not think of a bigger waste of time. You could feel the venom in each of the politicians' voices, but it’s hidden by smiles and charming personalities. You know what you have to do. Smile big, and only speak when spoken to. Best to avoid any slip-ups.

“You’re doing great, just focus on me.” Bucky whispers into your ear. You cough off the warm feeling in your chest.

“Congratulations on the wedding. Still in the honeymoon phase, are you?” A wife of a congressman asked. 

“Very much so.” Bucky responded, looking at you with love in his eyes. He’s a good actor. You smile back as you place a hand on his chest.

“She gets me through my day.” Bucky adds, and a flurry of ‘aww’s’ follow suit. You swiftly push down the growing lump in your throat. Gotta act natural.

As you and Bucky break away from the group of people, you find yourself by the sidelines, people-watching. Bucky had left to go network, or whatever it is that he does. You had him in your line of sight, which comforted you in this large crowd.

You drink your champagne, unassuming.

“Mrs. Barnes?” A man asks out to you, seemingly out of nowhere. You jump a little at the surprise.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The man laughs as he slowly inches up to you. Your neck cranes upward to look at the man’s face, as he’s much taller than you.

“Of course not,” You grin, “You just caught me off guard.”

The man rubs the back of his neck. “My apologies.” You shrug it off.

“I was trying to reach Mr. Barnes, but he seems to be occupied.” The man sighs as he shoots a glance at Bucky.

“Am I just your next best option, then?” You ask, smiling.

The man turns back to you. “Of course not.” He insists with a charming smile. You’re quick to brush it off and assure him it’s alright.

“Benjamin Poindexter. Most people call me Dex.” He reaches his hand out with a grin. You tell him your name and shake his hand, his grip steady and firm.

“Am I allowed to call you Dex?”

“Call me whatever you like.” He says with a wink. You laugh. As your eyes wander back into the crowd, you see Bucky stare from across the ballroom. You notice that he isn’t paying full attention to the man he’s talking to. You pay no mind and go back to your conversation with Dex.

You invite Dex to people-watch with you, and it’s easy to convince him.

“These events are such a drag.” He mentions off-handedly. You let out a sigh of relief. “Aren’t they?” You respond, more enthusiastically than you have been this entire time at this gala.

“Just a huge flaunt of money.” Dex notes.

“It is. At least it’s for a good cause.” You try to reason.

“I’m sure they could do that without all the pointless attractions.” Dex sighs. You laugh as you stare at all the grand decor, live music, and grand meals. It’s true, this entire thing was just so obnoxious to you. “You get me.” You say.

Dex grins at you as he lightly places his hand on your shoulder. “At least you look lovely tonight.”

“Are you flirting with me, Dex? You know I’m a married woman.” You roll your eyes and grin, your eyes pointed towards the ground.

“Of course not,” Dex responds, “Unless you’d like me to.”

Your eyes widen at his boldness and laugh Dex’s advances off. “You’re funny.”

Dex doesn’t respond, his only response being the faint upward curling of his lips. Before you get to speak again, Bucky appears by your side.

“I’m sorry, could I steal my wife from you for a second?” Bucky says with a tight-lipped grin.

“Oh, of course-” Dex starts to say, only to be cut off by Bucky swiftly grabbing your hand and dragging you out of there.

“Oh, Bucky, Dex — or Benjamin — wanted to speak with you-” You try to say to your husband.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to that later.” Bucky says, not paying attention.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?” You whisper to Bucky once he fully removes you from Dex’s presence.

“How do you think I look when my wife’s too busy giggling with another man?” Bucky mutters into your ear. You pull back.

“It wasn’t like that-” You say, naively.

“Course it wasn’t,” He spits out, and a brief silence follows.

After taking a deep breath, Bucky says, “Just stick by me for the rest of the night, okay?”

You frown slightly, your face turning sour. “Right, okay.”

The rest of the night killed you. Every boring conversation felt even longer than it had before. It wasn’t helping that Bucky kept his grip on your waist tighter than usual. You counted down the seconds until this stupid gala was over, all with a big smile on your face.

You couldn’t ignore the looks Dex would shoot at you occasionally, but you didn’t let your gaze linger.

The car ride back home was quiet. You couldn’t tell if Bucky was still angry, his face was unreadable.

You two finally get back home, and the door shuts with a click. Bucky immediately lets out a deep sigh. You take that as a sign to initiate your go-to unwind routine, which usually consists of ordering Chinese and drinking. Hopefully Bucky will warm up to you again with some food in his stomach.

“Chinese?” You ask, waiting for Bucky’s go-ahead.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Bucky says, his voice void of any emotion.

You fight the urge to ask Bucky if he’s still mad at you, best not to disturb the lion. 

The ring of the doorbell notifies you that the takeout was finally here.

“So, talk to anyone interesting tonight?” You ask as you and Bucky sit down next to each other at your small dinner table.

“Never.” Bucky lets out a light breath of amusement. He watches you as you crack open wooden chopsticks for the both of you. You frown slightly at the uneven crack of the chopsticks.

As you hand over better separated chopsticks to Bucky, you stand up to grab drinks from the kitchen. “Beer?” You ask.

“Always.” He says as he chews on his noodles.

You grab a beer from the fridge, opening it up for Bucky. You grab a wine glass for yourself, pouring your favorite red wine into it.

As you hand over the beer to Bucky, he nods his head as a way of thanking you.

The dinner between the two of you is silent. Not that that’s necessarily weird, as you and Bucky have grown accustomed to uncomfortable silences.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize mindlessly. “For Dex.”

Bucky sighs as he finishes chewing his greasy noodles. “It’s fine. Just.. I don’t want anyone to suspect anything.” Bucky admits.

“Right.” You say, not putting up a fight. The idea of making Bucky angry makes your stomach bubble up in anxiety. You don’t want Bucky to smell your worry, so you bite your cheek to stifle it down.

— 13 YEARS EARLIER (POST CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER)

“He doesn’t talk a lot, but I think he just needs some time to readjust.” Natasha says as the both of you walk past the room of the new addition to the Avengers Tower. HYDRA had called him the Winter Soldier, but Steve calls him Bucky. Steve’s very adamant the rest of the Avengers (and also you) call him Bucky too.

It was your first week at your new job of being the Avenger’s manager. You’re still not sure how Natasha managed to snag this job for you, but it was better to not to question anything. You just couldn’t believe your luck.

Tony seemed apprehensive towards letting you in, but whether he liked it or not, the Avengers were becoming public figures, and they needed someone to manage their schedules. The rest of the Avengers didn’t seem to mind your presence; you were sure they had bigger things to worry about — like the state of the universe, for example.

Natasha had known you for at least a year prior to you moving to New York. She had saved you in an attack in your small hometown. You had no idea what she was doing in a small town like yours, but she had many secrets. You were just thankful she was in the right place and the right time.

As you and Natasha mindlessly tour the tower, you bump into a man much taller than you. It was Bucky.

“Oh— sorry about that.” You apologize instinctively.

Bucky looks at you bewildered. Well, you note that he kind of just always looks that way. It must be hard for him. You knew he was still fighting off the last bits of HYDRA’s brainwashing. It was best to just let him do his own thing, even if his hard stares felt like they were burning holes into your skin.

— PRESENT

You and Bucky finish eating the take-out noodles. They never get any less greasier. There’s spots of grease along Bucky’s mouth. You laugh and gesture to his mouth. “Got something on your face, Bucky.”

“Ah, shit—” Bucky groans as he tries to wipe it off with his hand. It’s unsuccessful, he’s just spread it around instead of getting rid of it.

“Here.” You say as you grab a napkin and start wiping his mouth for him. Bucky tilts his head up towards you as you hold his face. You wipe his lips, cheeks, and chin. You’re too focused on cleaning Bucky’s face that you don’t realize how flustered Bucky looks. “Done.”

You go to wash the oil off your hands in the kitchen sink. Bucky clears his throat to regain composure.

Little moments of soft domesticity like this make this makeshift marriage feel more real. Sometimes, it’s hard reminding yourself that it’s not.

“I should go to bed soon.” You note. You don’t want to end the night early, but you don’t want to seem too desperate for Bucky’s presence.

“Course. Right.” Bucky says. His lack of willingness to keep you around makes you frown. But you know there wasn’t anything to expect. At least it’s a guarantee that you’ll keep seeing him around.

The next morning, you wake up earlier than Bucky. It’s quite rare, knowing your sleep schedule. There’s sounds coming from Bucky’s bedroom. Muttered curses and frantic scribbling. You knock on his door. “Can I come in?”

Bucky wakes up and looks at the door, his eyes tired. “Oh, yes, come in.”

He looked like a mess. He had fallen asleep at his desk. He was still wearing his suit from last night. That must’ve been uncomfortable, not to mention dirty. “Bucky— are you okay?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Mmm, yeah. Perfect.” Bucky says as he stares at his endless pile of paperwork. You sigh as you turn Bucky towards you in his spinny-chair. “I have to go to work soon.” He yawns.

“Yeah, you do.” You respond. He wasn’t close to ready. “Come on, get up.”

Bucky doesn’t protest. He lets you drag him into his walk-in closet. There were a plethora of suits that all looked the same. You pick the first one you see, and shove it into Bucky’s hands. “Put those on.” You tell him as you turn around, to give him privacy.

Bucky does as you say, yawning as he does it. He would usually resist your attempts to help him, especially with tasks so mundane as this, but he was too tired to think. You grab a random necktie and wrap it around Bucky’s neck. Luckily for you, you had spent many hours studying on how to tie a necktie for the day of your wedding. You tie the necktie with swiftness. It’s a little lopsided, but it’ll do. You adjust his tie one last time, patting your hand on his chest as you finish. “Good.”

Bucky smiles weakly. “Thank you, I don’t think I could get anything done without you.”

You let out an amused breath. “I’m barely any help.” You say, as you pick up from stray clothes from off the floor.

Bucky softly smiles and shakes his head, while looking at the large mirror. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. You need the rest, Bucky.” You say. Bucky grins weakly, looking at the ground. 

A pause.

“You know, I’m not sure what the hell I’m even doing.” He admits.

It sure was weird seeing Bucky open up. In the grander scheme of things, Bucky wasn’t being vulnerable at all. However, Bucky isn’t one to talk about himself — at all, really. Emotions made him feel antsy. Especially his own.

“Politics isn’t easy, Bucky. I’m sure you’ll grow into it.” You attempt to say some comforting words. You rub one of his shoulders to ground him, or something.

“No.” Bucky laughs lightly as he shakes his head. “I don’t know the first thing about this shit.” Bucky couldn’t admit that his whole sham of a political career was just a ploy to ethically inch himself towards Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Val was hiding something, and Bucky was going to figure it out. That didn’t mean his wife had to be dragged into this. 

You purse your lips, unsure of what to say. 

“Steve would know what to do.” Bucky sighs. Nowadays, Bucky hasn’t mentioned Steve as much as he used to, but that didn’t mean he never stopped thinking about him.

— 4 YEARS AGO (POST ENDGAME)

There wasn’t much noise from the Avengers anymore. Everyone had gone their own way, feeling lost after the loss of Tony, Natasha, and Steve. You feel sick to your stomach whenever you think about Natasha. Your friend, gone just like that — all for some stupid orange stone. You couldn’t bear to see Clint, his grief clouded him and invaded the space to those around him. You wish you could help him, but you couldn’t even help yourself. You're just grateful Clint at least has his loving family around him.

As you walk around Central Park, you see a familiar face. Bucky. His metal arm stuck out like a sore thumb. The two of you had become acquaintances, and maybe even friends? You could never read him. You also hadn’t talked to him in a while, as he was too busy helping save the fate of the universe. You know, the usual. As you walk up to him, you tap his shoulder and ask, “This spot open?”

Bucky looks up at you and grins weakly. He says your name and scoots on the bench to invite you in. 

“How are you holding up?” You ask a dumb question. Everyone was grieving.

“Fine.” Bucky lies. You lean back on the bench.

“Wish I could say the same. I don’t really know what to do with myself.” You laugh, awkwardly.

“Yeah. Same.” Bucky says, seemingly distant. 

You and Bucky sit in the silence for a second. “Talked to anyone recently?” You ask.

“Saw Sam a couple of days ago. He’s really busy right now.” Bucky sighs.

“How’s he?”

“Stressed. Steve giving him the shield really put a lot of pressure on him.”

“Can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now.”

There’s another awkward silence as your topic of discussion runs its course.

That’s when you had an idea. You two shouldn’t have to continue living in limbo. You were gonna ask Bucky to hang out, so the both of you guys could be less alone together. Innocent and easy, yeah?

“Let’s get drinks, Bucky.” You ask. He seems confused, but anything sounds better than rocking himself to sleep.

“Really?”

“Why not? I’ve been sitting around for weeks. Steve and Nat would want us to keep living, don’t you think?” You reason.

“I think you’re right. That sounds good.” He says as he gives a small grin.

You get up from the bench and give a hand to Bucky, “C’mon, I know a place.”

Hours passed by, and the night didn’t go quite as well as you planned. You heavily underestimated how much alcohol you could tolerate, as you hadn’t drank in quite some time, and Bucky got carried away trying to drown out his sorrows. Luckily, you could still control yourself, at least when you really focus.

You managed to call an Uber to your apartment. Bucky wraps his arm around you as the two of you stumble into your house. Bucky was sure to regret everything tomorrow morning. But for now, he took his chance to let down his inhibitions and connect with someone else. Bucky hadn’t stopped talking about Steve, which was fine, since you just replied with your own grief about Natasha. The two of you flop on your couch.

“Can’t believe he’s really gone.” He hiccups. “Me neither.”

“He was the greatest.” Bucky mumbles as he lays his head on your couch.

“Natasha was so kind.” You mumble.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Bucky says.

You look at Bucky, his eyes low and fluttery. His lashes look beautiful as Bucky blinks. You sigh as you continue to peer into Bucky’s soul. Bucky would normally feel exposed, but he feels a sense of company he hasn’t felt in a long time. “Me neither.” You say.

There’s a lingering silence. Steve and Nat wouldn’t want the both of you guys drinking yourselves to death over them. The two of you knew that, but it was easier said than done.

“I just feel so alone.” Bucky says as he looks at you. You grab Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tight. You’re unsure of what to say. You should say something comforting, but you feel the same. You feel the same agonizing isolation he feels. You muster up something somewhat comforting to say. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” You say. You wish emotional maturity didn’t feel and sound as corny as it did.

Bucky looks at you. It’s softer than the gaze he would look at you with when the two of you met first at the Avengers Tower. He breathes slowly before he says, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky cups your jaw, and inches himself closer to you. He places a kiss on your mouth. You back away from him a second. He curses to himself, did he mess it up? Maybe he misread the bonding experience the two of you both shared. Maybe you didn’t feel as alone as him, or maybe you didn’t need this as much as he did.

You lean back in, kissing Bucky roughly. Your mouths morphed into one. Quick breaths are taken in between kisses. It was as if kissing was your life-line, and if either one of you were to break it, you would die. Your nose was pressed so hard against Bucky’s face, it felt as though it could break. Your hands were clasped around Bucky’s jaw, your fingers spilling onto his neck. You could feel his heartbeat thunder against his throat. His face was scruffy from his stubble. He felt rough in your hands.

As you break away from the kiss, the both of you take deep gasps of air. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, as he pins his focus on your cheek and jaw. He peppers kisses all along your cheekbones, nose, jaw, and neck.

“Jesus, Bucky..” You whisper out.

The night continues, and you wake up the next morning with you and Bucky’s clothes scattered all over your bedroom floor. Your head felt like it could pop. You felt nauseous as you propped yourself up in your bed. Your twin XL bed wasn’t enough space for you and Bucky. He was nearly falling off the side. You still had enough memories from last night, thankfully. You weren’t sure how Bucky was going to react to it. Shit, maybe this was a bad idea.

— PRESENT

You and your mother had re-planned your previous plans. Your mother was a kind break from the rest of the things on your mind. As you and your mother sat at an outside table outside a quaint little cafe, she let out a little sigh as she looked at you.

“You know, the rest of the family still wants to meet him.” She mentions Bucky.

You loved your mother, but you didn’t love her nagging. “Yeah. Yeah. They’ll meet him soon.”

“You always say that.” Your mother says, as she takes a sip of her coffee. You sigh as you ignore your mother.

After a moment, you finally respond. “I sent them our wedding photos. Surely that’ll hold them over for now.”

“They’re all so nosy. They want to meet him in person.”

You frown. “Bucky’s shy. It’ll happen eventually, mom — trust me.”

“Whatever you say.”

Your apprehension for having Bucky meet your family was understandable. Your family was a lot to deal with, as with every family, you assume. You were scared that Bucky would get scared. You’re not worried about Bucky leaving you over anything, as you were safe as long as Bucky was still a congressman with a ‘family-man’ reputation to uphold. The possibility of Bucky leaving after his term ended made you feel uneasy. Hopefully he likes you enough to keep you around.

— A YEAR AGO (PRE THUNDERBOLTS*)

Bucky had called you to meet him at a nearby bar where he was at the moment. Bucky and you had become proper friends. Friends who don’t really talk about that time they hooked up approximately 3 years ago. You had heard whispers from people of Bucky’s potential political career. Of course, it didn’t make sense to you. But you weren’t one to discourage one from their goals.

You walk into the dingy bar, and wave to Bucky. “How are you, Bucky?” You say as you sit in the seat next to him, making small talk.

“Fine. As good as I can be.” Bucky shrugs, his beer hanging loosely in his hands. You order your usual drink, and Bucky tells the bartender to put it on his tab. Always the gentleman.

“So, what’d you call me for?” You ask.

“Good company. I don’t need an excuse to see you, do I?”

“Course not, Buck — Just didn’t expect it.” You say. You’re always the one who asks Bucky to hangout. The bartender hands you your drink. You thank them swiftly and look back to Bucky.

“It’s good seeing you, really.” Bucky says.

“Is it?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Bucky laughs lightly. “You’re a good break from politics.”

“What are you even doing in politics, anyway?”

Bucky groans. “It’s all for public image, really,” He admits. “Wanna do some good out there, you know. It’ll help the public like me after my whole ‘Winter Soldier’ thing. You know.”

“I think you helping to save the universe did enough for your public perception.”

“People don’t like to forget the past.”

“Fair.”

Of course, Bucky didn’t mention Val. No reason to drag his friend into his ploy. The night went on, and you and Bucky continued catching up. You made sure not to overdrink, only feeling a little looser now than when you walked through the bar doors.

“People don’t really believe my whole campaign. My manager has been saying I need to make my reputation look better.” Bucky mumbles to you.

“How?”

“Well, he suggested I make myself look more family-oriented. Married with kids, and all that.”

You smile as you laugh into your drink. “Good luck with that.” You turn to Bucky silently observing you. His gaze makes you feel exposed. “Something on my face?”

“No, sorry. Just thinking.”

“Whatever you say, Bucky.”

You and Bucky walk out the bar; quite put together, thankfully. You tighten your grip around the handle of your shoulder purse. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

“Course, you too.” Bucky says as you tap your phone, trying to find yourself an Uber.

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

Bucky cleared his throat, looking nervous and antsy. “You can say no. This is going to sound crazy.”

You furrowed your brows and smiled, timid. “What? Just say it, Bucky, you’re making me nervous.”

“You can say no.”

“Just fucking say it, Bucky.”

“Fine.” Bucky says. He still takes a moment to collect himself, his heartbeat beating out of his chest.

“Would you consider marrying me?” Bucky finally musters the courage to ask.

You stared at Bucky, your anxious grin still not leaving your face. He’s right, he does sound crazy. 

“What are you talking about, Bucky?” You laugh as you shake your head.

“If I asked you, would you marry me?” Bucky repeats himself.

“You’re drunk.” You laugh off his question, awkwardly.

“You know how I am when I’m drunk.”

“You being sober doesn’t normally include you proposing.”

“You can say no.”

“Why are you even asking me that?”

Bucky flicks his fingers in anxiety. He asked out of desperation, the pressures of appearing family-oriented to the public weighed on him. Also, the fact you were previously the manager for the Avengers could also help with his public perception bullshit. You being attractive also helped. He wouldn’t say that out loud though, he had class.

“Doesn’t have to be real. Just has to look it.” Bucky says. “You can do your own thing, I can do mine.”

“This for your politics?” You guess correctly, rubbing your forehead.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah.”

“I’m not sure, Bucky.. This is a lot to ask—” You say, before getting cut off by Bucky.

“Just think about it. You can say no.“

You bite your bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

It’s been a few days since Bucky asked you to marry him. You hadn’t texted him since, being too scared to do so. Bucky beats himself over it. He was sure he messed up a good friendship for something so stupid; of course you’d say no. What was he thinking?

You walk back into your dark, empty apartment. The dishes you had refused to wash piled in your sink. It’s eerily silent. And cold. Your landlord was neglectful, proven by your heater that had been broken for weeks. You made up for the cold by buying more blankets. You couldn’t buy another portable heater just yet, you were late on last month’s rent. You were trying to find work after being blipped and after the Avenger’s disbanded.

You groan, your head laying back on the edge of the couch. Bucky’s offer didn’t sound so crazy. You’ve been to Bucky’s house a couple of times. A proper heater and A/C sounded more and more appealing. Not worrying about how you’re going to pay rent sounded more and more appealing. Not being so alone sounded appealing as well.

In your moment of desperation, you text Bucky back. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

— A WEEK AGO FROM PRESENT DAY

You were busy wiping the countertops as Bucky came back home. Bucky didn’t drink as much as he used to. You were surprised to smell alcohol off of Bucky’s clothes.

“I’m home.” Bucky calls out as he drops his bag down on the floor.

“Bucky.” You grin. You were happy that the house wasn’t going to feel as daunting as it did when you were alone. Bucky’s good company, whether or not you liked to admit it.

Bucky smiles at you. The smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils. “You drank?”

“Only a few drinks. One or two. Maybe three.” Bucky says. You roll your eyes, smiling softly.

“Jesus, Buck.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

“Not.” Bucky says as he sits on the couch.

“Need anything? We got some leftovers, if you’d like.” You offer. Bucky looks back at you, tempted. You heat up food for him, and hand it to him carefully. “It’s hot, be careful.”

“What would I do without you?” Bucky says with his mouth stuffed with food.

“Probably die.” You say, as you pick off food from his face. Bucky giggles. “Yeah. Probably.”

Bucky brings his plate to the sink and starts to wash it. You attempted to do it for him, but Bucky insisted. He wanted to prove he didn’t need your help with everything — not that he really minded the help.

Bucky comes back to the couch. Later, he’s mindlessly watching TV as you’re attempting to read the book you promised to finish about 3 months earlier. His hot body lays on top of you. Like a custom heated, weighted blanket. Bucky’s hot body clashes with his abnormally cold metal arm. You’ve usually found yourself placing your hands on top of Bucky’s arm, as to cool your hands that are always hot. You and Bucky have formed your own mutualistic relationship. In terms of body heat. 

The walls Bucky usually has up are lowered, thanks to the alcohol. He gently inches closer to you, resting his head on you. You smile softly. He’s usually like this when he’s a little tipsy. You can’t blame him, you know a lot of touchy drunks. You gently play with the ends of his long hair. Bucky nearly purrs from the soft sensation. He’s like a cat in your touch.

You lay on the couch, to which Bucky adapts and lays on your stomach, his arms wrapped around you. How silly. You continue brushing your hands through his scalp. The soft companionship makes you feel warm inside.

You had finished about 30 pages of your book when you realized that Bucky hadn’t spoken or moved much in a while. He had fallen asleep on you. You laugh as you look at the large man on you. It was a funny sight, for sure. You go back to reading your book. Reading usually makes you sleepy, though. It’s not a surprise that you fall asleep not too soon after.

— PRESENT

You fidget with the ring on your finger. It was a plain, gold band. You didn’t want to run through Bucky’s pockets when trying to pick out a ring. It would be nice to have a pretty ring, though. Bucky was going to come back home anytime now. He texted you that he was going to pick up food on the way back. You had nothing to do, no more work for the day and no food to cook for someone. It felt weird, but you tuned out the little itch in your head to be useful by mindlessly doom scrolling.

Bucky opens the door with his keys. He groans as he knocks off his shoes and takes off his jacket.

“What’d you get us?” You ask, from the couch.

“Thai.” Bucky mumbles as he lifts up the large bag to show you. He sounds tired.

“Oh, my favorite.” You say as you grab the large takeout bag from Bucky’s hands. You place the bag on the dinner table, and rush to grab cutlery for the two of you.

“Actually.. I think I’m gonna eat alone.” Bucky says as he grabs his food and laptop to bring to his room.

“Oh. Okay.” You say, disappointed. You don’t want to shove your company onto Bucky, so you just agree. Compliant wife, or whatever. Bucky didn’t stay long, he immediately headed towards his room. Did you do something wrong? Why was being like this?

After Bucky had got up and left for his room, you grabbed your portion of the food and brought it towards the coffee table in front of the TV. Eating alone while watching TV reminded you too much of your life before you decided to “marry” Bucky. 

After approximately 30 minutes, Bucky walks out his bedroom, with his takeout trash in his hands. You get up, walking towards Bucky. “I can get that!” You say, desperately trying to help out.

“Oh—” Bucky says, surprised.

“You need anything, Buck? I can go fill up the tub, or clean your room. Ugh, I’m sorry I didn’t clean before, I really should’ve, that’s on me—” You ramble. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name.

“Stop. It’s.. it’s fine.” Bucky says, looking overwhelmed and overstimulated. You bite back a whimper as you nod your head. You so desperately want to be a helping hand, and yet now, you just feel like an overwhelming burden. “Sorry.”

Bucky purses his lips. “I’m just going to go to bed.” He says, as he throws his trash away by himself.

“Right. Okay. Goodnight.”

The next day, you stay at your friend’s place. You had the day off, and you thought it was best to spend the day with someone that wasn’t Bucky. Or your mom. During the day, you think back to how Bucky was last night. He has a lot on his plate. Maybe you really were being too much. As much as you didn’t wish for it to happen, you couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky.

The idea that you had planted into your own brain, the idea that Bucky might leave you after his term ends, haunted you. It seemed silly. He wouldn’t just leave, right? Well... there’s been no signs that Bucky would necessarily stay. He wasn’t obligated to, and neither were you. You wouldn’t leave, though. You’ve grown accustomed to your new life with Bucky. Bucky on the other hand, might want to return to his life of peace and quiet he had before he married you. God, this whole thing made you feel sick.

Your friend had seemed worried about you, but you were adamant you were fine. You didn’t allow her to worry about you. Nothing for her to worry about, after all.

It was late at night when you returned home. Using the keys Bucky gave you, you tried to enter as quietly as you could.

Bucky’s at the dinner table, looking concerned. He eases once he sees you.

“Where have you been?” He asks, standing from his chair.

“At a friend’s place.” You tell him. The conversation sends you flashbacks to your teenage years; when your parents would be worried sick about your whereabouts. Is this what your relationship with Bucky has amounted to? Some kind of parental relationship?

“You should’ve texted me.”

“Right.”

“I’m being serious.”

You feel uneasy, and also annoyed. Why the hell did Bucky care? You two weren’t actually together. Roommates don’t have to always know where the other one is. That doesn’t change with Bucky — who’s basically your glorified roommate.

“Sure.” You mumble.

Bucky glares at you. “What the hell’s your problem?” He asks. You don’t get into fights with Bucky often. Fighting also makes you anxious. Perfect combo for you.

“Nothing, Bucky.” You say, as you hang your bag and outdoor clothes on the nearby hangers.

“Obviously there’s something bothering you. Just spit it out.”

You roll your eyes, which makes Bucky’s jaw clench. Bucky doesn’t need to pretend he cares. “Let’s just leave this alone.” You say, as you try to head to the bathroom, to freshen up before going to bed.

“No. What’s going on with you?” Bucky says, as he grabs your arm, holding you back.

You stare at Bucky, taken back by his audacity. “Fine.”

Bucky drags you to the couch. The place where a week ago, you were sure Bucky and you had a proper, domestic moment. Maybe he didn’t think much of it. He was tipsy, after all. Would Bucky still want to be tender with you if he didn’t have a couple drinks in him? Did you sicken him that much?

“Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something? Please— just tell me.” Bucky pleads, hints of worry speckled in his soft, blue eyes.

Being vulnerable never came easy to you. The feeling of burdening others with your mundane emotions made you feel sick. Feelings of anxiety bubbled from your stomach to your chest.

“I.. haven’t been avoiding you—” You say, before you’re swiftly cut off.

“You have been. I’ve texted you multiple times today.” Bucky says, matter-of-factly. You clear your throat, feeling too exposed.

“Okay, well..” You find yourself trailing off again.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky says, while also saying your name, distressed. “Just fucking say it.”

Bucky’s attitude was out of control. You scoff with your eyebrows furrowed, staring holes into Bucky.

“Stop fucking doing that.” You say, biting your bottom lip in uneasiness.

“I will if you just fucking let me know what’s been up with you.”

“Fine! Fine.” You say, trying to sort your thoughts. How much are you willing to expose to Bucky? Are you really willing to spill to him that you actually do like him? Well, not that you’re like, in love with him or anything, but the idea you’ve planted in your head that Bucky might choose to leave you after he leaves his failing career in politics lingered in your brain. Shit, who were you kidding. You were in love with Bucky. You were in love with Bucky and it was eating you up alive. You’re not used to being so open. It feels so invasive.

“You can tell me anything.” Bucky attempts to be comforting, but he’s unsure of its effectiveness. He grabs your hands, and rubs loving circles with his thumbs. How unfair.

“You know, it’s stupid..” You say.

“Not stupid.” Bucky responds.

“I was just mad.. That you seemed distant. Last night.” You let out.

Bucky lets out a deep breath. “Right.”

“It’s stupid. It’s not like you always have to be around me.” You try to explain, but Bucky cuts you off short.

“No. It makes sense. I’ve been really stressed out recently.”

“No, no, right, right. That makes sense. I told you, it’s stupid.” You find yourself rambling over Bucky again. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name yet again.

“Stop. Breathe. It’s fine, really.” 

You take a deep breath in. It makes you feel less like you’re about to pass out, but the antsiness never leaves your chest. Bucky places a hand on your knee that had been bouncing like crazy. You didn’t even realize it was shaking.

“Well, that can’t be it, right?” Bucky urges you to continue. You pick at your ring, a tic you’ve picked up on during the last couple of months.

“I just.. feel-like-a-burden-to-you.” You say quickly, hoping the faster you say it, the faster this whole conversation will end.

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. He looks almost.. hurt? “Why would you think that?” He says, almost too lovingly. What a considerate asshole.

“I just.. I know I overwhelm you. I just want to feel useful. Make you feel like you didn’t make a mistake in choosing me as your fake wife.”

“I fully knew what I was doing when I asked you.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Bucky says, quietly.

You fight back the urge to say, ‘You’re just saying that.’ He was just being nice. God, you hate that he managed to fish all this out of you. You felt so bare. Bucky knocks you out of your trance by saying your name.

“Look at me, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He says, with a face too genuine it makes your stomach churn. You spin your ring around your finger. How easy would it be to just give it back to him? He’s just gonna leave you anyway when he decides to leave politics.

“You should have this back.” You say, gesturing to the ring. You didn’t mean to be so dramatic in the way you decided to hand back Bucky his ring. Just fell out that way.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, looking bewildered.

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep being with me even after your term ends. This whole thing was to appear family-oriented to the public, right? So, when you’re done, you should be able to do your own thing. I don’t want to hold you back.” You let the words flow out your mouth. While it did make you feel like a burden had been lifted off your shoulders, with the way Bucky looked at you, it didn’t do much for making you feel any better.

“What?”

You sigh, biting your lip. Little droplets of blood bead at your lip from where you bit. You wipe it away, hoping Bucky doesn’t overanalyze how you’re acting.

“You should be able to meet someone else, you know. Someone you actually want to spend the rest of your life with. You don’t have to do this whole charity thing, you know.”

“Charity?” Bucky repeats, baffled. “Is that what you think?”

“You know, I’m surprised you hadn’t seen anyone during the time we were together. Missed opportunity, I think.”

“Jesus,” Bucky says, his words tinged with a slight tone of disappointment. You hate the way it makes you feel.

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, but you could tell small bits of anger was boiling inside him.

“That why you were so close and personal with that fucking guy— what was his name.. Dex? You thought I was out here, doing the same shit?” Bucky says, his jealousy reaching his throat, choking on his own words.

“I..” You struggle to find the words. “I wasn’t doing anything with that guy.”

“You know, the way you looked at him made me feel fucking sick. Jesus, I’d never want anyone to feel the way I felt then.”

“Jesus— Bucky, you’re making me sound like some kind of monster.” You scoff.

“And you’re making me sound any better?” Bucky retorts. Bucky’s words make you choke up on your own. “You make it seem I was just trying to use you.. Like I don’t appreciate you, at all.”

“Which isn’t true.” Bucky adds, at the last second.

You groan, sinking into the couch. It would be convenient if the couch swallowed you whole, right about now. It would save you the trouble.

“Talk to me.” Bucky pleaded, again. His eyes were glued onto you. His fleshy hand felt clammy.

“You’re going to hate me.” You mumble. “I could never.”

You take a deep breath in, trying to compose yourself the best you can. You’re so anxious, you can barely find the words you want to use.

“God.” You say.

“I fucking love you, okay? As if it’s not glaringly obvious. Fuck.” You say, to Bucky’s surprise. “I want to feel helpful, I want you to want me around you, and I want you to want me the way I want you.” You say, truthful, for once.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Well, he’s happy, of course. Thrilled, one could say. He didn’t want to jump at his chance to be with you so fast, out of fear of looking starved and desperate. But life was too short to worry about how he was perceived. His grin spread from cheek to cheek. You didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing or a bad thing. His stupid, beautiful fucking face shone at you.

“Say something. I feel like I’m gonna vomit.” You say quietly.

“Jesus Christ. You know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that shit?” Bucky says before he clasps your face, bringing you towards his face with a clash. Bucky kisses you like he did that one night many years ago. But yet, now, it’s more caring. More careful. You melt like a puddle in his hands. This is everything you wanted, but your fear of underperforming haunts you.

“Just let me guide you.” Bucky breathes out, saying the perfect thing. It’s like he could read you. He knew you through and through. Bucky’s tongue slips into your mouth with ease. He lovingly kisses your top and bottom lip. He did exactly what you needed. He guided you through it.

Bucky grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up and taking you to his bedroom. He mindlessly opens the door. He’s too busy being engrossed by your presence. It’s intoxicating. Bucky feels his way through his room. He lays you gently on the side of his bed.

“Fuck.” He whispers out, as he grabs the side of your face, lifting your gaze up to reach his. You looked so beautiful under his touch, and he was dedicated to making you never doubt how much you mean to him again.

Bucky sits beside you, shoving his mouth on yours again. His tongue follows down the path of your throat. His hands slowly graze the sides of your thighs. You felt soft in his hands. It made him feel insane. Bucky let out small praises, whispers of ‘So gorgeous’ and, ‘I needed this’ exit his mouth. You took your hand, the hand that wasn’t clasped around Bucky’s face, and palmed at Bucky’s unmistakable boner. Bucky lets out a deep groan. “Jesus.”

Bucky reacts by swiftly removing your top, still kissing you. He was desperate to see you. You unbuckled Bucky’s belt, and unbuttoned his pants. “Tell me what you need.” Bucky says.

You laughed into the kiss. You felt the growing knot in your stomach expand. You needed Bucky as much as he wanted you. “I want to sit on your face, Bucky.”

“Course you do.” Bucky responds, as he pulls off your clothes. Bucky lifts you over him, so you’re straddling his chest. It was embarrassing, having Bucky feel the growing wet spot from your core on his skin. You couldn’t really think much of it though, you had bigger things to think about right now.

Bucky adjusts himself just perfectly under you, his eyes looking at you, filled with lust and care. You fall forward on the headboard of the bed; the first touch from Bucky’s tongue on your pussy making you reel forward.

Bucky was an animal. His tongue drove into you like a machine. He would spend time easing you into it, but he was selfish. He needed you, and guessing from the sounds you’re making, you needed him too.

“Fuck— Oh my god!” You moan out.

You rest your arms over top of the headboard for support. You leaned your head on top of your arms, only making the bottom of your face visible to Bucky. He reaches his hand towards your chest and pushes you back, notioning that he wants the full view.

“Fuck. Fuck, Bucky— I…” You whisper out as you lean your arms back to support yourself on Bucky’s torso. Your boobs jiggle over Bucky’s face in a mesmerizing way. Bucky wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it. You’re so wet already, it’s proven by the ridiculous sounds Bucky’s mouth is making while eating you up.

As you inch closer and closer to your high, you’re cut off by Bucky’s frantic slapping on your thigh. You get up from off of him immediately, to which he gasps in a big breath of air. He was nearly drowning in your pussy. Which, honestly, Bucky wouldn’t mind it if that’s how he was going to go. His mouth is filled with remnants of your arousal, to which he swallows easily. There’s even some in his nostrils. Jesus. How fucking grotesque.

“You’re gonna kill me, darling.” Bucky laughs out. “You’re gonna kill me first.” You breathe out.

Bucky grins as he grabs you and flips you on your stomach with ease. He takes off his boxers as quickly as he can, eager to feel you. The cold feel of the blankets and pillows is a nice contrast to how hot your body feels against Bucky. Bucky grabs your ass, lifting it up as his erection springs out his boxers.

The first thrust into you feels like heaven. Bucky fills you up, and your pussy stretches around him. Bucky swears this is heaven. Bucky pounds into you with ease, the bed shakes under the two of you.

“So good. Oh my god—” You manage to say out loud. Bucky leans over you, reaching his fingers to your sensitive clit. The sensation is nearly too much. Your eyes roll back into your head, and you’re only a little glad that Bucky can’t see just how much of a mess he’s making you.

“Jesus, baby. You’re being so good for me.” Bucky mumbles lazily. He’s becoming nearly undone. He feels as though he could cum any moment now. “Taking it so well, yeah?” Bucky asks. 

The only answer you could give him was a nearly inaudible, “Mm-hm.”

Bucky laughs. He slowly envelops his hands with fistfuls of your hair. He pulls your head back to look at him. You have one hand on the bed, one hand on the headboard. Your eyes peered all the way back at Bucky. “Tell me, tell me how good you’re being for me.”

“I’m.. fuck, I’m being good for you, Bucky.” You mumble out, mindlessly. Bucky loved seeing you come undone by him. Made him feel good. You feel tears prick up in your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. You can’t keep holding on for much longer, your high was near. Pathetic moans exit your mouth repeatedly. You were gasping for air, and you bit on your bottom lip to help you deal with the pleasure consuming you. Bucky thrusts get sloppier and more inconsistent, the closer he gets to his own release.

Bucky continued pounding into you. “Do you even remember that fucking loser’s name?” He groans out, mentioning Dex. To be fair, you weren’t far from forgetting your own name. You shake your head no rapidly. “I don’t— I don’t remember his name.” You babble out.

“Good. God, you’re so good under me.”

“Oh my— gonna, gonna cum, Bucky.”

“Cum, please— oh my god.” Bucky begs you, his mind getting too clouded by his own pleasure.

You do what he asks of you. You cum around his cock, and he revels in the sensation. He fucks you through the high, which nearly makes you scream out. Bucky had already planned on leaving this stupid politician shit behind him. But seeing you like this, all fucked out for him, was the icing on the cake. He could have you like this all the time, with no shitty and pointless job to hold him back.

“Cum inside of me.” You beg, desperate. Bucky bites back a guttural moan from that. His thrusts are becoming incredibly sloppy. He does as you ask of him, and cums inside of you. The feeling drives you insane. Bucky falls on top of you, the weight of him crushing you. Bucky rolls off of you, his breath shaky and uneven. Bucky presses hot kisses on your back and neck.

After a moment of recovery, you turn to Bucky, giggling. You felt safe with Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head softly.

“Still think I’m gonna leave you?” Bucky asks, his tone light.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky— Shut the fuck up.”

[dilf-docs]

Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See)

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: pedro pascal in cannes breaks the internet, only rivaled by the mystery figure next to him at the airport. oh, that's you. oh. well, that wasn't part of the plan. oops.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, begging kink, lwk praise kink, choking, fingering, creampie, hurt/comfort, fluff, cannes!pedro (yes that's a warning)

word count: 5,984 words

side note: not to be that bitch but i think pedro in cannes 2025 will be my roman empire. also, shot out to secret dating (getting outed after upsi), love that shit!!!! based on this request by my lovely fren :)

A few days ago, you had been watching a movie marathon in the comfort of your home.

"I can't believe it, you said you liked it!"

"I never said that. I said it looked interesting" he yawns. You narrow your eyes. "Sleep deprivation" he clarifies, as if reading your mind. "But, you chose it"

"Yes, because you let me" you're quick to counter.

"Yes, because we always do what you want"

Even in the distance, he finds ways to tease you.

"Not true. If it was, I would be there, with you. You know I love Marvel"

He laughs. "It's rare to hear that nowadays, less sounding so sure. You're an endangered species, baby"

You gasp. "I'm not that much of a fan"

"Not a lot of people watch a six hour livestream of chairs"

"Five" you correct, "and I did just to see if you'd show up!"

As if, gut feeling aside, he hadn't told you before.

"Alright, my bad. Five. Still, my point stands"

"So does mine. If Coco is there, why can't I be?"

"Do you happen to know hairstyling? I thought your thing was marketing"

"Oh, shut up"

Stanley Tucci briefly shows up on screen. Not that you already know, given the amount of times you've watched it.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you?" he asks. Could refer to a lot of things.

It's the crack of dawn.

"It's the only time you can give me" you answer instead.

He makes a little pout, making you giggle. The movie keeps playing in your laptop.

"I'm sorry you have to meet me like this"

"Please, stop" at his bad joke. "The lack of sleep is showing"

He just laughs. "I can't wait for you to come"

(Texted you places of London you wouldn't be able to visit. It's just a stopover, you said, yet he insisted on sending links of London's best attractions for tourists)

"I know" you admit, softer. "Me either"

You yawn. So much for a movie you aren't watching.

"Won't it be too tiring?"

Your amazing boyfriend, ever so caring.

"Pedrito" he sighs at his name on your lips, little and a warning. "I'll be fine. Besides, I already dowloaded the movie's soundtrack to keep me company"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "You really enjoy this movie, don't you?"

You take a brief glimpse at the forgotten movie, playing on your shared screen, then back at his face.

A bit tired, eye bags more pronounced. The sleep thing was true. Still, he was the same in many other ways. His broad frame, sharp jawline, grey hair now dyed yet stubborn enough to show in some edges and over his face, in a beard that would scratch against your face when he kissed you, because he liked being close. Too close. You can still smell him, even if he hasn't been in your apartment for over a month now. As if his smell, him being intoxicantingly close, had impregnated on your skin. Another part of his to be yours.

"It's Madonna" like that's enough of a reason.

It shouldn't be this distracting. Singing Who's That Girl after arriving in France isn't a special thing, but to you, lyrics blasting through your airbuds that Pedro hates except when you offer a song and he listens, because he always listens, holds something sacred the moment your feet stretch and you're back on land again, yet people speak French instead of English and time has warped your sense of reality again.

Pedro had checked on you all the time. That was distracting. Some texts during the flight, insisting on buying Wi-Fi on the plane as if he was a millennial who couldn't survive without internet, saying what he couldn't live without was writing to you. That's a lie. You caught him on TikTok sometimes. Over his shoulder, because you couldn't sit together. Liar, you sent. You know he saw it by the way his shoulders wiggled and he covered his mouth to stiffle a giggle over the silence in the cabin. Nevertheless, he continued his little check-ups on you, as if you were a kid.

(Him: in a way, you are. You: Pedro, I'm almost thirty. Him: That's as ambiguous as me coming to Cannes. You: Your fans already suspect. Him: They're smart. You: They are. Him: Listening to the soundtrack? You: Tenth round. Him: You're insane. Insufferable too. You: It's only about forty minutes. This is a seven hour flight. Besides, you love me. Him: I do. Now stop peeking over my shoulder. You: Stop watching TikToks then, you addict!)

Somehow, lost in the music and happy feet struting towards movies, bright sun and the close yet faraway sea, you take too many of those. That wasn't the plan. Don't sit together, don't look in his direction. Over and over again. Precautions. To you, rules. Memorized them. It's not every day you board a plane, but the others are similar, in a way. It was a small price to pay for dating him.

Sometimes you mind.

(You: I miss my personal pillow. Him: I ain't got a belly anymore. You: I'm aware. I was talking about other huge things. Your biceps. HUGE. The one's Julie will show to the world in a day. Those HUGE biceps. I want to bite them. Him: You're a freak. You: Blame Kevin Feige. Him: Not the guy who lost 25 pounds?)

Sometimes you don't.

(You: Come to think of it, you do snore a bit. Him: But I thought you missed me? You break my heart, y/n)

Bump.

The defeaning sound. Coco and his bodyguard glance. But Pedro? he looks. At you.

The internet has rules too. They're both, funnily, f-rules: never forgive, never forget.

His expression is of surprise. They don't forget. His wide eyes. No, that's beyond a surprised face. That's a knowing face. They don't forgive. The subtle difference. He knows you.

Seconds, probably. He goes back to stoic mode. You hear his voice as he chats with Coco. His voice is tight, barely noticeable to anyone but you; know him better than you know yourself. But not today, when he's a supposed stranger and you're another passenger of this plane. An insignificant dot in a crowd. You walk further and avoid his gaze, pretending to search for imaginary stains in your passport, as if you hadn't make the worst mistake of your life.

Days ago, sitting in your bed, you were just another light in the vast Californian sea of houses and salt air. Now, everyone knows he's your something.

Makes sense.

The slip-ups on interviews, his comments about Materialists, his behavior on that interview with Dakota, the mysterious silhoutte that ressembled a woman but was always too blurry and far yet close to identify.

Unrecognizable.

Because you were a nobody. Made a line to get coffee, nothing about you guaranteeing any special treatment. Worked in a publicity agency from Mondays to Fridays, Saturdays if someone called in sick. Took your dog, who complained when the LA sun hit his tiny paws too much, out on walks: Toto, the little cairn terrier who was now under the care of your brother and his girlfriend because of your trip. Was photographed because you wanted and not because they had to, the hidden cameras capturing every move of yours.

That was the privilege of anonymity.

But that luck, like everything else in the world, seemed to have run out.

Now you sit on the hotel room, phone blowing up with messages, mentions, and emails. Funny thing is, despite already having your Instagram account leaked, you were still a ghost. A who?. Just a face Pedro had looked too much for it to be a simple passerby.

You sniffle as Coco brushes your hair, more to calm you than to fix it for the event.

You look through the mirror, not at you, but at the bag dangling from it, and sniffle again. The dress hangs on the closet as Coco gives you a sympathetic look and Lux squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Maybe we can still work it out" you manage to choke up, hoarse from useless crying. So hopeful, as Pedro would say.

The original plan, before the little "bump" on the road, was to attend Cannes while disguised, which meant sneaking as a guest, skipping the whole red carpet.

But now people knew who you were. Or how you looked, at least.

"Not to be a killjoy, but even if the French press is oblivious, I'm sure the internet will catch up as soon as the live stream for Eddington's red carpet starts broadcasting" Lux comments.

"They don't know your name, yet I'm sure they've already memorized your face. You're all over my Instagram" Coco adds, smiling sadly. "Your face is not to be forgotten"

You smile weakly, still feeling bad.

"I'm sure we can come up with something" Lux offers.

"I don't know what to do" you sniffle, looking back at the dress, one your budget could've bought but leave you on a tightrope for the rest of the month. To your boyfriend, it was barely a tickle on his finances. He insisted on buying it after your bright, unable to hide, smile. Wear it on a special day, and that is today.

Was.

"Come with me"

The three of your turn around. You'd recognize that voice even if you were deaf.

"¿Te volviste loco?" Lux asks, perplexed. (have you gone crazy?)

"Un poco" he replies in a Spanish that needs to be practiced a tad bit more, "por ella, sí" (a bit, yes. for her)

"What's going on?" you ask, wiping your tears.

Pedro kneels down in front of you, already dressed in an all black suit. If you weren't on the verge of sobbing for the umpteenth time, you'd tear that suit in two.

"You look good" you sniffle.

He smiles, softly. "I know"

"I love those glasses. They're my favorites"

He smiles again, adjusting them. "I know"

"Se acabó el tiempo, tortolitos" Lux jokes. (time's up, lovebirds)

"Yeah. Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Coco asks, eyes widened in exasperation.

"I'm taking her with me"

"To the red carpet?" his sister asks, surprised.

"No, to fucking Wendy's. Of course, Lux. I'm taking her to the red carpet" he then gives his sister a glance. "You look gorgeous, by the way"

"I know" she flips her hair.

"Yeah, she's beautiful and so are you" Coco interrupts, then points to you. "Is that how you plan on solving this?"

Pedro nods, solemly.

"Listen, it's just a matter of hours before people connect the dots. They already have your Instagram and name. What's next? Your job, your dog?"

You gasp. "I have a whole dump of Toto on my feed!"

"Your account is private though" Lux drops.

"Still!" you panic. "What do I do?"

"Come with me" Pedro insists. "Harm's already done. What would change if we walked down a piece of red clothing?"

"Not even Rooney Mara will walk along Joaquin"

"So? We're not them" he kneels in front of your face again. Wipes a stray tear and grabs your hand. Squeezes it, like fresh oranges for a juice, because he knows you like the gesture. Need it. "And Emma is taking her husband, so"

You only sigh, unconvinced.

"Come with me" he repeats again, like a mantra. Or a prayer. Maybe hoping you'd accept.

"And let the whole world know?"

"Precisely" he smiles, cheeky. "They know some things already. We're just advancing the process for them"

Coco sighs. "At the speed of a bullet train"

"Whatever" Pedro drops. Then, looks at you. "We like it fast, don't we, baby?"

You can only blush in response.

"She'll come with me, then. We'll ride in the car behind" Ullrich sentences.

"No" his grip on your arm is strong but not brusing. Firm, as his position. He gives you a little tug, as to pull you in. Needless to say, you felt like a ragdoll. "She'll come with me"

Fighting Pedro was like trying to tame a tide.

In the end, somehow, he'd managed to rope you into the chaos of the red carpet, black limusines and flashing cameras and inside his car.

You weren't sure. Back in school, you weren't disliked or bullied, but it's not like you were popular either. You had friends, but would rather be alone at times, be it at the library or just sketching at a lonely bench in the park. There was something precious in the silence most people didn't appreciate; you did.

So, to say you where overwhelmed at the bright lights and constant yelling for Pedro was an understatement.

But, if your boyfriend dressed in an all black suit didn't scream Look at me! energy enough, there was you.

It was quick. Everything seemed to be so as of late. The cameras and press, waiting fans, yelled for Pedro, only to then find out he wasn't only here with his sister, but another woman. The airport woman. A loud point of a finger and the whole world knows you're back.

That he isn't your something. No, Pedro is more.

He's your fucking partner.

And it's so obvious, by the way he looks at you fondly. It different from his sister. This isn't that type of unconditional supporting love, but a stronger one. Consuming. One that speaks of devotion. He looks at you. Admires you. Like a painting. As if you had all the answers in the world.

You say hi to his co-stars, maybe a bit too excited to greet Austin Butler. Pedro isn't happy but he's not putting a jealous fit for the cameras. Not when he's busy throwing charming smiles and flexing that body he's worked so hard for under the summer sun.

The world talks. It's all over the news. Your smile, growing only wider when Pedro is near you, hand on the small of your back, right where the dress leaves inviting skin for the rest to see. He introduces you to anyone who wants to listen, always talking, because he's such a yapper. A loud laugher too, and even if it's not with you, you laugh with him, too contagious for you to question it. Posing with the rest of the cast as you wait by the sidelines, taking some pictures for yourself. You see the bee, trying to meddle, imposing and nosy, and feel a little sorry for it, despite Emma's face and the guys' laugh. In a way, you see yourself in the poor insect: taking space where it shouldn't, captured under the lights.

Comments are deceiving, yet there's a movie playing and then an awkward, way too long, standing ovation for you to care. You do. But you try not to, rather focusing on the event and feeling proud of Pedro. You clap and do a little too loud sound that vagely resembles a cheer. Flustered, you find out later on that the video made it out to Twitter. Strangely, even if your sudden appearance in Pedro's life, or rather public life, is well received under that post. Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

"You're not wearing that"

Life is cruel.

"Why not? You knew it beforehand. Said it was your favorite"

"I changed my mind. It's too revealing"

"What are you? Seventy?"

"The age gap is the other way around, grandpa"

And then the fucker flexes his arms. Worst, not even on purpose. Putting on glasses and a pink soft sweater shouldn't be this hot.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't break a sweat. I'll take the grandma sweater off when we get there"

Your cheeks heat up. "That was on purpose"

He offers a cheeky grin.

"Maybe"

Today is the photocall, and if yesterday's outfit put you in your knees, this one sends you straight to the ground. Full force. In a tank top and black pants paired with spiky shoes, his purpose was to serve and to kill you.

He goes again for the round of photos and such, you trailing behind like a lost puppy. Everyone assumes, yet no one asks.

She, the airport woman, now y/n.

(Can't say it out loud either. Not even you, yet, as if the knowing smiles and stolen not so subtle glances hadn't given you away)

You enjoyed this limbo. Of belonging not more inside closed doors and ambiguous coincidences, but on tabloids and loud shutters of camera. You liked the attention but not the label. It was good to see them scrambling, begging for details. Your social media had filled with requests, and even at times, your phone crashed.

You sat in a corner, watching the press. A few clicks here and there, Pedro drinking water and making it sexy (the size difference of his hand and the tiny bottle? You need to be locked up), questions, some about the movie, others about working with Ari Aster and then, awkward ones Pedro handled with grace. He spoke with such reverence, care and thoughtfulness, you can't help but feel your legs weak. You knew he was smart, well read and opinionated, but hearing him was another thing. So lost in this, you don't hear the next question.

"I know no one else is brave enough to ask" the reporter laughs nervously, "but I need to know"

Pedro senses immediately. When he glances briefly at you, hidden on a corner, you know this is about you.

"I don't think you do" he laughs, but there's a certain edge on his tone.

"It's fine if you don't want to answer, but me and everyone else on this room, hell, world!, wants to know who the woman at the airport is"

Before he adds about your quiet but strong presence on both days, Pedro cuts in:

"Is that how you call my girlfriend?"

The uproar is so loud, even Joaquin, who seemed to be on a separate train of thought, jumps on his seat. More questions follow, ones he doesn't answer. Out of boredom or to keep. Some things are meant to be like this.

Tabloids go crazy with the news. You haven't even left the place and phone blows up even more. It will explode at this point. Worse, it's only been minutes. An hour later, it's still as bad. Well, bad is a way of saying it: what you mean is nosy press and the promise of a quiet vacation ruined.

"I don't think it'll ever be quiet again"

You sigh softly, leaning on the door of the car taking you to the hotel.

"It's an opportunity" you reply just to feel the silence.

"Ever the marketer, you bussiness woman"

Even then, he manages to rob from you a faint smile.

At least they don't know where you're staying. That would be awful. You can't imagine having troubles to get out of a car.

"Something's in your mind" as your heels click against cold marble floors.

A shit ton.

You. The fast changes. Impending. Privacy gone. Scrapes of your life out in the open for the world to see. Your relationship and this new stage you're in.

Him. His warm eyes. Firm hand to secure you. Those circles on your back that calmed you down. It's a quiet I love you. Reassurance you don't say but need. I'm here. Pedro won't let you take the fall alone.

But, also, him.

With his body that had been driving you wild. Intoxicating cologne. A small cut abov his beard, still fresh. Thick glasses. Long legs. Strong arms. His charisma. Confidence. A killer smile. Warm eyes. Kind. He laughed too much and filled the gap of your stolen breaths, waiting.

"Want me to tell you?"

Smug grin you could wipe off his face.

"I'm all ears"

He too has noticed you. Short glances. Parted lips. So plump he can still taste them. The lipstick inside his cheek, over his white pristine smile if he hadn't licked it off. A part of you in him. Another. Your body, always so perfect, but in that dress he bought? He steals a look now. He definitely pictured you in it, yet this is better. How you own it. The cameras aren't flashing your way, but their eyes trail your every move. You had that in you: a beauty that wasn't loud, but made sure to be noticed. Like the air: not seen, just felt. Sometimes light, others heavy. He feels light-headed. Today you chose another set he bought you. In away, Pedro feels as if he owns you. But a tender belonging, of soul to soul, possessive, yet not as an object; he was raised right. Although, after your giggles with Austin...

"Pedro..." all sweet voice. He likes his name a lot. More if it's from you.

Your silence is both punishing and teasing.

"Tell me what you want" he insists.

"You know me" you play coy.

"I wanna hear it" desperate.

You cave in. Then, lean. His hairs raise in a prickly trepidation.

"They know too much" he feels your pressure, fears. But also, he feels your hot breath and short gasps, as if you can't hold this any longer.

"I'm sorry"

You shake your head with parted lips and hooded eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Show me something only I'll know"

Pedro's control shatteres at your words, a low, animalistic growl rumbling up from his chest.

"You're gonna make me fuck you in here" he spills the lewd confession.

"You're going to get us kicked out of this hotel"

"Can I at least kiss you on the elevator?" he pleads. Puppy sad brown eyes and all.

"Maybe"

In an instant, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you stumbling to the dinging door.

"Be patient" you mumble as his lips ghost over your neck. You glance at the numbers.

"We're on the thirty-two floor"

"Patience is a virtue"

"I don't care"

As soon as the door opens, he strides out with desperate, urgent steps.

"This isn't our floor"

"Fuck!"

The short time from the twenty-four to your actual floor felt interminable, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of your shared desire hung heavy in the air.

"Jesus" you mutter.

"That good or bad?" he asks, mouth busy and voice sort of muffled against the flush skin of your neck.

"Good" you manage to mumble, hands on his hair.

Alright, you miss the messy curls but you can see them insist on the top of his hair, now starting to get sweaty, Coco's work going to waste.

"Then let's give them more to talk"

As soon as you crossed the hallway, Pedro kicks the door shut behind both of you. He's got your back pressed against it, roughly, as if he couldn't wait a bit longer, mouth taking yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, tugging at any little space of honeyed skin he can, taking off the buttons with a feverish desperation. You swear one of them pops, if your ears don't deceive you.

"You bought that dress. I liked it"

He rolls his eyes. "I can buy you a new one. A whole closet"

"But I liked this one" you pout.

He kisses your pouty lips. "Then I shall move the earth to get the same one again for you. Now... where were we?"

He's back to kissing you roughly, and soon, your brain is too fuzzy and lost in the force of his lips on yours, that the cameras and late interview are soon forgotten in the back of your mind.

"I'm going to ruin you" he says against your mouth, voice ragged with lust. You let out a little moan as you squirm under his insistent touch. "So hard, so deep, you won't forget who you belong to. Never"

You should feel threatened. Scared, even. But no, down there? You're a wet mess.

The dress falls to the floor with a soft thud. At least he didn't rip it.

"No bra, baby?" he asks, voice thick. You swallow harshly and nod. "Bad girl. Such'a tease"

His mouth drops then to your chest, lips kissing and teeth grazing the soft swell of your breasts. His tongue runs cold through a shiver, moving to your nipples, taking the hardened bud into his mouth and sucking hard. You feel his hands then over the rosy flesh, grabbing what he can, which, given the size of his hands, it's a lot.

"All this for me?"

You nod, lost in the grunts, sweat, his mouth and touch.

"That's right. Mine. You're mine, baby. Just mine. Say it. Tell me you are"

"Yes!" you gasp. "I'm yours, Pedro. All yours. Only yours"

He groans into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. There's too a low sound coming from his throat, probably an approval sound of some sorts. His hands now slide down to your hips, gripping the free skin until he lifts you up. It's always like this. Now, you wrap your legs around his waist, tiny ankles locking at the small of his broad back.

Finally, he takes you to the bed in the middle of the room, all while never breaking the kiss or stopping his greedy hands from touching you. You whine and squirm, weak under his spell.

"So antsy" he softly says.

"I think you meant your hands"

With a little laugh, he lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. Before, he'd take his time to let go of the shirt, undressing slowly and almost reluctantly. Now, he takes no time in stripping off his shirt, revealing the toned body under an already revealing shirt. You love Pedro, in all of his forms and shapes, but weren't you incredibly turned on like a horny teenager for this new body? Maybe it was his new energy, how it oozed off of him in the form of flexing biceps, slim figure, toned chest and stomach and disarming smile. He was a menace and knew it, by the smirk visible even through the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"We should've turned the lights"

"I like you like this" needy fingers now turn tender as he traces soft hearts on your face, the rough skin brushing your soft flushed own.

"At least the nightstand one. It's yellow"

"No"

He leans down to claim your mouth again, or just shut you up. It's helpful, anyway, as he kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen and tingling.

"Someone's insatiable today" you croak out.

"For you? Always" he replies, fingers finding the damp patch in your panties, rubbing over it, thick fingers pressing against your clothed pussy. "It's never enough, baby"

He lets out a little grunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet" voice rough with lust and surprise. "Julie's outfit turned you on that much?"

"Even the hideous ones did" you whimper. "Imagine this one"

"I chose some of those, you know" he sounds a bit offended.

"Whatever. I'm happy with this Cannes run. I'll send some flowers or take her to lunch"

"So caring" he mocks.

"For dressing my man like a complete eye candy? Hell, yes"

"No one uses that term nowadays" Pedro interjects.

"Here you go again. You're my biggest hater. Shut up and just-"

You turn desperate at the pressure his fingers apply on your clothed slit. He smirks at that, eyes dark.

"You want this, don't you? You want me inside, filling you, stretching you around my cock?"

"Yes" you whimper again.

"Say it" he demands.

Never would you beg for something, but goddamn, didn't this man reduce you to a puddle of moans and pleasure? Your common sense, no, normal functioning, basic even, flew out of the window with just a kiss.

"I need you"

His fingers press even deeper, and the pulsing light pain sensation drives you wild, making you whimper again.

"Pedro-" you whine, hips rocking up against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

He clicks his tongue. "Manners, baby"

You squirm, violently and desperate. He really was going to make you beg for it.

"Please, Pedro"

"That better" fingers slightly more insistent. "One last time?"

Fuck dignity, man.

"Please, Pedro. I need you. I need you so badly" you choke out.

He grins like a schoolboy, eyes dark. "Good girl"

He rewards you by making a quick work of your panties, practically tearing them off and tossing them aside. His fingers then were on your bare skin, drumming on sensitive thighs.

"Don't tease" you plead through gritted teeth.

"So impatient" he tsks. "Want it now, baby?"

You nod, feverish.

"Because you asked"

"Because we always do what I want" you choke.

His eyes shine dark. "Easy, brat"

He strokes through the slick folds of your, pussy, pushing two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just right, hitting that well known spot that made you see stars.

"So tight" his voice comes out strained. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect"

Pedro pumps his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. His mouth drops to your breast again, suckling hard, biting just on the edge and then licking to soothe the sting. You feel heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into his skin, as to urge him.

And then he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper at the loss, making him chuckle a bit.

"Calm down, baby. I ain't going anywhere"

He starts undressing what's left of his clothes, and if you liked the outfit, him naked takes the win. His cock springs free, long and hard, the thick head already glistening.

"See?"

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He looks down at you, eyes intense under the moonlight. His large, calloused hands slid under your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

If spilling it in the interview wasn't enough, he was going to mark you, claim you, make you his.

"I'm going to fuck you now" Pedro announces, voice low with lust. "I'm going to fuck you hard and deep, just like you need. Like we both do"

With that, he thrust forward, pushing past your entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, feeling your pussy stretch around him, accommodating his size. It always happens; he's just big like that. He pauses, letting you adjust to the stretch, before pushing forward again, sinking deeper inside.

So thoughtful.

"Fuck, you're so tight " he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect. You feel incredible, y/n"

He starts to move then, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each push brings him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt inside. He sets a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath with the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the sound of their mingled moans and gasps, sweat pooling like a second skin.

And if things couldn't get any better...

One hand came up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just rested them there, feeling the flutter of your pulse.

"Nervous?" his thumb brushes over your racing heartbeat, a teasing promise of what was to come. "C'mon. Don't get shy on me, baby. I know you like that"

(You did. He was new to this, mainly going off some spaking and dirty talk. Now, he seemed to be into it, if not more, as you. It was always exciting when he did it, never telling you before. If you didn't want to, he stopped. You know he would, at least, because so far, you've never told him to)

You nod, walls clench around him.

"As much as you like feeling my cock stretching you open? Filling you up? You like knowing I'm the only man to be inside this perfect little cunt?"

"Yes" you gasp. "God, yes. No one else, but you, Pedro. Only you."

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he tightens his grip on your throat, just a little. Enough to make you feel it.

"That's right, baby. This cunt belong to me now. Your body. You. You belong to me"

He starts to thrust harder, faster, headboard slamming against the wall with each snap.

Pedro feels you starting to tighten around him, breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps.

He knew you were close.

He leans down then, his rough stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your neck as he growled in your ear.

"Be a good girl and come for me" he urges. "Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my cock. Feel it come undone on my dick"

His hips never slow, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The grip on your throat tightened just a touch more, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you light-headed.

"I'm going to fill this cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days"

You let out a choked moan at his filthy promise, back arching off the bed. He could feel her starting to convulse around him, her slick walls fluttering and clenching. He was so close too, his balls drawing up tight against his body as the pressure built.

"Come now. Let me feel you scream my name as I fill you up. Let the whole damn city know who you belong to"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. At the same time, his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just as your orgasm crashes over. You let out a strangled cry, body shaking and shuddering beneath him as you come apart.

"Fuck, y/n. Fuck"

With a load groan, he comes too, cock pulsing and jerking inside you as he pumps you full of his hot seed. Spurt after spurt, until he sees your stomach bloat lightly and you feel it sloshing inside you like the distant waves on the beach.

He collapses on top of you with a loud sigh, weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat; it's still dripping.

You both lay there for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, as you catch your breaths. Finally, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft.

"You're incredible" voice raw. "I can't believe you're mine"

You giggle, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you snuggle against his neck. He can feel your soft, warm breath tickling on his skin. A sense of peace and contentment settles over him, and he sighs happily.

"Yours" and a quick tired sloppy kiss. "You drained me, thought"

"If you weren't such a tease..."

You playfully swat him, weakly.

"Shh, just relax" he murmurs, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back. "You did so good, baby. So fucking perfect. As always"

You can't helo but say: "And now the whole world knows it"

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was different from the hungry, desperate kisses before. This one was tender, almost sweet. Full of a quiet, growing affection.

"It's okay" so quiet you would miss it. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not going anywhere"

You make a soft, contented lazy sound as you snuggle even closer, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels your body starting to give up.

"Promise?"

He tightens his arms around you, holding you like he means it. You are the most precious thing in the world to him, but he doesn't want to tell you. He wants you to know. So he holds you tightly, like a vow. Something to keep. Something worth.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @a7estrellas / dts: @io12n

[mysticxpizza]

bob reynolds nsfw alphabet

 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) He’s just the sweetest, asking if you’re okay, making sure he didn’t go too far. He’s getting up to go to the bathroom to get a cloth, wiping down your sensitive body and kissing any marks he’s left on your body

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) I think Bob loves his arms/hands, being able to lift you up in his arms, caressing your body and making you feel so good; grabbing and pawing at your tits and thighs as well as your ass. I think he also likes his mouth, being able to kiss all over.

He likes all of his partner, he thinks he is so lucky to have such an amazing person, that he’ll love every bit of you just the same. Saying that… he does love tits, sucking and biting on your nipples, leaving little lovebites all of them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) To link back to the above, he would love to cum on your tits but I think his overall favourite would be inside of you, he likes and craves that closeness with someone and cumming inside would be exactly the way to do it with you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He would want to fuck you in a place where Walker could clealy hear how good he can make you feel, purely an ego boost, maybe fucking you against the wall boardering his and Walker’s room, hearing all your moans and screams, realising that Bob can fuck.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) I think he’s not that experienced, maybe a couple in his teens and early 20s, but after the whole Sentry thing, he’s not had anyone. He’s got the basic knowledge, but you help him fine-tune and improve this for both of your benefits.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying) He’s a softy boy, he likes missionary and being able to have eye contact and see how good he’s making you feel as he continually thrusts into you. When he is in a more submissive mood, he loves it when you're on top, taking control and teasing him; it only gives him so much more pleasure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) I think it’s 50/50, some goofy, awkward moments (I mean, come on, it's Bob), but there can easily be more serious moments, as Bob gets more attached and in love with you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I would say well-groomed, but he is always willing to listen to any suggestions his partner has. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he asked you for help with shaving it sometimes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Bob only gets more and more intimate every time, and feeling so connected to another person only makes him feel more in love with you. He’s constantly whispering epithets and ‘I love you’ throughout having sex with you, making sure you feel as loved and wanted as he feels towards you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Maybe if he is on a mission and you aren’t there, but he’s all over you 24/7, 365 days a year. He’s not wasting any time when you are together. Jerking off when you aren’t there just makes it feel unfufilling.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Defo a sub, this man is getting on his knees for you in a heartbeat. He is putty in your hands, especially when you are sweet to him. He does have limits, but would be willing to do anything that gave you pleasure.

I think after you two have been together a while, I do think he would have a bit of a breeding kink (explored more in W)

I think he also likes mirror sex - watching both of you fall apart in pleasure just adds so much more to the experience for him.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do) Bob is a simple man, he likes the bedroom, it’s where he feels the most comfortable. Anything in public would just scare him too much, even the bathroom at a gala or event would still make him feel uncomfortable.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) You. Just you breathing, existing is enough for him. But when you do nice things for him: baking, giving him gifts, etc., just immediately has him kissing your neck and grinds against you, ready to go.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would hate being called Daddy or Sir, he has enough issues in that department. He is also not hitting you unless it’s a light tap on your ass or thigh. He is also not the dominant type (that’s Void’s department).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Like I said, this man will be on his knees for you in a heartbeat. He will be between your thighs for hours if you let him. He also loves receiving, but in my opinion, he’s not lasting very long, the minute your tongue touches his tip, he’s on the verge of cumming.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I think he’s more slow and sensual, he wants to take his time with you, savouring every moment with you, feeling all moments' pleasure, regardless of how small. I could see perhaps some jealousy sex that’s fast and rough, but I think that’s a very rare occurrence. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

I can see it happening before he goes on a mission, a quick release of energy before he goes, making sure he leaves something for you to remember him by while he’s gone. Leaving marks and putting you in a place of pleasurable bliss.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He knows what he likes, and I think the rare risk taken could be something as simple as putting his hand on your thigh at a gala or sneaking into a blind spot for a brief makeout.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

I can see him last a good two rounds, maybe more, with the serum. However, he’s cumming in his pants on more than one occasion and feeling the need to make up for this, yet it’s so hot and attractive seeing him crumble under such a short time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Bob is not aware enough to think about using toys, maybe some silk ties for either of you to be restrained but I don’t think he’s like fucking you with anyhting but his hands or his dick.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He does not like to tease too much, but you take great pride in being able to tease him for hours on end, making him weak at the knees with simple touches and brushes.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I think Bob can be quite loud, moaning at the simplest touches and groaning with every thrust. Every sound he makes is music to your ears.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

After a couple of years of being with you, seeing you help kids or interact with them, perhaps Walker’s kid, he starts to feel a burning sensation he can’t explain. Instead of hiding this, he openly explains how he feels to you and how he may one day want a family with you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I think Bob is a solid 6 inches, enough to give you pleasure, but not too painful and overwhelming. I would also say average thickness, just to add to that pleasure.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Like I’ve said for some other prompts, you can breathe near him, and he’s just ready to go. He could be in bed with you all day if you both had the stamina.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Very fast, once aftercare is done. He’s crawling into bed and laying his head on your chest, and he’ll be asleep in the next five minutes. I also think he often does what Art does in Challengers, laying his head in his partner's lap.

[hoiststowline]

responses to an overworked/sleepy s/o [w/ ultra magnus, sunstreaker, & hound]

ultra magnus

Ultra Magnus knows that he’s the biggest hypocrite in this situation, but you’ve yawned four times in the past five minutes. it sends alarms across his processor, observing the way you use the back of your hand to poorly cover such an exhausted gesture. somehow, this less than gentle alert that your body was tired was not enough, yourself shuffling through a stack of papers as you carry on with little qualms. Magnus can feel his optic twitch, unable to quietly fight the urge to knock some sense into you about your health and well-being. adjusting to time and your schedule has come a little easier to him, mostly due to finding himself in your company on a daily basis. understanding what he does now, he finds self-assurance in calling you out about getting some rest, the hour far past the original time you had set to get some rest. 

“y/n?” he rumbles, slightly baffled that you don’t even offer your undivided attention, acknowledging him with a noise he can’t quite label. a thought passes him by: is this how other mechs feel when he’s drowning in paperwork? “It is very late. Perhaps you would do better to pick this up in the morning?” 

finally, your eyes tear away from the papers to meet his, and then Magnus is whacked with the realization he has to stand firm here. you must’ve been at this for hours, fatigue and enervation translating well enough from your gaze and pouring down the rest of your body. “Sorry. Run that by me again?” 

“I will do no such thing,” he’s good at being the bad guy, the one who has to play fair and look out for others. but for you? he’s willing to beg, stand firm in seeing you get some much deserved, and earned sleep. “This will be here when you awake. Rest.” 

your pout works on him, and the worst part of it all is you must know it does. “Five more minutes?” you plead, trying your best to stifle a yawn that Magnus sees far too easily. every bone in your body begs you to relent, but stubbornness finds you once more as you think of all the studying that needs to be done before tomorrow. 

“No.” he’s caged you between two massive hands, leaning forward until you’re forced to meet his stare and not the copious amounts of work spread out around the berth. “You cannot use my own tactics against me. Bed, now.”

sunstreaker

something wakes Sunstreaker up about three hours into his recharge, and with little investigation he comes to find you on the other side of the room. after you’d said three hours ago you’d join him in ten minutes, that turned out to be the biggest lie in the world. disoriented and mildly irritated, his brow furrows when he calls your name, confused as to why you jump in surprise. everything about you breathes burnout, eyes glassy as they eventually lock with his across the room. were you so consumed and entranced by that textbook that you hadn’t heard him grumble under his breath before calling out to you? how dare such a stupid object hold your attention and not him, slowly losing his already depleted patience. 

“Get over here.” Sunstreaker hums, trying once to be nice instead of brash. he’s come to take a second to mull over his words before they leave his voice box, trying his damndest to say what he means the first time. yet, this time, instead of pulling away from your study materials, you only dive deeper. 

“I’ll be right there,” you whisper, as if he was still in and out of recharge. “Just have to finish this chapter, and-” you squeak as he abruptly stands from the berth, lumbering over to where you were sitting on his desk. fumbling with the textbook, your finger saves the page before you close it over, trying your best to appear defiant and adamant, but losing miserably. “What are you doing?” 

“What am I doing?” Sunstreaker counters, expecting no reply. “You said ‘ten more minutes’ hours ago. Bed, or I throw that book.” 

you appear miserable. the happiness that normally contradicts his irritable behavior is nowhere to be found, something that concerns him greatly. you had mentioned earlier in the week about an upcoming test that was stressing you out, but now this studying venture has crossed over into territory that enrages Sunstreaker. you weren’t taking care of yourself, unworried about how a newfound weariness preoccupies you. whenever you speak ill of yourself or doubt your abilities, it seizes him so greatly that he can’t focus on anything else. don’t you know how much he loves you, and knows you’ll do great things, no matter what? 

somehow, you know he means it, sighing in defeat. “Fine, fine.” with a small smile, you close the book over with a defeated sigh. “Sorry. The test is in two days.” 

to your surprise, Sunstreaker mumbles his words, but the sincerity is overwhelming. “I’ll try to help you study tomorrow. But now, bed, and I mean it.” 

hound

you’ve certainly done a lot of typing in the past couple of hours, Hound has noticed. enough that with each hour that slips by, it’s time for him to wrap his tasks up and fully join your company, excited to hear about what you’ve been up to and relax into the evening with no issue. except, that’s mostly thrown out the window as he takes in your body language, surveying the way your palm runs over your face and rubs at your eyes, only to return to your laptop seconds later. the light from the screen illuminates your features, but all Hound can focus on is how your shoulders slump forward, a glasiness overtaking your eyes that he can’t quite decipher the reason behind. you’re clearly spent, drained of the day's responsibilities as they now carry over into time that should be spent away from the computer. 

“y/n?” he tries, using the tip of his digit to run down the length of your leg, vying for your attention, selfish as that may be to admit. “Y’alright? Busy day?” 

for a moment, you pull away from the laptop, blinking wildy before realizing it was only Hound. everything in you yearned to just shut the computer and set this aside for another time, but the idea of being ahead tomorrow entranced you far too much. “I’m good! I’d just like to finish this up, I swear I’m almost done.” famous last words. 

your slight startle at his touch and words worried him, the way you appear so disconnected from reality as you are solely focused on typing a report that didn’t need to be completed at this very moment. though your overworked and tired demeanor concerns him greatly, Hound is willing to yield if only to respect your wishes. he cares so deeply for you that perhaps just this once, he’d overlook the fact that you probably really needed some shut-eye now. it’s like overriding a code, Hound feels as if he’s programmed to look out for everyone and their health, you always residing as his top priority. always number one on his list, finding that sometimes you unintentionally neglect your wellbeing, himself guilty of similar behaviors. 

but then you don’t stick to your original plans. more time has escaped you, and Hound’s fretting has skyrocketed to the point where he isn’t ashamed to implore you to get some rest. “Yer exhausted,” he rumbles, broad shoulders drooping as you tear your eyes away from the screen to massage at your temples once more. “Don’t overwork yourself. It ain’t worth it, ah know it first hand.” 

doing what Hound asks of you is an easy feat, as forfeit finds you. with a sleepy smile, you power down the computer and set it to the side to be tomorrow's problem. this time was precious with him, sacred and not effortless to come by. “Sorry.” you stumble over your words, trying to stifle a yawn in the meantime. “I’m alright. It’s done for the evening.”

[ohcroculus]

it's a boy or a girl? ── CALL OF DUTY MEN

included: simon riley, john mactavish, john price, kyle garrick, alejandro vargas, rodolfo parra, könig and keegan p. russ (paired with fem!reader).

summary: how many children would they have? boys or girls? would they retire to have their families?

wc; 0.6k

possible misspelling, sorry!

simon 'ghost' riley: only one daughter named grace. he retired when she was about two years old –even though he had already stayed home before, this time was permanent. his daughter has his hair, but your smile. she’s polite and not too rebellious. she's very empathetic and kind to others. she always put post-its in the mirror of the bathroom to make your day better.

john 'soap' mactavish: he would have two sons born just a year apart. regardless of the games' timeline, he probably planned to retire young and live in the countryside with his family. his sons have the same personality as him and are nicknamed "bubble one" and "bubble two" by everyone who knows them. name's callum and owen. he was wishing for a girl next.

john price: i just can't picture him as the father of boys, so i'll say it. one single daughter that he spoils way too much. probably named victoria or danielle. "his little elle". he bought her a car when she finished college and always ask her if she needs money. at least she's a nice girl at school even if he spoils her rotten. took his eyes and his smile and is always posting pictures in her instagram with you two. trends on tiktok too. he's not thinking about retiring yet.

kyle 'gaz' garrick: one son who reached age fourteen and then, suddenly, another boy appeared —one who talks too much and always follows his older brother around. the older one is named jayden. the younger one likely has a name that you choose. thinking about retiring when the young one finished elementary school. the most relatable thing he does with the kids? watch soccer and scream at the tv.

alejandro vargas: twin girls who look just like him. it annoys you because you were betting since the gender reveal about who's genes were stronger. their names are ximena and citlalli. yes, he does ask if they won any fight they had at school— funny thing that they're opposites. his family by mother side had already a thing with twins. he retired when both of them were about to start college to help you at house.

rodolfo 'rudy' parra: either he has no kids, or he has one older son and one younger daughter. mateo and renata separated by two peaceful years (y'know that first baby that makes you want to have another one and then the second is born and you realize why don't you want more? well, that was what happened here). a real headache because they're always fighting, and he blames your side of the family since he turned out calm. he learned not to do anything unless the house goes completely quiet. not thinking about retiring yet.

könig: four kids because he doesn't want any of them to feel lonely. three boys and one girl —but the girl is the oldest. you picked her name because könig passed out in the delivery room –yes, he had seen worse. but the first pregancy came with problems and he couldn't breath in the hospital–. he named the second and third kids himself, and their names go perfectly with your last name –most likely, könig uses your surname, so your children do too.

keegan russ: he has only one son who's so quiet it makes him nervous. when the boy started walking, keegan put bells on him because he kept hiding. i can totally see him choosing a name that starts with “k” just because it fits the vibe— maybe kenneth. one time when you went out he didn't tell you, but he had to look all through the house after realizing little kenny flushed the bells down the toilet and was hiding. he's a mama's boy because keegan is not thinking about retiring soon.

a/n: probably will take a while to write about the series, but yup, family series bc i want fluff.

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part two!

PEARL NECKLACE

[previous chapter] [next chapter]

summary: Uncle Tommy gives you everything you want for your twenty first birthday.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap (reader is 21, Tommy in his mid thirties), size difference, praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, begging, dom/sub undertones, tommy yearns bad in this one, a bit of angst mixed in, alcohol overconsumption, reader is made uncomfortable by someone at a bar, references to being drugged (but doesn't actually happen), allusions to addiction, reader gets a facial

note: if you haven't heard yet, i'm turning this into a little mini series!! you can let me know here if you'd like to be added to the taglist. thank you to everyone for the support on this one, I'm so glad you all love uncle tommy as much as i do. let me know what you think of this chapter, i love love love talking to you guys and i promise there's more to come!

wc: 10.8k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

Tommy Miller is a high functioning addict.

Self aware enough to admit it, hedonistic enough to only manage it. Has been that way for as long as he can remember.

He likes the head buzz of nicotine and the dizziness of liquor and the adrenaline rush of a real bad decision. His favorite high, though, is you. His favorite sound, his favorite taste, his favorite sight. 

His favorite girl.

After that fateful night in his apartment, the two of you get good at the balancing act. The push and pull. You ride the line of too much and not enough religiously. Have gotten it down to a goddamn science.

But the problem is that an addict never knows when to quit.

He does well for a while. Truly. Learns that it’s a whole lot easier to manage his longing with witnesses around, and goes out of his way to avoid being in an empty house with you. He interlocks his fingers together and squeezes when the urge rises in him to touch you. To cradle your pretty face, to run his thumb over your mouth when you make some filthy joke and smile up at him. He bites the inside of his cheek when you’re sitting beside one another and turn to whisper something in sync, bringing you face to face, so overwhelmed with a craving for the taste of your tongue that his heart hammers against his sternum.

For what it’s worth, Tommy tries. Loses sleep over it, even. Stares up at his ceiling for hours, warring with what he wants and what he knows is right. 

The right thing would be to wean himself off of you. Cut back a little at a time. Day by day, until eventually the thought of you becomes less persistent. Until he stops smelling the faintest trace of your shampoo in his sheets, until he stops transferring that half-smoked cigarette with cherry lip gloss on the filter from pack to pack.

But then, sometimes, he catches this look in your eye when you’re listening to him speak. He could be talking about something shitty that happened at work or telling you about a song he heard on the radio that he thinks you’d like, and you just stare at him like he hung the moon in the sky.

He’s important to you, and you make him feel it. And it’s this, this that he can’t give up. The way you trust him so completely, the way you love him without a trace of doubt. 

You say it once, in passing. Everyone’s sitting in lawn chairs in the backyard, enjoying the nice weather before the rainstorm moving in from the west hits. You’re sitting next to Sarah, but your feet are resting in Tommy’s lap.

Sarah’s talking animatedly, telling everyone about her college English professor and how they’ve been playing matchmaker all semester. On three separate occasions, they’ve paired groups together, and couples have emerged from them. Sarah thinks it’s intentional, but your mom and Joel aren’t so sure.

Tommy stays quiet for most of the conversation. But then he says, “Definitely a little weird. But, uh…anyway, I wanted to let everyone know I’m a changed man. Dropping the whole blue collar act and going back to school to study English.”

Everyone laughs, and you kick the side of his thigh lightly with a shake of your head. Through your giggles you say, “I fucking love you,” and it fills him with so much warmth he’s overflowing with it.

He rides that high for days. Gives you shit for it, even. 

When he steals your half finished slice of pizza right out of your hands and you call him a dickhead with a smile on your face he says, “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

You don’t deny it, and even that makes him feel special. Tommy takes every crumb of affection you throw at him and eats it up with a fork and knife like it’s the most delectable meal he’s ever had. Consumes your sweet words and your closeness so thoroughly, it’s almost comical. Like he’s a dog with a bone, desperate for it, because he is.

He stays balanced, though. Never lets it go too far. Can feel right when his desire begins to cloud his judgment and knows when to call it. 

But things change one night at the dining room table.

You and Joel sit beside each other. He‘s in front of that shitty laptop he bought decades ago, trying to write an email that sounds both professional and assertive without using the words asshole or fucking idiot.

He’s grumbling and typing with his two pointer fingers and a single thumb on the keyboard, shaking his head as you explain, “You have to capitalize her name, Joel. You’re not sending an email to your friend, she’s a CEO.”

“Yeah, well, capital letters are meant for people. Not for corporate lizards trying to fuck with my company.”

You catch Tommy’s gaze from across the table, making you both snort and fall into rambunctious laughter, earning you a glare.

“It’s not funny,” Joel says sharply. “Stupid I even have to do this. I don’t know why people don’t just leave well enough alone.”

“Everyone wants a piece of the pie,” you explain. “You’re making good money doing good things, and she wants to be a part of it. You guys keep taking on more projects this year, and inquiries like this are just the beginning.” 

“It’s a good thing, ain’t it?” Tommy shrugs. “Means you’re doing somethin’ right.”

“Exactly,” you agree. You lean across the table and swipe the glass bottle from his hands to take a sip. 

Tommy knows you don’t like beer and isn’t surprised when you cringe at the hoppy flavor, wrinkling your nose at him. He thinks maybe you drink it anyway not for the alcohol, but to put your lips to the same place his were seconds ago. He tries not to let the warmth that idea elicits in his chest spread too far. 

“Well, I don’t need some uppity lady who works in an office telling me how to do my damn job,” Joel adds.

“So say that,” you tell him. He starts typing on the keyboard again, so you lean in close, peering over his shoulder. “Oh my God. Not word for word. You have to paraphrase.”

Joel throws his hands up in the air and groans in frustration. “How do I say fuck off in a nice way?”

You and Tommy both laugh again, which only serves to piss Joel off even further. It’s not funny, not really; it’s just the dramatics of it all. And, truthfully, Tommy finds everything funny when he's with you.

“You write it,” Joel says, pushing the laptop towards you. 

“That’s not gonna solve anything,” you say, shaking your head. 

“What if I pay you?”

“Then you’ll be in the same situation next time. You’re gonna have to learn how to be a business owner, Joel. Not just a contractor.”

“Okay, so make it permanent, then,” Joel says, shrugging. “Like a…a receptionist. Come work for me and quit that coffee place. They don’t even offer health insurance.” He says it with such disdain, and Tommy knows exactly why.

They’d discussed it on the way home from work one afternoon. Too god damn smart for a place like that, Joel had said, and Tommy could do nothing but agree.

“I can’t quit my job to write your emails for you,” you argue.

“Not just that,” he says. “Can be in charge of payroll and schedules and the licensing bullshit. All the things I’m bad at. Weekends off, whatever hours you wanna work. I’ll pay you double what you’re makin’ now, and you get health insurance.”

Hesitation shows on your face. Tommy knows his brother means what he says, and he thinks you know it, too. But it’s a lot to consider. A big change.

“You’re good at talkin’ to people,” Joel continues, closing the laptop. “An’ it would mean a lot to me.”

That’s what does you in, Tommy knows. The nail in the coffin. He sees it in the way your shoulders drop and your eyes soften. Selfless girl, he thinks. Always taking care of the people you love. “What if I don’t like it?”

“You will,” Tommy answers. Because he knows Joel will take care of you, too. Make sure you have everything you might need. But more importantly, Tommy knows you. And even though he can sense the way it threatens his balance on that already thin line between safe and depraved, he knows you’ll enjoy it.

And he’s proven correct on that very first day.

Joel sets you up in the air-conditioned trailer they haul from job site to job site. Mostly, they use it to cool off during lunch, everyone piling into the small space for half an hour before going back out into the Texas heat.

The two of you spend most of the day going over all the contacts Joel’s acquired over the years, and how to schedule a consultation, and where to order materials. He gives you all of his passwords and clears off the cluttered desk that never gets used. 

Everyone on the team is awfully eager to meet you, and Tommy’s no fucking idiot. He knows exactly what goes through their heads as they shake your hand and introduce themselves and stare a little too hard at the shadow of red lace beneath your thin white top.

They conveniently wait until Joel’s out of earshot before the comments start pouring out of their foul mouths.

Pretty little thing, ain’t she?

Joel’s got that livin’ under his roof? Christ. Poor old man.

You see the way those jeans fit her?

Is it too early to start callin’ Joel ‘pops’?

Tommy wonders briefly why they feel so comfortable saying shit like this in front of him, knowing who he is to you, but then realizes he’s said far worse in the past about girls half as pretty. They feel comfortable because in any other situation, he would be joining right in.

Noah’s the worst of it. Takes things a little too far when he says, “Stepdaughter videos ain’t number one on the hub for nothin’.” 

Tommy clenches his teeth. Keeps his head down. Tries and fails to fight his smug ass smirk when you come grab his truck keys a little after four and return to the trailer wearing his Carhartt hoodie, the one he’d left in the back seat a couple days ago.

Later that night, Tommy follows you up to your room. Door wide open, with Sarah just across the hall and Joel and your mom downstairs. Not that he has any intentions other than checking in after your first day. It’s just…precautionary—an added layer of security to prevent a backslide.

He flops back in your unmade bed, hands folded behind his head, and watches a little too closely as you bend over to unlace your sneakers. “Well?”

You unclasp your necklace and drop it into a ceramic bowl on your dresser. “I loved it,” you admit. “It was a little stressful, but…I don’t know. I liked feeling like I could make a difference. Like I’m not just going in there to do my job and go home, I felt like I was being productive. It was nice.”

Tommy’s pleased to hear it. Loves the way your voice sounds in his ears. Happy, satisfied. He knows right then and there that he needs to set a firm boundary with Noah because you’re never going back to that coffee place, and Noah’s not going anywhere near you. “Said you’d like it, didn’t I?”

With a roll of your eyes, you sit beside him and pull your legs close to your chest, resting your chin on top of your knees. “Joel’s kind of a hard ass.”

It makes him laugh because it’s true. Can’t count on both his hands just how many times his brother has nitpicked the way things are done. He can only imagine the pressure you'd felt in that trailer, likely being told how to talk to this person or that one. “Only the beginning, darlin’,” Tommy says. 

The sunlight leaks in through your bedroom window, sheer lace curtains casting rays of gold over your skin. You’re beautiful, Tommy thinks. Painfully so. Sometimes he’ll catch you at a certain angle, just like this one, and it makes his heart rate stutter.

In another world, Tommy wouldn’t let you out of sight fucking ever. Would accompany you whether you were going to a nightclub or if you were just going to the corner store. Because he knows from experience that all it would take for a man to fall to his knees before you is a single look from those pretty eyes. In another world, one where he wasn’t your Uncle Tommy, one where he could just be yours, he’d make damn sure you’d never need anything from another man. 

Never need a door opened for you, never need to pay for a meal, never need to confide in anyone else. He’d take care of you. Do it all. Satisfy you in every way of the word because it’s what you deserve. He wants to take care of you, wants to be a provider. 

Tommy supposes it’s what he’s always wanted, despite his actions reflecting the opposite. He wonders if maybe he’s just been waiting for you this whole time.

You ask, “What are you thinking about?” 

And he doesn’t lie. “You.”

With a scoff, you playfully pinch his side. A sliver of his abdomen is exposed where his t-shirt has ridden up, and feeling you there is a shock to his nervous system. 

And when your touch lingers, his body tingles, and his brain becomes foggy. Tommy Miller has never wanted anyone the way he wants you. Is reduced to the simplest, most carnally driven man just at the feel of your delicate fingertips on his skin.

Your attention is centered on your hand as you slowly move it across his soft belly, eyes hooded and filled with desire. 

Tommy knows that look now. Knows the filthy thoughts invading your brain, knows exactly what you’re reminiscing about. He knows, too, that the balance is skewed. The longer he lies here with you, the closer he comes to caving. “Your turn,” he says. “Spill your guts.”

When you speak, your voice is quiet. A barely-there whisper. “It would be so easy, you know.” 

He does. Has rolled the idea over in his head a million fucking times. “S’the problem,” Tommy explains. “Can’t stop myself twice.” 

“Then don’t,” you say simply, continuing to run your fingers over his skin. He sees his favorite troublesome smirk begin to form on your sweet mouth and has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep himself from finding too much joy in it. “Could do it right here. Bet they’d never know.”

The edge of your pinky finger dips just below the waistband of his jeans. Barely there, but Tommy notices everything you do, and this is no exception, hyper aware of your every movement. He lets out a slow, shaking breath and swallows hard. He can’t bring himself to move or push you away like he knows he should. All he manages are two, hesitant words. “Ain’t right.”

Your response is quick. Honest and true. “I don’t care.”

It only makes his will to abstain that much harder. Knowing he isn’t alone in his longing, knowing you’re suffering in such a similar way…it hurts him just to think of it. But it’s different for you. Easier. Because you’re just at the beginning of your life, while he’s nearly halfway through his.

You have time to bounce back from this. To choose someone your age who’s a lot less twisted. Someone you don’t have to hide from the people closest to you, who you can kiss out in the open without shame.

And Tommy’s…well, Tommy knows there will never be anyone else for him. Has sat with that fact for quite some time. Accepted it by now, and considers himself lucky just to have had that one, stolen night.

Slowly, you move further down the mattress. The same one he once slept on that now belongs solely to you. You slot yourself between his strong thighs and his cock swells as you look up at him through your lashes.

There’s an experiment here, Tommy knows. The two of you are just alike. So similar that sometimes it frightens him. He can see the challenge in your eyes, testing the waters, seeing how far you can go before he pulls you back. 

You lean forward, bracing yourself with your hands on his hips. And when you press your lips to the bulge in his jeans, Tommy bites back a moan. 

This is too far, he knows. Way too fucking far.

His heart hammers in his chest. The door is still wide open, and everyone is home. All it would take is one person to walk down the hallway, and it would all be over. 

But it would be easy. Quick, too—Tommy’s never had much control when it comes to you.

With a quick flick of your thumb, you pop open the silver button. Saliva gathers between your parted lips, mouth watering for a taste of him. 

Tommy Miller is weak. Corrupted. Sick and twisted and perverted and— “Beautiful, baby,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking…Christ. You got any idea how fuckin’ pretty you are?”

He gently strokes your hair, and when you smile up at him, he grins right back. His cock is already hard but then you pull his zipper down with your teeth and Tommy thinks he might die without relief.

Sarah calls your name from across the hall.

You scramble away from each other, sitting at opposite ends of the bed seconds before she rounds the corner. 

“Do you remember Summer? That girl from my biology class?” Sarah pays Tommy no mind as she sits beside you.

It’s not out of the ordinary for him to be in your room, after all. He’s the first to lend a helping hand when you get the urge to move your furniture around and has carried up your laundry from the basement countless times.

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “The one you…”

Sarah flushes a deep crimson. Her eyes flicker between your face and Tommy’s, and he’s smart enough to read the room.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he says, standing from the bed, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.

You grab his hand as he walks past. Just briefly, but it turns his insides molten. One more lingering touch before he leaves. A way of saying, I don’t want you to go, but I know you have to.

Once out in the hallway, Tommy zips up his jeans and takes a few long, deep breaths before he goes downstairs to say goodbye to your mom and Joel. The two of them talk briefly, and Joel asks how you felt after your first day.

He says, “An’ I know you know that girl like the back of your hand, so don’t lie. She like it or not?”

Tommy isn’t quite sure why the words leave him feeling dizzy, but they do. He likes that he knows you so well and likes even more that the closeness you share is so visible. If he can’t outwardly call you his, if he can’t outwardly be yours, then he’ll take whatever this is. “She likes it.”

Joel’s shoulders sag in relief. “Good, cause she’ll make my life a hell of a lot easier.”

The next morning, Tommy stops by at seven to pick you and Joel up before heading to the job site. You carry a steaming travel mug in each hand, and before you climb into the back seat, you poke your head through the open driver's side window. “Just milk and sugar,” you say. “Right?”

He doesn’t know why you ask when you know the answer. “You didn’t have to do that, darlin’,” he says. But he happily takes the coffee anyway and takes a careful sip. It’s the perfect ratio. Tommy’s not surprised. 

There’s a playful lilt to your voice as you say, “I usually take mine with cream, but we were all out. Thought maybe you could supply me with some.”

He laughs hard and shakes his head. “Un-fuckin’-believable,” he says through his mirth. He glances over the top of your head to see Joel locking the front door behind him.

You uncap the lid. “Well?”

His face burns, but Tommy thinks he’s never had such a perfect start to his day. “Get in the truck before you start somethin’ you can’t finish.”

“But that’s my favorite thing to do,” you whine, pushing your bottom lip out into a dramatic pout. You listen, though. Replace the lid and climb into the back seat behind him.

Tommy scoffs and says with a grin, “Don’t I know it.”

It doesn’t take long for you to get awfully good at your job. That first week alone, you manage to slice their payment for materials in half just by haggling with the lumber mill Joel’s bought wood from since the nineties. You accompany him to a handful of consultations, learning what to look for in a client and how to pick and choose which jobs are worth taking.

You convince Joel to buy a mini fridge for the trailer that you keep fully stocked with bottles of water. And when you bring in those electrolyte drink mixes, it’s all anyone talks about for days.

Noah says, “The peach one is my favorite. Wanna taste hers next.”

Everyone finds humor in it but Tommy.

The words come out sharper than intended. “Quit sayin’ shit like that, man.”

Noah laughs. Like it’s funny. “You’re telling me you don’t want a piece of that ass?”

“What I’m telling you is to shut your goddamn mouth,” Tommy answers. He stops digging through the sand they’ve been moving for the last hour, left hand squeezed tightly around the red handle of his shovel.

“It was a joke, Tommy. Lighten up.”

“Don’t care what it was,” he says, staring Noah in the eye. “I hear some shit like that again and I’ll fuck you up. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

Noah sizes him up, and for a split second Tommy thinks he just might be brave enough to step. But Noah just sneers and returns to the task at hand, an awkward silence lingering between the group of them.

But Tommy doesn’t care. Sits in that silence happily knowing he won’t have to listen to anyone speak about you like that anymore.

Joel cares, though. And on the way home, he says, “Mike told me about you giving Noah a hard time today. You two gonna have a problem?”

“Wait, what happened with Noah?” You slide to the center of the leather seat in the back of the cab.

“Nothing,” Tommy lies. “Ain’t gonna have a problem.”

Joel narrows his eyes in warning. “Good. 'Cause that’s the last thing we need right now. Behind enough as it is.”

He thinks that’s the end of it.

But then you say softly, “He asked me out the other day.”

“He what?” Tommy and Joel say it in perfect unison. Equally floored and equally irate.

Joel turns almost completely around in the passenger seat.

You raise your hands in surrender and look at Tommy through the rearview mirror. “Said he wanted to take me to dinner, and I told him I’d rather starve.”

“Listen to me,” Joel says with that stern, no bullshit dad voice he sometimes still uses on Sarah. “I don’t want you anywhere near those boys. Ain’t a single one worth a damn. Liars and cheaters and fucking criminals. All of ‘em.”

A crease forms between your brows. “So why the fuck did you hire them?”

“Cause they’re good at what they do,” Joel explains. “But that don’t make them good. Deserve better than that. You hear me, kid?”

“Yeah, I hear you. Keep it professional with everyone,” you say. “Except for Uncle Tommy.”

He chokes. Tries to cover it up with a cough, but it doesn’t work in the slightest. His hands pale around the steering wheel.

“Exactly,” Joel says.

Later that night, Tommy is smoking on the back porch when you step outside to join him. It’s the first moment he’s had alone with you all day. “You tryin’ to get me killed or somethin’?”

“Or something.” You lean back against the siding and shrug. “Kinda sounded like Joel’s blessing to me.”

“You’re fuckin’ trouble, girl.” Tommy chuckles and passes you his lit cigarette when you reach for it. “Joel wasted all that breath warnin’ you about those boys when he should be warnin’ them about you.”

“Yeah, probably. But you love it.” 

Tommy can do nothing but agree because it’s the truest thing he’s ever heard. “Your birthday’s comin’ up soon,” he says, watching as you take the nicotine deep into your lungs. “Twenty-one. Anything you want?”

That too familiar smirk forms on your face, and Tommy knows what you’re going to say before you even open your mouth. Can see all those filthy thoughts behind your eyes, can almost hear whatever dirty joke you’ve got locked and loaded on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t even fuckin’ start with me,” he warns, a playfulness to his voice. But there’s no weight to it. Your inability to take anything seriously is one of his favorite things about you. 

Your lips part in a mockery of surprise. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“Didn’t have to,” he says, plucking the cigarette from between your fingers. “Give me something realistic.”

“Okay…” You tap your index finger against your chin, contemplating. “What about…a pearl necklace,” you say with the sweetest, most innocent smile.

Tommy laughs. Can’t help himself. “Alright, you know what? I take it back. You only get gifts if you’re good.”

He thinks the sound of your giggling might be the only thing that’s ever truly brought him peace. Finds comfort in your joy, in knowing you’re happy. But when your laughter dies down, there’s a sad sort of look in your eye. A melancholic longing. 

Then you quietly say, “I just want you.” And Tommy’s ears ring.

This is what hurts him the most. The heavy truth of it. 

He’d known that taking your closeness to new heights would change him in irreparable ways. Known that nothing would ever compare, and he was ready and willing to live the rest of his life with that dull ache in his chest. Welcomed the haunting of emptiness with open arms because it was you and it was him and that one fucking night was yours.

But Tommy wasn’t the only one who’d been changed by it. Wasn’t the only one to suffer in the aftermath. 

He wants to comfort you. Wants to take your hands in his and kiss each of your knuckles until his lips turn blue. He doesn’t move, though. Not even an inch. Because he’s never felt nearer to a relapse than he does when you look at him like that. Like you see him. Like he’s all you see.

“I’m right here,” he says. “Always will be.”

Tommy means it. He thinks he would follow you anywhere just to feel the faintest warmth of your affection.

It seems to satisfy you. For now, at least. You give him the tiniest smile, a half effort, but it soothes the sting for him, too. Just a little. 

Your birthday falls on a Friday. Tommy gets up early and stops at a bakery before heading to Joel’s, and is pleased when he uses the key under the mat to find that the house is quiet. Still.

He creeps up the stairs and slips soundlessly into your room. The day is just beginning, and the light of dawn spills through your cracked window. Tommy sits on the edge of your bed and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

When he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, you stir and stretch out your limbs. Your voice is tired and filled with sleep as you ask, “Uncle Tommy?”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers. He cradles your face in his hands and strokes your cheek with his thumb as clarity slowly finds you.

You smile up at him with starry eyes, and Tommy’s stomach flips. You’re so good, so perfect that sometimes he wonders how the fuck you’re even real.

“C’mon,” he says. “Sit up for me. Got you somethin’.”

Tommy holds your hands when you reach for him and pulls you forward. You push yourself up the rest of the way and fold your legs over one another beneath the blankets.

It’s only at that precise moment that Tommy realizes you’re wearing one of his t-shirts and the sight of it steals the air right from him. He likes it—loves it. Loves that a piece of him lives here with you. In your closet, in your room, in your sheets.

He’s not quite sure how you ended up with it, though. Thinks he might’ve left it on a lawn chair after spending an afternoon in Joel’s pool, or missed it in the dryer when the ones at his apartment were out of order.

But then you say, reading his every thought, “I stole it.”

Tommy laughs. “Think you’re supposed to ask before you take things that aren’t yours.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You lean forward, lips an inch away from his ear. “And I know I’m not the only one with sticky fingers, Uncle Tommy.”

His face burns. He thinks of your cherry lip gloss on his bathroom sink and your tank top on the right side of his bed and your lace panties in his nightstand. Tommy thinks he should know better than to hide things from you anymore. You’re too close, too similar. “Caught me,” Tommy mutters.

And then he digs his lighter out of the front pocket of his jeans and lights the ten cent candle he’d found at the back of Joel’s junk drawer. He sticks it into the center of the cupcake he’d picked out just for you—lemon flavored, with vanilla frosting and lime colored sprinkles. 

He holds it between you and says, “Make a wish, birthday girl.”

The flame flickers as your gaze darts between Tommy’s eyes and his mouth. You smile widely, and he can’t resist mirroring your joy. Feels it as thoroughly as if it were his own. Tommy’s never cared much for his birthday, but he feels overwhelmed with gratitude for yours. Thankful.

You close your eyes, make your silent wish, and then blow out the candle. He unwraps the wax paper for you, crumbs sticking to his fingers, and laughs when you take a bite and let out a blissful moan. “Holy shit,” you say.

Tommy feels pride bloom in his chest. Thinks pleasing you might be his favorite thing on the planet. “S’good?”

“It’s fucking amazing,” you answer. And then you turn the cupcake towards him. “I’m not kidding. Try it.”

He does. Leans forward and takes a careful bite right from your hands. You’re not wrong, either. The lemon is refreshing, and the vanilla buttercream is the perfect sweetness. Tommy nods as you take another bite. “Christ,” he says. “Worth every damn penny.”

You touch your thumb to the corner of your mouth. “You’ve got frosting on your face,” you say with a teasing grin.

Tommy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I get it?”

“More to the left,” you instruct. But when he tries again, Tommy knows it’s still there when you hold in your laughter. And then you say, “Can I…?”

Tommy doesn’t understand right away why you even ask. You’re always laying your head on his shoulder or draping your legs over his or running your hands through his hair. This is no different, nothing out of the ordinary. 

But when he nods, you lean forward and lick the frosting off his bottom lip. 

It freezes him in time. Seconds feel like minutes as they tick by. He can feel the wetness of your tongue on his mouth, and you linger. Close enough that he can taste the sugar on your breath.

His morals hang in the balance. Sobriety threatened. Tommy Miller wants you so badly that he starts to wonder if you’re some fucked up form of punishment. Karmic justice for all those hearts he’s broken in his youth, just to be denied the one woman he’s ever truly wanted.

When you speak, it’s breathless. Nearly inaudible. “Kiss me.”

It is your birthday, after all. 

He fights the intensity that batters against his every impulse and instead presses his mouth to yours gently. Unhurried. So much different than the first kiss you’d shared. Your lips move against his in sync, one soul split into two bodies, whole again for the first time in months. 

Tommy thinks it’s just instinct when his tongue meets yours. You taste just as he remembers. A little warm and a little honeyed and a little like opium.

When you pull away, he feels the loss like a knife.

But then you cover your mouth with your hand and laugh, elation spilling through your fingers, and it’s like a balm to his heart.

Around another mouthful of confectionery, you insist, “Here. Have some more.”

Tommy sits there with you, waiting for the sun to rise, and the two of you share your birthday cupcake before the rest of the world wakes. You close your eyes and drop your shoulders as if it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten, giggling between each bite.

It’s such a soft, quiet moment. Only the two of you. For just a little while, you have nowhere to be, no one to perform for. It’s just you, and it’s just him, and when you take the last bite, Tommy licks the frosting from your fingertips.

Joel’s alarm echoes down the hallway, and Tommy taps the tip of your nose, delighting in the pretty way it scrunches in response. “I’ll see you outside,” he says. “Happy birthday, darlin’.”

On the way to work, Joel asks about your plans for the weekend, and you tell him about how your friends are taking you to that new bar that just opened up downtown. He warns you to be careful, tells you it’s been packed full of people every time he’s driven by it, and says to call if you need anything.

You promise you will. 

For dinner, your mom makes all your favorite foods, and Sarah gifts you a handmade pony bead bracelet. She wears a matching one on her wrist with the colors inverted, and they both say 4EVER in little black letters.

When Tommy returns to his empty apartment that night, it’s with a deep sadness. He tries to drown it out. Showers off the sweat of the day and watches something mind-numbing on television. But the main character in the sitcom rerun makes a dirty joke, and he can almost hear you laughing at it beside him. 

Everything reminds him of you.

He thinks about calling one of the women he’s hooked up with on and off throughout the years, but the problem is that Tommy knows how that ends. Knows he’ll ask them to leave halfway through, and he’ll lie there, unsatisfied and painfully in love with a girl he can never have.

His longing chokes him until he’s devoid of breath, of life. Just a shell of a man without you. 

This is the wretched low he pays for those highs, Tommy knows. And he pays it without complaint because the highs are heavenly. Fucking spiritual.

He goes to sleep every night without regret. This emptiness is oppressive, but his love for you is transcendent.

His phone rings a little after one in the morning.

Your voice is slurred when you speak. “Uncle Tommy?”

Something’s wrong. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. Can hear it in your voice. “Where are you?”

There’s faint music in the background. “That new bar on Sixth Street. Can you…I’m sorry. Can you come get me?”

He’s out of bed and pulling on his jeans before you finish asking. “I’m on my way, baby. What happened?”

You say, “I’m not…I’m not sure,” and Tommy’s heart sinks.

Because whatever it is is bad. Can feel it in his fucking bones. “Are you alone? Who’s with you, sweetheart? Where are your friends?”

“No, I…I’m just really—I had too much to drink, I think. There’s just so many people and I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

The new bar is halfway across town, but Tommy makes it in six minutes. It’s at capacity, just as he’d anticipated, all the townsfolk trying to see for themselves what all the hype is about. Tommy might recognize a few faces if he gave anyone but you half a second of thought, but he doesn’t.

He makes a beeline for the women's restroom at the back of the bar and ignores the scowls he receives from the two girls touching up their makeup in the mirror. He calls your name and finds you in the very last stall, sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around your legs.

Tommy breathes a little easier when he sees you. Knows that with him, you’ll be safe. He kneels at your side and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You let out the softest whimper. “Uncle Tommy,” you say, voice filled with affection. “You came.”

“Course I did. S’alright. C’mon.” He tucks his arms beneath you and pulls you to your feet. Supports your weight almost entirely as he leads you out of the crowded bar and back to his truck.

When he leans over your slumped frame to try and buckle your seatbelt, you start peppering the side of his face with sloppy kisses.

He says, “Okay, alright一would you just一sit still一”

But he doesn’t mean it. Not really. You’re a giggly mess of a girl, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt and sliding your cold hands over his too-warm skin. “You’re just.” Kiss. “So.” Kiss. “Fucking cute.” Kiss.

Tommy’s smiling hard, but pushes you away as much as he hates to. “Cute, huh? Don’t know about all that, sweet girl.” He finally latches your seatbelt and quickly rounds the truck to the driver's side.

You're reaching for him the moment you can, arms outstretched and fingers grabbing for him. “Hold my hand,” you say, and of course he does. Kisses your knuckles as the engine roars to life.

Tommy says, “Let’s get you home.”

And you respond sleepily, “You’re my home.”

He tries not to read too much into it. Knows you’re just sappy and drunk. You don’t mean it. Not really. Tommy’s seen you trashed before. Has covered for you countless times and has all those drunken texts you’ve sent him memorized. You’re always like this. Loving and overly affectionate, a happy drunk to your core.

But you’ve never said anything that moved him quite this much.

Home.

What a perfect way to describe it.

But he just shakes his head. “How much have you had, kid?”

You toss your head back and laugh like it’s the silliest question he ever could’ve asked. “Too much! That’s why I called!”

Still holding tight to his hand, you roll down your window all the way. The air is cold but fresh, filling the cab of his truck with the scent of the early morning dew. You lean your head against the leather frame and close your eyes.

Tommy’s not quite sure when you fall asleep because your hand remains in his, squeezing tight even in your unconsciousness. He checks on you every couple of seconds, monitoring your breathing and the soft, slumbering noises you make.

He hates to wake you, but does it anyway when he returns to his apartment. You groan in defiance when he makes you stand, and it takes everything in him not to give in and carry you. 

“I know, baby, I know. But I need you awake for a little while longer,” he says. “Gotta get some food and water in you first, okay?”

You fight him each step of the way. Defy Tommy’s every instruction, once bubbly demeanor now replaced with agitation. But once he’s got you inside, he lets out a sigh of relief. He lays you on the couch and disappears into the kitchen for only long enough to make some toast and fill a tall glass with icy water. 

He holds your head up with one hand and tilts the cup against your mouth with the other, doing everything for you apart from the actual hydrating. You eat the toast slowly and argue between each bite, but he persists.

While you sleep, Tommy sits on the floor beside you. Half monitoring, half admiring.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for a single second. Even though exhaustion weighs down his limbs, Tommy is more concerned about you than he is about himself. He spends the night stroking your hair and making you drink a little more water each time you stir in your sleep.

A few times, you wake up completely, turning over to try and find comfort. You whine and sniffle, and Tommy repeats the same tender words until you fall back asleep. “You’re alright. I’m still right here. Uncle Tommy’s got you.”

It’s late by the time you sober up, almost noon. Tommy’s back aches from sitting on the hardwood for so long, and he needs a coffee or a nap or both—but the important thing is you. Always you.

You smile when you see him, and it’s so warm. A kindness that he’s only ever received from you.

It’s a visceral reaction, his mouth pulling up at the corners. Like he just can’t help it. He sees your happiness and feels it, too. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you say. And then you grab his big hand and press it against the side of your face. Tommy can feel your joy, can feel the way the muscles strain as you fight off your sleepy giggles.

He runs the pad of his thumb gently over your cheekbone. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like my head’s going to explode,” you say, voice filled with so much faux cheer that it’s comical. 

Tommy chuckles and stands to his feet, knees cracking. “Let me get you some aspirin.”

He’s not at all surprised when you follow him to the bathroom, never far for very long. While he sifts through his medicine cabinet, you sit on the edge of the tub. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always,” Tommy promises. He dumps two aspirin into his palm and hands them to you.

It takes a second before you speak. You turn the little pink tablets over and over in your hand, eyes downcast. And then you say, “I was too drunk and overwhelmed last night, but that isn’t what scared me. Noah was there.”

Tommy’s heart sinks to his feet. His jaw clenches, his knuckles turn white. 

“He kept…I don’t know. He wanted to take me home, and I was dodging him all night, but he just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Followed me for an hour, trying to change my mind. He didn’t…didn’t do anything, but it freaked me out.”

Tommy thinks he’s never wanted to hurt another man so badly in his life. He takes a deep breath, makes sure his rage isn’t fueled by any rash decision. And then he leaves the bathroom and finds his shoes. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Wait—Tommy, please don’t.” You follow, clawing at the back of his t-shirt. “Please.”

The fear in your voice stops him. He thinks maybe you don’t quite understand the gravity of the situation, so he tries to explain. “Can’t let this one go,” he says, shaking his head. “Not—Christ. Not this. He doesn’t get to make you that uncomfortable and get away with it. Fuck no.”

“I love that job,” you reason. “And I promised Joel—!”

“He’ll be just as pissed when he finds out—”

“I don’t want him to find out. Please, don’t.”

Tommy takes your hands between his. “Do you understand how much worse it could have been?” Tommy feels sick, thinking back on all those times Noah had made jokes about roofies and Tommy had just discounted it as dark humor. “Ruined your fuckin’ birthday,” he grumbles. 

You say, “He didn't ruin it. I got to spend it with you, didn’t I? That’s all I wanted.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Tommy can’t hear such sweet words when he’s like this—hot and angry and murderous. “No.” He shakes his head. “He doesn’t get to—”

“If Joel fires me for this, I will never forgive you,” you suddenly say, voice holding a cutting edge.

Tommy doesn’t understand. “What? Sweetheart, he’s not going to be mad at you, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. Joel will understand why I have to do this. He’s going to be mad at Noah, baby, not you.”

“Who I swore not to cause issues with!” Tears well in your wide eyes, and Tommy feels something inside his chest crack wide open. He’s never seen you cry before, not like this.

He pulls you into an embrace. Holds you tight against his chest, arms wrapped around your shoulders. His hands shake, unable to get a handle on either his anger or his despair.

Against his shoulder blade, you murmur, “Promise me you won’t tell Joel.”

And Tommy does. Swears to keep this as far away from you as possible. He refuses to make matters worse for you and, Christ, the sight of you crying makes him fucking miserable. He’s never hated anything more.

Once you sniffles subside, you lift your head and say, “I smell fucking awful.”

Tommy laughs, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Go shower. I’ll find you some clothes.”

He picks out an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring, sets them on the bathroom sink and decides to make you breakfast. But Tommy notices quickly that his eggs are expired, and the box of cereal on top of the fridge has gone stale. He has nothing to offer you, and he’s not sure why, but the realization leaves him feeling hollow. 

Eternal bachelor with nothing to his name. You can never be his, and Tommy knows this, but he thinks maybe if he were…better, somehow, that maybe you could be. But you’re too good for him. Too sweet, too lovely, too you.

And Tommy’s…well. He’s Tommy. And just because you look at him like he puts the stars in the sky doesn’t mean he actually does. He’s not like Joel, never has been. Has always gotten into trouble, doing things he knows he shouldn’t. Fighting or drinking or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tommy’s never had his shit together a day in his life, and you deserve someone who can take care of you. Someone less disappointing.

Someone who can make you breakfast, for fucks sake. 

He feels you before he sees you一your warmth at his back. Tommy’s eyes flutter closed when you slip your arms around his waist and lay your head in the space between his broad shoulders. 

You say, “Thank you for always keeping me safe,” and Tommy wonders how the fuck you always know exactly what to say. Like you’re in his brain, somehow—a sixth sense finely tuned precisely to him. 

Emotion bubbles up in his throat. Thick and smothering. He loves you, Tommy knows. Has never and will never love anyone like this again.

“You make me so happy.” There’s a tenderness in your words, soothing his every ache. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Tommy turns in your embrace. Cradles your face in both hands and promises, “You’ll never have to find out. M’always gonna be here for you.”

You kiss him, and Tommy lets you, even knowing he shouldn’t. It’s a little different than the one you’d shared at dawn in your bedroom. A little more heated, filled with clear intent.

He can sense it. Feel it in your every movement. Knows just what you want, what you need, and slips his tongue into your mouth when your lips part anyway. Let's you tilt your hips against his, feeling the growing hardness there, and swallows up your moan as he slots his knee between your legs. 

His breath comes fast, and he’s aware of just how wrong it is, but you make him feel so important. Like you really, truly want him. Not for the things he does but just for him—flaws and disappointments and all.

An addict who always craves your fix.

You rock your hips against his knee and breathe a sigh of relief into his mouth. Tommy helps you, grabbing at your soft thighs and pulling you back and forth to increase the friction. 

It’s too much. Too far.

This isn’t a drunken night. It’s the morning after. Stone cold sober, inexcusable.

“We should stop.”

“I know,” you say. But neither of you takes your own advice. He only kisses you harder, soaking up all of your benevolence for as long as he can. You slide your hand between your bodies and palm his cock through his jeans.

The surety of your touch is dizzying. You want him. It’s clear as day, but he wants to hear you. “Say it.”

You don’t hesitate, reading him like an open book. Tommy suppose, for you, he is. With sugary sweet words, you admit, “I need you, Uncle Tommy.”

He’s never been good at denying you anything. “I know, baby.” In one swift movement, he lifts you off your feet, and your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. He kneels down and lays you back, right there on the kitchen floor, and tugs your borrowed sweatpants down your thighs.

You kick them out of the way, and he pushes your t-shirt up over your breasts. “Touch me,” you sigh.

Tommy presses his mouth to the center of your chest. Inhales deeply, taking the familiar scent of you into his lungs. He cups your breasts in his big hands, the rough pads of his thumbs grazing over the peaks of your nipples.

He kisses and licks and bites down the center of your belly, leaving shallow indentations in the shape of his teeth on each of your hips. When he presses his mouth to your pubic bone, Tommy leans back just enough to get a full look at you. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

A soft flush crawls up your cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much,” you say.

Tommy understands. Even though he’s been right here, right by your side, he hasn’t been completely honest until this very moment. Not with you, and not with himself, and not since that night in his bed.

It’s like being unclothed. Bare boned. You both know the truth of it, know that he’s your Uncle Tommy and that it’s corrupt and perverted for him to be here, kneeling between your legs. But he’s here anyway, and his mouth is watering, and he fucking loves the sounds you make when his slides his tongue through your slit.

He licks up the wetness that has gathered, groaning at the heady taste of you. Your hands tangle in his hair when he circles your clit with a pointed tongue, drooling down his chin. 

With one arm wrapped tightly around your thigh, keeping you in place, Tommy uses the other to gently press his two middle fingers into you. The sight of your arched back is extraordinary; the kind of goddess-like beauty the poets write about. Your pussy clenches around his fingers when he twists them inside of you and pushes firmly against that spot that has you writhing.

“That’s so一” You inhale sharply. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

It pleases him to hear it. Loves knowing that in this, he can never fail you. Tommy sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive nerves, and thrusts his fingers a little faster. He thinks he’ll never grow tired of this. Of the way you taste, the way you sound, the way you call his name.

“Oh, God. Please don’t stop, please.” He wouldn’t dream of it. Your body shakes beneath him, thighs trembling in the grip of his rough palm. He can feel your walls pulse around his fingers, and Tommy knows you’re close. 

When he pulls his mouth away, he slides his thumb easily through your folds to swipe it over your clit. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your soft belly. “Your pretty pussy always get this messy?”

You shake your head and say brokenly, “No, it’s just…just for—hmm—just—oh my God—”

“Shh,” he coos, chuckling lowly. “S’okay. I know it’s just for me. I know how much she likes it when Uncle Tommy kisses her like this.” He angles his hand and pushes it deeper inside of you, cock throbbing at the way you soak his fingers. “Give it to me.”

With a stuttering breath, you let out a salacious moan and your orgasm hits you hard. Your hands tug at the curling strands of his hair, your every muscle tenses, and your spine bends off the linoleum. His name falls so fucking beautifully from your sweet mouth, and Tommy wants to taste it. 

So he does. Slides up your body and presses a kiss to your lips. You whimper into his mouth and he swallows down the sounds of your bliss like fine wine. “There you go,” he whispers tenderly. His thumb on your clit doesn’t slow until he’s sure he’s pulled every last drop out of you. “S’that feel better, sweetheart?” 

You nod and giggle softly, a wide grin stretched across your face. The moment is filled with such happiness that it warms him from the inside out. 

And even though his cock aches, Tommy thinks this alone is enough to satiate him. Enough to curb that craving, just seeing your pupils blown wide and the pretty flush on your face. Knowing you’re fulfilled and content and that he’s the one who’d brought you to that high does wonders for his confidence. 

“You’re so good at that,” you say, and it makes him laugh. 

“Can’t get enough of you,” he explains, kissing you hard. “Could eat you all fuckin’ day and still feel hungry.”

Tommy laughs when you turn your head to press your face into your shoulder, hiding the way your nervous smile grows. 

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now, darlin’,” he says, pressing his stubbled cheek to the side of your throat. He presses his lips to the curve of your jaw and grins when goosebumps form on the back of your neck. “Uncle tommy just had your pretty pussy in his mouth. Least you can do is look him in the eye when he tells you how fuckin’ good it tastes.”

He can feel the way your spine bends, pressing your body firmly against his. But you’re a giggling mess beneath him, squealing at his filthy words as if worse hasn’t come out of your mouth.

“S’alright if you ain’t got nothin’ more to say,” Tommy tells you. “Gonna have to start from the beginning ‘til you learn to use your words again.” His mouth moves down the column of your throat, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.

He’s slow in his pursuit, listening to the way your breaths become shallower and shallower as he lowers his head to the valley between your breasts. When he makes it to that sweet spot just below your navel, he stops.

“Wait,” you say, and he does. “I want…more.”

Tommy knows. He knows, and yet still, he urges, “Tell me, baby.”

“I want you.”

He thinks suddenly about the conversation you’d had on Joel’s back porch. The last time you’d admitted that you wanted him, that he’s all you wanted. Tommy doesn’t understand it, in truth. Will never understand what the fuck you see in him or why you not only give him the time of day but why you seek him out.

But what he does understand is this.

Tommy sees your need and matches it. Exceeds it.

You slide your hand down your body, fingers slipping through the wetness between your thighs. “Want you here,” you say. “I need it, Uncle Tommy.”

He knows he shouldn’t.

But you want him. And that’s the best high of all. 

“M’comin, sweet girl,” he promises. He leans back on his knees and grabs his shirt by the back of the collar, pulling it over his head. You watch him with half-lidded eyes as he undoes the button of his jeans and pulls down his zipper, and Tommy watches you. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, shoving the denim down around his hips just enough to take his heavy cock out. 

You take him in your delicate hand and press his tip to your clit, sliding it slowly through your slick folds. Such a gentle movement, but it has his breath stuttering already, and Tommy has no fucking idea how he’s going to make this last. “Go slow,” you say. “Wanna feel every inch.”

Tommy notches himself at your entrance and does just as you ask. Pushes into you so carefully it’s almost painful. His every instinct urges him to surge forward, to split you open and bury himself inside of you. But the whimpers you make as you adjust to the stretch he creates keep his head on straight.

It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever seen, watching your sweet pussy greedily swallow up his cock. You’re so wet, dripping for him, and it makes these obscene sounds with each pressing inch that has Tommy’s heart beating hard against his sternum.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You feel so good, baby.” Once he’s fully seated inside you, his waist pressed against yours, Tommy rolls his hips, and the movement has you gasping. He can feel your walls clamp down around him, and it only spurs him on more. He does it again, a gentle pressure at the deepest part of you he can reach.

“It’s so—so big,” you whine, fingernails clawing at the back of his shoulders.

Tommy only smiles. Kisses your mouth tenderly and says, “You can take it. Hm? My perfect girl. Made just for me.”

One of his hands slide up the back of your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist, while the other comes to circle your clit. He can feel your body’s reaction, can feel the way you squeeze tight around his cock.

You nod frantically, the beginnings of tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You breathe out the word, “Yours,” and he feels his orgasm threatening already, building at the base of his spine. “I’m all yours.”

Tommy circles your clit and sets a steady pace. Fucks you slow, fucks you deep. Just how you need it, delighting in your moans. He presses his mouth softly to your temple, your cheek, and spends a little extra time with his teeth at that spot just behind your ear. “Look at me, baby,” he says, nudging his nose against yours.

When you do, your eyes are all starry in that way he loves, filled with awe. You’re the only person to ever look at him like that, with not an ounce of disappointment. It’s like you’re just happy he exists, and Tommy feels emotion build in his throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you say, and so he quickens his pace, circling your clit faster. “Don’t stop, God, I’ve—I’ve missed you so bad, Uncle Tommy.”

It’s the most dizzying thing he’s ever heard. It nearly tips him over that edge. But he needs to feel you first, needs to make sure you get everything you need. “Yeah, I know it,” he says tenderly, thrusting in deep. “Missed my baby, too.”

He thinks it’s an understatement. Feels wrong, saying he’s only missed you when he’s thought of nothing else.

Tommy knows you’re close, can feel the way you pulse around him, breathe stuttering. “That’s it,” he mutters. “You gonna cum for your Uncle Tommy? Hm?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m—”

“S’good, baby,” he whispers against your mouth, keeping his rhythm. “So fucking good for me.”

Your moans echo off the walls as you reach that peak, thighs trembling around his hips. He can feel a rush of moisture against his cock and he tears a low sound from somehwere deep in his chest.

He doesn’t stop, chasing his own high, even when you start to squirm beneath him. His fingers stay circling your pretty clit, ratcheting the pleasure higher and higher until—

“My face,” you suddenly say. “Want you to cum on my face.”

Tommy thinks you’re going to be the death of him.

Perfect, filthy girl. 

He pulls out of you quickly, orgasm dangerously near. You prop yourself up, palms against the kitchen floor behind you, while Tommy takes his cock in his hand and squeezes. “Goddamn,” he groans. “Ask me nice.”

With the prettiest, most innocent smile, you say, “Cum on my face, Uncle Tommy. Please, please, please.” You stick out your tongue and look up at him, and that’s what does him in. The fucking love in your eyes.

Tommy cums hard, stroking his cock over top of you. Sticky, white ropes of his release coat your face, leaving splotches on your cheeks, your chin, down your chest. It’s disgusting. Easily the worst thing he’s ever done in all his life.

But when he’s finished and his cock begins to soften, you swipe the mess off your chin and push it onto your tongue and moan. Like it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. And any remorse he once had vanishes into thin air because how can he be sorry when you look so happy?

You giggle and say, “Guess I got that pearl necklace after all,” and Tommy has to look away to keep from laughing too hard.

He cleans you up with a hand towel and water from the kitchen sink, shoulders a little lighter. And once you’ve got his borrowed clothes back on, Tommy watches with reverence as you move around his kitchen as if you belong in it. 

You open the freezer and go right for the half empty carton of mint chip ice cream. It’s your first choice. Not expired eggs or stale cereal. 

Seeing it gives him a flicker of false hope. 

Because he knows he can’t be what you need forever. Knows he won’t keep you in the end, knows that whatever this is isn’t sustainable. But maybe he can just…keep you happy to the best of his ability. Just for now.

You only grab one spoon but offer him the first bite. “Mint chip is the best flavor by a fucking mile,” you say. “And anyone who says otherwise is delusional.”

“Keep that up when Sarah finds out it’s your favorite,” Tommy insists. “Cause she’ll fuckin’ tear you apart. Believe me, I know from experience.”

Laughter falls from your lips when he hands you the spoon. “Oh, I know. Was a victim of her chocolate chip cookie dough defense monologue, too.”

Tommy’s phone rings on the kitchen counter, and he swallows hard when he sees Joel’s name flash across the screen. When he answers, there’s a trace of alarm in Joel’s voice as he asks if he’s seen you. “Just a little concerned is all. Figured her phone’s dead or somethin’ but…haven’t heard back since last night. Just wanted to make sure she got somewhere safe.”

He’s never lied to Joel in all his life, and Tommy knows he would sense it the minute he tried. So he tells as much of the truth as he can. “Yeah, she uh…called me early this morning. Picked her up from that bar an’ let her crash on the couch. I’ll be bringin’ her home in a minute.”

You gather your things, and Tommy tries not to let that sliver of emptiness trickle in too fast. You’re still here, still with him, and this moment still belongs to you even at its close.

Like always, you sense his gloom before it’s even fully hit. And when he pulls into Joel’s driveway, you thread your fingers through his and say, “Stay for dinner. I miss you already.”

Tommy knows he shouldn’t. Knows that feeling lightheaded just from your words alone is a real problem for him.

But he’s never been good at telling you no.

taglist; @theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @madadadison @polkadotsocks1993

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[katfell]

It really bothers me that Aziraphale is described as the one who refuses the relationship, who is held back by his attachment to Heaven or some weird sort of propriety or morality; who is the obstacle and the prize in Crowley's life. If only he got over himself and his angel-ness and admitted how he feels, they would be happy.

It changes the story. I get that changing the story and the characters to suit whatever art we make and consume is the part and parcel of fandoms...BUT, it creeps into all the metas and because it never changes (the roles are never reversed) it changes how people in general view Aziraphale and his character and his actions and they obscure how Aziraphale really is, what he fights for, how incredibly strong and resolute and protective of Crowley and their little world, their side, he is. It changes Crowley too. Makes him into nothing much more but the rebel with golden heart, after the girl of his dreams. Rebel though, like many others in romantic films, that rebels only in words. Doing nothing much of substance. There's more to Crowley than that. He's cleverer than thinking that Aziraphale is too goody-two-shoes to love him back and he needs to patiently wait till his dream girl wakes up, understands him and decides to run away with him.

Crowley wants change too. He hates the current world they are in. He even came up with the Arrangement that he wouldn't have to do all bad deeds himself but that they could share. Yes, he's drawn to creating chaos but he craves peace too. He became demon yes, but he never gave into those base instincts we all fight sometimes. He's still good. He's still righteous. He still thinks it's unfair what happened but he has no real faith in change anymore. He does however, have faith in Aziraphale. He always comes through for him.

[sudsnribbons]

Something sweet | D.W

Girldad!Dean Winchester x Babysitter!Reader

MDNI

Wordcount: 2,704

Warnings: Use of petnames, Unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), dean being dean, oral (f receiving), DBF!Dean, Age gap (reader is 20, dean is late 30’s), Angst, Hand kink, Creampie, Size kink (if you squint), I think that's it!

A/N: Dean would be such a girl dad you CANNOT change my mind. I'm a Dean girlie so I feel like it's easier for me to write with him opposed to Sam. That being said, I hope you enjoy this. I had a blast working on it.

A/N2: I posted this, no joke 30 minutes later i was in an ambulance

You had just gotten off of work. Your 9-5 has drained you. Same papers, day after day. If you were honest you could have just skipped dinner, and went to sleep. God knows you need it, but here you are. 

Walking into the grocery store to pick up a few things for a quick dinner. Deciding to roast some chicken, you stopped by the produce to pick up a few odds and ends for your lunch the next few days. While you were scoping out the best cantaloupe to buy, brown pigtails adorned with pink bows came into your vision. The little girl tugged on your blouse, “I think I lost my daddy.” She mutters shyly. Immediately dipping down to a crouch you tried to comfort her, “Well sweetheart what does he look like? Where did you see him last?”. The girl, who couldn't have been more than 6 years old, began to describe her father to her best ability. During the little exchange, her father came from the chip aisle, seemingly anxious. He breathed out in relief when he finally saw her again, “Babygirl where did you run off to?” He picked her up, setting her in the cart. “I wanted strawberries, then you were gone.” She pouted, “Sweetheart we could’ve gotten you strawberries you just have to ask.” he looked up from the girl to you, “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry.” You smiled at the man, “No problem she wasn’t a bother.” looking down to the girl you smiled again. He thanked you again and you both went about your shopping. 

That night in the midst of making dinner, he was all you could think about. You didn't even know his name yet the thought of him consumed you. Dinner was silent that night, the sounds of your fork against the ceramic, too caught up in your thoughts to turn something on. You went to sleep later than normal, since you had opted to make food instead of ordering out. Your wallet needed a break, and so did your stomach. 

---

Traffic was bad the next morning when you left to go to work, just what you needed. You were already running late due to your phone being dead. No phone = No alarm. You were finally able to clock in, sliding your card through the scanner to get in. Dull boring day was going by like usual when you got a call from your dad, “Hey is everything okay? I’m at work.” The man sighed over the phone, “Yeah sweetheart are you off tomorrow?”. He sounded happier than usual. Odd. “I can be, what’s up?” you questioned. “Nothing, just me and a buddy of mine going fishing tomorrow.” You relaxed as he spoke, “Okay this relates to me how?” You asked. “Well his babysitter flaked on him so he needs someone to watch his little girl.” There it was. You began to realize the relation. “So this is you calling me to ask to babysit?” You sighed into the phone, “C’mon honey it’s the first fish of the season.” He begged into the speaker. “Fine, but you totally owe me.” You reluctantly agreed. “Love you too pumpkin.” He hung the phone up, pleased. You slumped into your rollie-chair. Before you clocked out that night, you were sure to brief them of your absence, despite your affliction. 

It’s not that you didn't like kids, truth be told you couldn't wait to start a family. It’s just you haven’t had a day off in over a month and here you are using it to babysit one of your father’s friend’s children. Maybe it won’t be that bad, you thought.

You woke up around 6am, the same as always. Only this time you were switching blouses and skirts, for sweats and a t-shirt. After showering, you got dressed in a simple black pair of sweatpants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Thinking nothing of it, you threw on your red converse and headed out the door. The drive there was peaceful. Slow easy Saturday morning. Fog covered the road in a thin haze. Despite your gps failing halfway through, you had gotten it to boot back up and continue to give you directions.

 Pulling up to the house it was beautiful. Gorgeous white house with a wrap around porch. Adorned with an American flag hanging from the banister. Charming baby blue shutters hung by the windows. This wasn’t just a house, no this was a home. Pulling up into the driveway, you are met with a familiar sight. Your father’s red Ford pick-up, parked right next to an intense black Chevrolet Impala. Parking a bit off to the side, you grabbed your bag and headed to the front door. Chatter muffled behind the door as you knocked. Your father was quick to greet you. “Sweetheart you made it! Come in.” He slid to the side and ushered you inside the home. “This house…It’s so beautiful.” you muttered, setting your back on the table by the door. “I helped build it, a long long time ago.” Your father smiled at the reminiscence as you both walked into the kitchen. An oddly familiar voice shouted from atop the steps, something directed at your father. Where have you heard that voice before? God it felt like it was on the very tip of your tongue and you couldn’t spit it out for the life of you. 

Heavy boots stomped down the steps followed by a softer pair of slippered-feet. As the figure came into view, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. 

That’s where you knew him from. 

“Nice shirt.” Was all he could mutter, sporting his signature grin. You smiled back, as the blush creeped from your cheeks to the tip of your nose. With no makeup on was a hell of a way to greet the man that consumed your thoughts. It also made it harder to hide the attraction slapped across your face. “Thanks, small world.” Was all you could find. Your father looked between the two of you confused, “Wait how do you know each other?”. He was almost scared to ask, knowing Dean’s past. “The grocery store actually, his daughter-” You started but he cut you off, “Cassie.” He corrected. “Right, Cassie wandered off on the search for strawberries was it?” You questioned, looking down at the little girl still dressed in her pajamas. Dean smiled at the two of you, as she rubbed her eyes.  “Yep slipped right out from under me, and found your daughter-” He said. This time you corrected, “Y/n, nice to meet you. For real this time.” You smiled as you extended your hand, to which Dean took in his, shaking gently. You almost passed out when he took your hand, whole body buzzing with tension as his engulfed yours. “Dean.” He grinned, looking down at you slightly due to the height difference.

Both Dean and your father watched as you crouched down to the little girl, “And it is so nice to see you again Cassie.”. Smiling at the little girl, this time her tiny little hand darted out to shake yours, you were quick to return the gesture before standing back up to your regular height. “I’m sure you two will get along just fine.” Your father looked between you and the little girl and then to Dean who was staring at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, okay?” Dean pointed between you and his daughter to which she just found hilarious as she bursted out in giggles. “No promises dad.” You teased, and a spark went past Dean’s eyes as he went to speak but choked on his words. “Right. You girls be good, okay? Have fun” You and Cassie walked the pair to, and out the door. Waving at them as your father’s truck pulled out from the driveway.

—

You were told to have fun, and fun you had.

First order of business, like any, was to put on a gorgeous princess belle dress. Of course. Every princess needs a good breakfast so that you got to making. The smell of banana filled the air as you flipped the pancake, one of which was supposed to look like a crown, though ended up more like a squiggle. Cassie loved it nonetheless. After pancakes you decided to make cupcakes for your fathers’ return. A mess of sprinkles and frosting later, you have 12 well 10 cupcakes. You and Cassie had to make sure they tasted good. The two of you played for hours, swinging and running around the yard. Playing just about every game that could be played. The sun beginning to set, you had come up with one final activity. “Oh come on you’ve never built a pillow fort?” You asked the girl, and she shook her head, “Never-ever.” She replied. “Well it is your lucky day because we are about to change that sister.” You smiled down at the girl and the two of you started to round up all the pillows and blankets in the house. 

One magnificent pillow-fort later, and both of you were tuckered out. Cassie had finally given up the ghost and was passed out in the fort as the credits of Princess and The Frog rolled in the background. The sound of car doors shutting, followed by the low hum of your father’s truck pulling out of the driveway filled your ears. You perked up as the door swung open and Dean stood there looking into the living-room. 

You sat up against the leather of the couch as Dean walked into the living-room, “Oh you two had a blast didn’t you?” he muttered smiling down at the fort before meeting your gaze. “Best babysitter ever.” You motioned to yourself playfully. “I bet sweetheart.” He grinned while deconstructing the fort to retrieve his daughter. You started to refold the blankets and he held her close, still sleeping, and took her upstairs to her room. Folding the last blanket you grabbed your phone charger off the couch and put it in your bag, before starting to clean up the kitchen. You had just started to wash the dishes when Dean came back down the steps, this time empty handed.

“You don’t have to do that.” He muttered as you rinsed the batter bowl from earlier. “I don’t mind.” You smiled warmly. It felt almost domestic, intimate. He reached for the plate of cupcakes, picking one up and peeling back the wrapper. You watched as his hands worked at the paper before he brought the dessert to his mouth and took a bite. You swallowed hard and he noticed. “Everything alright there sweetheart?” He asked, grinning while he chewed and finally swallowed the bite of cake. “Mhm, any good?” You questioned and he nodded. “Been awhile since I’ve had somethin’ sweet.” He muttered.

It almost felt loaded.

Like he meant something other than that cupcake in his hand.

“Glad I could help.” You smiled and teased back, hoping you weren’t mis-reading signals. He smirked as you dried your hands with the dish towel. Leaning over to wipe down the sticky frosting-covered counter, Dean pressed against you. You froze as he spoke, “Now what did you mean by that sugar?”. Your face went red as you laid there against the counter, pinned between him and the cold surface. “T-The cupcakes, something sweet.” You replied in a choked stutter. Smooth. He laughed from behind you. You could feel the vibrations from his stomach against your ass as he spoke, “You and I both know damn well I wasn’t talking about a cupcake sweetheart.” His words went straight to your core, dripping with each word. You stood up, still pinned but now with your back to his chest. “You knew that, didn't you baby?” He whispered into your ear. Lips ghosting over your neck, leaving goosebumps in their path. You nodded as you melted into his touch. “I’m gonna need you to give me more than that angel.” He said as he turned you to face him. Grabbing your hips, he sat you on the counter. Barely meeting his height, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Dean-” You whimpered in frustration, wanting nothing more than his hands on your body. “Haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already falling apart.” He whispered, his lips almost touching yours. Not wanting to wait any longer, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. A tangle of limbs, resulting in your sweatpants around your ankles left you craving more. “Please I need-” His voice cut yours off, “Need what baby? Tell me and it’s yours.” He tested your restraint, leaning down to kiss your thighs. The top of his head pressed against your stomach, and your hand tangled in his hair. Dean groaned against the feeling of your nails on his scalp. “Fuck.” He growled. “Need you Dean, everywhere.” You whined, and he finally gave in. 

Pulling your sweatpants past your ankles, he tossed them to pool on the floor. His hand cupped your head as he leaned you back fully against the counter. Gripping firmly onto your thighs he spread you open, head immediately going to your core. Pressing open mouth kisses against the cotton of your underwear, he watched intently as you squirmed against the laminate. His skilled hands pulled the thin fabric to the side, like a cupcake wrapper. Your nails scratched against his scalp as your fingers tangled in his short hair. Groaning against you as his tongue delved inside you. His eyes, once a soft shade of emerald green, were darker and boring up at you. Dean watched your every move as his tongue worked skillfully on your clit.

It was like a bomb went off when you finally came, taking your hearing and eyesight with it for a moment. Your chest heaved as you laid sprawled out on the counter, Dean licked his lips as you sat up, resting against your elbows. “Sweeter than that damn cupcake.” He grinned as his thumb rubbed against your thigh. “I need more Dean–please.” He looked at you with hungry eyes, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to sugar.” He traced your hips, and you grabbed for his belt, “Need, Dean.” You said it plainly, not being able to simplify it anymore. With that he didn’t waste any more time and he unbuckled his belt in the midst of a messy make-out. He quickly rid himself of anything that could keep you from him. Pressing the tip of his cock against your slit, he leaned his forehead against yours and watched as your eyes widened at the intrusion. The way your face scrunched he could tell that it hurt and he was quick to comfort you.

“I know baby I’m so sorry.” He cooed as he pressed inch by inch in until you were flush against him. Soon, pain turned to pleasure and you allowed him to move. Each rock of his hips buried deeper inside you, you weren’t gonna last long like this. Whines and groans mixed together as you both approached your orgasm. What you didn’t expect was Dean to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his hips and plant his hands firmly on your ass. Gripping the flesh, he pounded into you ruthlessly. Rutting the deepest he’s ever been. 

He tried to hold off as long as he could, wanting to soak in as much of this moment as he could. You cried out into his neck, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh as you came. “Oh fuck-” He groaned, not expecting the bite. That’s what dealt him in, the sharp pain of your teeth into him was too much to hold off on. One last thrust he came inside of you, painting your walls with a thick creamy off-white. Setting you back down on the counter, he pulled his softening cock out of you. Whining at the loss, he kissed your lips as he dripped out of you and down the side of the counter. Wiping you clean with wet-paper towels, he muttered with that boyish smile,  “You free next week?”.

Maybe babysitting wasn’t too bad.

[rosenclaws]

AHHHH IM THINKING ABOUT LOGAN AGAIN... like what would his reaction be when his s/o cooks or bakes for him??? BWIAGAUSHIDBAOAHWIWHS

EE so cute omg

Origins Logan -

He fucking loves it oh my goodness. I mean Logan cook alright. You know he can grill a steak but he wouldn't consider his meals nice home cooked stuff that reminds you of your childhood. if it wasn't that then it was take out or pizza. But when you come around and surprise him with lunch one day he's shocked. He opens up the little brown bag you gave him and inside is pasta and chicken with some veggies. Along with a cute sticky note that's written in your handwriting. He loves it. Fuck the other guys if they tease him about it, at least Logan can say he's got someone waiting for him at home. He looks forwards to all your sticky notes and gets sad if you forget to put one in.

Trilogy Logan -

It's hard for him to get used to it but he likes it. You're always in the kitchen at the mansion and at first Logan thought nothing of it. Teased you about it when he'd come downstairs at 3am to see you baking muffins for breakfast. Then one night the two of you had a little heart to heart and he learned that baking keeps away the bad thoughts, the nightmares and the doubt that's so hell bent on creeping into your brain. He tells you that he doesn't sleep much either with his nightmares and he likes waking up to the smell of something baking. After that he finds little treats waiting for him downstairs or by his door. A note saying that its only for him and no one else. Scott gets annoyed because he loves your baking so why does Logan get extras but that makes Logan even happier. One night he's brought you the empty plate and complained about putting on some weight from your cookies. I think he kisses your cheek as a thank you and walks away hearing your heart beat go into overdrive. Cheeky bastard.

DOFP Logan -

This man NEEDS your cooking. You never should have started cooking for Logan because that man wants it all the time. He can eat for like 5 people too so he's hungry. He knows your cooking like the back of his hand. He can tell when you've changed a recipe or when someone else cooked one of your dishes because it doesn't have that right taste. He swears he can tell but you think he's just being picky. But every time you test him he gets it right. He can always pick the dish you made. When you're alone he jokes it's because it's made with love so that's how he knows. Anyways that man is so needy for your food. It just tastes so good and he doesn't like to share so sometimes he'll beg you to make him his favorite just for him.

Old Man Logan -

He's like a puppy waiting for scraps. Okay he just moved into a small town with Laura and is trying to lay low you know? And so he enrolls Laura into a school and tries to live a normal life, away from all of the violence and threat of before. You're his next door neighbor and show up to his house with fresh baked cookies to welcome them to the neighborhood. It totally throws him off guard. He takes the cookies but isn't great at small talk. Laura devours like half of them and he scolds her for having too much sugar. She starts to bug Logan to ask for more and he says fuck no because that's rude (plus he's dreading having to look you in the eye again, afraid of making himself look like a fool.) Anyways one day he can literally smell you baking those cookies and reluctantly goes over to your house, using the plate you brought them on as an excuse to come see you. He's awkward but still charming and still stupid handsome so somehow it works and he's going home with more cookies. It just brings a love to him that he hasn't felt in a while and he really doesn't wanna let it go.

Worst Logan -

He isn't used it at first and it kinda throws him off. Like he'll wake up and stumble out of bed shirtless and cute and tired and he you serve him a plate of breakfast and he's a little like. huh?? Like a cute puppy head tilt you know. Back in his world he was living off of instant noodles or shitty cheap food. It had been years since he had anything cooked for him really. So seeing you cook for him was so different. You know that whole fatten him up because he's used to basically starving himself back in his world trope? Yeah it totally applies here. As much as you love his abs, you like seeing him well fed more. He doesn't want you cooking all the time because he feels bad about it so you end up teaching him how to cook. It's your date nights. He picks the recipe and you show him how to make it. It's adorable.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Infects you with brain worms. Infects you with brain worms. Cmon. Cmon you know you want to write Vampire Bat Stan being afraid of heights and climbing his brother. Cmon you know you want to write Ford using a toothbrush to do the brushie brushie on a sleepy Bat Stan. Bat is only one letter away from cat cMON YOU KNIW YOU COULD. INFECTS YOU WITH BRAIN WORMS INFECTS YOU WITH BRAIN WORMS

I'll do it, but only because i really want to and I heard its your birthday. And I was half tempted anyway.

Someday my tags will get by unseen. Someday.

"So how's this supposed to work," Stan asked, standing in Fords vampire death lab, "Because if it involves yelling anything, I'm out."

"As far as I can tell there's no incantation," Ford said, "All the vampire's I've seen transform just do it."

"Maybe think bat thoughts!" Fiddleford yelled, still on the other side of the lab and in his 'safety bubble' which he'd set up shortly after Stan had been dragged into this whole mess. Since it was only a matter of time before the hunger became too much and Stan lost it, they'd put up several safety precautions so that Fiddleford hopefully wouldn't be his first target. Ford was determined to 'contain' him when that time came, but Stan had exchanged enough glances with Emma-May and Fiddleford to know that they wouldn't hesitate to put him in his permanint grave.

But for now, there was a ring of garlic around Fiddleford, as well as a several silver chains cross-crossed around him. It made Stan hurt just by looking at it, so he tried not to. Stan and Ford were on the other side, in the little area near the door Ford had set up so that Stan had somewhere to hang out down here that didn't make his skin want to crawl off, and kept him out of sight if any townsfolk happened to sneak down here for whatever reason.

Since Stan had dedicated himself to their cause and promised to help either clear out the other vampires surrounding the place or find a way to help the townsfolk outlast them, he'd been working on his 'vampire powers' that Ford said he should have but no one had bothered to tell him about.

Too busy being 'mysterious' and 'edgy' probably.

"What does that mean? Bat thoughts." Stan muttered, "I'm not flapping my hands, if that's what your saying."

"You shouldn't have to," Ford said. His brother was standing a few feet away, somewhat less garlicy than usual and silver lined coat hanging on a nearby chair so he wouldn't burn Stan while he was down here. Stan thought it was stupid, but Ford was dead set on it after they'd brushed arms once and Stan's arm had been seared.

"Like I said," Ford continued, "all the vampires have gone from one form to the other without doing any kind of verbal incantation or movement. Some have done it from standing, others running, jumping, and in one particular case, cartwheel."

Stan groaned, then rubbed his face. That was less than helpful. All of those vampires were probably dead and the secret of tranformation gone with them. And it wasn't like Stan could stick his head out and yell out to the crowd.

"Alright," he shook out his hands, then narrowed his eyes, "Bat thoughts. Just gotta think like a bat... what do bats think about?"

"Blood sucking, i reckon." Fiddleford called out, and Stan shot him a glare. The man ignored him, tinkering away at whatever vampire killing machine he was working on now.

"Maybe think about the act of changing form," Ford said, drawing his attention, "the freedom of movement a smaller form provides, or escape."

"Escape, huh?" Stan could get behind that. Escaping was practically his... blood and blood? Neck and blood? There wasn't a good vampire play on bread on butter, only having one food source.

Whatever.

Stan tried to focus on being smaller, less noticeable, just a small, regular guy. Nothing to see here, just your run of the mill, more natural blood sucker.

Ford let out a gasp, and Stan yelled as the ground disappeared from under him. Quickly opening his eyes, he saw the cold hard floor fast approaching, and tried to bring his arms up to catch himself. Instead two giant black sails jerked down, and he was catapulted back up. All the noise in the room seemed twice as loud, and disorienting him and making it even harder to focus on what he was doing.

"You did it Stanley!" Ford cheered. Stan would have loved to join him, if he wasn't waving his arms around and screaming. Despite now looking like a bat, he didn't fell any kind of natural instinctive way to flap his wings to actually fly like one, and seeing the ground so far below him wasn't helping.

Before he managed to slam himself into a wall or the floor, he was grabbed out the air by a pair of disgusting smelling hands. His entire body fit into the palm of one of them, but his giant wings spilled over the sides. He pulled them in, struggling to figure out how to move everything, then hooked his thumbs around the nearest fingers.

"Hmm. Ford said, suddenly much larger and louder than before, "I didn't realize flying wouldn't come naturally. Something to practice."

"Practice-smactice!" Stan hissed, thankfully still able to talk, "This sucks! In a non-vampire, terrible way! I'm tiny! Why would I ever want to do this?"

"To escape notice, or flee," Ford said, holding his hands up and way to far off the ground, "Now off you go."

Ford jerked his hands up and let go, but Stan wasn't having it. Turning into a bat seemed cool in theory, but actually doing it not so much. The ground seemed twice as terrifying at this size, and his arms were already tired from his mad flapping earlier. Stan clamped his thumbs around Ford's sleeve, then kicked his legs until he found a finger and held on tight.

This felt much more natural than flapping his arms around. He tightened his grip when Ford grunted and started waving his arm, but even as a bat Stan was much stronger than him now, he wasn't coming off unless he wanted to.

"Come now Stanley," Ford said, bringing in his other hand to try and pry him off, "You won't get any better if you don't try."

"Too bad," Stan hissed, holding tighter, "Its not happening. Lets just move onto less horrible, more useful vampire powers."

Ford sighed, but he did stop prying at Stan and instead just held his arm out, "Very well. Change back and we'll move on. You might be able to turn into mist, and there's a few others that might be worth trying."

Stan nodded, then tried to think of... not human, vampire thoughts? His thoughts hadn't really changed much the last year, just got more annoyed by how much unlife was one downside after another, and trying to ignore the gaping pit in his stomach and how dry his throat was all the time.

Regardless, he thought his thoughts, trying to will himself back.

"Stanley," Ford said, giving him an unimpressed look as he continued to hang off his arm, "We can't move on until your back to your original form."

"I know!" Stan replied, using his thumbs to crawl higher up Fords arm so his feet weren't holding Ford's fingers and were instead clutching his sleeve, "I'm trying! Its just that I'm-" Stan smirked, "-winging it here."

Bingo. Fords face twitched as he snorted, then he coughed into his other hand when Fiddleford sighed.

"But seriously," Stan said, squinting at the ground that was still way too far away, "I'm not sure what kind of thoughts scream 'turn back into a vampire'."

"Blood sucking!" Fiddleford yelled, and Stan leaned over so he could glare at him again.

"Not helping!" he called out, then yelled when Ford moved his arms. The one he wasn't holding went up to rub at Ford's chin, while the one Stan was clutching to for dear life crosed under it, squishing him into Fords chest.

From here, he could really hear Fords steady heart beat, strong and powerful, full of delicious untouched blood. He could also smell all the garlic, making him gag and burning his nose as he struggled to free himself from Fords arms.

"Hmm," Ford said, oblivious to Stan's struggles, "Well if escape turns you into a bat, then maybe attack? Try thinking aggressive thoughts."

"Believe me," Stan wheezed, garlic making him dizzy, "I'm thinkin' all kinds of painful thoughts."

Ford finally seemed to realize that maybe holding him so close to his garlic aura was doing more harm than good, and he muttered an apology as he stuck his arm back out. Stan took a few deep breaths, trying to clear his head. The garlic smell didn't go away, but it wasn't as bad as before.

"Ugh," Stan coughed, then climbed further up Fords arm so he wouldn't get squished at any unexpected arm movements, "Why'd I want to do this again? You look awful from this angle."

"I believe you said something about wanting to" Stan yelped as Fords arms came up to make quotation marks, making him loose his balance and slide so he was hanging upside down, "'one up those stuck up assholes' by using your shared power set against them. I'm not sure why we started with turning into a bat. It just seemed the right course of action."

"Well," Stan muttered, using his wing thumbs to hook onto Fords shoulder and swing up, "next time I suggest something that involves my feet leaving the ground, remind me of this."

The garlic smell got worse the closer he was to Fords neck, but he'd take it over being swung around like a handbag while Ford talked. He eyed his brothers chest, then wiggled so he could climb down and hang down by his stomach.

"What are you doing," Ford asked, holding a hand out behind him. Hopefully to catch him if he fell, and not to squish him.

"Trying not to get flung off," Stan said, hooking a thumb into the shirt and grabbing it with his weird little legs, "Your whole face makes me want to pass out, so i'm gonna-" another smirk, "-hang out down here."

Stan was bounced slightly by the force of Ford's chuckle. The smell wasn't as bad down here, and the sounds of Fords stomach gurgling and his lungs working helped drown out his heart beat. He jumped when something touched his back, then bent his head backwards to see Fords hand, supporting his weight.

"I see," Stan grunted as Ford started moving, making the shirt and therefore Stan swing slightly, "I'll try to review my notes and accounts of some previous encounters, see if I can find a common trait for you to focus on."

"Sure, sure. Whatever," Stan said, pressing his head into the fabric of Fords shirt, focusing on the sounds of his brother's living body. It was different, being so close, louder.

Warmer.

Stan hadn't felt warm in ages. The closest he'd gotten was not-cold or burning. The heat of the sun was agony, the press of other vampires nothing but more cold corpses. Not even staying down south helped, the air cooling with the setting sun before Stan could enjoy it.

The last time he'd been warm had been the last time he'd lost it, ripping into Rico's men and stealing the warmth from their rapidly cooling bodies.

This wasn't anything like then. It was steady, constant. Not stolen, just the heat of his brother, soaking into him. The pangs of his hunger didn't go away, but it felt soothed, and the dryness of his throat wasn't nearly as demanding.

Stan shoved his face into Fords stomach, pressed his ear as close to his skin as he could, and listened to every beat, every whoosh, ever creak and groan. All the evidence of life he'd forgotten.

All the things he missed. All the proof that being a vampire really was its own form of hell.

"Stanley?" Ford asked, an hour or so later. There wasn't much detail on the hows and whys of vampiric abilities, but he'd gone through what he could fine, along with his own written accounts of the various vampires he'd taken care of since starting down this dark and- well it was lonely at first, but it was hard to claim the title with Fiddleford tinkering several feet away and Emma-May upstairs patrolling, along with all the townsfolk taking shelter in his house.

And the vampire, who was all but snuggling into Ford's stomach. He'd fallen silent some time ago after Ford had grabbed his books and sat down at his hastily cleared desk. He'd thought Stan was focusing on turning back into his original form, but a quick glance showed the half lidded eyes and Stan's wings slumped against him.

His brother made a high-pitched chittering sound, then nuzzled his squished bat face further into Fords shirt. The thumbs clutching the fabric pulled, then slowly eased.

"Stanley," Ford said again, smiling softly. Stan chittered again, sounding annoyed, then kicked his legs until he could grab on a little higher and push his face further into Fords shirt. Ford chuckled, then frowned.

Stan looked innocent and harmless now, but he'd seen blood crazed vampires before, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Stan lost whatever control he had. He'd been making preparations to try and contain and neutralize Stan when that happened, but the thought of what could happen if it didn't work- If Ford was forced to put down his own brother-

It sickened him. Stan shouldn't have to suffer something so terrible.

His thoughts were interrupted by another chitter, and a small eye squinted up at him. Ford chuckled again, then looked around his desk. It was risky putting his hands so close to Stan's head when he was half asleep like this, and the last thing he needed was to be turned by his own sluggish brother. He rummaged around some nearby drawers, then pulled a toothbrush out with a small 'aha'.

He'd stuck a pack down here when people had complained about his smell in the bathroom upstairs, and had resigned himself to doing his morning preparations down here. He made sure to grab a clean one, then looked back down at Stan's squinty, fuzzy head.

He really did look like a bat, down to his squished nose, large ears, and sharp teeth. The only hint that he was more than he appeared was how the fur around his neck was thicker, slightly curled, and gave the impression of a bat with a mullet.

That, and the stillness of his chest, the strength in his tiny digits, the paleness of his wings, and how cold he was. Like a corpse.

Ford brought the bristles of the tooth brush to the bat-mullet, gently brushing it down. Stan's eye narrowed, then closed, and he let out another chitter before settling down. Ford was tempted to pet him, but there was no telling how tempted Stan would be, so the toothbrush would have to do.

"If you get bit," Fiddleford called out, after a few minutes, "I'm not gonna stop Emma-May from staking you."

"I'll be fine," Ford reassured him, "I'm wearing another layer underneath my shirt, his teeth wouldn't be able to pierce it at his normal size."

Fiddleford humphed, and Ford shook his head, going back to brushing Stan's head. He'd have to make the bars of the containment unit smaller, now that Stan knew how to do this. Maybe a silver mesh, so that Stan couldn't slip through the larger bars.

Then... well, Ford was a scientist first, hunter second. If anyone could figure out how to cure a vampire, it was him.

[rafeys-angel13]

try on haul

summary: rafe comes home with dresses for you after you mentioned that your baby bump got too big for your favourite dress.

warnings: smutty as heckkk! MDNI

writers notes: uhhh my first actual smut! i didn’t think id enjoy writing it as much as i did. if you guys have any tips on how to make my english writing better i would love some constructive criticism! english is not my first language and im still learning more about writing everyday so i wont be offended if you tell me i said something wrong! sorry i yapped, enjoy!

(if this doesn’t do well i may cry)

bluecollar!rafe x hairdresser!reader



you’re 6 months pregnant and rafe has been nothing but supportive. he’s caring and gentle, he does so much for you and your baby.

you got back from work around an hour ago, you showered and washed your hair. now you’re dishing up dinner as your fiancé is on his way home. you look up when he gets in and walk over to the door.

“hey, sexy mama” he chuckles and pecks your lips.

he pulls back and hands you a bag, you look inside to see some clothes and look back up at him. he has the smuggest face you’ve ever seen.

“what’s this for?” you pull the clothes out, its two white dresses similar you the one you’d just recently outgrown because of your baby bump.

“you said your favourite white dress was too small for you… so i bought you some more… that hopefully fit…” he smiled, kissing your head.

“awww rafe…” you hug him tightly, “you’re the cutest… i swear i only mentioned once that i was too big for the dress… thank you, baby…”

“go try em on…” he nudges you and you got to the bedroom and change into the first one.

“you ready for the big reveal?” you call from the top of the stairs, he grins.

“of course i am, princess…” he watches you walk down the stairs, bare feet soft on the carpet and the white dress fitting your chest which had changed since you got pregnant and it fits especially nicely over your bump, its the perfect length and it flows amazingly.

“jesus, honey… you’re so perfect…” he grabs your hips and pecks your forehead, looking you up and down.

“you like it?” you smile and do a little spin.

“so so gorgeous, baby girl… your bump looks amazing in that… so beautiful…” he smiles, looking down at you almost proudly.

“yay…” you smile and he pulls you against him, kissing you hungrily but softly. he picks hooks his hands under your thighs.

“jump.” rafe breaths out and you obey. he picks you up and wraps your arms around his waist. his head dips down to your neck and kisses it softly.

he makes his way upstairs and to your bedroom, laying you down on your back.

“so fuckin’ beautiful, I’m gonna show you how sexy you are to me… i didn’t know pregnancy was gonna make you ten times hotter…” he murmurs in his southern drawl, settling between your legs and smirking down at you spread out on the bed.

rafe hooks his fingers on the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down. pushing your dress up to expose your swollen belly, he kisses it firmly.

“love you so fucking much, babe.” he hovers over your face, hands either side of your head holding him up. he dips his head down and kisses you lustfully.

you instinctively push your hips up against his but have no luck due to the large bump, he chuckles at you and pulls back from the kiss and starts kissing down your chest. he slips a leg between yours, letting it rest just against your core.

you whine softly and grind down against his muscular thigh.

“there ya go… good girl…” he watches you and strokes your hair. he keeps his leg firmly in place for you.

you whimper and move your hips faster, needing the pressure on your aching core. he smiles and grabs your hips, adjusting your angle and helping you grind down a few times before letting go and watching you.

you’re a moaning, whimpering mess, body writhing and shaking with pleasure and need.

“need more-“ you gasp and speed up yet again.

“so damn needy… you’re lucky you’re sexy as hell” he teases and reaches a hand down, rubbing your swollen clit with his thumb. he slowly trails it down to your throbbing hole to collect your slick before making his way back to your clit, swirling his thumb around it painfully slow. you whimper and your hips buck.

“rafe- i” you groan “fuck” your breath hitches.

“tell me what you want, babydoll…” he smiles, his finger circling your needy clit faster. you grip the covers and whine.

“i want your dick, ray..” you huff out. he nods and unzips his work pants as you whine at the loss of contact with his thumb.

he pulls his pants and boxers off, his dick springing up and hitting his sun kissed stomach. your eyes immediately go to the glistening precum leaking from the tip of his pink red raw tip. then to his pronounced v-line.

“yeah, i still got it” he chuckles and leans his hips forward, rubbing the tip up and down your slit, teasing you for only a moment then slowly sinking into you.

your head falls back and your breath hitches, god you missed that. he slowly starts moving, he holding your thighs to his chest as your feet are resting on his shoulders.

he picks up the pace when he sees you looking back up at him again with those damn doe eyes. he groans and he picks up the pace. his hips slamming into your thighs.

“so fuckin pretty when i fuck you, baby…” he pants and lets go of one thigh and moves his thumb back to your clit, circling it again. you moan loudly and grip his toned bicep. he smirks at your response and speeds his thumb up as his hips continue to thrust into you.

“rafe- fuck… i’m close” you pant and look up at him.

“me too, baby girl…” he smiles smugly and speeds both his thumb and his thrusts up. you moan loudly at each thrust and he lets out a deep groan as his warm, white liquid releases into you and your pussy clenches around his cock. he slows right down, riding out each of your highs.

“you good, baby?” he pushes your hair out of your face, his eyes kind and soft. you nod in response and try to catch your breath.

“so pretty when you’re all fucked out…” he gently pulls out and lays next to you, pulling you so you lay on your side facing him

he pulls your head to his chest and kisses your head.

“my pretty baby mama…” he mumbles into your hair and you smile softly.

you guys lay there for a while before rafe gets up and helps clean you up then you guys fall asleep. you’re so smitten with him and he’s the proudest man in the world that he gets to call you his.

thank god you guys don’t have neighbours that close.

-

he definitely took some photos of you in that pretty little white dress and showed his friends on the site.

[butteronabun]

i think i read this concept somewhere before but imagine f! reader swooning with the other ladies of mondstadt abt this one particular romance novel that has been getting popular as of late. diluc gets word of this ( maybe it’s because of elzer, or probably even kaeya, the tease ) because don’t tell anyone this but he kinda likes you.

( “. . . kinda? what are we, twelve?”

“shut it, kaeya.” )

and he wonders what the fuss is all about—

“it seems that lady,” adelinde calls your name fondly, as she stands beside the master of the house eating his dinner. “has been involved with a book club. some of the maids are members, and they told me that it had been a joyous time. they would discuss the books over delicious cups of tea and pastries that she and her friends had made.”

diluc is happy to hear this, of course, that a delightful woman such as you is having the time of her life in mondstadt. his heart skips a beat in his chest as he imagines you, the ever beautiful, endearing you, sharing anecdotes. he tries to hide the growing smile on his face as he remembers how you focus into the small and tiniest details—it is no doubt that the people in your book club are always entertained by your presence.

they’re surely lucky to have you. diluc, if only he wasn’t so busy, would actually really love to be part of that book club as well. ( “eyeing something, master diluc?” lisa winks, when diluc finds himself in the library. ) but alas, it was only reserved for ladies, and he was too shy to actually be in it.

— not until this one fateful night. not until he finally understands why.

of course, the abyss is up to no good again. diluc does his daily patrols on the outskirts and even outside of the city.

then, he hears it.

( a cackling abyss mage approaches your quivering form. you have books in your arms, tightly clutching them to your chest. you bought these for the new members of your book club as gifts since some of them can’t even afford it, and like hell you’re gonna lose them to some monster! these are expensive!

and since gods do really like tampering with fate ( or is this just destiny? ) before the abyss mage gets to throw its icicle at you, it disintegrates, and you blink upon the arrival of a familiar figure.

clad in black and donned in a mask, your lips part in shock. the smell of burnt wood and grass reaches your nostrils. the figure—the man, turns around, and you can’t help but feel a little clumsy. “t–thank you so much, um—!” some of the books fall to the ground, and you yelp. the man kneels down to grab your novels, and you feel your cheeks begin to steam. “um, wait—!” )

after rescuing you from a pesky abyss mage, diluc is really happy to get to interact with you again. last time he did was when you were in the tavern, drinking out with your peers. there, he realized how low your tolerance is, and there, he also realized how actually weak he is for you. you had been so friendly and sweet to him—you included him in your conversations and was always so understanding. how can he not like someone like you?

or maybe the cherry on top was when you invited him to go stargaze at the starsnatch cliff ( how did you not know what that meant? is it because you’re from fontaine, and you’re still getting used to mondstadt? ) and requested for only diluc. no master of the house diluc, nor wine tycoon diluc. just diluc. just himself.

he’ll do everything for you, as long as it is okay with you.

as he descends to the ground to retrieve some of the novels that you carried, diluc lifts one. he listens to you stammer— and he wonders why you’re so flustered, not until he sees the front cover.

it’s an image of a man. he’s wearing a dark getup: a dark brown tunic, black pants, and a midnight cloak. diluc ponders over why he’s getting deja vu.

then, he also has a a bird mask, and red hair peeking out from his hood. wait, red hair?

on his muscular arms, is nothing but a damsel in distress looking at him with so much adoration. much like to the expressions you’ve had with the ladies whenever you ramble about the popular book that diluc has been curious on ever since forever—

oh.

diluc raises his head slowly, and sees you fumble over you words. “mr. darknight hero, i apologize—!”

oh.