#got me feeling all nosy trying to figure out why the fuck this man decided to break her heart

[therhythmafterthesummer]

be that guy | bc (m)

summary: maybe running into you at a club months after the breakup is just a stroke of pure, dumb luck. maybe it's the push he needs to try and reconcile with you. whatever happens, chan is up for anything you want tonight.

pairing: bang chan x fem reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 7k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: ex-boyfriend!chan; profanity; alcohol consumption; graphic sexual content; some angst-y/emotional moments in the smut; perhaps an overuse of pet names i just couldn't stop; dirty talk & words used in a degrading manner (reader is referred to as a fleshlight, a cock sleeve, and a slut); a safe word is established but not used; praising; vaginal fingering; mentions of squirting; breast & nipple play; clothed sex; penetrative sex (condom use); premature ejaculation; oral (f receiving); finger sucking; some hair pulling; mentions of past sexual acts (blowjobs & deep-throating, choking, use of vibrators); multiple orgasms; aftercare; no definitive ending oops

author's note: i started to take a fic from my old blog and just rewrite chan into it, but i ended up only keeping the base premise of two exes hooking up again and rewriting the entire thing from scratch. it turned into this. hope you enjoy!

“Isn’t that Y/N?”

Chan’s head snaps in the direction Minho nods, and his heart skips a beat when he sees you. When did you get here? How could he have possibly missed you? There might as well be a spotlight shining down for the way his attention locks onto you now.

“She looks great,” Minho goes on, lips on the rim of his vodka soda.

Of all the people to run into tonight.

Of all the fucking people.

He sounds accusatory, but Chan has to know: “Did you know she was going to be here?”

Minho shakes his head innocently. He’s right, though. You look great. As gorgeous as ever. The smile on your face is large and radiant, but deep down, Chan knows it will drop like a lead balloon if you spot him.

And of course you do. Of course you fucking do.

One minute you’re laughing with your friend; the next minute, it’s as if you can sense his heavy stare halfway across the club. Your eyebrows tighten and you turn your head to look straight at him.

The spark is instant, the same as the very first time he saw you years ago. A smile blooms across his face before he even knows it’s happening - it’s just an automatic reaction to you. Subconsciously, he’s still happy to see you.

But then reality comes crashing down, and he remembers he’s not living in that wonderful world where you smile back at him every day anymore. He’s living in the aftermath of breaking your heart. So he waits for your lip to curl in disgust, or for you to roll your eyes and look away, but you do neither. He can’t read your expression, but at least you maintain eye contact with him.

Minho looks to Chan as well, then pats him on the shoulder. He doesn’t have to say anything; his support is felt all the same.

Chan downs the rest of his whiskey, takes a deep breath, and starts pushing through the crowd. By the time he reaches you at the bar, your friend is gone.

“I didn’t mean to scare your friend off,” he says, then winces internally. His first words to you in months and he couldn’t start with a simple ‘hello’ or an honest ‘you look amazing’? Or perhaps a heartfelt ‘I’m sorry’ down on his knees would have been the most appropriate greeting. What the fuck is wrong with him?

A smile returns to your lips, tiny this time. “You give yourself too much credit. I told her to give me a few minutes.”

A few minutes is probably more than he deserves. He has to make the most of them. No more stupid statements.

“I’m-” he starts, but the rest of his words are suffocated. He gulps through the sudden tightness in his throat and tries again. “You’re- You look… so beautiful, Y/N.”

You tilt your head in a gesture he can’t decipher and set your empty glass down on the bar counter.

“Chan…”

When you look at him again, his eyes lock back onto yours. It’s clear you’re also struggling to find words. It’s been months of heartbreak between now and the last time you saw each other, but before that, there were years of laughs, sweet words, daily routines, and gentle touches. He wonders if you’re remembering those times right now, too.

You purse your lips and reach out for his bicep. He unconsciously flexes it under your touch.

“You look great, too.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Want to get out of here?”

Getting into his apartment is a messy affair of feet stumbling over each other’s, hands tangled in hair, and lips and teeth clashing repeatedly.

Chan has half a mind to tear your dress apart at the seams to get it off your body, but that train of thought is entirely derailed when you reach beneath it yourself to slip your panties off. When the skimpy fabric drops to your feet, you sling it across his kitchen floor with the toe of your shoe.

He helps you up onto the counter, then slips his hand between your legs to check how wet you are. Surprisingly, your outer lips feel pretty soaked already, but he’s not going to rush to stick his dick inside you and risk hurting you. You seem eager enough to take him right now, but he wants you properly prepped.

If this is truly the last time he gets to be with you like this, he wants everything to go perfectly.

Your walls immediately clamp around the finger he pushes through them. You’re so fucking warm and silky inside, he just has to add another finger right away. You gasp as the intrusion thickens, lips falling apart ever so slightly. Chan slots his mouth over yours to catch the incoming moan. You taste like sugary cocktails. You smell delicious. You sound so fucking horny.

His wrist flexes as he searches for that spot he mapped out inside you long ago. He’s going straight for it because he has no intention of teasing you to an orgasm tonight. He wants you to come just as many times as you want tonight. Anything you want tonight, he’ll do it for you.

G-spot easily located, he rubs fast against it. You’re starting to drip all over his hand and down to the counter below, but he’s not upset about the sticky mess; he’s hard beyond belief over it. His zipper is scraping against his dick, but he ignores the discomfort. It’s tolerable when you’re moaning between his lips like this.

“Chan, please,” you whimper, finally speaking.

He pauses a moment because it’s been a while since he’s done this and his hand is already cramping. It would be a grave mistake to stop like this if you were close to coming, but he still has some time for now.

“I know, Y/N, I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your lips, withdrawing his tongue from your mouth only long enough to get the words out.

He stretches his thumb to flick it across your swollen clit. Your knees twitch at the contact, closing inward for a split second before opening wider, your dress riding higher up your thighs with the motion.

The way you’re giving him such open access to your body is making Chan’s head spin. Maybe his whole world has been turned upside down tonight. The feeling of your cunt around his fingers is keeping him grounded in the lewdest possible way.

He should be grateful to have this much, but he wants to get greedy and pull your tits out over the top of your dress so he can nip and suck on your nipples. The entire garment would probably have to come off first, though, and he’s not about to ruin your current positions to do that yet. Maybe he can give your breasts some due attention during round two. God he hopes you’ll stay for round two.

You’re barely focused on kissing him back anymore, too caught up with your imminent climax. Chan pulls his face away from yours to examine the state of you: shivering, spread open, starting to sweat, panting.

You’re gorgeous, and tonight, he’s all yours again.

“Chan,” you breathe again, hips bucking off the counter, bare skin squeaking on the surface. “Please keep going- fuck…”

“I’m not stopping ‘til you come on my fingers, angel,” he promises. The old pet name slips out before he knows it.

You must really be lost in your pleasure because you don’t call him on it and remind him he lost his right to call you that or any pet name anymore.

Tossing your head back, you moan, “More, please… f-faster…”

He wouldn’t dream of denying you, so he leans in and releases a ball of spit onto your clit. It quickly seeps down around his thumb, over your slit and over the fingers he has inside you, making his work more slippery. He wants you nice and wet and fucked open for his cock, so he drives his fingers faster, just as you asked.

It’s difficult to keep his thumb rotating in steady circles, so he vibrates it back and forth as best he can instead. He’s sure it will work - it has before, at least. He just has to keep his pace consistent. Keep the pressure just right. Maybe you’ll even squirt for him and really soak his hand, for old times’ sake.

Even if he couldn’t feel your pussy constricting tighter and tighter, the way you suddenly grab his flexing wrist is another telltale sign that you’re close to the edge. Your head is still tipped backward, throat exposed and gleaming with sweat.

Chan braces his unoccupied hand against your back, then leans forward and licks a stripe up the column of your neck. The taste of your sweat and the perfume you applied is an addicting mix of salty and sweet on his tongue.

“Oh fuck!” you cry out. “Right there, right there… so fucking close…shit, shit!”

“I know, I know, I can feel it,” he whispers, trailing his words up from your neck and into your ear. He licks the shell of it with the tip of his tongue, and you shiver in his arms. “Let go for me.”

Not only does your pussy close in tighter, but your fingers on his wrist do, too. Your chest is heaving, tits still begging him for attention. He finally gives in and bites one of the mounds through your dress. The fabric probably dulls the sensation a little, but he’s still gentle with his teeth.

When you moan louder, he sucks as much of your clothed breast into his mouth as he can. He can just barely feel your nipple raised against the fabric, but it’s still noticeable enough for him to know where to start flicking his tongue. The sensation seems to trigger your orgasm. Or maybe it’s the desperate act itself that does it for you.

“Oh my god, Chan, fuck!”

Your entire body tenses against the intense shockwave that detonates within you, rendering you motionless for just a few seconds before you start trembling hard from the outburst of pleasure.

“Shit, that’s it, Y/N,” Chan coos, drawing back again to take in your orgasm. A string of spit bridges the distance between your dress and his bottom lip. “Holy fuck, you’re coming so hard for me, I love it.”

Chan can barely continue pumping his fingers through your cunt’s vise grip, so he settles for keeping his fingertips kissed against your g-spot, gently easing the pressure as your intense orgasm wanes.

When your knees start wobbling from the overstimulation, he removes his hand from between your slippery walls, and you let go of him, too. His fingers are glistening, a clear testament to how good he just made you feel. Something nasty in him wants to whip his aching cock out right now and slather it in your juices, but his first instinct is to not let the treat go to waste. So instead, he runs his tongue up the length of his sticky middle finger, letting the salty liquid rest on his tastebuds for a few seconds before swallowing it down.

“Jesus fuck,” you pant, watching the erotic scene unfold before your eyes.

Chan smirks, pleased that you’re pleased, and repeats the action with his index finger, a little obsessed with making sure he doesn’t miss a drop. His entire kitchen smells like sex already and he fucking loves it.

More importantly, you look like sex incarnate, propped up on one hand on his counter, still breathless, still spread open. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his entire life - no offense to all your previous escapades together.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rumbles straight from his chest, lying his palms flat on the counter to cage you between his arms. “Missed this sweet pussy so much.”

Is the confession too much? If so, you don’t call him out on that, either. He’s not sure how he’s getting away with crossing all these lines tonight, but he’s not going to question it.

“Want to fuck it?” you ask. The deeply seductive look in your eyes makes him gulp.

“Y-Yeah? You’d let me fuck you?”

“If you have a condom, yes,” you clarify.

Chan nods a little too eagerly, but it’s nothing compared to the way his dick jumps in his jeans. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his ticket to fucking you. Honestly, he didn’t expect to actually use the condom with anyone tonight - least of all you - but now he’s glad he chose to be prepared.

You raise an eyebrow at how he practically conjured one out of thin air, then lean forward and put your hands on his chest to get him to step back a little. Slipping off the counter, you step over to his kitchen table - still in your heels - and bend over it.

Only when you look over your shoulder and jerk your head does Chan fully get the picture.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, hurrying to follow.

You giggle as he fumbles with his belt and pants. The way you shake your ass side-to-side in front of him is probably supposed to entice him, but he loses focus and drops the condom packet.

“Where’s the dirty talking monster who used to fuck me dumb?” you tease, still giggling.

Chan laughs back and scoops the packet off the floor. “Can’t be that guy right now,” he says, shoving his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh. The open air feels cool on the wet tip of his dick. “The beautiful girl bent over my kitchen table kind of makes me lose my fucking mind, you know.”

You hum and bite your lip, eyes cast down to his thick erection. He opens the foil, gives his cock a few quick pumps, rolls the condom onto it.

As he takes another step to position himself close behind you, you turn to face forward. Your hands reach back to help him bunch your dress over your ass, though, and he gets the overwhelming urge to twine his fingers with yours. The moment is soon gone when you bring your hands forward again to brace them on the table.

Eyes down, Chan takes the base of his cock and steers the tip between your legs. He rubs it up and down through your slit a few times until it catches on your opening and pokes in shallowly. Slowly, he pushes in another inch, then two more, then all the way to the hilt until his balls are pressed against you.

“Fuck,” you groan, knuckles tightening around the edge of the table. “Forgot how well you stretch me out.”

He can’t help but feel proud of that. “Big enough for you?”

“Mhm.” Your walls clench tighter, and he figures you did it on purpose. “Hard enough, too. Shit you’re hard.”

“So fucking hard for you,” he agrees, eyes rolling back in his head. His hands roam aimlessly over your ass while he gives you both a moment to adjust.

Evidently he stalls for too long, though, because you take it upon yourself to start moving your ass back and forth in the limited space between his hips and the table.

“Come on, baby,” you say. “If you missed this pussy so much, fucking take it.”

He wants to give you everything when you talk like that, so without another second to spare, he draws his cock back until the tip is at the very edge of your opening, then pushes forward to split your walls around it again.

It’s a blessing and a curse, but he can still remember how incredible your wet heat used to feel around his raw cock, back when the two of you had love and trust. It’s been a very long time since he’s had to wear a condom with you - or anyone, for that matter - but he won’t complain. He’s all too aware he’s lucky to be inside you at all.

Besides, you still feel incredible. Your pussy sucks him back in when he pulls back too far, gives way easily when he sinks in deep. The more he pumps himself in and out at this slow, steady pace, the harder he finds it to hold back.

Luckily, you’re of the same mindset. “Harder, baby. Please.”

Using the pet name again is a sure-fire way to get what you want. He may have been the one to break up with you, but before that, he could probably count the number of times he denied you on one hand. You were always irresistible, especially when you asked him so nicely for things.

Chan snaps his hips harder, driving his cock as deep as he can get it with every stroke. He only pulls back a few inches at a time, keeping most of himself sheathed inside your warmth at all times, not willing to part from you any more than he has to.

“Like this?” he asks.

You nod and pant, “Yes. S-So fucking good, Chan.”

“Just want your tight little pussy pounded, don’t you?” Chan goes on, gripping your hips for leverage. He practically yanks you back into him with his next thrust, and you cry out in sheer ecstasy. “Just want a nice, thick cock to stretch your little hole open real good, huh? Fuck you open good and proper?”

“Fuck, yes, baby, yes, yes! Oh my god, Chan…”

That dirty talking monster you always loved is starting to rear its head, but Chan’s pleasure threshold is rapidly reaching its limit. Between the moans pouring out of your mouth, the wet smacking of his balls against your cunt, and the intense friction rubbing across his length, he comes much sooner than expected.

“Oh god, fuck- shit, angel, holy shit, I’m gonna- mmmf- fffuck!”

His cock pulses hard as streams of cum jet up its length, shot after shot unloading into the condom.

The guilt is instant. Apologies and excuses start tumbling from his mouth. “I’m s-so sorry, Y/N,” he mutters, struggling to catch his breath because cum is still squirting out of him. “I’m- I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to come that fast, you just felt so fucking- I mean, you sounded so-”

“It’s fine, Chan,” you laugh, wiggling your ass again. “Consider me flattered.”

He tilts his head and huffs out a breath of laughter himself, then eases his hips backward to pull his cock out of you before it goes too soft. After he’s thrown away the condom, he turns back to you. Part of him fears to find you pulling your panties back on to leave, but he’s excited to find you facing him with your dress still gathered around your hips.

“I can keep going,” he offers straight away, crossing the distance to put his hands on your bare hips. “Let me go down on you, or- or finger you again. Please.”

Instead of answering him right away, you grin and kiss him. When your tongue pokes across the seam of his lips, he happily grants it entry to lick against his own. You can probably taste the remnants of your arousal in his mouth, but you’re not put off by it. In fact, you wind your arms tight around him.

Pulling your face back, you ask, “You want to make me come again, baby?”

Chan nods, eyes flicking up and down between your eyes and lips. He’s more drunk on the taste of you than the whiskey in the club could have ever hoped to achieve.

“You want to eat me out?” you press, studying his face just as intently. “Stick your fingers back inside my pussy?”

He licks his lips. His wilted cock heaves valiantly but isn’t quite ready to rise again.

“Please. Anything.”

He’s prepared to start begging, but you have mercy on him.

Slipping a hand into one of his, you ask him to take you to the bedroom. You start giggling again when he has to practically waddle his way there with his pants falling around his knees. Chan laughs, too, and starts stripping his clothes.

After he yanks his shirt over his head to toss it on the pile on his floor, he catches you checking him out. He resists the urge to make a trite ‘like what you see?’ joke. He made plenty of those when you were together - he knows you like what you see, and he’s flattered it’s still true.

When you peel your eyes off his chest to look at his face again, you cock an eyebrow and smirk. Then, you spin around and ask him to help unzip you. He does so happily, getting just as much of an eyeful of your body after your dress spills to a heap at your feet. You kick it away just like you’d done with your panties earlier, then off go the heels, one after the other. Once you’re entirely nude, you step wordlessly over to his bed and settle yourself on top of it.

“Come here,” you beckon, voice soft.

Chan obeys, coming over to drape his naked body over yours. You pull him into another kiss, and he tries to keep most of his weight off you, but the feeling of your warm, bare skin against his is something he’s missed desperately.

He tilts his face the other way and moans into your mouth. His hand comes up to cup your cheek at almost the same moment you do the same to him. You’re smiling into the kisses now, and his heart aches with the knowledge that this isn’t a daily occurrence anymore.

“Y/N…” he whispers, but he isn’t sure what he wants to say exactly.

Your smile fades, and he knows you can tell there is something more than lust in his head right now; he can see it in your eyes that you understand him. Even so, you refuse to let your walls down, and he can’t say he blames you. He’s probably the reason they’re there to begin with.

“You’re so fucking hot, Chan,” you say out of the blue, steering the conversation to more comfortable territory. “Touch me again.”

He can’t deny you.

If this is all he’s good for tonight, he’s grateful.

Swallowing hard, Chan slides down your body to bring his face level with your chest. One hand goes to pinch your left nipple, the other to cup your right tit and bring that nipple into his wet mouth. You gasp at the first flick of his tongue, so he repeats the motion about a dozen more times before dragging his face tongue-first across to your other tit. When he bites down on the pebbled bud, your back arches off the bed.

“Oh, god,” you whisper, twisting a hand into his hair.

He reciprocates the gesture by slipping an arm behind your back and holding your skin tight. You’re so warm and soft, so sweet-smelling and beautiful…

Focus. Just make her come, as many times as she wants.

Be that guy again.

Even if it's just for tonight.

Do it just for her.

With his mind refocused and his dick beginning to fill out again, he looks up at your face and mutters, “I’ll give you whatever you want, Y/N.” He goes back to your other nipple, traps it between his teeth and chews it with careful nips, enough for you to feel it, but not cause you any pain. “Want to come on my tongue or my cock?”

“Cock, please,” you answer without hesitation.

He’s surprised with your choice given his poor performance earlier. He’s also surprised by how sweetly you say please this time. So sweet and beautiful, truly worthy of your favorite pet name…

Stop it. Get to it already.

“You sure you don’t want both, angel?”

Not waiting for an answer, he scoots further down your body until he’s faced with your sweet pussy. You’re still soaking wet - he can see your arousal shining all along your folds. Reaching down, he gathers your legs and pushes them up, knees toward your chest.

“Chan,” you whine. He can feel your eyes watching him move his face closer between your hips. “Not your mouth.”

He takes the heady scent of your arousal deep into his lungs with a long inhale.

“Why not? You know I could make you come so hard with my tongue. Suck on your clit real slow, take my time licking you clean, hm? Maybe pump my fingers carefully enough to make you squirt?”

Dipping his face even closer, he glides his tongue up the length of your slit. Your arousal tastes even better when he’s licking it straight from your center, so he flattens his tongue to get a wider lick, greedy to smother his tastebuds in your essence.

Total, there are probably entire days of his life that were spent with his face between your legs, learning your ins and outs, all the things that make you shiver uncontrollably and scream his name. He learned how to get you to come twice in a row, and when to ease off to bring your orgasm to a satisfying finish without building too far into another one.

You gave it all back in kind. So often eager to get on your knees for him, swallowing his entire cock down your throat, heeding his advice when he said you could tug his balls even harder, him trusting you to put your hands on his neck and squeeze just tight enough to peak his climax that little bit higher.

Presently, you writhe against his mattress under the torment of his tongue. He’s still taking his time licking through your folds, swiping half-handedly over your clit, not giving it nearly enough attention to take your next orgasm seriously.

Straightening his back, Chan gazes down at your naked form, once again admiring the sight. You gaze back steadily.

“Still want my cock?” he asks, reaching to take the throbbing appendage in his fist and stroke a few dewy drops of precum out. “Just my cock? You sure?”

You don’t answer him right away. Instead, you push backward out of his hold, get to your knees directly in front of him, and press your palms flat against the wide planes of his chest. He can feel his own heartbeat reverberate from behind his chest plate, off your hand, back to his burning skin.

“You’re not going to make me beg, are you?” you say, not answering him at all.

Chan gulps. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just want to hear you say it again.”

He’s met with a smirk and a gentle nudge from you this time. Only once he’s sitting flat, legs extended in front of him on his mattress with you straddled across his lap, do you speak again.

“Want your cock, baby,” you say, already reaching for his bedside drawer to fish out another condom. It’s open and on him in no time. “Just your cock.”

“It’s yours,” Chan whispers back.

There’s a split second of hesitation as you’re shifting to guide him back inside you. Perhaps the words crossed another line. He meant them, though.

If you’re bothered by his honesty, you don’t voice it.

With a slight drop of your hips, his cockhead slips smoothly back into your wet warmth, then the rest of his thick length, until your lap is pressed flush against his, pelvises locked tight.

Chan walks his fingertips up your spine until his palms come to rest firmly against your shoulder blades. You oblige his body language and lean in closer. Again, you hesitate for a short moment, letting something unspoken and unfinished hang suspended in the small space between your face and his for just a few broken heartbeats before closing the distance.

Gasps on both sides come when you make that first ascent back up his rigid length only to slam right back down. Running his tongue along yours becomes an afterthought to keeping your hips moving against him.

“That’s it, angel,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Ride it- mmph, fuck- ride it just like that.”

“Chan…”

Two of his fingers come to rest against your lips, dip past your teeth.

“Keep fucking me, Y/N. Don’t stop fucking me,” he urges.

Your lips close around his fingers, tongue swirling a little looser than your hips. Once they’re well lubricated with your spit, Chan draws them back to stuff them down below where he’s joined with you. With a little prodding, he finds your engorged clit and gets to work unraveling you again.

However, you seem to have other plans. Smacking his fingers away, your other hand takes his chin.

“I said I want your cock, not your fingers,” you say, the low pitch of your voice insanely sexy.

You take the offending fingers and watch as he watches you bring them back into your mouth to suck on them more earnestly than before. His jaw drops as much as your grip will allow, and his dick twitches hard between your walls.

“Need to make you come. Can’t do it with just my dick,” Chan reasons.

Your movements are already getting the better of him. The way you’re bouncing in his lap is knocking the breath from his lungs, coiling his muscles into springs. But he can’t tip over the edge without you again. He won’t, god damn it.

Hand closed around his wrist, you drag his fingers off your tongue and out of your mouth.

“Can’t you?” you taunt, eyebrow quirked.

You know damn well he can’t. He never could. Sure, he’s been inside you for plenty of your orgasms, but he always had to enlist the help of his fingers or a vibrator to stimulate your clit at the same time. Grinding your clit into his pelvic bone never yielded the same results, and he couldn’t fuck your g-spot for long enough or consistently enough to get you to come that way, either. Not without coming first.

Chan whimpers and fixes you with a helpless stare which you must find amusing because you chuckle.

“Sorry, baby,” you say, not sounding particularly apologetic. “Didn’t mean to hurt your pride.”

A blush bleeds from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest.

“Y/N, please…”

Smiling gently, you stop your bouncing and let go of both his wrist and his face to wind your arms behind his neck. His hands instinctively settle on your waist in turn.

“Feel like I could come just looking at you right now.” Your eyes shake back and forth, looking between each of his. “No one has ever made me come the way you always did.”

He starts to respond to your flattery, but his thought evaporates when you lift all the way off his aching cock then sit back down on one of his thighs, instantly smearing it with your arousal.

“You were always a selfless lover, Chan,” you continue, cupping the nape of his neck in both hands, thumbs resting against his throat. Surely you can feel the spike in his heartbeat. “I adored that about you. You always made my pleasure yours. But I’ve told you, my pleasure doesn’t always involve orgasming. Sometimes I just wanted to see you get lost in your own pleasure. Get a little selfish.”

Chastely, you kiss his cheek, then pull back to fix him in your stare again.

“So fuck me again, baby,” you purr. “And don’t worry if you come fast this time.”

With that invitation extended, you turn over onto your hands and knees.

Chan gravitates to you, getting in position behind you within seconds, hands on your hips to yank them a little higher. You hum in approval of his assertive action and spread your knees a little further apart.

Without warning, he takes his cock - the condom thoroughly coated in your juices - in hand and shoves it back into your cunt, all the way up to his balls.

“Always want you to come when you’re with me,” he rasps, not bothering to use past tense. “Want to show you a good time every time. But if you say that means you want me to get a bit selfish, so be it.”

Grip tight on your body, he draws his hips back until his tip nearly falls from your pussy, then yanks you back onto him as he pushes forward again. He must hit the right spot on the first stroke because your back trembles and bows inward.

“Yes, Chan, fuck! Right there- please-”

He smirks. “God, you really do just want my cock, don’t you, sweetheart? It’s right here.” He drags it back, slots it in deep.

Your fingers tighten in his sheets. “Keep fucking me, baby. And k-keep talking.”

He picks up the pace, abandoning his full strokes in favor of shorter, deeper ones again. “Since you want me to be selfish, does that mean you just want me to use you tonight? Want to pretend you’re just my tight little fleshlight? Huh?”

The dirty-talking monster is yawning back to life. The flesh of your ass ripples against the onslaught of his smacking hips. He’d be driving you face-first up his mattress if he wasn’t pulling you back onto him.

“Yes, fuck,” you moan, pussy closing in ever tighter around his pistoning dick.

Chan swears under his breath and licks his lips, eyes fixed to where his rock hard cock disappears just below the jiggling globes of your ass. He can’t believe you’re letting him use you this way. Talk to you this way. It was only because you trusted him so much that you ever let him do something like this in the first place. Evidently you still do. It’s oddly touching.

He wants to assure you you’re way more to him than just a pretty cock sleeve, even now, in the ‘after’ part of your relationship, but that’s not what the dirty talking monster would say.

Still, he has to know you’ll tell him if he goes too far.

“Want to give me a safe word, Y/N?” Chan asks, reaching out to give your shoulder a tender squeeze.

“Shoelace,” you respond quicker than expected.

He hums in approval over your answer, brings his veiny hand to caress your cheek for a fleeting moment, circles that arm under your tits to lift your back into his chest. His cock is still stuffed tight inside you; the pause in his thrusts is only temporary.

Lips to your ear, he whispers, “Okay, angel. Here you go,” and slams himself hard into your cunt. “Just want to sit here on your knees while I drill my fat cock into you over and over? That’s fine. Want me to call you a fucking slut for it? I’ll do that for you.”

Because I fucking love you.

You whimper and writhe in his arms, face swiveling until your nose brushes across his. He gladly lets you recapture his lips, lets your tongue swarm back into his mouth.

He rebuilds his pace, still opting for quick, short ruts into your pussy to keep himself stuffed as deep as possible. Your panting breaths mingle with his as he works up the pleasure. Before long, you’re moaning too loudly on the end of his pumping dick to focus on kissing him anymore, but that just gives him the opportunity to continue talking.

“Do you like the way I’m f-fucking you?” Chan whispers, deep voice cracking. He drags his hand from below your tits and latches onto one, getting a rough handful. When he pinches your nipple, your body responds instantly. “Like the way I’m touching you? Mmm, I think you do, angel. This pussy is clenching me so goddamn tight. You’re such a good little cock sleeve for me.”

He’s not sure if you can hear everything he’s saying over the loud slaps of his pelvis hitting your backside, but you whine in response, head lolling to the side. His eyes rake from your bare neck down to your sweaty cleavage. He twists your nipple one way, then the other, and moves on to the other one.

“Can’t believe you didn’t want me to eat you out.” Chan trails wet kisses along your shoulder, squeezes your breast tight, keeps fucking up into you. “Would’ve treated this sweet pussy so well. Instead, you want me to be selfish. Want me to come without you. But that’s fine. Toys don’t get to come, anyway. Isn’t that right?”

You hiss when he bites down on your shoulder. Some motion below draws his attention - your hand dipping between your legs. He feels your fingertips brush against his moving shaft, the only inch or so of it pushing in and out. When your fingers move away from his cock but your arm remains in place, he figures you’re playing with your clit instead.

“Tsk, tsk.” He smiles. “So you do want to come.”

You groan but don’t say anything. You've told him what you’ll say if he goes too far with his dirty talk, but the word doesn’t leave your lips.

“That’s fine, angel. You can come whenever you want. Just make sure you squeeze my cock extra tight when you do it.”

One hand still clutching your tit, he hugs his other strong arm around your hips, redistributes his weight on his knees, and goes in even faster. Your body rattles in his hold from how hard and fast he’s pounding you, practically vibrating. The sweat on his chest smears against your back.

The fingers not playing with your clit come up to curl in the hair at the nape of Chan’s neck. “Oh my god, I’m so f-fucking close,” you huff, tugging his hair.

“Already?”

No sooner does your head jerk in a shaky nod than your cunt clamps hard on his dick. Chan gasps, the sensation catching him totally off guard for a second, but when he fully registers what’s happening, he chuckles wickedly. Your tense body twitches and shakes in his hold as your orgasm rips through it. He embraces you tighter to keep you steady.

“Shit, baby, where the fuck did that come from, huh?” he laughs, utterly delighted. “Just love this dick so much, don’t you? Couldn’t help but come on it, could you, you little slut? Does it feel good?”

You hum. Or maybe it’s a grunt. Your voice is pinched and strained when you say, “So so fucking good. Please c-come with me, baby, come with me now…”

“Keep squeezing me and I will, angel. Squeeze my cum out, come on.”

As your orgasm drops off, the pulsing of your pussy weakens, but it’s more than enough to draw out Chan’s own orgasm.

“That’s it- oh fuck, angel, that’s it, please- please, please, fuck-fuck-fuck- ungh!”

Only a few more resounding claps of his hips against your ass before he comes hard, groaning loudly at the moment of his brutal second release. The condom catches shot after shot of the translucent cum his throbbing cock is ejaculating. He can vaguely hear you murmuring sweet nothings, your lips ghosting over his cheek, but his heartbeat is so damn loud in his eardrums, his orgasm feels too fucking good.

As soon as his senses return to him, he pulls his cock from your over-sensitive pussy. Your spent body slumps forward against the mattress, too exhausted to remain upright without the help of his arms.

Chan is off the bed to trash the condom and back at your side in mere seconds, gathering your warm, sweaty body against his as he lies beside you, facing you.

“That was so good, Y/N,” he murmurs, fussing over the hair sticking to your face. Your eyes are a bit glazed. He tries not to panic. “Hey, you did so well, sweet angel. Stay with me, baby, please don’t fall asleep. I’m right here. Look at me.”

He takes your hand and places it on his cheek, and to his relief, it doesn’t slip away; you hold his face with your own strength.

“I’m fine, Chan,” you say, a smile dawning over your entire face, eyes already refocused.

He starts reiterating that you’re not just a cock sleeve to him, not a toy, not a slut, at least not in a negative way, but you giggle and silence him with a kiss.

“I know, baby, I know,” you assure him. Your other arm is trapped somewhere between your bodies and the mattress, but you manage to free it so you can cup his face with both hands. “You did great, too. You were perfect. I felt safe with you, don’t worry. I feel safe.”

It’s been so long since he’s had you in his bed recovering from a round of intense sex, he’s not sure what to do next. The ensuing silence doesn’t feel awkward, though. He lets you gently rake your fingernails across his scalp, and he returns the gentle gesture with slow swipes of his thumb back and forth across your cheek.

Eventually, the tranquil moment is broken when you draw in a deep breath and haul yourself to a sitting position at the foot of his bed.

Chan isn’t sure he can stand a goodbye from you right now, temporary or permanent. The thought that he made a mistake by breaking up with you is blaring in neon lights in his head. If there’s anything he can do to at least convince you to stay the night with him, he will.

And if, in the morning, there’s anything he can do to convince you how much of a fool he was for ending a good thing, he’ll do his damnedest.

Worst case scenario, his life will return to the way it was just a few hours ago.

Best case scenario, he could be on his way to being your boyfriend again.

First, he sits up beside you.

Second, he looks into your eyes.

Finally, he opens his mouth.

copyright © 2023 by daizymax. all rights reserved.

← back to masterlist

[pilothusband]

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie​ for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even. 

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.” 

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin. 

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree. 

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you��d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths. 

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment. 

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?” 

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.” 

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms. 

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair,  but your arms aren’t long enough to reach. 

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

 He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

 “Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

 He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing. 

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

 Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

 He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

 “Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

 You moan and break the kiss.

 “Want to take this to my room?”

 He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

 You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

 You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

 “I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

 “Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

 You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

 “So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

 It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

 Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

 “So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

 You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

 “We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern. 

 “No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

 You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

 Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace. 

 All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

 His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

 “Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

 You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly. 

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

 The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes. 

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

[thighs-of-betrayal-blog]

A Pleasant Surprise

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You’ve never understood why Bucky hates you, but that all changes when you’re both forced to fight alongside each other. 

Warnings: angst/fluff, violence, weapons, enemies to lovers

A/N: Just thought I’d write this little enemies to lovers piece. I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated!! :)

The feeling of someone staring at you ran through your body. You didn’t dare turn to look, you already knew it was the owner of those piercing, blue eyes, giving you a cold, calculating stare. 

Trying to block out Bucky, you focus all your attention on Tony, who’s talking at the front of the room. 

“This mission is going to be tougher than we first initiated,” Tony says. “We are going to need all hands on deck and we plan to split you up into groups of two.” 

You place your hand under your chin and stare straight ahead at the table, as Steve reads off the pairings. 

“Y/N and Bucky…” Steve says.

Immediately, you lift your head up, looking at Steve in shock. 

“Excuse me?” you interrupt. Everyone in the room turns their head to look at you. 

Steve stops listing off the names to answer you. “Is something wrong, Y/N?”

“Yes, yes there is.” You gesture towards Bucky, who is staring at you with an amused look. “We don’t work well together. He can’t go two seconds without complaining about me.” 

Bucky instantly jumps in, defending himself. “It’s not my fault you’re incompetent, doll.” 

Standing up, you wave your hand towards him. “See?!” you exclaim. “I can’t and I won’t work with that.” 

Tony jumps in, cutting Bucky off before he can respond. “Look, Y/N, I get that he can be hard headed at times, but we already made the pairings and set up the plan. You guys are just going to have to figure it out.” 

Scoffing, you give Bucky one last glare before turning around and leaving the room. 

Tomorrow was going to be absolute hell. 

------------------------------------------------

Getting into position, you raise your gun and point it at the target. Bucky is a few feet away from you, gun also raised. 

The mission was to infiltrate a Hydra base located in Norway. You and Bucky were tasked with sniping the leader of the base and everyone else was going to take out the rest from below. 

“I have a clear shot,” you say to Bucky. 

“Then take the shot. You don’t have to confirm everything with me,” he replies bitterly. 

Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath and release it as you pull the trigger. 

“Got him,” you say into your ear piece. 

“Great work, Y/N,” Steve replies. 

As you lean back to gather yourself, you feel cold metal press up against the back of your head. A gun. 

“Don’t move a fucking muscle,” says a Hydra soldier behind you. 

Not daring to move your head, you manage to see Bucky out of your peripheral vision. He too was on the ground, gun pressed to the back of his head. He locks eyes with you. 

Bucky is the last thing you see as the soldier behind you smacks you in the back of your head with his gun, knocking you out. 

-----------------------------------------------

The pounding of your head wakes you up. Groaning, you get up, squinting your eyes against the bright light in the room. 

Looking around, you spot Bucky at the opposite side of the room, still unconscious. 

“Bucky,” you whisper. When he doesn’t wake up, you decide to walk over and touch his arm. 

“Bucky,” you say. 

He jumps up and grabs your arm, twisting it. You yelp in pain. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he says. “How stupid are you? You know I don’t like being touched. I could have fucking hurt you!” 

Pissed off, you roll your eyes and turn around to examine the room. When you reach the door, you notice it’s bolted shut. 

“Shit, we’re locked in.” 

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” 

You whip around and stare angrily at Bucky. “What the fuck is your problem? You’ve been nothing but rude to me, since the moment I’ve met you and I’ve done nothing to you!” 

Bucky looks down, unable to come up with a response.

“Nothing to say now, huh? What a surprise,” you say. 

Bucky’s head quickly lifts back up and he jumps to his feet. Walking up to you, he doesn’t stop until he’s only inches away from your face. 

“Maybe, it’s because you’re so damn nosy. You’re always asking way too many questions about my life and I don’t understand why you don’t just stay away like the rest of them!” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry for caring… You know what, this is pointless.” You walk away. “We’re wasting time just standing here, arguing.” 

As you walk around the room, trying to find some way to escape, the door randomly swings open. 

“Glad to see you two awake and standing,” says the soldier from earlier, the one who knocked you out. 

He walks into the room. “Names George. I’m here to take you both to Luke.” 

“Who’s Luke?” Bucky asks, moving to stand in front of you. 

George chuckles. “He’s the one that’s going to decide how to kill you.” 

Bucky reaches his arm back to grab your hand, but before he can, you’re both injected with a needle, knocking the two of you out once again. 

-----------------------------------------------

Bucky’s voice pulls you out of a deep sleep. “Y/N! Y/N, c’mon, wake up!” 

Opening your eyes, you look down to see yourself restrained. You glance over at Bucky and see he’s in the same predicament. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Oh, now you want to be nice to me?” You scoff. 

“Y/N, I…”

“Just save it. Let’s just focus on getting the hell out of here.” 

You notice a knife just a few inches away from you, placed on a table. 

“There,” you say. “If I can just reach…” You try your best to extend your hand out towards the knife, but the restraints are too tight. You throw your head back in frustration and close your eyes. 

“Great, just fucking great. I can’t believe I’m going to die next to a man that hates my fucking guts.” 

“I don’t... hate you,” Bucky says. 

You open one eye to peer over at him. “Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I don’t. I never have.” 

Looking over at him confused, you study him. “Then why be so mean to me?” 

He stares at you for a minute before answering. “Because I couldn’t have you close to me.”

“And, why’s that?” 

You watch him visibly swallow. “Because I lose everyone who gets close to me.” 

Shocked that he’s shared that with you, no words come out of your mouth. When you see the sadness written on his face, your heart clenches. 

“Bucky, I...I didn’t know.” 

“How could you have? I just want you to know that I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” 

Two men barge into the room. You quickly recognize the one as George. 

“I brought Luke,” George says. 

“And, I brought these,” Luke says, pulling out a handful of knives and walking towards you.

Bucky thrashes against his restraints. “Don’t you fucking dare!” He looks over at you. “Y/N, it’s okay. Just look at me, it’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Luke brings a knife up to your neck. “Now, don’t lie. What are you going to do from over there?” 

Panic builds inside you and you stare at Bucky. 

“Bucky, I forgive you. I understand why you pushed me away and I forgive you for it.” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t say something like that as if it’s your last words.” 

Luke slightly presses the knife into your neck. “Well, this is cute and all, but we’re going to have to wrap this up. I have plans.” 

Closing your eyes, you wait for the pain to hit you, but it never comes. Instead, the knife is pulled away from your neck, and a metal arm is placed on your shoulder. 

“We’re getting you out of here, doll,” Bucky says. You look over his shoulder to see Steve and Natasha, who are tying up George and Luke. 

“Glad to see you alive, Y/N,” Natasha says. 

You nod your head at her, as Bucky pulls you through the door and to the waiting quinjet. 

-----------------------------------------------

Once on the quinjet, you sit in the back, next to Bucky. Looking over at him, you see that he’s staring straight ahead. 

“You know, I meant what I said. I forgive you,” you say. 

Bucky turns his head to look at you. “I don’t know why. I’ve been such a dick.” 

“Yeah… you have.” You both laugh. “But, I know you’ll make it up to me.” 

“Is that so? What do you have in mind?” 

“Well… I like bagels. Especially the ones at that shop Steve showed us in Brooklyn.”

He slowly nods and clears his throat. “It’s a date then.” 

You do a double take. “A date?” 

“Yeah, I mean, if that’s okay with you. If not, I totally understand. I mean, I would probably say no if I were you because I…” 

Leaning forward, you kiss him, effectively stopping him from talking. 

“It’s definitely okay with me,” you say. 

Bucky smiles before grabbing your face and pulling you back in for another kiss.

[sunrisefairy]

All yours

Pairing: George Weasley x reader Warning: NSFW! daddy kink, dom/sub, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dirty talk, spanking, slight degradation, crying kink?, cock warming, swearing, mention of alcohol.  Summary: Y/N wants to make George jealous.  Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines @georgeweasleyswhre @horrorxweasley @amourtentiaa @anxiousblanketqueen send me an ask if you would like to be added  ——————————————————————————————————

You were playing a dangerous game and you knew it, flirting with another man only metres away from George. The two of you had arrived to the party separately, George not wanting anyone to be suspicious of your ‘relationship’ if you walked in together. You weren’t really sure what you and George were, you had been fucking each other for a few months but George was adamant on keeping it a secret. Something about ‘why should everyone know about our business?’ and to be honest at the beginning you were happy with that. Your friends were nosy people and would definitely not stop asking questions if they knew about you and George.

So you went along with the late night visits to George’s apartment to have sex on the counter or the shower (honestly anywhere) and leave before sunrise, and quickly sucking his dick in the club bathroom before anyone of your friends would notice your absence and even letting him rub your clit at the dinner table surrounded by all your friends, none of them the wiser. You went along with it all because having even a fraction of George even if it was hidden from prying eyes was better than nothing at all.

But 4 months into your ‘relationship’ you’ve had enough. You wanted everything from George. You wanted lunch dates and walks in the park and snogging on the dance floor drunk for everyone to see. You wanted to be able to walk into a party holding George’s hand, so all the pretty girls knew this man was taken, by you and no one else could have him.

Blame it on the alcohol or the confidence this short silk dress was giving you, but somehow you decided that George needed a little nudge into growing some balls and hopefully taking this relationship to the next level. And what better way than to ignore George all night and flirt with another man to make him jealous?

You were currently chatting to handsome man with tanned skin and dark curly hair, who’s name you didn’t care to remember. He was good looking, a navy suit stretched across his figure made his biceps noticeable whenever he flexed and the maroon tie which say snuggly around his neck made your eyes dart to his Adam’s apple whenever he swallowed.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted George falling right into your trap, he was blatantly ignoring whoever he was talking to and just watching you. You snap your attention back to Mark? Michael? Or was his name Matthew? He had just finished telling some story that you figured was meant to be funny so you lean your head back and let an obnoxious laugh knowing George is not only watching but he can hear you too.

“Oh my god, you’re hilarious you know? Funniest guy I’ve ever met,” your dainty hand wraps around the man’s bicep giving it a light squeeze before finishing the rest of your champagne and placing it on a nearby table. “Do you want to dance?”

The man nods and you lead the way to the dance floor making sure to stay on George’s line of vision. The dance floor is filled with people, mostly of groups of friends dancing together but some couples were scattered around, grinding on each other suggestively probably hoping to get lucky that night. You take inspiration from the horny couples and turn your back so it’s facing the man’s chest and begin swaying your hips. He rests his hands on your hips as you both dance together.

Your thoughts are clouded by a certain redhead, like they normally are. You can’t help but notice the way the man behind you doesn’t at all feel like George. His grip on your hips feels wrong, his hot breath on your neck is uncomfortable, his hard chest pressed against your back definitely does not feel like George. You close your eyes and imagine that it’s George dancing behind you. You imagine his large veiny hands gripping your hips tightly enough to leave bruises, you imagine all the sinful words he’d mumble into your ear as arousal pools in between your legs. You imagine his hard cock pressing into your back when you grind into it and how he’d growl in your ear telling you to behave.

Your daydream is interrupted by a rough hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you through the crowd of sweaty dancers. You don’t need to look up at the red mop of hair to know it’s George and you can tell from his tense shoulders that he’s angry. Perfect.

The taxi ride to George’s apartment is eerily silent, you don’t dare to speak and George stares angrily out the window while his hand rests on your thigh possessively. Your pussy throbs with arousal at the fantasy of how your night will end. The taxi stops out the front of George’s place and he throws the driver a heap of cash muttering for him to keep the change before letting go of your thigh and allowing you both to exit the car.

It’s not until the two of you are standing in George’s bedroom does he break the deafening silence. “Don’t think you’re getting away with that little stunt, bunny. Strip.” His voice is dripping with irritation as he sits down on the edge of the bed facing you, his gaze burning holes in your body.

With trembling hands, you peel away the silk dress from your body and let it pool at your feet, leaving you bare and exposed due to your lack of bra and underwear. George groans under his breath at the sight of you naked in front of him. His eyes examine your smooth skin, the rise of your chest as you breath in shakily, your breasts are perky waiting to be touched, your nipples are hard and erect, screaming to be pinched and played with, his eyes scan down past your stomach and he notices the way you rub your thighs together, trying to create some friction.

You part you lips slightly, feeling extremely nervous under George’s intense gaze, “George I-“

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He cuts you off abruptly. “You don’t get to fucking speak unless I tell you. You were acting like a little desperate slut tonight, darling.” His eyes connect with yours; the normal caring glint which occupied George’s eyes were replaced with a darker more sinister look. “Thought you could just flirt with some random bloke in front of me and grind that pretty little arse of yours on him for everyone to see. So fucking desperate you are. It’s pathetic.” His words go straight to your core and you’re craving George’s hands on you or his lips or tongue, you’ll take anything.

“I think,” he leans his hands against the soft material of the bed behind him, “you need to be punished for your behaviour tonight bunny. Don’t you?” You meekly nod your head. George tuts at your response. “Words baby. Use that pretty little mouth and tell me.”

“Yes daddy, I need to be punished.”

“Good girl,” George motions to his lap, “come here bunny. Lay across daddy’s lap for me.”

You slowly make your way across the room, kicking off your high heels in the process and lay gently across George’s lap on your stomach, your face resting against the mattress awaiting George’s next move. You tense when you feel his rough hand massage your arse checks, your heartbeat quickens inside your chest thinking about what he’s about to do. A gasp slips past your lips the second George’s large hand connects with your bum with a wack. “Can’t believe that tosser got to feel your perfect arse pressed against him,” another wack, “bet he was hard for you,” wack. “I bet you could feel his cock against your back when you were grinding onto him,” wack. “You’re such a dirty little slut, I’m sure you liked feeling his dick against you,” wack. “Did you bunny? Did you like having his hard dick pressed against your arse as you rubbed on him? Hmm?” wack.

There’s tears springing in the corner of your eyes from the pain radiating from George’s hard slaps, you shake your head, “no daddy, didn’t like it. Wanted it to be you.” George lands another hard hit to your arse and you bite your lip trying to suppress a moan.

“Yeah? If you didn’t like it then why did you grind your arse on him then?” George massages the red skin of your arse, soothing the skin, waiting for your answer. You both knew why you were dancing suggestively against that man at the party, you just didn’t want to say it out loud. George growing frustrated with your silence connects 2 more slaps to your bum. “Tell me.” He grits through his teeth.

“I wanted to make you jealous.” You mumble into the sheets beneath you.

George hums, “you made me jealous alright, no one gets to fucking touch you like that. Only me.”

You nod in agreement, “only you daddy, please I’m so sorry.”

George lifts your hips and you sit up to straddle his lap wincing slightly from the burning pain shooting across your bum as you sit down. His hands cup your face, gently brushing away the stray tears that have fallen from your eyes. “That’s right; your cunt, that sweet little arse and that pretty mouth belong to me. No one else. Mine.”

George pushes his lips to yours and you moan into his mouth. You snake you fingers through his thick hair, desperately trying to pull him closer, even though you’re sitting on his lap he still feels too far away. You can feel his hard cock straining under his clothes when you brush your hips against his. You whimper into his mouth at the feeling. “You’re such a needy little thing bunny. Rutting against me trying to get off. You wanna come baby girl?”

You nod your head quickly, steadily dragging your soaking pussy against him. George lifts you up and positions you so your legs are on either side of his thigh. “Okay princess. Use my thigh then. Rub your sweet cunt on my thigh till you fall apart.”

Your face warms up feeling slightly self-conscious. George is still fully clothed in his expensive suit and asking you to rut against his thigh while you’re completely naked. George holds onto your hips encouraging you to move, a moan escaping from your mouth when the rough fabric of his pants graze against your clit. “There you go bunny. Feels good doesn’t it?” His hands don’t leave their position on your waist as you start to grind yourself against his thigh. Your whiney moans get louder and louder when that familiar feeling of arousal pools in your belly.

“Fuck, fuck.” Your head rolls to the side giving George access to suck on your neck, harshly nipping at the skin.

“My dirty little whore has a dirty mouth. Look at you fucking yourself on my thigh, bunny. Such a whore for me, daddy’s little whore.” George thinks his dick might rip through his pants with how hard he is. He can feel your juices soaking into his pants and the breathy moans leaving your lips are absolutely sinful.

“I’m your whore, daddy. Only yours.” You quicken your pace on the brink of your climax, you squeeze your eyes closed tightly trying not to fall apart. When you and George have sex, he doesn’t let you come without his permission and you don’t want to make him angrier tonight. “Close, I’m close daddy.”

George moves his head away from your neck to look at you; your mouth is agape, eyes screwed tight and brows furrowed trying not to come undone just yet. George thinks his favourite thing is watching you let go, he loves the way you look when you orgasm. “go on bunny. Come for daddy.” As soon as those words leave George’s mouth, the coil in your belly snaps and you’re realising all over his thigh. A trail of curse words falling off your tongue.

Once you come down from your high, George is laying you on down on the mattress then standing up to rid himself of his clothes. Your eyes already feel heavy from the pleasure, but you force yourself to watch him undress. You watch the way his fingers delicately unbutton his dress shirt and how the muscles in his shoulders move when he shrugs off the material. You watch hungrily when he discards his suit pants and boxers, watching at how his angry cock springs up when realised from his confinements. You’re practically drooling when George crawls on top of you, his forearms resting on either side of your head, trapping you.

“Careful bunny, you could catch flies with that mouth,” George smirks his index finger tracing your jaw, your quickly shut your mouth, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes. George stays in that position, his lone finger moving painfully slow against your hot sweaty skin. His finger moves down your neck, barely grazing the skin before inching down your stomach and closer to your core. Just when you think he’ll touch you where you want him most his finger travels back up your body, a frustrated sigh leaves your lips.

“Tell me, princess,” Georges finger skims against your lips, “who do these lips belong to?”

“You daddy.”

His finger leaves a trail of goose bumps and your breath hitches when his swirls his digit around your nipple, “who do these belong to?”

“You daddy.”

It takes an eternity for George’s finger to travel back down your body before they stop at your pubic bone. “And tell me,” he moves his finger down until its hovering over your clit, barely touching it, “who does this belong to?”

It takes everything in you not to buck your hips up into his hand, you look up into George’s brown eyes that are filled with arousal much like your own. You hope George understand the sincerity behind your words “you daddy. Only you.”

And with that George connects his fingers with your already sensitive bud circling and rubbing it. A sob escapes your lips and your head falls back into the pillows beneath you. “No one gets to touch you like this bunny.”

You’re whimpering and whining underneath George, you’re mind foggy from the pleasure that only George can give you. You start to grind your hips into George’s fingers, wanting more. “Please, more, please-”

“What? What do you want darling?” George asks condescendingly.

You’re lifting your hips to meet George’s fingers, “please daddy, need your cock. Please, please, please.”

If George wasn’t so desperate to be inside you, he would have teased you, asked you to beg more or maybe he’d make you come with just his fingers and then his mouth before even thinking about giving you his cock. But George has been painfully hard inside his trousers since the moment he saw you on the dance floor with that other guy. He doesn’t think he has the patience to wait a second longer. So he doesn’t, he strokes his length a few times before pushing into your dripping cunt. George doesn’t stop until his dick is fully inside you, his head rests against your shoulder as he waits for you to adjust to his size. “Fucking hell bunny, you’re so tight for me. Your pussy is eating my dick so well.”

You dig your fingers into George’s shoulders and wrap your legs around his waist encouraging him to keep moving. “God, please. I need you to move.”

George pulls back until his cock is almost completely out before snapping his hips back into you harshly, he sets a relentless pace and your eyes roll back into your head from the pleasure. The room is filled with both of your moans and the sound of skin slapping together. The tip of George’s cock is hitting your g-spot with each thrust causing a loud cry to leave your lips. George is groaning into your neck whispering huskily about how much of a good girl you’re being for him. Your nails are scratching into the skin on his back while the band inside your stomach starts to tighten, tears stream down your face when George’s thumb attaches to your clit once more.

“d-daddy, please I’m gonna come,” you feel George shake his head against your neck. “No,” he growls, “hold it.”

The headboard is squeaking and knocking into the wall from George’s hard thrusts, you can feel more tears leaking from your eyes as you try to hold off on your orgasm. “Daddy please, I can’t. It’s too much.”

George rubs his thumb in circles against your sensitive clit, he can feel your pussy tighten around his cock. His hot breath fanning your neck. “Yes, you can. Bunny don’t you dare come until I say so.”

The tightening inside your stomach builds and builds until you feel like you’re going to explode. You’re trying desperately to hold off; wanting, needing to be a good girl for George. You know George likes it when you two come at the same time, so you decide to help get him to his realise quicker. You clench tightly around his cock and hear him groan deeply into your ear, “fuck daddy, feels so good. Only you can make me feel this good daddy. No one else. I’m yours.”

“Mine, all mine,” he utters against your skin. “Okay baby – fuck. Want you to come all over my cock.”

You feel George release his load deep inside of you as you scream his name, clenching and tightening around him as you come also. George is uttering mine, mine, mine into your ear while you respond with yours, yours, yours. The both of you are sweaty and hot and panting, neither moving from your current position as you try to steady your breathing. After a few minutes you feel George start to shift about to pull out of you, you tighten your arms around him and shake your head. “No, wanna feel you still.”

He shifts to lay on his back carefully manoeuvring you to rest against his chest. You close your eyes and sigh contently, enjoying the feeling of George’s cock still inside you. George runs his fingers through your hair, smoothing it down before he speaks so quietly you think you might be imagining it. “I want you all to myself.”

“Hmm?” You roll your head to look up at him.

“I want you all to myself,” George declares louder. “I don’t want to hide this-us anymore. I want everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours. I want you. All of you.”

A large grin erupts on your face at George’s words, “I want all of you too Georgie.”

The both of you groan as you move your body to catch his lips in a kiss, you feel him twitch inside of you. “You keep moving like that baby and you’ll have to get ready for round two.”

You smirk up at him and wiggle your hips and purposely clench around him, “okay bet.”

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled��with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

[intergalacticwanderer]

(I hadn’t planned on writing a follow up to this fic, but I kept thinking about what would happen next and therefore this happened.)

It was later in the day when Beau finally caught up with Kingsley again, hangover mostly gone and jobs winding down on the ship. Things had proceeded as normal that morning outside of the initial outburst, but as the day went on Beau had noticed Kingsley getting quieter and quieter, already unusual on its own but downright concerning after what had happened last night and this morning. She had no idea what was even running through the tiefling’s head right now, but based on what he’d yelled right after waking up? It was probably an unholy mess. Just trying to sort it out made her head hurt, and it wasn’t even her head.

She really hoped he could be okay, at least.

“Hey,” Beau said as she came up next to Kingsley at the edge of the ship, resting her forearms on the rail and looking over at him. He didn’t acknowledge her at first, continuing to stare out at the ocean and arms crossed as he leaned on the rail. She waited. If he wanted to talk, he would, and if not, she could at least give him some company.

It was around six minutes before Kingsley finally spoke up.

“You know,” Kingsley said, voice soft and a little rough from disuse, “for as much shit as I give you, we make a pretty good fighting team. It went better than the last time like that at least.” He reached up and rubbed at the scar on his chest and Beau’s heart clenched.

Jumping right into it it seemed. Shit.

“You remember that?” If he was going to jump in she might as well too, but her stomach still lurched at that particular memory. Memories which he apparently had now too, with no warning what so ever. No wonder he’d been so quiet today.

“Yeah. I-I think so.” His hands were shaking slightly. “Remembering’s pretty different than reading your book.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “And I know we've had plenty of times fighting bad guys together. That was just the first time I've been...” He trailed off, seemingly unable to finish the thought out loud. Instead he just huffed, going back to the rail.

“How you holding up? That’s... a lot, man.” Understatement of the year, but how do you even start to address something like that? (Something niggled at her, that there was more to it than remembering dying, but she couldn’t quite place it. She put a pin in the thought for later.)

“Honestly?” He scrubbed at his eyes for a few moments before dragging his hand down his face. “No fucking clue. And... yeah. It’s a lot.” Kingsley blew out a long breath and then groaned, planting his elbows on the rail and burying his face in hands. “This sucks.”

“You got that right.”

Beau let him have another few minutes, watching as some seabirds wheeled overhead in the afternoon sky and a few wispy clouds drifted on the horizon. At one point Fjord caught her eye from another part of the deck and he almost came over but she waved him off, not wanting Kingsley to have to deal with too many people at once. Eventually Kingsley shifted to prop his chin on his hand and Beau decided she'd be the one to break the silence this time.

“Do you remember anything else? Besides-” she gestured to the scar on his chest- “that?” His reactions this morning implied that he did, but it'd be better to hear it from Kingsley himself. He glanced over, straightening up and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Some? A lot? It’s hard to tell when I don't know how much there is to begin with. It... matches what Yasha's told me at least.”

Beau’s heart rate sped up a little. Those comments he’d made this morning about suddenly having two names, about possibly making Molly his middle name now, she forced herself to actually look at that. That niggling thought she’d had earlier got stronger.

“Anything in particular you’re wondering about?” Maybe a bit on the leading side, but probably harmless (and she really wanted to figure this out). She leaned forward a little.

Unfortunately for her, Kingsley picked up on her weird vibe and gave her a confused squint, leaning back the same distance. Fuck. So much for harmless.

“Nnnooo? What the hell are you on about?”

“Nothing! Just curious.” That just made him squint at her even harder. Ugh, Dairon would have given her so much shit for this, she wasn’t used to trying to interrogate a friend. A second later Beau realized the ‘interrogate’ part was the problem and she forced herself to relax. She was here to try and help her friend out. And fuck, why did he have to look so much like a kicked puppy when he was upset? That should have been illegal. She let out an exasperated noise.

“Okay, fine, seeing you so quiet and moody is fucking weird. And I wanted to find out what was up.” There. She’d said it.

“Nice to know I usually have the emotional depth of a teacup,” he deadpanned.

“Oh fuck off. You know what I meant.”

Kingsley cocked his head, just staring back as she glowered and eventually he shrugged. “Alright. What is it?”

“Something’s obviously eating at you.”

“And?”

“Captive audience if you want to rant a bit.” Kingsley raised an eyebrow at the captive part and Beau rolled her eyes. “Not literally. I'll still listen.”

“You? Willingly listening to me?” Back to being an asshole. And an obvious attempt to deflect if she’d ever seen it.

“Yeah. Shocking.” She didn't move, the wind blowing a few stray hairs around her face and Kingsley’s hair tossed about as well while he thought.

“How about this.” He crossed his arms. “You guys going to treat me differently now that I remember stuff from Molly?”

Beau froze.

She wanted to say ‘of course not.’ She should say of course not. But she still remembered that morning, when confronted with yelling purple teifling and memories of the death match fresh in her head, she’d called him Molly.

“Not unless you want us to.” The wind picked up a little and she rubbed at her arms, trying to chase away the gooseflesh. Beau wasn’t sure if it was just the wind.

Kingsley gave her a flat look, red eyes unblinking. “Really.”

“Yes, really. You’re our friend. You.” She hoped that was the right thing to say at least.

“So you guys weren’t disappointed at all when you got me?” He looked at her while leaning his back against the rail, arms still crossed and tail lashing back and forth. Beau suddenly remembered that even if he'd never reached the uncanny level that Caduceus was at, Molly had still been surprisingly good at reading people. And, apparently, Kingsley was too. Fuck.

She sighed and looked down. It felt crappy to admit, but she had to be honest. “Yeah, that'd be a bit of a lie. Still wouldn't justify taking it out on you though.” Her fingers dug into her upper arm. “What matters is who you are now. Trying to force you to be someone you don't want to be is just shitty.” She looked back up at him.

A few more connections came together in her head. She had to know.

“Do... you still consider yourself and Molly to be two separate people, now that you have the memories?” Beau knew as soon she said the words out loud that she’d finally hit on the crux of the issue and Kingsley outright flinched. She mentally scrambled backwards. Shit fuck shit- “You don't have to answer,” she added on quickly, “it's not my business.”

Kingsley hugged himself tightly, looking down and tail coiled around his leg. She felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

"I don't know," he said, so quietly that Beau almost missed it. He didn’t look up.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “It’s okay to not know. And like I said it’s none of my business.” (And yet she’d still asked the question. Great job, Beau.)

“It’s just-” He let out a frustrated noise. “This morning, right after I woke up, with all the yelling?” His heel tapped on the deck, jittery. “I was him, mentally. Probably why it didn’t bother me then. But then of course I had to have a bunch of time to fucking think.” Kingsley hunched over a little, looking smaller. “Now it just scares the shit out of me.”

There it was. The answer to why Kingsley had been so out of it all day, and all it did was make her feel like a nosy asshole.

Beau let out a shaky breath, taking another moment to look at the ship around them. For better or worse they were completely alone right then, save for a couple of the seabirds still flying over head. Think. What could she say right now that might be able to help? She’d just exposed some terrifying personal bullshit on accident, so... maybe she could let him see some of her own personal bullshit? Even the scales a little.

“I know it’s not really the same situation, but...” Inhale, exhale. It was okay to talk to him about this. “I’ve talked to you about my shitty dad before, right?”

Kingsley nodded. “Yeah, I know about the shitbag. Still think he could use some extra stabbing.”

Beau couldn’t help but smile a little at that. They really were all ride or die for each other.

“Not gonna disagree with you. The reason I bring him up is-” She sighed. “Main problem he had is he wanted me to be someone I’m not. So focused on the ‘should have been’ and the idea in his head that he ignored the person right in front of him. Well. Still payed enough attention to be awful.” Kingsley was quiet, listening, and Beau gathered the rest of her thoughts.

“Guess what I’m trying to say is I know how awful expectations like that can be. And that’s the last thing I’d want to do to you, okay? And I’ll fucking deck anyone who does that.”

“Even if that person is me?”

What.

Beau was left speechless for a moment, completely unprepared for that response. That was. What??? “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that one to me. The fuck?”

He shrugged. “Are you gonna deck me? For having unreasonable expectations about myself?” The end of his tail tapped against his boot and Beau just stared at him. “That sounds like what you’re saying.”

“That’s not what I fucking- ugh!” She gave a frustrated tug at the hair on the top of her head, some of it coming out of her hairstyle. “What I’m trying to say you asshole is that the only thing that matters is who YOU want to be and that’s the end of it! Fucking hell!” Her words caught up with her and Beau deflated a bit. “Ahhh shi- fuck-” her face screwed up. “I’m sorry. That came out completely wrong. Sorry. Shit!” Why did she have to be so bad at this?

“N-nah, I get it,” Kingsley said, looking away and cheeks flushing. “And I was pretty shit with what I was trying to say too.” He scratched the back of his head. “And, uh, thanks. For saying that. Really.”

He leaned back, propping his elbows on the rail behind him and hair partially falling in his face. “I guess what I was trying? To say? Is that other people aren’t the issue for me. It’s my own head that’s the mess.” He sighed.

“I like being me, you know? I’m happy. But...” He went quiet again, chewing on his lip.

“But?”

He looked directly at her.

“What the hell am I supposed to do when I can’t even tell what ‘me’ is?”

Just hearing that made her go cold.

“That’s... fuck, dude.”

“You think?” He lurched up and started pacing next to the rail, Beau watching as he went back and forth, tail swishing side to side and one hand gesturing, the other tangled in his hair. “I went to bed as Kingsley Tealeaf, that’s me. Fine, dandy! Then last night we fight in a death match, and there? Mollymauk Tealeaf! Also great! But now?”

He stopped pacing, hands falling to his side. Slumped against the rail. “I don’t know. If I think about picking, ditching one of them, I’m terrified. Not a conscious thing, just thinking about it, makes me scared.” Hugged himself. “But I’m also scared that trying to hold onto both might make me lose ‘me’ anyway. I just. I don’t know.”

He was quiet for several more seconds, eventually raking both his hands through his hair at once and staring up at the sky. “What the fuck am I going to do now?” he breathed out.

“You want an actual answer to that, or you just thinking out loud?”

It slipped out before Beau could stop herself and she had a small moment of panic. This was the kind of stuff Caduceus was good at, not her, but at the same time? She was the person who was actually here right now. And she still wanted to do right by her friend. Somehow.

Kingsley blinked and then barked out a laugh, one hand staying tangled in his hair and the other going back to the rail as the looked over to Beau. “Do you have an answer Scribbles? Or are you just bullshitting?”

“Psht, that’s your job,” Beau said, rolling her eyes, and she noticed him relax a little at the jab. Good. “But, honestly?” She thought it over for a moment. “You do what you want to. And I’m not bullshitting you,” she said, raising her hands in front of her at the look he gave her. “You do what you want. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

He blinked at her a couple more times. Dread squirmed in her stomach, wondering if she’d fucked up her advice giving again, but she forced herself to calm down. “Just think about it. What you might want to do next.”

She could practically see the process of him thinking for the next few minutes, holding still and his eyes distant. Eventually he made a thoughtful noise, hands coming up to steeple in front of his chin and a glint coming into his eyes.

“Does that mean whatever I want?”

“Okay, now you’re just being an ass,” Beau said and Kingsley broke out into a grin. Maybe she hadn’t completely fucked this up.

“Takes one to know one Scribbles.”

“You know what, I might just deck you anyway-”

“I’d like to see you tr- actually, no, you definitely could,” Kingsley said, backpedaling and raising his hands in front of him as his brain caught up with his mouth and seeing Beau raising a fist. She couldn’t keep it up however and soon enough she was grinning too, Kingsley breathing a sigh of relief. At which point she socked him in the shoulder.

“OW!” He hissed out between his teeth, rubbing his shoulder. “Did you have to do it that hard?”

“If I meant to hit you hard, you’d know.” Beau held her fist in the air. “Trust me.“

He eyed the raised fist. “You guys are still terrifying.”

“Hey, that includes you, don’t sell yourself short.” She paused, mulling over her next question. It’d be better for her to know, she decided. “The memories you have from the death match, of... earlier Molly stuff. Do you want me to refer to that as happening to you? Or someone else?”

Kingsley’s face screwed up like he’d bitten into something sour. “Case by case I guess? Death match is okay since it just happened, not sure on the rest yet.” He gave helpless shrug. “I’ll let you know later.”

“Good enough for me. Cause you in the death match? Definitely in the terrifying camp. Like I said, don’t sell yourself short.”

The glint returned to his eyes, along with a toothy grin. “I admit, it was pretty satisfying.”

“Aaand case in point right there, just that expression is terrifying. Fucking hell, dude.”

“I do have a future reputation to build,” he said airily, which somewhat ruined the expression. It also made Beau have to muffle a laugh, and she had to work even harder to muffle it when she saw Kingsley pouting.

“Now that’s just rude.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Beau said, waving a hand in the air and breathing deep to calm the laughter. “This about the pirate idea?”

He nodded. “It is indeed! You should know that I have plans.”

That glint was back in his eyes again, even more worrying than before. Maybe she should warn Fjord about it.

...

Nah, he could find out on his own.

Beau stretched, rolling her head and resting her palm on the back of her neck before looking at Kingsley again. One more question she needed to ask.

“Any updates on the name?”

There was a pause, a long pause, and then he shook his head. “I’ll stick with Kingsley for now. And what I said with the middle name this morning... I’ll keep thinking on it.” There was still some hesitancy, but overall? He actually looked okay.

“Fine by me. And hey, you wouldn’t be the first of the Nein to end up with a different name.” She shrugged. “Caleb and Veth did. Hell, even Jester picked her own name.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You should ask her about it sometime.” Beau looked back out over the ocean, sun getting lower and the last of the sea birds flying off. “And I think it'd be good to talk Jester and Fjord about stuff in general. I’m not the best at this life advice thing.”

“Noooooo, really?”

“Oh eat a dick.”

“Sorry, can't, you don't have one.”

Beau paused.

“You know, ask Jester about some early Xhorhas disguises we had. I think you’d get a kick out of it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued. Any reason you can’t tell it?”

“Don’t want to rob Jester of the experience.”

“Now I’m really intrigued.”

“Beauuuu! Kingsleeeey!”

The two of them turned and looked up, following the voice to find Jester in the crow’s nest and waving down at them before cupping her hands around her mouth for the next shout. “We’re having dinner in 10 minutes! Be there!”

“Sure thing, Jes!” Beau hollered, waving back.

“Don't eat all the pastries before I get there!” Kingsley shouted.

“No promises!” Jester shouted back, before she gave one more very enthusiastic wave and started climbing down from the crow's nest.

Beau looked back to Kingsley, stretching then placing her hands on her hips. “Well, I think that’s our cue to get back to civilization.”

“You call this crew civilized?”

“Point. You know that includes you, right?” she said as the two of them started to walk.

“I know what I’m about,” Kingsley said, grinning.

“Suuure you do.”

“Yep!” he said cheerfully. He bounded ahead, tail swishing animatedly before spinning on one foot and throwing his arms out wide. “One uncivilized teifling, right here! And sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

“No refunds?”

“Nope!”

“Well damn. Sucks to be me I guess,” Beau deadpanned, but as she did she came up next to Kingsley and threw an arm around his shoulder, and her friend continued to grin.

“Come on. Let’s go show the rest of this uncivilized bunch what they’re missing.”

(Part Three)

[lemonpepperhawks]

Prey for Me

Oh boi, I’m back. Dropped off the face of the Earth for a while, but it was only so I could become more depraved and thirsty.

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: Your life is saved by a guardian angel, but you soon discover the hard way that even the most seemingly innocent beings can and do fall from grace.

Themes/Warnings: Smut; Yandere!Hawks; Fallen Angel!Hawks; Noncon/Dubcon; some stalker vibes; mentions of car accidents

You weren’t sure when or how it had all started. You could pinpoint the moment when you had actually become fully aware of it happening. But how long had this… person been following you before then?

As you reflected, you became aware of all kinds of little “coincidences” that had you wondering if this - whatever this was - had been going on for a lot longer than it was comfortable to think about. Lately, some of your mail had been showing up already opened. At first you had put that down to a nosy postman, but the opened letters were almost always mundane ones. Offers for credit cards that you would throw away as soon as you received them, mail-in surveys asking about your favorite brands of soap that you would never respond to. What kind of postman would be interested in that? Then there was the time when some gardening tools had gone missing from your shed, only to mysteriously reappear right back where you thought you had left them… five days later. And more and more often, when you went out in public, it had felt like someone was watching you. Not in a casual people-watching kind of way, but in a way that made you shiver to even think of. When had that feeling started? Weeks ago, you were sure. 

All of these things, added on top of what happened today, had started to make this feel like something more than coincidence. You were shaken, and full of uncertainty.

Back up, you thought to yourself. What actually happened?

You had been saved from potential death this afternoon by a man who had tugged you out of the path of a speeding car. That’s all that happened. And yet… You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it. 

The way he had come out of nowhere. You had been walking on a deserted street, not just devoid of cars but of people too. The car that had almost hit you - that you could understand. Cars were machines, and they were built for speed. The road was curved. It made sense that you hadn’t seen the one that had come barrelling toward you, despite looking both ways as you started to cross the street. But that man - there was no way he could have just appeared like that. No way you could have not noticed him. He would have had to be following right behind you in order to react as quickly as he did - not only that, but he would have had to actually be standing in the street to be able to reach you. You would have seen someone as you looked around, especially someone so unusually close. It was almost as if he had reached through thin air to grab you.

Then there was the way that he had disappeared, just as suddenly. Sure, he could have just slipped into one of the storefronts while you were still reeling, trying to figure out what was even going on. But when you had looked, there were no swinging doors, no faces in the windows. And, more importantly, who would save someone’s life and then just run off, leaving them to wonder what happened?

You needed a nice, hot bath. You decided to lay there in the warmth until something made sense, or at least until the water got cold.

☙

Even after your long soak in the tub, you were still feeling jittery. It was late, and you knew you should be getting to bed. But the thought of that seemed impossible with how wound up you were. There was nothing to do but lay in the dark until exhaustion overtook you. Frowning, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to go to sleep. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning.

But then again… 

You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. The more you thought about it, the stranger everything seemed to become. Your memories kept flashing back to that moment when you had been pulled back, out of the path of that car. If you could talk to that driver, what would they say they had seen? A regular man? A shape hovering behind you and then darting away? Nothing? 

Had it just been a gust of wind?

No, you were sure that wasn’t it. You had definitely felt a firm, strong hand on your shoulder - and a harsh yank backwards. That was no gust of wind.

But, come to think of it, what could you even say you had seen? As you thought back, you realized that you hadn’t actually seen anything. You were sure it had been a man who saved you, but you hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the person. Why did you feel so strongly that it had been a man? Why did that presence feel almost… familiar?

Your eyes shot open. The room was still dark, and swelteringly hot. A glass of water was what you needed; your throat felt parched. Not bothering with the light, you threw off your covers and started to feel your way over to the doorway.

You froze.

Something glinted in the corner of your room. A corner that should have been empty. Wild possibilities zoomed through your head. A murderer with a knife? The shiny tooth of a feral animal, ready to attack you in the dark? Some horrible, slimy creature who had slid out from your closet-

Stop it! That’s ridiculous. 

You tried to steel your nerves. You groped for the lightswitch behind you, telling yourself that it was nothing. It had to be nothing. The switch flipped up and the room was bathed in light… 

Standing in front of you was a man. Plain as day, he was perched in the corner of your room, a slightly confused expression on his face.

A look of horror was plastered on your own face. This was no normal man.

This man had wings.

☙

“Who the FUCK are you?!” you managed to scream. Your eyes felt like they were about to fall out of your head.

The man said nothing, but took a few steps toward you with his hands outstretched, a look of worry on his face. You had no means of escape. You were pressed right up against the door to  your bedroom, and it opened inwards. There was no way to open it without taking a few steps toward the strange, winged man - and he was already quickly closing the distance between you.

“Stop!” you commanded. “D-don’t come any closer.”

“Please, don’t be afraid,” the man said gently.

He didn’t say anything else, and you weren’t sure how to respond, so you faced each other silently for a moment. The blood seemed to roar in your ears, and you wondered if he could hear your heartbeat as clearly as you were able to. 

The man’s enormous wings stretched out behind him, and you noticed that they were an immaculate white - save for one small red feather tucked away near his left shoulder. He had stopped moving toward you, and you took a moment to look him over. He wore pants and a shirt made of the same simple but beautiful white linen. His face was youthful and seemed full of curiosity. His skin was radiant; he almost appeared to glow despite there already being a light on in the room.

Suddenly, it dawned on you.

“It’s you,” you murmured.

Even you weren’t entirely sure what you had meant by that, but the man didn’t look confused at all. He just smiled warmly, his golden eyes sparkling.

“But who… who are you?” you questioned.

“I’m yours,” he said simply, as if that answered anything.

You felt dizzy. You had to sit down. Stumbling, you made your way over to the bed. The man watched you intently - not interfering, just observing. Waves of realization started to wash over you. 

“You’re… some kind of angel?”

“Yes,” he agreed, the soft smile never leaving his lips. “I suppose that would be your word for it.”

The two of you started at each other in silence again. Suddenly, your barely-avoided brush with death made a lot more sense. And yet, at the same time, nothing made any sense. Exhausted and at your wits end, you decided not to question it any more. Heck, maybe this was all a crazy dream. Maybe you really had been hit by that car, and this was you hallucinating while lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

“So… do you… have a name?” you questioned. 

The man seemed to hesitate for a second, but then answered, his smile never faltering.

“Keigo.”

You let the name roll around in your head for a moment. Keigo. Not the kind of name you’d expect on an angel, but was there really anything that made sense about this? You were about to introduce yourself, then thought better of it.

“I already know your name,” said Keigo, as if reading your mind.

“Right…” you muttered. “Um, Keigo… thank you for saving me earlier?”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Despite his words, he seemed to beam a little at your appreciation. Your eyes wandered again to his wings - they were hard to ignore - and you noticed a few more red feathers along the crest of one wing that you hadn’t seen before. Had those been there two minutes ago? They gave his wings the appearance of being splattered with blood.

Keigo seemed to take no notice of your discomfort. He just looked on at you pleasantly as you squirmed a little in your seat. Finally, he spoke.

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier.” The slightest shadow of a frown scraped his lips. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright now. It’s my job to look after you.”

He trailed off, and you found the courage to give him a sheepish smile. He was so innocent, so genuine in his words and demeanor. He probably had no idea how much it would frighten you to see a strange man crouching in the corner of your bedroom. He was just trying to do his job and look after you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him. “And thank you, really. I appreciate your help… Keigo.”

His face lit up again at your mention of his name. You felt guilty thinking it, but you couldn’t help noticing how undeniably attractive he was. He had gorgeous blond hair and a chiseled jawline. You wondered if he knew how handsome he was. Angels probably weren’t supposed to think about that kind of stuff, you assumed.

Keigo shuffled a little closer to you, the tips of his wings brushing the floor. He stopped just in front of you, smile still beaming down.

“I have to go now, but… I’m glad I met you,” he said warmly. “Sleep tight; sweet dreams.”

You started to look up, to meet his eyes. But he was already gone.

☙

The next morning, you half expected Keigo to be sitting at your breakfast table. Instead, he was nowhere to be found. You had no idea where he had disappeared to. Was he still hanging around but just… invisible? Why had you even been able to see him in the first place?

Rather than drive yourself crazy with questions that would undoubtedly lead you down the path of existential crisis, you decided to just accept it and move on. Maybe it was all a weird dream.

Except it wasn’t. You could tell because now the feeling of being watched was becoming more and more frequent. At first, it was very bothersome, and you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder only to be greeted by an empty room. You wished you could tell Keigo to knock it off, but shouting into your empty house would just make you feel like even more of a lunatic. After doing your best to ignore it for a few days, you had managed to all but forget the feeling was even there.

Unfortunately, this method also had its drawbacks, because it meant that when Keigo finally did show himself again, you were wholly unprepared.

 Your eyes were closed as you stood underneath the stream of the shower, water dripping through your hair. The warmth was calming, and you allowed your mind to wander. Subtly, something seemed to change in the atmosphere, and you barely had time to open your eyes before your shower curtain was ripped aside.

“Hello!” exclaimed Keigo cheerfully. 

He was standing in your bathroom. Standing naked in your bathroom, the steam billowing around his chiseled form.

“Keigo!!” you shouted.

It felt like your brain was short circuiting. You didn’t know whether you should try to cover up yourself or him. Water was pouring out of the shower, soaking your bath mat. You snatched up the plastic curtain and used it to cover your naked body. With the curtain bunched up to your chin, you peered out at the man before you, and tried to shield your eyes from seeing anything below his waist. 

“Keigo, you can’t just sneak up on me in the shower!”

You desperately tried to keep your eyes pointed toward the ceiling. Keigo, evidently, had other plans. He flapped his wings until he was hovering a few feet off the bathroom floor, looking down into your flustered face.

Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled. “I just wanted to spend some time with you. Isn’t it normal to bathe with people you’re close to?”

“Uhhh…”

It most certainly was not normal for you to shower with other people, no matter how close you were. Even more so if that person was a man who you had just barely met.

“It’s fine,” Keigo assured you. “We are like family.”

He started to step past the shower curtain to join you in the tub. Panicking, you pulled the curtain tighter and moved to block him.

“Keigo,” you corrected, “we’re not a family. I don’t even know you.”

He looked crestfallen for a moment, but quickly started smiling again. He looked so innocent; he probably had no idea what he was doing. You had no idea how you could explain to him how wrong this was. The exhilaration you felt at seeing his bare chest so close to you only made things feel all the more inappropriate.

“It’s fine,” Keigo repeated. “Because I love you.”

“W-we don’t know each other!”

“That’s not true,” Keigo insisted. “I know all about you. I was assigned to watch over you. I’ve watched and protected you, for months.”

You felt your stomach drop. Of course you knew all this, in the back of your mind - but there was something different about hearing him say it out loud. It felt more like an admission of guilt, somehow. Maybe because you were both standing naked in the shower; this whole thing felt like something that neither of you should be doing.

“Look, Keigo…” you started, trying to gather the courage to look him in the eyes. “Why don’t you wait for me outside? We can.. we can talk this over. I’m just very confused and overwhelmed by all this.”

Keigo considered for a moment.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I can wait for you, love.”

With that, he stepped out of the bathtub and left the room. Once alone, you almost collapsed against the wall. This was turning into a real problem.

☙

Part of you was praying that Keigo would just leave before you got out of the shower, saving you both the embarrassment of actually talking about what had happened. But as you walked into your bedroom in only a towel, you saw you had no such luck. Keigo was perched on the edge of your bed, still naked.

“Uhh, here.” You offered him the smaller towel you were using to dry your hair. “Why don’t you cover up a little?”

To your horror, instead of draping the towel across his lap, Keigo brought it to his face and inhaled deeply. 

“Mm, you smell so nice,” he sighed. 

“No!” You tried to calm yourself, to stop your voice from shaking. “No, that’s not what I-”

Rather than continue, you decided to just take the towel from him and position it yourself. Your heart beat a little faster as you got so close to him, your hands fluttering around his hips as you tried not to make contact with any sensitive areas.

“There.” You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You can get dressed if you want,” offered Keigo. 

He shifted himself on the bed, causing the towel to slip down a little. You gave up on adjusting it and just hoped he wouldn’t move around too much.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” you ventured. 

“You don’t have to be shy in front of me,” Keigo interrupted. “Like I said, I’ve been watching over you for a while, and-”

“Oooookay,” you stopped him. “I get it, Keigo!”

The man just smiled, unfazed. You groaned as you wondered how you could possibly talk to him about what you needed to say.

☙

“So, what did you want to talk about?” asked Keigo as he swung his legs. 

You wished he would stay still. That poor towel was really in danger of falling off him. His bright eyes looked up at you as you stood awkwardly, wondering how to start. Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, your eyes drifted to look at the wings tucked neatly behind him. 

They were about half white and half crimson now. Definitely a change from the last time you’d seen him; they had a mottled effect that was strangely beautiful and almost made you think of koi fish. Distracted, you sat down on the bed opposite him.

“Hey, why do your wings keep getting more red feathers?” you wondered. 

A shadow seemed to cross Keigo’s face. You thought he wasn’t going to answer, but eventually he spoke in a low, muffled voice.

“I guess I’ve been doing a lot of stuff I shouldn’t, lately.”

You hadn’t expected that answer. It seemed to have dark connotations, and made you question your earlier assessment of him being too innocent to understand that what he was doing in the shower was wrong. You had assumed that an angelic being would not even be able to comprehend the idea of doing wrong. Weren’t they supposed to be perfect? A caricature of everything one should strive to be?

“They were mad that I saved you,” continued Keigo. “Said I wasn’t supposed to interfere, just guard you from evil.”

They? They who? And was he talking about that thing with the car?

“But how could I not interfere?” He was growing frustrated. “To let beauty like yours die - wouldn’t that be evil? It’s my job to protect you, so how could I not!?”

You were stunned into silence. Keigo had just revealed so much, and your head was swimming with the information. You watched him carefully. He sat in silence, staring with ferocity at nothing in particular.

“Can I ask you a question?” he turned to face you as he spoke.

“O-okay,” you agreed.

“Have you ever ‘made love?’”

Wow, what a question. Somehow Keigo managed to maintain his curious, innocent eyes while asking it, but now you wondered if it was just a facade.

“I...I’m not-” you stuttered.

You were no virgin, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever had a sexual encounter that could be called “making love.” The way Keigo had phrased that made it feel like there was real weight to the question. Had you ever had a connection that deep with anyone?

“I’m not sure,” you answered at last.

“I’m sure you can guess that I haven’t,” Keigo said softly. “But I wonder what it would feel like…”

Before you had time to react, Keigo was right in front of your face, and then he was pressing his lips to yours. 

☙

Keigo’s mouth explored, his lips locking perfectly against yours. He brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his impossibly soft palm. Your eyes were open wide from the shock of his sudden kiss, and you watched as his brow furrowed gently in concentration. He seemed to be savoring the taste of you - certainly a novel experience for him.

You were acutely aware of his nakedness as he pressed into you, flattening you against the bed. Any illusion of a chaste kiss was broken as you felt something hard pressing against your thigh, which was still covered - woefully inadequately - by your bath towel. Keigo broke the kiss to inhale loudly, and you realized that he had been holding his breath.

“P-please.” You took the brief respite as an opportunity to speak. “Please, let’s not do this; it’s wrong!”

“Don’t worry, love,” Keigo soothed. “It can’t be wrong, no matter what they say. We love each other.”

Keigo’s eyelids drooped as he moved forward to steal another kiss. You tried to squirm away from him, but the edge of your towel was caught under his knee.

“Please, Keigo! We don’t love each other!” you begged.

“Of course we do,” Keigo insisted. His arms wrapped around you, pinning you in place. Despite his slender build, he was frighteningly strong. “I love you so much.”

“I don’t love you. I don’t know you!”

“Don’t be silly,” Keigo chuckled. “Of course you love me; I saved your life. I sacrificed everything for you.”

Wings splayed out behind him, Keigo looked downright fearsome. His feathers were now far more crimson than white, and his eyes blazed like gold. 

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he cooed, brushing a strand of still-damp hair out of your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’re going to seal our love, and then we can be together forever. Then, everything will be okay.”

Were you imagining things, or had the room gotten darker? No, you realized as you looked up at Keigo. Where before the man had radiated a soft glow of light, now he seemed to suck the light of the room in and exude darkness. You tried to protest, but Keigo’s lips were against yours again, stopping you from letting out anything but whimpers.

Keigo must have mistaken the sounds for pleasure, because he let out a soft moan and ground his hips into you. You could feel the length of his shaft pressing against you, harder every second.

“Your body is so beautiful,” murmured Keigo as he lifted himself up just enough to unfasten your towel. “I’ve spent eons watching over Earth, but no creature I’ve ever seen could compare to you.”

His words were sweet - sickeningly so. He held you so tightly you could barely move, and the weight of his body against your chest made it hard to breathe. You felt a twinge of excitement in your core, and scolded yourself - every part of you should have been screaming no, but your body had betrayed you. The way he held you made your heart pound in your chest. Even his scent was intoxicating.

Using a hand to guide himself, Keigo lined up with your entrance and pressed into you. It took a few moments to push himself fully in, your body being as unprepared as it was. Soon, though, you felt your walls growing slick around him, just from the feeling of being full. You cursed your uncooperative body, but couldn’t bring yourself to actually resist as Keigo gave a few shallow thrusts.

“Ah, wow,” he marveled, mouth agape. “This feels amazing.” You swore you could almost see his eyes roll back in his head as he continued to rock in and out of you, breathy little gasps leaving his lips. He was frustratingly gentle. The primal side of you screamed out for more friction. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you, trying to force his pelvis to rub against your sensitive spot. Part of your mind screamed in defiance. Everything about this was wrong; you shouldn’t be encouraging him. But the larger part of you had given into its carnal desires, consequences be damned.

Above you, Keigo was a picture of bliss. He used one hand to grab at your hips so he could grind into you from a different angle, groaning with every thrust. 

“Mm, I love you so much,” Keigo moaned into your shoulder. He kissed you there lightly, then gave a surprisingly sharp bite. “So, so much. You’re all mine now.”

You needed more pressure, and squirmed desperately against him. His inexperience was obvious, but you couldn’t deny how hot it was just watching him enveloped with his own pleasure. A pang of guilt flashed through you at the thought, but it was quickly overwhelmed with lust as Keigo began to gasp your name. Too soon, you could feel him reach his climax. Keigo pressed into you as deeply as he could go, and your face grew hot at the lewd sounds he was making.

Had that really just happened?

You could feel your juices mixing with his, running down the inside of your thigh. Suddenly empty, you ached for him as he slipped out. It had definitely happened; this was all too real.

With a satisfied growl, Keigo flipped over onto his back, dragging you with him to rest against his chest. Your gaze roamed over him as he nestled into the pillows: eyes closed, lips set in a satisfied smile. 

“Our love is forever,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Light danced across his bare skin before being swallowed up by his aura. Behind him, scarlet wings spread like blood.

[blackjacktheboss]

Prompt: “Is it working” something related to percababies please?

ask and you shall receive my friend 

The coolness of the ocean breeze pushes away the lingering warmth of the summer day, sending a shiver through Percy as he sits on the cabin’s deck with Annabeth in his lap.

“You okay?” she asks, placing a kiss to his temple.

He pulls her tighter and nuzzles her shoulder. “Yeah, feels nice to be chilly after a hot day.”

“Feels nice to have some quiet too.”

“MOM!” a little voice immediately shouts from inside the house.

Percy groans. “You always jinx it.”

“Years of hearing names have power, and it just won’t stick,” she laments. “I’m out here with dad!”

The sounds of a three-kid stampede get closer and closer until the Jackson kids stand front and center in front of their parents.

“Will one of you make us a fire?” Amelia asks.

“Please,” Theo adds in an admonishing tone as he nudges her.  

“With sugar on top!” Ruthie adds, draping herself over her mom’s legs.

Annabeth pouts and leans into Percy. “But we’re cuddling.”

“Ew,” Amelia says.

“Please?” Theo repeats.

“What do you guys want a fire for?” Percy asks.

The siblings look at each other, as if having a silent conference.

“S’mores,” they all say in unison.

Percy squints suspiciously but taps Annabeth's leg and starts to get up. “Fine. But you owe me and mom a quiet breakfast tomorrow, got it?”

“Deal,” Theo says.

Fifteen minutes later, the Jackson kids are standing around a crackling beach fire, clapping for their dad in celebration of his success.

“Thank you, daddy!” Ruthie says in her usual happy tone.

“Yeah, thanks dad,” Amelia adds.

Theo looks at his dad and winks. “Quiet breakfast time.”

Percy laughs. “Good man. Okay, now everyone remembers their fire safety rules?”

The kids all nod.

“Mom and I will be over on the deck, okay?”

They all nod again.

“Who’s the best dad in the whole wide world?”

The kids all smile and point right at him.

“My work here is done.”

He makes his way back to the deck, settling on the steps where Annabeth has brought out a blanket and a bottle of wine for them to share as they keep an eye on their kids. They pass the open bottle back and forth like they used to in college when they didn’t want to have to wash glasses, and huddle as close together as possible under the warmth of the blanket, enjoying the evening. They watch in silence as their kids drag pieces of seaweed to the fire and stand around holding hands.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Annabeth asks as she hands Percy the bottle.

“No clue,” he replies, taking a swig. “I’m afraid to ask.”

Always on cue, Amelia stomps towards them and Annabeth grabs the bottle back from Percy.

“Dad,” she says seriously as she comes to a stand-still in front of Percy.

“Peanut,” he says back, matching her tone.

“I need a strand of your hair.”

“...Why?”

“Dad, don’t be nosy.”

Percy screws up his face in offence, but before he can protest, he feels a quick sharp pain on the side of his head.

“Hey!” he says.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Annabeth says as she hands her daughter a strand of Percy’s hair. “Here you go, babe.”

“Thanks mom,” Amelia says, smiling as she turns to march back towards the fire.

Percy rubs the side of his head and grabs for the wine. “They always say betrayal comes from those closest to you.”

Annabeth hugs his arm so he can’t lean away and kisses his cheek. “Poor Percy Jackson.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Thank you.”

This time Ruthie breaks into a sprint towards the house, but flies right past her parents, running back past them just a few moments later with a shoebox in her arms.

“I’m starting to worry,” Percy admits.

“I’m gonna go grab my dagger,” Annabeth says, standing from the step. “Just in case.”

Percy sets the wine down and decides to investigate the shenanigans taking place, walking up just as his kids are having what appears to be a heated discussion.

“Is it working?” Ruthie asks.

“Does it look like it’s working?” Amelia says with an edge.

“Don’t be a jerk just cause your idea didn’t work,” Theo shoots back.

“Woah, guys,” Percy interrupts. “What’s going on?”

Ruthie still holds her shoebox in her arms and looks at her dad with baby seal eyes. “We were trying to call for Poppy.”

“But he won’t show,” Amelia says, crossing her arms in disappointment.

“I told them he’s probably busy,” Theo says with a shrug.

Percy wraps an arm around his son, pulling him in for a hug and kissing the top of his head. “The seas don’t rule themselves,” he agrees.

Ruthie sets down her shoebox, bending down to open it and carefully removes a conch shell which she places beside the fire. “I just wanted to try,” she says sadly.

“I know, Monster,” Percy says sympathetically. “I’m sure he wants to see you, it’s just hard.”

Annabeth walks up with a bundle of stuff in one arm while she tucks her dagger into the back of her pants with the other.

“I’m not sure what kind of magic you kids are up to, but how about we actually make some s’mores when you’re done?” she offers, showing off the marshmallows and graham crackers she carries.

The kids all perk up, and the night is salvaged, though Percy doesn’t miss the way Ruthie pauses at the front door and looks out at the sea before going in for bed. He can’t help but think of his own childhood longing, and feels a pang of guilt for his kids having to suffer the same.

“Night, old man,” he says to himself as he closes the door and goes to put his kids to bed.

**

Percy stretches in bed, groaning as his hands hit the headboard and his eyes adjust to the brightness of the day. He rolls over and sees Annabeth is still hugging her pillow, snoring gently as the morning light reaches for her.

He reaches over to his nightstand and grabs his phone to check the time. 11:00 AM.

“Fuck,” he says and begins to gently shake Annabeth. “Babe, we slept way in.”

Annabeth groans at him as she stretches and sits up, squinting at the brightness of the day. “What time is it?”

“11.”

“Fuck.”

They tear out of bed and head to the living room, where there are three mostly empty bowls of cereal on the coffee table, but no kids in sight.

Annabeth heads back to their rooms, reemerging with a look of panic. “They’re not in their rooms.”

Percy rushes to the front door and finds it unlocked, which sends his heart into overdrive. Together, he and Annabeth step out onto the deck, and find something truly unexpected:

Poseidon, Great God of the Sea, with nothing but his head sticking out of the sand as his grandkids decorate his sand-covered body to look like a mermaid.

“Add a little flair on the end of the tail, Amelia. Yes, that’s it!”

“Dad?” Percy calls as him and Annabeth walk up.

“Hey kids!” Poseidon says excitedly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Percy says.

Annabeth hugs Ruthie as the red leaves her cheeks. “We just weren’t expecting you, is all.”

“I was on a hunt when the kids called for me last night,” he explains. “But I showed up first thing this morning and figured we’d play while you two slept. I hear mortal parenting can be quite exhausting.”

Percy exhales, finally letting himself relax. “You could say that again.”

“How long can you stay, Poppy?” Theo asks as he finishes up Poseidon’s mer-abs.

“All day!” Poseidon replies happily. “Even the God of the Sea can clear his schedule for his favorite grandkids.”

Amelia looks at Percy. “What time does grandma get here? She’s gonna be so excited!”

Ruthie claps. “Yay! Family reunion!”

Percy feels himself turn red. “Oh boy.”

[bqstqnbruin]

4 times he wanted to come over + one time he did

Ok, we’re going to ignore several things here, like the fact that this was an 8 page Google Doc that I put together in a few hours, the fact that said document had been blank since June, t y p o s, and the fact that it’s nearly three am and I have my first day of classes technically today (aka at 2 pm).

But here I am, with my second fic of the day? IDK but since classes are starting, my posts are going to be a lot less frequent, so hopefully you guys like this! -------------------

one

Your apartment was finally put together just the way you liked it; all your stuff had its place, it was decorated just the way you liked it, you even had a pantry full of food, a rare feat when you were in college even with living with three other girls. Your first morning in your new, fully set up place was going to be celebrated by yourself. You had planned to make yourself breakfast that would probably last into lunch, order Chinese food later that night, drink coffee and watch Seinfeld on Hulu until you felt like going to sleep. There was no better way to break in a new place than by just relaxing in it. 

You turn on your TV, setting your coffee and plate down on the table in front of your couch, and walk over to the huge windows you were lucky enough to have in the apartment. It was a picture-perfect day, and the sun shined right into your apartment, not a single cloud in the blue sky. You felt like you were in a movie like someone had curated the scene and that with the touch of a button, the green screen would be gone and so would the magic. 

Sitting down, putting your feet up on the table, you dig in. This was actually perfect for you. Your new job was going to be stressful and you knew it. The more you could find ways to relax in your home, the better the job would be. 

After three episodes and nearly spilling your coffee all over you twice, you decide to get up and move around. You were drawn back to your windows, still in awe at the scene on the other side of them. Across the street, it looks like someone was doing the same in their apartment. He was tall, handsome, shirtless, and covered with tattoos that you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

He waves at you smiling in a way that made you melt. It took everything in you to wave back and not do something stupid, mentally thanking yourself that the pajamas you had been wearing were athletic shorts and a tshirt from your sorority, and not something more embarrassing. 

You go back to your couch, knowing that he could still see you and probably what you were watching. You couldn’t focus on the episode, feeling as if he were still there watching you. You tried to force yourself not to steal glances at him but failed, every so often seeing him mirroring your actions, watching TV on his couch. You didn’t know that the entire time, he was also stealing glances at you. He couldn’t help it; never before had he seen someone look so naturally beautiful, so in their element and carefree while just sitting and watching TV. 

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, pausing mid-episode and getting up to find the paper, markers, and tape you know you had stashed somewhere.

Messily scrawling ‘I just moved in, nice to meet you,’ on a piece of paper, you tape it up on the window, praying that you wrote it big and dark enough that he could see it.  Sighing when he wasn’t still on the couch, you get back on your own and press play on the TV again. 

Where could he have gone? And why were you more invested in the handsome stranger on the other side of the street than you were in the show about nothing that you had grown up watching? 

Your stomach growls, not quite late enough to order dinner, you wander into your kitchen to get a snack, looking over to the window of handsome man to see that he had left a note, presumably for you. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Pierre-Luc’ was written in print messier than that of a doctor’s. Thank god your best friend growing up had the world’s worst writing, having to ask him to rewrite it would have been demeaning and embarrassing. 

And so it began: you would write a note, watch an episode, then check to see if he left you anything back. He always did, 

His name was Pierre-Luc and he played hockey. After a quick google search, unbeknownst to him since you were assuming he couldn’t see what was on your phone, you found that he was a professional hockey player, player for the Blue Jackets. Great, as if he weren’t already being sweet, asking you questions, leaving you charmingly flirty messages on his window for you, now he was an athlete? Quite possibly one of the sexiest types of men in your opinion? Great. Amazing. 

‘What’s for dinner?’ he leaves on his window, disappearing somewhere into his apartment. 

‘Ideally Chinese food, where do you suggest?’ is what you leave for him, scrolling through Uber eats to see what was cheapest and nearby. You look up, seeing him writing on a notepad his answer, taping it to his window before sending you what you could swear was a wink. 

‘Best place to eat out is here at my place,” you read, bursting out laughing. Confident, this one. 

You roll your eyes, leaving a cheeky message about sticking to Chinese food and just ordering it from the first place that came up. 

The night went on, you not realizing you had spent the whole day flirting with a window stranger. He had liked talking to you, too, but it was pretty bad for the environment to be wasting all this paper when he could clearly see the phone that was in your hand or on your table. Writing his number on what he hoped would be his final piece of paper, maybe you would invite him over. Or he could invite you over. There was something about you that he wanted to spend time with you, not flirt with you while a city street separates you. Taping the paper up, he can see you, fast asleep on the couch, your TV screen asking you if you were still there. 

Closing his curtains, he hoped that you would use the number soon so you could actually spend time with him. 

 Two

You had been feeding that cat every morning for over a month. You loved that stray cat; there was a weird sense of satisfaction in feeding her even though you knew your apartment building wouldn’t allow you to take her in as a pet. But of course, the day you had your friends coming over for dinner was the day you had to run to the store to buy more cat food because you ran out the day before and forgot to get some yesterday. You didn’t know who put food out for the cat at night, or even if anyone did. 

You go to the bowl sitting in the alley way, seeing that it was empty, confirming your suspicion that no one else fed the poor cat. You would have to start feeding it at night, too. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to do this,” you hear someone say behind you. You get up to see him, the man from the window. 

“Pierre-Luc? Why don’t I have to do this?” 

“Because I’ve been doing it.” 

“No, I have,” you argue, knowing that this would lead to a never-ending circle of ‘me, no me.’ You had been texting each other for a few weeks, constantly trying to figure out when you could spend time together, but much like you and your best friend during senior year of college, your schedules never matched up, going a year before finally seeing each other. 

“When?” he asks, a cocky smile dancing across his face. 

“Every morning before work, what about you,” you ask, getting closer to him. You text relationship was flirty, you were sure of it. Every time you passed by your window when he was home, he made a point to check you out, he winked at you, he smiled. He exuded a welcome confidence that you weren’t used to.

“Every day when I get back from practice.”

“What about the days that you’re away for games?”

“I figured someone would feed him for me.”

“The cat’s a girl,” you say, the little feline coming up to you. “You would know that if you didn’t just assume other people were doing what you set out to do in the first place.”

“Well, my assumption was correct, wasn’t it?” he says, a devilish twinkle in his eye as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. 

“You know what they say about assuming,” you tell him, breaking your eye contact to put out some food for the purring animal.

“What’s that?”

“It makes an ass outta you and me,” you tell him, looking up at him towering over you as a laugh leaving his lips. Given his demeanor, you wouldn’t expect him to look as, what’s the right word, jolly? As he did. 

“How come you’re feeding her now if you usually do it in the morning?” he asks, bending down to help you.

Feeling your phone buzzing in your pocket that signaled your friends were already there waiting for you, you tell him, “I ran out of food yesterday and didn’t have the chance to get more until after work. Plus, I needed to pick some stuff up for tonight, anyway.”

“Tonight?” he asks, his head snapping up. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, ran through his head.

“Yeah, my friends are coming over for dinner. It’s the first time they’ll be seeing my new place.” You pause for a minute. He was here, obviously with some free time, but did you want his first time over your place to be surrounded by your nosy friends? They knew you were talking to an attractive neighbor, but you knew they would say things to him that would mortify you and send you running before he got the chance. 

But like the night you first moved in, fuck it. “Are you free tonight? I would love for you to come over,” you tell him, the smile on his face disappearing as soon as you asked.

“I have a game tonight, I can’t. I was actually about to change and then leave,” he says, looking sad. He wanted to come over, and as soon as you said you were having friends over, he knew that you were going to ask him. 

“Oh, that’s fine. Now I have a reason to watch a game, though,” you tell him, smiling. You had to admit, you were a little bit upset, but again, it was probably for the best that he didn’t meet your friends just yet. 

“If the game ends early enough, I’ll stop by, yeah?” he suggests, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” 

Three

“Babe, you’ve lived here for like, what? Almost six months? You have a hot as fuck neighbor who you actually talk to, and he hasn’t come over yet? Why haven’t you asked him to come over?” Amy says with food in her mouth. Your friends were over, again, this time to hang out before they went out to the bars. You were originally going to go, but you were too exhausted, and having already promised to host the pregame, you weren’t going to back out now. 

“You call me babe more than any guy I’ve met, you realize that right?” you ask her, getting up to go over to your window. You knew he wasn’t home; you had the Columbus game against the Flyers playing on your TV, Pierre-Luc was on the ice as you absentmindedly went over to the window to see if he was there. “Plus, our schedules never work. Look, Aimes, he’s literally on our TV, meanwhile as soon as all you hooligans leave, I’m going to bed. 

“Come on, stay up for the man,” Jeff said. The only male in your group of friends, he always entered the girl talk, encouraging you to get with a guy just as much as the others. 

“I’m going out to breakfast with you guys in the morning, how cranky do you want me to be, Jeffy? You know I will not hesitate to throw a potato at you,” you say, the rest of the group laughing even though they know you’re serious. You have thrown stuff at him and only him during breakfast before, him never thinking you’d have the guts to cause a scene in public, but doing it anyway. 

“We all know you’d be less cranky if you got laid,” he says through a mouthful of food. Why did everyone talk with their mouths open?

“Tomorrow I’m ordering two breakfasts; one to eat and one to throw at you.” 

You tune out your friends for the rest of the night. You only paid attention to the hockey game, your eyes trying to stay focused on Pierre-Luc every time he was on the ice. You did really want him to come over, but again, the first time couldn’t be with your friends, not when they were full psychopaths when it came to any boy that you were talking to. What would you have done if Pierre-Luc was there when Jeff commented about you being cranky and needed to get laid? 

Why did the cute guy have to have such a complicated schedule? Every time you were free, he was to jet off somewhere in the country for a few days for games, then he would come back, sleep, go to practice, and then go to a game. From what you could tell, he never stayed up past maybe 10 pm on the nights he didn’t have games, he napped nearly every day after practices, and he really was only home to eat.

Not that you were stalking him. Or memorizing his schedule. You two talked all the time, having evolved from notes in the windows to texting, from texting to calling, from calling to him falling asleep before you while on Facetime. He was one of your best friends, and you had never actually hung out with him at your or his apartment. 

“So how long will it take for him to get home now that the game is over?” Amy asks, snapping you out of the trance that you didn’t know you were in.

You didn’t even know that the game was over; the Jackets beat the Flyers 2-1, the game apparently ending about five minutes ago. You never timed how long it took between the game being over and him getting home since it was different pretty much every night. You think. Again, it’s not like you were stalking the boy. “Uh, I don’t know, half an hour?” you guess, giving them what you hoped was enough information for them to not ask you more.

“So has he sent you any like sexy pics?” Tanaka pips in, you nearly choking on the water you were drinking. 

“What the ever living fuck?” you nearly scream, all your friends laughing at your reaction. “There is no way I would ever tell you. Guys, we’re friends. Yes, he’s cute, hell, he’s fucking hot, but we’ve never physically spent time together, so can we just drop it?” 

They change the subject, going back to the conversation from this afternoon that involved them trying to get you to go out. You loved your friends, they were your found family, but dammit they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Wait, sorry, which apartment is his again?” Jeff asks in the middle of you telling them yet again why you weren’t going out with them. 

You all snap your heads to the other building, the one directly across from you now with lights on. “That one,” you say, Pierre-Luc appearing in the window, all of your friends running up to go wave to him. This was mortifying. Your phone started buzzing on the table, and with Pierre-Luc having his phone out for his friends to see, they knew it was from him.

“What did he say!” Tanaka yells, trying to grab your phone from you. 

“He said get your creepy friends away from the window,” you lie. If you told them he was asking to come over, they would steal your phone and make him come. “Guys, shouldn’t you be going by now? It’s almost 11, the deal at the bar ends at midnight and all of you are still sober,” you point out, praying that it would work.

“Let’s get drunk!” Amy says, grabbing her bag and marching out the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Yep, I’m going to sleep. Text me when you’re all alive!” you say, pushing them out the door.

Your phone buzzes again, Pierre-Luc asking again if he could come now that your friends were gone. You wanted to say yes, but you knew that as soon as he came over, you would be asleep. Plus he just came from a game, there was no way he wasn’t also exhausted. ‘I’m about to pass out, I’m sorry. We’ll hang out eventually, I promise’

Four

You should be back in your apartment by now. You had told Pierre-Luc that you would be home by 11 pm. You had an early day the next day and staying out late wasn’t something you wanted to do, no matter how good your date went or how attractive you thought the guy was. 

Much to Pierre-Luc’s dismay, you had told him that your friend Amy had set you up with someone she knew from school. You were going out with him tonight, you Facetiming Pierre-Luc while getting ready. He should have just been over there, watching you get ready. No actually, he should have been the one taking you out, but at this point in whatever the hell relationship you had, the first thing that you were going to do in person with each other, besides that one time you fed the alley cat, was hang out in each other’s apartment. 

He was pacing, checking his phone to see if you had sent him anything about your whereabouts. You should have been home by now, why weren’t you home? If you weren’t home in ten minutes, he was going to call the police. No, they wouldn’t do anything. He would figure out how to hack your phone, try to find Amy on social media, something so that he would know you were safe. 

Sitting down on his couch, he positioned himself so he had a direct view of your apartment. As soon as you walked in the door and turn on the light to your living room, he would know. He needed that light to go on right now. 

‘Maybe I should go over and wait outside her door? Would that be creepy?’ he thought to himself, ‘I could say that I was just checking on you, which would technically be true. It’s not like you were going to bring the guy home, right? But what if you did and then I was there sitting outside your door. I can’t ruin things for you.’ 

Why has it taken him so long to even get over to your place? Or for you to come over to his? He hated that your schedules were just different enough that you couldn’t meet up. You were always running out the door when he was just getting home and vice versa. He couldn’t even fathom what he would do the first time he saw you in person.

He should have just kissed you when you were feeding the cat. He knows that he wants to date you, how could he not someone who was sweet enough to do something like that for a random cat but also unafraid to chirp him like his teammates? 

Your light goes on, him doing everything in his power to not jump up and go to his window, but that doesn’t stop him from watching what was happening.

Your date went well; you and David had really hit it off, leading to making out in the elevator ride up, stumbling into your apartment with your lips practically glued to his. You look across to Pierre-Luc’s apartment, him sitting there. You make eye contact with him, smiling because of David. David comes up behind you, starting to kiss you down your neck. You send a thumbs up to Pierre-Luc, closing the curtain as you let David do as he pleases.

Pierre-Luc sits on his couch, dumbfounded by what he just saw. That should have been him. He should have been the one in your apartment with you right now. 

+one

Saturday morning, sitting on your couch, watching Seinfeld. A cup of coffee, your phone, and a plate with some fruit on it, much like the first full day when you moved in. The sky was cloudless and blue, but you weren’t admiring it in the same way as you were that day. You were out with David last night, one month after your first date. You thought everything was going great, until he told you that he wanted to see other people. You shouldn’t have been surprised, he had been saying that he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt when he officially broke it off with you. 

‘You’re crying,’ a message from Pierre-Luc pops up on your screen. For a moment, you forgot your curtains were open, giving him a full view into your apartment. 

‘Yep,’ you reply back, not sure what else to say. He could see you, it’s not like you could lie to him. 

‘Need to talk about it?’ 

‘I don’t want to Facetime right now.’

‘Got it,’ was all he said. You look over at his apartment, just in time to see him shutting the door behind him. What the hell was he doing that he could ask you to Facetime and then leave right after? You let out a sigh, deciding to focus on the TV and try to force yourself to eat the fruit. You weren’t going to feel any better if your hunger turned into hanger, so you might as well eat the food that was in front of you. 

You didn’t know where your phone ended up; somewhere in the couch cushions maybe? On the floor? You didn’t even care, you just wanted to wallow and be dramatic for the day. What you weren’t expecting was the knock on your door, interrupting your favorite episode of the show. Getting up, not expecting anyone, you debated even opening the door when you hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s me, open up.” You see Pierre-Luc standing there, a bag from the donut shop down the street in hand, a bunch of take out menus in the other.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, him pushing past you and plopping down on the couch, obviously already knowing the way around. 

“You were upset so I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, taking out the donuts, putting them on the plate with your fruit, popping a piece in his mouth. “You don’t have to talk about it, but at least this way we’re finally hanging out in person.”

There was something about seeing him sitting on your couch that just felt right. He looked so at home, his feet already up on your table in the way you sat pretty much all the time. He had already started up the episode, replaying it from the beginning so he could see it when you sit down beside him, tucking your feet underneath you. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching his arm out. You cuddle up next to him, your head on his shoulder as he plants a kiss on the top of your head. It felt so right. So much better than with David, so much better than with any of the other guys you had been with. 

“He dumped me,” you tell him, even though you were sure that you had already texted him that last night when you were on your way home. 

“He didn’t deserve you,” you hear him say. He mumbled something else, something you couldn’t quite make out. If he wanted you to hear it, he would have said it louder, you figured.

“He said I play hard to get?” you ask, unsure if that was true or not. Were you hard to get? You slept with the guy on the first night, Pierre-Luc had seen the beginning of it through the window. 

“No, you’re not hard to get, you’re hard to earn. Any guy would be lucky to have you. If I had you, I’d,” he stops himself, mentally kicking himself for opening that can of worms that he really didn’t want to dive into yet. You hadn’t even been out on a first date. If anything, maybe, this was your first date. 

“You’d what?” you say, sitting up, hoping he would continue. This was his first time in your apartment. Something you had both thought about a lot. You wanted to hear what he would do if you were together, hoping whatever he said would actually happen. 

“I’d feed the cat with you in the morning and then do it by myself in the afternoon if I didn’t have a game or something,” he starts, laughing, “I’d go out to breakfast with your friends even if we didn’t go out with them the night before. I’d even hang out with them whenever you did, even though they are a little crazy. You love the people around you, the animals that aren’t even your own pets. You deserve someone who will love you back the way you love everyone and everything.” 

You sit there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I should have been the one that night in here with you, not him,” he says, finally admitting it out loud. 

“Do something about it now, then,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, stunned. 

“Forget that night you saw me with David, and do something now,” you insist. You had wanted this just as bad as he did, so why were either of you waiting?

He starts slow, sweet, his hand on your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His lips move with yours, his tongue swiping your bottom lip as his other hand snakes it’s way around you back, picking you up from the seat next to you and placing you in his lap. Your hands go through his hair, your mind blank. This was what you had been waiting for since you first saw him.

He pulls away, his cheeks now red, a smile on his face, “I really hope I’m the only one who ever looked through your window.”

“If anyone else is looking then at least they get a little bit of a show,” you say, kissing him again. 

[assembledherethevolunteers]

The Nanny Named...

A/N: Hi all! So,it’s been a while. I have been in a real nostalgic mood lately and totally binged ‘The Nanny’. Annnd then all I wanted to was write a story about it. So I’ve been writing a multi-chapter story with Y/N as Fran and Gwil as Maxwell. I hope you all enjoy this prologue. Any feed back would be appreciated! And if you’d like to be tagged, please let me know! Love you!

Pairing: Producer!Gwilym Lee x fem!Reader

Summary: You need a job after you walk out of your last one. Your friend sends you to an interview and it…doesn’t quite go as planned.  

Warnings: Cursing, some angst, and cheating

 You leaned over the counter, trying to make out what your boyfriend had written down for the specials for the night. Why couldn’t the man learn to write like an actual grown-up?

“Oooh, Y/N,” one of your best friends, Mel, came in. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” You replied, not looking up.

“J.C. and Erika? They just got engaged.”

That got you attention. You looked up at her. “Are you serious? They’ve been dating for what? Three seconds?”

Melanie laughed, taking her coat off. “I think closer to three weeks, but yeah. Isn’t that crazy?”

You sighed, looking back down at the notes. “To each their own, I guess.”

You were happy for them, on some level, but it was a bit hard when two people that you considered ridiculously obnoxious were engaged in less than a month but you and your boyfriend had been dating for almost four years and were still not living together.

“Think that’ll make Kurt move any faster?”

You shook your head. “No, there’s nothing that will make him move any faster. We’ve talked about it countless times. He’s just happy right where we are.”

“Yeah, but you’re not.”

You huffed, not disagreeing. You had wanted to at least living together by now. Maybe not married (you still weren’t even sure if you wanted to get married), but at least the notion that the relationship was going somewhere.

“Maybe you should bring it up to him again,” Mel suggested as she tied on her apron.

You thought about it. Maybe you should. It had been a few months since the two of you had had any kind of conversation about it. Every year when your lease was up for renewal, you brought it up just to see if you should renew. And Kurt always told you ‘yes’.

“Yeah, maybe. But for now, I’ve got to figure out these damn specials he’s decided to jot down like a first grader after a lunch of cake and ice cream.” You grabbed the paper and then knocked on the door to his office. “Kurt!”

“Yeah, babe?”

You went into the office to see him staring at his phone. He glanced up at you for a second before going back to his phone.

“Hi, sweetie, can you decipher this chicken scratch for me?” You walked over and sat up on his desk.

Kurt sat his phone down, face up, and took the paper and squinted at it himself. “Uh…I…huh. Ribs of some kind. I’ll have to go look in the fridge quick. Be right back.” He pressed a kiss to your temple before getting up and leaving the office.

You swung your legs, waiting for him to come back, thinking about the dinner rush on the Friday night that was going to hit. But hey, at least the tips would be good.

And then you saw something light up on the desk.

You glanced down to see Kurt’s phone on full brightness. With a notification from Tinder. Saying Kurt had 3 new messages waiting for him.

You picked up the phone and stared at it, fighting back tears. You’d had a feeling something like this had been going on, but it was a totally different story when it was staring you in the face.

“Beef ribs are the special tonight.”

You stood up and shoved Kurt’s phone at him. “Great. Maybe whoever these 3 can serve it!” You stormed out.

“Wait! Y/N!” Kurt chased after you. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out!”

“Oh, fuck off!” You yelled at him, turning on your heel to yell at him. “This isn’t how you wanted me to find out!? What the hell kind of excuse is that?!”

“Can we discuss this back in the office?” Kurt offered quietly.

“No, because there’s nothing to discuss.” You untied your apron and threw it at him. “I quit and I am DONE with you! FOUR YEARS! I’ve wasted four years of my life on you in this stupid dying restaurant!”

“It’s not dying!”

You stared at him stunned. “That’s all you have to say? Four years down the drain and all you care about is this damn rat trap?!”

“It’s not a…!” Kurt took a deep breath. “You know what? Fine. Go ahead. We don’t need you around here!”  

“Obviously!” You screamed before grabbing your coat and stomping out.

You walked all the out to the street, hailed a cab, and got in the back. You gave the driver your address and then fell apart.

“Um…a…are you alright, dear?” The cab driver asked you, glancing in their review window.

You could only shake your head. “Okay, well, there should be a box of tissues under my seat. Help yourself.”

You reached down and grabbed the box, pulling out tissues. You blew your nose and wiped your eyes.

“Just put them in the trash when you’re done.”

You nodded your thanks, making a mental note to give them a big tip.

The rest of the time the two of you were silent as you tried to make yourself somewhat presentable so your roommate wouldn’t ask what happened. You were not in the mood to talk about it.

The driver pulled up to your building and told you the total. You paid and started to make your way out before they called to you.

“Whatever it was, I hope it gets better.”

You gave them a smile and wave before you shut the door and started to into your building. You ran up the stairs instead of taking the risk of running into a nosy neighbor on the elevator. You got into your apartment and collapsed on the couch. You started sobbing into your pillow.

How on Earth could he do that to you? Sure, the two of you hadn’t gone beyond dating but four years?! You had given four years of your life! Not just romantically but you’d worked your ass off to help with his restaurant. You’d hired nearly all of the servers! And three of the cooks! Who the hell was he to kick YOU out?

You woke up to your roommate, Olivia, coming home, not sure how long later.

“Y/N? What are you doing home? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

You sat up, your entire face felt swollen.

“Oh, Y/N,” Olivia sat next to you and wrapped an arm around you. “Did something happen at the restaurant?”

You tried to explain what happened, but you couldn’t get the whole story out without bursting into tears.

“Oh sh, sh, honey,” she rubbed your shoulder. “I know. He’s a scumbag. I’m so sorry.”

You just nodded, crying into her shoulder.

“Do you want me to call Rosie and see if she’ll let some the dogs loose in the kitchen?”

You chuckled for a moment. “Think she would? I know she’s very attached to them.”

“Well, they are shelter dogs. They deserve a good meal.”

You pulled your head up and gave her a semi-smile. “You are the best person I know.”

“If only I was available to you.”

“I can love you better than Rosie can.”

“Yeah, but can you afford an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen like she can?”

You sighed, pretending to be defeated. “I guess not. I give you my blessing then.”

“I can run down to the bodega and get some wine and ice cream. I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Oh good, then get something for yourself.”

Olivia pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Great, I’ll be right back.”

You laid back down when Olivia stood up.

You and Olivia spent the rest of the night drinking, eating ice cream, and complaining about Kurt. It made you feel a little better.

At nearly one in the morning, you finally stumbled to your bed, hoping that you wouldn’t dream of Kurt, the restaurant, or anything to do with your love life.

THREE WEEKS LATER

“Y/N!” Olivia announced as she came home.

“Whaaaat?” you called back to her from the couch. You’d barely left it in the past couple weeks. You’d barely even left your apartment, if you were being honest.

“I think I’ve got you a job!”

You sat up and looked at her, somewhat skeptical. “Where?”

“Manhattan.”

“Oh,” you were surprised. Olivia had been trying to get you jobs, but this was the one that sounded like it might actually be promising. “What is it?”

“Rosie’s brother has a catering gig and needs a good waitress, but the homeowners want to interview everyone individually. They want you there at 3:30 for your interview.”

You jumped up. “Are you serious?!”

“One hundred percent!”

You threw your arms around Olivia’s neck and pulled her in for a hug. “Oh thank you thank you, Ollie!”

“Ooof. You better stop thanking me and get in the shower.”

You got on the subway to make your way up to Manhattan a couple hours later. You hadn’t been there since last year when a friend of yours had their 30th birthday party at some pretentious hipster bar. 

You kept glancing at the passing stations, hoping that this was going to work out. You could still hear your mother’s voice in your head telling you that you should’ve known better than to take a job at the man that you were dating’s place of work. 

The past few weeks, you’d been miserable. You had barely left the apartment besides your runs down to the bodega to get alcohol, ice cream, or the minimal amount of groceries that you could afford and actually wanted. Your bank account was screaming at you before you’d left the restaurant, so as much as you’d wanted to just wallow in your self-pity on the past four years of your life that you had wasted, you needed to get a new job. 

You got off at the correct station and walked up the stairs, stepping onto the streets of Manhattan. This part of the city always seemed different to you. Sure, you’d grown up in New York City, but it had been in Queens. 

You walked to the correct block and took in all the gorgeous buildings that were there. It sort of took your breath away, the way the trees were just starting to bud in the spring air. 

You nearly ran into somebody on the street and apologized, hoping they couldn’t tell how out of place you were. 

This was insane. Who in their right mind would hire YOU to work some cocktail party that was going to have people there that blew what you paid in rent on a quick trip to Macy’s? You thought about turning around and just heading home, but then you remembered that your bank account had about $15 in it.

As you walked down the street, you were hit with a strong smell of rose, jasmine, and vanilla. It was comforting and made you a bit more confident in yourself. Like everything was going to work out, regardless of how the interview went.

You glanced down at your phone, making sure that it was the right address before taking a deep breath and walking up the stairs to the front door. You knocked and then waited.

A man in a suit opened the door. He had black hair and kind brown eyes. He seemed unsurprised to see you standing there.

“Hello, are you here about the position?”

“I am.”

“Well come in, come in, Mr. Lee should be ready for you soon.” He ushered you inside, taking your coat for you. “Would you like me to drop off your resume to him?”

You hadn’t thought about bringing that.

“Oh, um…no, that’s okay. I’ll just…get it to him if he asks for it.”

The man raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything before he lead you to the couch and gestured for you to sit down.

You sat down and waited for him to return. Or for this mysterious ‘Mr. Lee’ to appear. You looked around, amazed at how high the ceilings were.

Suddenly, there was a scream from upstairs and the pounding of footsteps coming down.

“Help! Help! I’m hurt!” A little boy with dark, curly hair came running into the room. He collapsed right in front of you, his eyes closed and his tongue sticking out.

You looked down at him, trying not to laugh. “Ya okay, hun?”

The boy opened one eye, quickly shut it again, but didn’t say anything.

“Ah, Master Aled, I believe this is the third time today you’ve passed on. I’ll make sure your father and sister mourn the proper amount,” the man appeared again, stepping over the child and coming to stand in front of you. “Miss, Mr. Lee will see you in his office. If you’ll just follow me and please don’t trip over the expired, younger Master Lee. He’ll need to get up for his Little League practice in about thirty minutes.”

“James!” The boy, Aled apparently, sat up and glared at the man, James. “You ruined my plan!”

You stood up and the two of you walked into an office.  It was decorated with different awards, pieces of art. The hardwood on the floor matched the desk that was in the middle of the room. Sitting at the desk was a man writing something.

He had a dark, thick head of hair. He stood up, a pair of piercing blue eyes behind a black, horn-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a black turtleneck, gray suit jacket, and black pants.

“Hello, I’m Gwilym Lee,” he offered you his hand.

“I…um…hi,” you smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Thank you, James,” Mr. Lee told him. James nodded and started to leave the room. “Now, do you have your resume?”

James sent you a pointed smirk, before leaving the room all together and shutting the door behind him.

“Um…no, I don’t. Sorry, Mr. Lee.”

He frowned at you. “Alright, Miss Y/L/N. Well, tell me about your work history then.”

You cleared your throat. Rosie had neglected to tell you that the man you were going to work for was this handsome. “Well, I’ve worked in multiple, high class restaurants over the past ten years. I was working at my last job for nearly three years.”

Mr. Lee squinted at you, but you kept talking.

“And I’ve been a server, a hostess, and a bartender. I could work anywhere that you’d need me tonight.”

Mr. Lee took off his glasses and continued to stare at you.

“S…so, um…I can give you references if you need,” you finished lamely.

“Um…Miss Y/L/N, I believe there’s been a bit of a mix up.”

“Oh,” you replied, totally defeated. “I understand.”

“It’s just…this job is far too difficult to do without any experience and I think…”

“I mean, I…I have SOME experience.  I once served at the River Cafe,” you tried to argue.

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong…”

“Daddy!” A little girl came running into the room, seemingly in tears, and hugged Mr. Lee’s arm. “Aled said that there’s a monster in my closet and then he took and threw her in the closet to the monster!”

Mr. Lee picked up the girl and placed her in his lap. “Oooh Afon, sweetheart, I’m sure he didn’t mean to…”

“Yes, he did!“

“I did not!” Aled came running in too.

Mr. Lee sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Aled, please just go get the bunny out of the closet. I am in the middle of a meeting.”

“Fine, let’s go, Afon. Daddy is a veeeery busy man,” Aled grabbed his sister’s hand and took her out.

Mr. Lee just watched them leave, a somewhat longing look on his face before meeting your eyes again.

“Miss Y/L/N, this interview was for a nanny position for my children. You see, our last one just quit and I…I’ve been interviewing people for nearly a week now and…” Mr. Lee shook his head.  “I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear all my woes. I’ll have James see you out.”

Why had Rosie sent you here? If this was an interview for a nanny position you were WAY out of the running. You barely even liked the younger cousins that you had. Maybe you’d gotten the time wrong and they had meant to have the caterer interviews earlier in the afternoon?

You jumped up, an idea coming to your mind. “Ya know, Mr. Lee, I actually do have some nannying experience. I was a nanny for a family on my block every summer while I was in high school.”

It technically wasn’t a lie. You’d babysat for your neighbors. Once a week. When their mom had her PTA meetings. For about two hours.

Mr. Lee was shaking his head and standing up. “No, I couldn’t subject you to this. I’m very sorry. But if we ever need a caterer, I’ll keep you in mind.” He gave you a smile, coming around the front of his desk.

You sighed and stood up. “Well, thank you for taking this interview with me anyway,” you offered your hand again and Mr. Lee shook it.

“Of course, now could I escort you to the door?”

“I suppose so,” you told him.

Mr. Lee gestured for you to go through the door and followed you out of the room.

You were halfway through the living room when the phone rang. James, who had been wiping down the coffee table, quickly grabbed the phone off the hook. “Lee residence…yes…yes…oh how unfortunate…I will let him know…yes, thank you, goodbye.” James hung up the phone and looked at Mr, Lee. “That was the service. They won’t be able to send anybody tonight. They are booked solid.” 

“Oh no,” Mr. Lee rubbed his temples. “That’s totally unacceptable. What happened to that woman that we used last weekend?” 

“She’s refusing to come back. Something about a near death experience,” James looked over at Aled who sunk down behind the couch to hide. 

You hesitated at the door. Maybe this could be your chance. Even if he just used you tonight, as long as you didn’t kill the kids, you would get paid. And probably pretty well guessing on the house. You could at least offer, you supposed. 

“Um...Mr. Lee. If you need somebody for tonight, I’d be available.”

Everybody’s heads whipped around to you, all eyes wide, surprised. 

“Well,” Mr. Lee ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “I don’t know. James, couldn’t you…?” 

“It’s my night off, sir. Remember? I’ve got my niece’s dance recital.” 

“Oh right, of course,” Mr. Lee looked you over, seemingly arguing within himself about what to do. “Look, Miss Y/L/N, I...I usually don’t do things like this, especially where my children are concerned, but I am...desperate. I’ve got a meeting with one of my biggest potential backers this evening and I need someone to watch my children. So, if you could…”

“Oh thank you! Thank you!” You pulled  Mr. Lee into a hug before you knew what you were doing. “You won’t regret this! What time should I be back here?”

“Before I change my mind,” Mr. Lee muttered.

You pulled away, laughing a bit, before you heard James say something about six-thirty. You then quickly left before Mr. Lee could’ve said anything else.

You practically ran to the subway, nearly giddy. You had a job. You FINALLY had a job! You were walking down the stairs when you pulled your phone out. You had four missed calls and fifteen text messages. Just when you were going to read some of them, it started to ring. You saw it was Rosie.

“Hey, Rose, what’s…?”

“Oh, thank GOD! Ollie, she’s okay. Where the…?”

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!” Olivia yelled in the phone.

“In Manhattan at the interview your girlfriend sent me!”

“Nooo, you never showed up to the interview! We’ve been calling you for almost an hour now!”

You frowned at that. Why were they so upset? Rosie had sent you to the interview, how was she so confused?

“What house did you go to?”

“The one Rosie sent me to,” you told her slowly, hoping she would calm down. “1781.”

“She says she went to 1781,” Olivia must’ve relayed to Rosie. “That’s what you told me!…Soooo, funny story. You were supposed to go to 1871. That’s where the catering job was.”

“It’s fine! I got a job anyway! I’ll explain when I get home, but I’ve got a job tonight!”

“What?...She got a job by going to the wrong house….I don’t know! She said she would explain it when she got home…When will you get home?”

“As soon as the subway will let me.”

The whole way home you felt like you were floating. You were hoping that you would at least get paid enough to buy some groceries.

How were you going to take care of two kids tonight though? They didn’t look that old. The boy, Aled?, seemed like he was about nine or ten. The girl, in the brief moment that you had seen her, seemed to only be about five or six. You supposed you could entertain them for a couple hours. Hopefully they had all the streaming services. Just stick them in front of the TV and wait it out.

You walked into your apartment and got tackled into the wall by Olivia.

“I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU!”

You laughed and gave her a hug back. “I’m fine! You leave me here all the time to go to your girlfriend’s house, but me going into Manhattan scares you.”

Olivia pulled back and glared at you. “Whatever. Tell us what happened!” Olivia started to pull you towards the living room where Rosie was sitting on the couch. “Ronnie told us you never made it to the house and then you weren’t picking up.”

You went into the whole story of what happened. Explaining the kids, the mansion, the butler, and finally, the man that hired you.

“…name’s Gwilym Lee.”

“Wait,” Rosie sat up a bit straighter. “Gwilym Lee? The producer?”

You exchanged confused looks with Olivia.

“Oh, come on, neither of you know Gwilym Lee? He was like this huge producer at Disney. He’s been involved in all the Marvel movies.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeeeeeah, did you not see anything in his house that gave it away?”

“No,” you answered honestly. You hadn’t. You were sure that there was something that you had missed, but you were too worried about the interview and trying to get a job that you weren’t paying that much attention.

“And he’s going to trust you with his kids?”

You slowly nodded, suddenly much more nervous about tonight than you originally were.

[night-fallz]

Jason Todd x Avengers Crossover

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ao3 // Wattpad

previous II next

Unexpected (part 2)

Two days have passed since Clint was saved by Jason. And for some reason, he still can't get the vigilante out of his mind.

Natasha teased him about it but he knows that if she sees Jason in action, she would be intrigued as well.

The way he fought was mesmerizing. Every bullet that was shot was so precisely aimed that the wounds weren't deadly.

Sure it knocked them out, but they weren't gonna die.

That form of marksmanship was only earned through years of hard work. And Clint's worked with Bucky enough times to know that Jason somehow predicted the next move of the attackers, aiming at the non-lethal body parts.

He has a feeling that Bucky and Jason would make an incredible duo.

Which is why he needs them to meet.

Clint doesn't usually do this but the more he thought about the bucket-wearing vigilante, the higher his list of questions got.

He took out his phone, leaning against the couch as he searched for the man that saved him.

vigilante wearing red bucket

He scrolled through google trying to find a decent article on the guy.

After thirty whole minutes of barely finding information, Clint wanted to throw his phone across the room. So far, all he's figured out was that Jason's territory was in Gotham and that his vigilante name is 'Red Hood'.

Which was... creative in a way?

At least it wasn't 'Red Bucket' or 'Bucket Head' or anything like that. It was definitely better than 'Green Arrow'.

After another failed search, he decided to finally give up. There was nothing about Red Hood. All the articles were mainly about Batman, Nightwing, a restaurant place, and a Robin!

He groaned and put his face in his hands. He doesn't care about those overrated heroes, he wants to find out more about Red Hood.

The guy was so cool... he wonders why there were barely any pieces written about him. The few sentences that he's read about the vigilante almost always depicted him in a bad light.

Which was honestly unfair.

He stared at his phone, contemplating on whether or not he should ask Natasha.

On the positive side, he knows that the assassin would have information on Red Hood. Natasha has information on everyone.

But...

Clint didn't want Natasha to tease him even more! If she keeps up with the sarcastic comments then the other Avengers would be curious. And curious Avengers meant nosy people.

He felt himself shiver, really nosy people.

He swears that if he had a sister— older or younger, they would act exactly like how Natasha was acting right now.

He could practically imagine the smirk she was wearing on her face when she picked up.

"Hey, Clint." she casually greeted, "How are you?"

He refrained from gritting his teeth, "I'm doing good." he paused, eyes closing as he took a breath in, this hurt to admit. "I need your help."

"I know."

"What do you know about the Red Hood?"

"The Red Hood?" she hummed under her breath, "Let's see."

Clint heard her moving things around, then he could distinctly hear the noise of paper being flipped. "Do you just have documents of random vigilantes lying around your room?" he couldn't help but ask. "Is this an assassin thing?"

Does Bucky do this too?

"I'm getting you the information you need." she reminded, "How I keep track of the data I have is none of your business."

"Okay, okay." he surrendered, a smile making its way onto his face. "But why don't you just keep it on a computer? Wouldn't that make things easier for you?"

She ignored his question, "Red Hood is an excellent marksman," she stated. "He made his debut as a crime lord by showing a bunch of people a duffel bag filled with the heads of notorious criminals."

Clint let out a whistle, "That is an intense introduction. He's even better than I thought he would be."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed. "He's easily one of the most dangerous and capable vigilantes in Gotham. In a matter of months, he's managed to bring crime down Crime Alley by at least fifty percent. Something that Batman himself, couldn't do. His methods were vicious, but they worked. Extremely well. He's killed a lot of child molesters, human traffickers, and rapists."

Even though Natasha couldn't see him, he tilted his head to the side, biting the inside of his cheek. Clint could care less about what methods Jason used. If they worked, they worked. And it's not like those criminals didn't deserve it. It's just-

Killing takes a lot out of you. Especially when you're young. Clint would know.

He had no doubt in his head that Jason was an incredible fighter. Not to mention that he was also huge— in both height and muscle.

He can see why he has a majority of Gotham fooled.

But, for about a minute, after they won against the ninjas, Jason removed his helmet in order to get a breath of fresh air.

A mask might've been covering his eyes, but Clint's been in the vigilante business for years now. He remembers clear as day, just how young the vigilante looked under the sun.

When Clint first started, he was thankful that he had Natasha to talk to whenever things got hard. Whenever he felt guilty for taking someone's life. No matter how much they deserved it.

Hell, he's still thankful for Natasha now. Without her, Clint would probably be dead. His body found bleeding out in an abandoned area, a neat row of scars on his thighs and arms.

He hopes that Jason has a friend like Natasha. Someone who'd be there for him no matter what. Someone who'd remind him that he was worth it. That he was loved.

Cause if not, then there is no way that the kid is okay.

Natasha's sharp voice interrupted his thoughts, "That was a few years ago. As far as I know, he doesn't kill anymore. The farthest that Hood would go now would be to permanently cripple someone. And even then, he would only do that when the person did something unforgivable."

After a few seconds of silence, Clint opened his mouth. "Is that it?" he couldn't help but question.

"Nope," Natasha admitted. "But it's all I'm willing to tell you."

"Fine then," he smirked. "Keep your assassiny secrets. I got more than I expected anyways."

"What did you get yourself into, Clint? Why all the sudden interest in him? Why all the sudden interest in a vigilante in Gotham?"

He knows that Natasha was just looking out for him. She was worried. "Do you remember a few days ago when I was saved by this Jason guy?" he asked.

"Yeah? You've been talking about him nonstop. He saved your ass and you gave him your number." she paused before adding, "Your private one."

He nodded, "Yeah. Well, he's the Red Hood."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I searched him up and he had the same costume and everything."

"And he actually said that his name was Jason?"

"Yep." he tried to casually say, "It's probably cause Jason's a popular name and stuff."

"Maybe." Natasha hesitantly agreed, "But anyway, since you gave him your number, I think you should know that I've always wanted to meet him so if he texts you soon..."

Her voice trailed off and Clint couldn't hold in his sigh, "Yeah, yeah. I'll arrange a meet-up or whatever."

Her voice automatically brightened, "Actually?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, "Sure. But I wanted to introduce him to Bucky first."

Natasha made a shocked sound of betrayal, "Wha- but Clint!" she whined, "I'm the one who's asking. Not him."

"I know."

It took everything in him to stop the laugh from escaping his mouth.

Complaints about how unfair Clint was being made their way onto his ears and he relished each and every one of them. It wasn't often that he had something Natasha wanted.

Revenge was sweet.

After a few minutes, he let out an incredibly fake gasp. "Sorry, Natasha. I gotta go. I have a kitchen emergency."

"What the fuck, Clint." she demanded, "You don't even know how to cook. Remember the omelet incident? What emerg-"

He hung up.

Clint's definitely going to regret ending the call later. He knows it.

But right now, he could care less.

He has something Natasha wants, so she won't murder him.

... hopefully.

He hopes that he runs into the vigilante soon. Jason was cool and pretty fun to talk to. Clint definitely won't mind fighting at Red Hood's side once more.

They worked really well together.

While they were fighting, he knew that Jason was gonna have his back. He knew that Jason wasn't gonna let him get hurt. It was weird, considering that was the first encounter he's ever had with him.

He doesn't know when Jason is gonna decide to use his number, but he hopes that it'll be soon.

He has questions. And whenever Jason was ready, Clint hopes that he can answer.

Starting with the one that's been clouding his head; why did the Red Hood stop killing?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

notes:

okay, I didn’t expect to write a chapter this soon. but reading all the comments you guys left on the previous chapter motivated me. to be honest, I didn’t expect this fanfic to get as many hits as it did.

I don’t know when I’m planning on posting this chapter but right now, my goal is to write as much as I can.

I also don’t know exactly how busy my sophomore year of high school will be, but I feel like it’s better to be safe than sorry. Especially if I make the school volleyball team.

I finished writing this chapter on August 8th, and I have tryouts on the 9th through the 11th from 4-6 pm. (wish me luck!)

like always, please, please, please, leave a comment. i love reading them and they just motivate me so much! Whenever I get author’s block, I just re-read them and they help so, so much. If you don’t wanna leave a comment, that’s fine. If you liked this fanfic, please hit that kudos button though.

and if you just wanna chat or if you want to request any ideas or prompts, just message me here.

ooh, and if there’s anything specific you want to read in this series, please tell me. It never hurts to have any extra ideas. plus, I really want to make this fic more enjoyable for everyone.

[tuffduff]

More Than Okay (Izzy Stradlin x Reader)

Pairing: Izzy Stradlin x Reader

Words: 1,537

Request: @that-80s-chick​ :Hi I was wondering if you could please write something with Izzy Stradlin where maybe he’s self conscious about himself (maybe his nose idk) and he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you but you assure him that he’s perfect and you love him just the way he is 😊 also I love your writing so much!!

A/N: Thank you for requesting love!! As Elton John once said, the bitch is back. Hello friends, if you write you know inspiration strikes at random. I’m so happy I could get this out to you guys because I really loved the prompt and Izzy is just such a cutie. Sorry for the long wait for this one, I really do appreciate every request y’all send and I’m working on others now. 🖤🖤🖤

Taglist: @ubernoxa​ @the--blackdahlia​ @reigns420​ @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker​ 🤍

“Izzy, c’mon, what’s the deal, man? We’re gonna be late.” Axl called from where you stood next to him by the front door of the band’s shared apartment. You were there because, well, when were you not by their side? But also, your extra car came in handy.

“I’m coming, alright? Chill.” Izzy replied, coming from around the corner with his head down. “Since when do you care about being late, anyways?”

“We’ve got a lot of shit to do today.” Axl retorted back. You figured the general crabbiness had something to do with the fact that it was 9 am.

“How many photoshoots have we done anyways; don’t they have enough shit of us...” you heard Izzy mutter. You waited for him to follow behind Axl but he gestured for you to go first, still keeping his head down low and not even looking at you. That wasn’t normal, but you decided not to make too much of an observation about it.

“Alright, who’s riding with me and who’s riding with Duff?” You asked, now standing with all of them outside.

“I call shotgun with Duff!” Slash declared. Steven hit his arm and latched onto Slash as he jetted towards Duff’s vehicle, getting dragged all the way.

“No, hey—you got shotgun last time!” Steven whined, the both of them now shoving at each other outside the passenger door.

“Get in the back, Steven,” Axl ordered, already opening the back door to Duff’s car. Steven was still whining while Slash triumphantly grinned and took his spot. “Sorry, Izzy, we’re all full over here.” Axl said, glancing at Izzy who was trailing behind him.

“Uh, guys? I’ve got a whole car.” You pointed out.

“I’d rather ride with you.” Duff said, his eyes locked on Slash swatting at Steven in the backseat. “Hey, Izzy, I thought you said you were riding with Y/N?” You sent Duff a look. He was the only one in the group that had picked up on your fondness for the rhythm guitarist and would often subtly try and get the two of you together.

For some reason, Izzy froze and appeared almost panicked. “No, I didn’t.” He argued. Ouch. It felt like a piece of your heart shattered, along with your self-esteem.

“C’mon, you’re gonna hurt her feelings.” Duff insisted. Now, he abandoned Duff’s car and almost reluctantly walked over to yours. You frowned quizzically at him when he reached for the back door.

“You know I don’t bite, right?” You joked lightly. He hesitated and ducked his head low again.

“I just, uh, like the extra room.” He replied, but climbed in next to you in the front.

Izzy continued to remain silent once you got on the road behind Duff. It was completely and entirely out of the norm; Izzy always preferred being around you, even out of all of his bandmates. At restaurants, he’d sit next to you. Watching movies together, he’d be next to you on the couch, or even on the floor. He’d share lyrics he had written with you, or a drink of his coke. Sometimes, you’d find him at your door when he wanted to get away from the band.

Yet now, you were getting a cold shoulder out of left field. The longer the silence grew, the more you felt crushed by Izzy’s apparent disdain at being stuck with you. With every mile, you glanced over at him, hoping for some kind of spark of conversation, but he remained glued to the window.

“You can pick what we listen to,” you tried offering cheerfully. Izzy didn’t move. You wondered if he even heard you before realizing you could have heard a pen drop in the stony silence between you. No, he was practically ignoring you.

“No, it’s cool.” He muttered. You adjusted your grip on the steering wheel uncomfortably.

“Izzy, is everything alright?” You finally asked at the next stoplight, turning to stare at him. He repositioned himself in the seat, as though he were uncomfortable with your gaze. “Can you maybe act like I exist?” You caught the sight of a frown on his face.

“Everything’s fine, Y/N.” He replied, his voice strained. “Really.”

“You’re lying.”

“The light’s green.” The car honking behind you confirmed just as much. You turned back forward, the obvious tension in the air unsettling you to no end.

When you pulled up the photoshoot location, a brick building downtown, you turned to Izzy determinedly.

“I’m sorry if...maybe did something to upset you. I just hope you know I’m here if you need someone to talk to.” You told him, trying not to allow your own hurt to leak into your voice.

“What? No, no, Y/N...” Izzy said quickly, his voice softening immediately. The shift in his demeanor made you feel a little better and now you waited patiently as he sighed and leaned his head back against the seat. “It’s just...these photoshoots, you know? I hate ‘em.”

“Well, I can understand that.” You soothed, your heart pounding as you considered your next words. “But I mean, I’m sure you make it easy on these photographers.” He glanced over at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” You felt your face growing hot and you were already regretting the path you steered the conversation.

“Just that...well, I mean, look at you.” He snorted a little at your words and pulled down the mirror on the visor.

“Yeah, fucking tell me about it.” He muttered quietly, before proceeding to pull more of his hair over his eyes and face. “I just feel uncomfortable the whole time. It’s easy for Axl or the other guys, but...”

“Why do you feel uncomfortable?” Izzy’s eyes flashed at your question and had him once again turning to stare out the window.

“It’s dumb. I just remember the last time we did one of these and looking at the pictures afterwards and noticing, just, how much I hate my nose, and just, the expressions I make…”

“What?” You demanded.

“…and having your here today makes things worse...”

“Worse?” You asked, now almost growing offended.

“Well, yeah, because now you’re gonna be there and watching and I already feel uncomfortable as it is, but having you there in front of me...”

“But I think you’re perfect.” You blurted out before you could catch yourself. Izzy whipped his head towards you and it was now your turn to avoid his gaze and study the fabric of your jeans instead. After a long moment, you heard him scoff. Instantly your stomach dropped and you waited for the rejection.

“Are you...was that a joke?” He asked.

“No.” You said, feeling your eyebrows pull together as you looked up. For the first time the whole car ride, the both of you shared the same gaze, unguarded and vulnerable. “I mean, I do think that. I don’t think there’s a single thing wrong with you.” Izzy continued to stare at you for a long moment, unmoving and just blinking, lost in thought.

“I thought Duff was joking.” You felt your mouth drop.

“He told?” Izzy chuckled a little.

“All this time I thought there was no way you could be interested in me.” Summoning up just about every last bit of your courage, you reached out to brush the back of your fingers against his cheek, swiping the hair from his eyes. He even let you tuck some of the strands behind his ears.

“I’ve always been very interested in you.” You murmured, smiling. “I really care about you Izzy, and I mean it. I love everything about you.”

“I love you.” Izzy blurted out, taking you by surprise. A gentle blush colored his cheeks and his eyes grew wide. “Shit—I mean, I meant to say I-I love everything about you too...”

“Well, now that you said it first, I’m pretty sure I love you too.” you teased him, making him chuckle. Izzy reached his hand up to grab the hand you still had resting against his cheek and hold in his own. He pressed his lips against your fingers, but the moment was interrupted at the sound of knocking on your window. The rest of the band was peering in.

“Aww! Yes!” Steven cooed, making a heart with his hands together.

“Did you tell him?” Duff asked, sounding like a nosy mom more than ever.

“Are you guys about to fuck?” Slash asked even more obnoxiously, peering into the car. You threw open the door, causing them all to stumble backwards and Izzy to laugh.

“Yes, and no.” You said, sending a look to Slash in particular.

“Yeah, of course not; they’re just gonna do it ten minutes from now in the bathroom.” Axl teased. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as they began laughing and felt an arm go around your shoulder as Izzy came up beside you.

“You guys never know when to shut up.” He told his bandmates, before looking down at you as if to check. His eyes, now clearly visible, were asking you silently, is this okay? You grinned up at him and kissed his cheek before you snuck your arm behind his back to confirm, yes. It was more than okay.

[toyboy-molloy]

reddie + accidental fake dating part two | part one |

“Wait...” Eddie pulled away from Richie’s mouth, breathing heavily like he was about to have an asthma attack. Thankfully, he was being held upright by both Richie and the pool water they were both resting in. He lowered his head to Richie’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath, “I just- I need...a moment.”

“Thank you,” he didn’t need to look up to see the smug smile on Richie’s face. Eddie just about had the energy to laugh.

“I’m- it’s a lot...you know...the injury...”

“Don’t ruin it,” Richie said playfully, running a wet hand up and down Eddie’s back soothingly. The shorter man chuckled softly, winding his hands around Richie’s waist to keep himself grounded. Richie was glad it was a hot day, at least he could say that was the reason for his flushed face.

“Do we really...need to practice this? I mean, it’s your parents...they won’t wanna see that.”

Practising. A dumb idea, really, but Richie was nothing if not a fucking idiot. Then again, Eddie had agreed for some reason and before he knew they were making out. It was fantastic. It felt right, it felt real. Only it wasn’t. He glanced down at Eddie, noticing his breathing was calming down again.

“We can stop, I guess.”

“I just mean...we need to be used to each other,” Eddie lifted his head, running his wet hands up and down Richie’s arms. Being held by Richie was fast becoming one of his favourite things, “like...casual intimacy. Holding hands, pet names, cuddling, shit like that. And Eddie Spaghetti doesn’t count,” he added quickly as Richie opened his mouth.

“Fine,” Richie gently disentangled himself from Eddie, leaning against the side of the pool, “race you to the other side for a massage?”

“I can’t move that fast!” Eddie spluttered, looking between Richie and the other side of the pool; it suddenly looked much further away than before. He turned back to Richie, frowning, “and I won’t be able to apply any pressure on top of you,” unable to resist, Richie smirked and Eddie rolled his eyes, folding his arms childishly, “shut up.”

"Alright, alright,” Richie held up both hands in surrender, still smiling, “I’ll walk you to the other side and give you a massage.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

"You can make it up to me somehow.”

Sighing, Eddie agreed and, without warning, Richie carefully scooped him up bridal style in his arms and began walking the two of them around the pool. Eddie shook his head fondly, not even bothering to call Richie an idiot.

-

“Eddie,” Maggie wrapped her arms around him, managing to pour all of her motherly love into the hug despite the fact she was trying her best to avoid his wound. She pulled away a moment later, taking his face in her hands, “you’re looking much better. I knew all this sun would be good for you.”

“I feel better,” Eddie said honestly, beaming as Maggie let him go, moving aside so he could shake hands with Went. They looked almost alike, both of them leaning on walking sticks, “it’s good to see you again.”

Richie, who had been busy carrying his parents suitcases into the spare bedroom, reappeared, slinging an arm around Eddie, “so I guess you’re dying to hear about the whole boyfriend thing so you can put him off.”

“Rich, Eddie’s known you since you were stuffing socks in your underwear,” Went said pointedly, patting his son’s shoulder as he passed him on his way to the house, “if that didn’t make him leave, nothing will.”

“I knew that’s what you were doing,” Eddie looked as though he’d won the lottery, smiling as a prominent blush spread across Richie’s face. He elbowed him playfully, “are they still there now, huh?”

"If you’re lucky, you’ll find out.”

Eddie bowed his head to hide his blush as Richie led them towards the house; he was sure Richie was joking but the thought alone was enough to get him hot under the collar. Maggie and Went had already made themselves comfortable by the time they’d returned to the lounge. Whilst Richie fixed his parents’ drinks, Eddie was left alone with them. He smiled awkwardly, settling into Richie’s chair. The two of them were smiling at him in return, so warmly Eddie really felt like a part of their family.

“You know, we starting to give up on our Rich,” Went began, taking one of Maggie’s hands in his. He accepted the beer from his son when he returned, nodding at Eddie, “you’ve got a keeper here, son.”

“Dad, I am literally the luckiest guy in the world,” Richie set his mom’s coffee on the table in front of her, winking sweetly at Eddie as he did. The other man stared at him, trying to figure him out; either Richie was a good actor and needed to get into TV immediately or he genuinely felt that way. It was most likely the first thing and Eddie was getting his hopes up for nothing. But he didn’t object to Richie kissing his hand gently, perching on the arm of his chair, “not only is Eddie, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, he’s been here for the best and worst times. I’ve never been this happy.”

Maggie chuckled, shaking her head, “who knew you were such a romantic.”

“You give me too much credit, babe,” Eddie tried the pet name, deciding he didn’t completely hate it. Judging by the look that briefly crossed Richie’s face, he didn’t either. He squeezed his arm, “I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh, jeez,” Went grimaced playfully, swigging his beer dramatically, “I swear, I’m gonna sleep in the backyard if you’re gonna be yucking it up the whole weekend.”

"I thought that’s why you’re here,” Richie folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at his nosy parents, “to bear witness to the greatest love story ever told.”

“Yes, yes, you can tell me all about it as we get dinner ready,” Maggie practically shooed him into the kitchen, turning to her husband as she followed after her son, “your dad wants to talk to Eddie about his damned car, anyway.”

Went’s eyes lit up almost immediately, “oh, yeah. Richie tells me you’re good with cars.”

“Um, I guess.”

-

As family dinners went, this one went rather pleasantly, considering the guests were being lied to about the state of their son’s relationship. A relationship Richie was beginning to wonder why it was fake. He and Eddie clearly cared about each other. He’d spent literal hours talking about dumb cars with his dad whilst Richie had gushed endlessly about Eddie to his mom. She’d just laughed at him, calling him silly.

Throughout the dinner, Richie had found himself gazing over at Eddie, watching him. He’d caught him once or twice and, each time, he’d smiled warmly. He helped Richie wash up, assisted Maggie with dessert and shared a beer with Went. Richie soon realised he was head over heels in love with him. And so were his parents. More than once they’d commented how cute they were together.

The four of them settled down to watch a movie after dinner which involved Eddie more or less in Richie’s lap, resting his head casually on Richie’s shoulder. He seemed perfectly content whilst Richie was freaking out on the inside. He wondered if it was too much to stroke Eddie’s hair; he soon thought, fuck it, if Eddie said anything, he’d blame it on his parents being there. But he didn’t say a word. In fact, Eddie seemed to enjoy the feeling of Richie’s fingers combing through his hair, if the soft sighs he was letting out were anything to go by.

But all of that was nothing compared to bed time.

Richie had completely forgotten about the bedroom situation, or rather hadn’t considered it. His parents had his room. That meant he had to share with Eddie, like they expected. He seemed much calmer about the situation than he was. They bade Maggie and Went goodnight and headed to ‘their’ room. Richie paced the room nervously as Eddie used the en suite bathroom, brushing his teeth and changing into his pyjamas. Should he get some blankets and sleep on the floor? Or offer to sleep on the couch? What the fuck was he doing?

Just as Richie debated running out of the room for the safety of his recliner chair, Eddie emerged from the bathroom wearing his blue silk pyjamas. They were comfortable and didn’t agitate his wound like some harsher fabrics. He looked so adorable Richie couldn’t help but stare at him. He must have been staring for a long time because Eddie was eyeing him curiously.

“Um, do you need to-”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he blurted out, already heading for the door. He tripped over his own feet in his haste, stumbling over his words in his panic, “it’s not- I get it, I know you need space- Mom and Dad won’t-”

“Richie,” Eddie giggled, holding out his hand in invitation, “it’s okay. Really. I really want you to stay.”

Richie still hesitated, eyeing the empty spot next to Eddie. There was plenty of room but he would never forgive himself if he hurt Eddie, even accidentally. He was quite the octopus when he slept.

“I know we didn’t talk about sharing the bed-”

“Richie, shut up and get in bed.”

Well, that did it. Eddie always knew how to shut him up and stop him overthinking everything. He shuffled over to the other side of the bed and slowly peeled back the covers, sliding into the bed. Eddie switched off the lamp and Richie stayed as still as could, as far away from Eddie as he could manage. After a moment, he heard Eddie sigh.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, I’m trying to sleep,” he answered innocently. He was in the most uncomfortable position ever but he lived in hope. Eddie was having none of it. He carefully rolled over to face him, an eyebrow raised.

“You know what I love about you, Rich?” He finally looked at Eddie, at his big kind eyes and his lovely smile. He’d do anything for him. Eddie reached out to pat Richie’s arm, “you’ve never treated me like I’m fragile. Not when we were kids and certainly not when we reunited in Derry. Don’t start now, yeah.”

Eventually, Richie sighed and removed his glasses. He shuffled further into the bed and underneath the covers. Satisfied, Eddie turned away from him and waited hopefully. Finally, he felt Richie slide up next to him, his arms carefully winding around him protectively. That’s more like it, he thought.

“Alright, asshole, you win,” Eddie chuckled and was about ready to go to sleep when Richie spoke again, his breath fanning across Eddie’s neck, “I liked being your boyfriend today.”

"We’re still pretending this is fake, are we?”

“You’d deprive me of asking you out properly?” Richie teased, kissing the back of Eddie’s neck tenderly, “I knew you were a bitch but, damn, that’s cruel.”

“I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Richie grinned, promising to hold Eddie to his word. The two fell asleep together, arms entwined and peaceful smiles on their faces.

[jensengirl83]

Regret and Redemption Chapter Five

SURPRISE! Since it’s Labor Day, I figured I would give you guys a surprise chapter! After today, chapters will be on the regular schedule of Wednesday’s and Saturday’s. I hope you all enjoy!

Dean x reader

Mechanic!Dean AU

Word Count-2204

Summary- Reader has left Dean and is trying to move on with her life. Can Dean prove himself and convince her to come back home?

Warnings-Angst, Heartbreak, Language

A/N-. Thank you to my beta @emoryhemsworth​ and all my girls and guy for the encouragement to keep going with this series. I love you all!

Amazing series cover and text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89​

Y/N hadn’t answered any of Dean’s texts since that night. She knew she had to move on and responding to him was not going to let her do that. It had been almost a month since she had left, and her heart still hurt as badly as it did the day she walked out. Y/N didn’t think she could make it through on most days but knew she didn’t have a choice. Her only other choice was to go back to him, and she couldn’t do that. No matter how heartbroken she was at the ending of her marriage, going back to let him hurt her again would never happen.

Y/N had tried to work on the new novel she was writing, but she had started writing it when she was with Dean. The story was supposed to be a happy love story but with the way her life had gone, all she could think to do was kill all her characters and watch their world burn as hers had done. It made her angry that even though they had been apart for almost four weeks, he was still affecting everything in her life. She’d been told that Dean hadn’t been seen out in town or at the bar in weeks. Y/N had thought that maybe he was trying to change, but then she wondered if he was only doing this to get her back, and then everything would go back to the way it was. Knowing that he hadn’t been seen at the bar gave her an idea: she could use a good strong drink.

Y/N got dressed and made her way down to the bar. It was only two blocks from her apartment, so she didn’t see the need to drive. As she walked through the door, the smell of smoke and whiskey invaded her senses. Y/N hadn’t been to the bar in years, but she was trying to start a new life and she figured why not start it with a strong drink and loud music. She walked past the few round tables scattered around the room heading for the bar. A voice that had come from her left stopped her in her tracks. There sat Dean at the bar with an empty whiskey glass in his hand, he had been yelling for the bartender for another drink. Y/N was about to turn to leave when a blonde in a short skirt caught her eye. It was Stacy, and she was headed straight for Dean.

Dean looked up to see her coming right for him. He didn’t want to deal with her, especially not tonight. It was the anniversary of the day he’d asked Y/N on their first date, and he didn’t want to speak to anyone. He wanted to get drunk and go back home to pass out like he did every night. Dean hung his head as she got closer, this wasn’t going to be good.

Stacy made her way to Dean and threw her arms around his shoulders, placing a kiss on his cheek. Dean turned to tell her to leave when her mouth crashed against his, her hands were in his hair holding him in place. He’d managed to pull away and was going to tell her to fuck off when he heard the door to the bar slam closed. He turned to see who it was and could have sworn it looked like Y/N walking through the parking lot. He shook his head and turned back to Stacy. He knew it couldn’t have been Y/N, she hadn’t been to a bar in years.

“What the fuck, Stacy?!” Dean yelled at his former lover and secretary.

“What do you mean, Dean?” she asked him innocently 

“Was me firing you and telling you to stay away not enough of a hint for you?” Dean hissed, his voice laced with venom.

“I thought that was because you wanted to try and get her back. Now that it’s obvious she isn’t coming home, we can pick up where we left off,” Stacy said as she leaned down to try and kiss him again.

“No! Get the hell away from me, Stacy! I don’t want you or anyone else in this damn town!” Dean yelled as he stood to throw a few bills on the counter to cover his drinks.

“You’ll regret those words, Dean Winchester,” Stacy whispered to him in an angry tone. Dean leaned down until he was eye level with the woman he couldn’t stand to look at anymore.

“No Stacy, the only thing I regret is ever sticking my dick into you. It cost me everything I ever wanted, and you weren’t even a good lay,” Dean growled.

Stacy stood there in shock before she drew back and punched him in the mouth. The commotion had drawn attention from everyone in the bar. Dean watched as she stomped her way out of the bar and into the parking lot. He rubbed his busted lip as he tried to remember what he’d ever seen in her in the first place. She would never be in the same league as Y/N. Dean looked around at everyone staring and rolled his eyes on his way out. He could go home and finish drinking himself into oblivion without all the nosy bastards.

Dean walked through the door and toed off his boots, leaving them by the door as he always did. He threw his jacket on the back of the couch and stood in the living room, looking around the empty house. He hadn’t bothered with buying a new television to replace the one he destroyed. It wasn’t like he had any desire to watch anything anyway. His days consisted of working at the garage and then coming home to drink himself to sleep every night. He knew he shouldn’t be drinking like he was, but no one was there to care what he did now. Dean walked up the stairs to their room and threw himself down on the bed.

He laid there staring at the ceiling as he contemplated what he was going to do. Dean wanted his wife back, but he didn’t know if she would ever forgive him. He couldn’t blame her if she didn’t. He had done her so very wrong and had no one to blame but himself. As he laid on the bed wallowing in self-pity, an idea came to him. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to try. Dean rolled to Y/N’s side of the bed and wrapped her pillow in his arms as he let her smell wash over him. Her scent had started to fade but it was still strong enough for him to smell as he took deep breaths and let the liquor take over.

Y/N woke up the next morning, her eyes swollen and red, the new normal for her. Her mind went back to the night before seeing Stacy kissing Dean. How had she even thought that he would change? What was left of her heart had shattered last night and she felt as if her world had completely crumbled. Y/N had always been the type of person that could see people’s true potential, which had led her to a lot of disappointment and heartache when they didn’t live up to it, especially her husband. She knew he had so much more potential than he showed. Dean was a highly intelligent man and she knew what he was capable of. He had the biggest heart of anyone she had ever known, and that’s what had made everything so agonizing. She knew the heart he had, but he had broken hers.

Y/N pulled herself out of her pity party and made herself get out of bed and take a shower. The hot water had helped the swelling of her eyes but did nothing for her broken heart. The tears that had been building in her eyes now spilled onto her cheeks. The scene from the bar kept playing over and over in her mind. It was bad enough that he had been sneaking around, but to play tonsil hockey with his secretary in public had been embarrassing and hurtful. It had become obvious to her that he was never going to change, and she had to move on no matter how painful it was going to be. As she stepped out of the shower, she’d made up her mind. Y/N was going to move on with her and life and leave Dean and the heartbreak behind.

She walked out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. Y/N stood with her back against the kitchen counter as she waited for her coffee to finish brewing. Her mind began to wander as she thought about what she could do to move on and leave her old life behind. She knew that the first thing was getting herself back out in the public instead of staying holed up in her apartment. Granted, she had been working on her novel, but she couldn’t use that as an excuse to keep herself hidden away. She decided that she would get dressed and get out for the day. She needed to buy a few things for her apartment and to go see her uncle. There were things that needed to be done now that she had decided she wasn’t going to look back any longer. She was going to move forward with her life without Dean.

Dean decided to go visit the second garage he owned the following morning. . When he and Y/N had bought it, they had decided to have that one specialize in older and classic cars. That had been Dean’s passion, to fix and restore classic cars. The second garage would work on newer cars if the first was swamped, but it was mainly for classics. Dean knew of no one better suited to leave in charge of his second shop than Bobby.

Bobby and John had been friends since Dean and Sam were small children. Bobby had become like a second father to them even before their dad passed away, and now that he had, Bobby had become the man the two of them went to when they needed the fatherly advice. If only Dean had listened when he told him to quit fucking around, he would still have Y/N. Dean shook the thought from his mind as he made his way through the door and back to the old man’s office.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean said as he walked in.

“Hey, Dean. What do I owe the pleasure of seeing your ugly mug today?” Bobby said with a laugh.

“Thanks, Bobby. You always know how to make a man feel better,” Dean told him laughing himself. “I actually need you to do something for me.”

“Alright, what might that be?” Bobby asked him as he raised an eyebrow in question.

Dean handed him a piece of paper with all the details. He watched as Bobby looked it over and lifted his head back up to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You sure about this Dean? This isn’t going to be cheap,” Bobby said.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life Bobby,” He said looking at the old man.

“Ok then. You’re the boss,” Bobby said with a shrug.

“Thank you, Bobby,” Dean said as he gave him a hug.

The rest of the day had been business as usual. Dean worked on a few cars and went over the orders for things the garage had been running low on. He gave the all-clear for the orders and finished up in the garage so he could head back home for the evening. He didn’t necessarily want  to go home, but there wasn’t anything else left for him to do. He had sworn off going back to the bar and all women but Y/N. He was going to prove himself one way or another and that was the best way to start.

Dean picked up takeout for dinner like he had since Y/N had been gone and drove home. He walked into the empty house and sighed. He missed her with every waking moment and all he wanted was his wife to come back home. He hadn’t texted her again, trying to give her some space so she could work everything out in her mind. Dean knew her well and she had always been someone who stayed in her head. She had to work everything out on her own time. He had taken his first bite of pizza when his phone rang. Dean looked down to see Y/N’s face light up his screen, almost choking as he tried to swallow the pizza to answer the phone.

“Hey baby,” Dean answered the phone.

“Don’t call me that Dean, this isn’t a social call,” Y/N said with her voice monotone and void of any feeling.

“I’m sorry Y/N. What can I do for you then?” Dean asked as his heart sank.

“I don’t need you to do anything for me, Dean. I called to tell you something,” she said.

“What is it Y/N?” Dean asked as he held his breath.

“I want a divorce, Dean.”

@flamencodiva​​ @sorenmarie87​​ @foxyjwls007​​ @waywardbeanie​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @voltage-my2dlove​​ @hardcoresupernatural​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @lyarr24​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @akshi8278​ @midsummereve1993​ @sutton2001​ @emory91​ @halesandy​ @miss-nerd95​ @ellewritesfix05​ @bxbyizzy​ @winchest09​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @defenderrosetyler​ @hobby27​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @talesmaniac89​ @deanwanddamons​ @atc74​ @superfanficnatural​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @supernatural-love14​ @vicmc624​ @squirrelnotsam​ @tatted-trina6​ @xhannahbananax03​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @nihilismworld​ @winchester-wifey​ @mrsfox79​ @malfoysqueen14​ @moron225​ @deans-baby-momma​ @lovelyrocker​ @fablesrose​ @queenofchaos7​ @maralisa124​ @deangirl93​

[arhvste]

TSUKISHIMA KEI - INSUFFERABLE AND IMPOSSIBLE

requested by jaceyandme on wattpad

summary - after spending more time with a classmate, tsukishima finds himself caring more than what he’d like leading to you both reaching your limits - angst

warnings - cursing

an - i might do a part 2 i really wanna. this is also kinda rushed i’m kinda under time pressure rn so i might improve later or go into more depth in a later part

Your usual routine in the morning would be to get ready, meet your boyfriend outside your house, walk to school together (Wednesdays and Fridays Yamaguchi would join the two of you), change your shoes at your lockers and finally say your short goodbyes as you both departed to your separate classes. That was how things usually ran.

Not for the past two weeks however.

Tsukishima was a man of routine. He liked things to be in order and found satisfaction in things fitting in place, the fact that the usual routine the pair of you shared had been broken recently did not sit well with him and he knew exactly who was the ultimate cause of it.

Hara Itsuki.

His teeth would grit whenever he heard that name, a discreet but stewing anger would boil inside him and it didn’t help that sometimes you were oblivious to the middle blockers change in demeanor.

In your defense though you sometimes found Tsukishima hard to read. He was a sarcastic piece of shit with a tongue too sharp for his own good. It wasn’t rare for your boyfriend to take a hit at people out of nowhere. Tsukishima wasn’t the type to openly express genuine emotions either so it would’ve been hard to pick out his particular distaste towards Hara.

Hara Itsuki was a boy in your class who had recently come to ask for your assistance in literature. You, being the kind and helpful girl you were raised to be, agreed to help him after school while your boyfriend would be at practise.

You hadn’t intended to spend time with your classmate outside of the one hour after school you tutored him in, but the more you spoke with the boy, the more you found you had in common and found him easy to confide in.

At first Tsukishima didn’t care about your new friendship with your classmate, he wasn’t insecure or bothered by it and it’s not like he had any valid point to argue against it at first, but those one hour tutor sessions became 2 hour meet ups after school and a few lunchtimes a week you would be missing from your regular spot at your usual table as you would be eating elsewhere with your new friend.

This began to raise concern with Tsukishima but his pride wouldn’t allow him to confront you just yet at least.

It wasn’t until 4 weeks into your sudden new bond with Hara, Tsukishima felt himself edge towards the end of his relatively thin patience. The two of you rarely spoke due to Tsukishima’s everlasting bad mood and when you did speak, all you’d talk about is how great this Hara Itsuki was and quite frankly, the middle blocker would rather rip his own ears off than listen to what you’d have to say about this boy.

Yamaguchi would sometimes bring up your absence of late but it would always end in Tsukishima telling him to “Shut up.” and the boy would comply.

It wasn’t just Yamaguchi who noticed the effect your absence had on your boyfriend. The rest of the volleyball team noticed the tall middle blocker had become more hostile and cold towards everyone. Rarely talking to anyone and snapping at them when he did. Kageyama and Hinata made mental notes to keep out of his way for the time being and hold back on the provocative comments and snide remarks.

“Tsukishima, are you -uh, well you know -”

“Spit it out already.” The middle blocker spat.

“Are you missing Y/N?”

Everyone in the gym went silent. Tanaka took a step back from Tsukishima once he saw the look in his eye from his question.

“What sort of question is that? I couldn’t care less about the girl and who she's hoeing about with.”

The team stood wide eyed not sure on how to respond to such hostility.

Sugawara took it upon himself to attempt to diffuse the heavy tension in the air.

“Hey, If Tsukishima-san says he’s fine then we should just take his word for it and let it be.”

“But he’s obviously not fine. His blocking has been off and he’s not as observant on the court like he usually is. Quite frankly it’s annoying he can’t get it together, if we were playing in real matches right now we’d be thrashed within the first set because he can’t get a grip.”

All eyes turned to Kageyama. In truth, Kageyama had only said what was on his and potentially most of the team’s mind. The genius setter held a glare towards his teammate as he awaited a reply for his blunt comment.

“Sorry not all of us are fucking geniuses with no emotion. I don’t want to hear anything from you when your middle school teammates didn’t even want to play with you because of how selfish and obsessed you were. If Y/N wants to be a whore that’s fine I’ll deal with it myself, but I don't need any of you nosy imbeciles invading into my personal life!”

Tsukishima’s patience had finally snapped and nobody dared speak a word.

“I think we should call it a night. This isn’t a good atmosphere to be training in and I think we all need to clear our heads.” Daichi spoke up as both Asahi and Sugawara nodded.

The gym was cleared in silence and the team began to slowly disperse out the gym.

“Hang on a minute Tsukishima. I think we should have a quick chat.”

Tsukishima mentally cursed but approached Daichi anyway. Who was he to deny his captain and upperclassman’s request.

The two were the only ones left in the gym and Daichi patted the bench next to the court as they sat down.

“Listen, I know you’re going through a rough patch with your girlfriend right now and I’m by no means trying to invade or involve myself into your personal life but, from what we witnessed tonight it’s clear to me that it seems to be affecting the teams dynamic and that is my concern.”

Tsukishima couldn’t quite find the right words to respond to Daichi. It’s not like he could pull out a snarky remark about how he didn’t care about his girlfriends actions because deep down he knew he did in fact care and apparently more so than what he led himself on to believe.

“I’m not telling you what to do. Only you can decide how to handle the situation but I advise talking to L/N about how you’re really feeling. I know you’re not the most expressive person, but I also know that you do have a genuine concern for others whether you show it blatantly or not. Talk to her so you can both figure this out. I’m not just saying this for the best interest I have for our team but rather my best interest in you. Regardless if you want it, myself and all the others are concerned for you and want you to feel like you can rely on us.”

“Yeah. I’ll have a chat with her tonight.” The middle blocker stared at the ground as he began to rise from the seat. “I’ll have a think about everything.”

Daichi gave the first year a soft smile and patted his back.

“Good. Nobody’s mad at you, we’re just worried. Even Kageyama.”

To this Tsukishima snorted. “Whatever you say.”

“The kid’s blunt but he does care about you in his own way.”

After Daichi finished locking the gym up, both players said their respective goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Tsukishima made his way home but was stopped by the sight of you and Hara talking and laughing outside the school gates. Just from having that pep talk from Daichi was enough to encourage him to finally confront you. Not because he cared but for the greater good of the team, well that’s what he told himself anyway.

“Oh hi Kei...”

You nervously smiled at your boyfriend's irked expression.

“Oh so you do remember my name?” he sharply hissed at you.

Tsukishima had initially intended to have a civil conversation between the two of you, but seeing that bastard Hara standing there with a smug expression fuelled his hostility towards the whole situation.

“W-what? Of course I remember your name! You’re my boyfriend!” You replied as you fidgeted under his intense stare.

“Oh am I? Because from the way I see it, this loser over here seems to be your boyfriend rather than me.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“Don’t play clueless with me Y/N! If you wanted a side hoe you could’ve just said so and we wouldn’t have wasted time!”

“Side hoe?”

“Yes side hoe! And if you’re degrading me to second best to that thing -” Tsukishima pointed to where the now uncomfortable Hara stood . “- then I don’t want any association with you!”

“You’re insufferable!”

“And you’re impossible!”

Tears began to pool in your eyes as your anger began to flare.

“You know why I spend so much time with Hara-san? I’ll tell you why. He isn’t rude, obnoxious or judgemental. He is always considerate and never brings people down with snide comments and unnecessary insults. I love you Tsukishima, I really do, but right now you’re showing a perfect example of what I’m talking about.”

“If you really loved me we wouldn’t be having this argument. If you really loved me my team wouldn’t have to point out my lack of focus recently. If you really loved me you would’ve just told me the things about me that bother you so much. But none of that has played out has it? So tell me Y/N, do you really love me or am I just a test subject for you to use and compare to other people before you decide to settle down?”

You were in shock. You knew you were spending an increased amount of time with Hara but you didn’t know how big the effect was on Tsukishima.

“Uh, I’m gonna go.” Hara said suddenly as he began to turn to walk away.

“No you’re not. While Y/N is busy thinking about whether she really loves me or if that was just shit pouring out of her mouth, you’re going to tell me what exactly was running through your head approaching a girl who obviously is in a relationship.”

“For literature, I needed help.”

“And you got it. So why are you still hanging around her like some lost puppy?”

You finally had enough. Snapping your gaze up to Tsukishima you gave him a deadly glare.

“Will you shut up? Questioning my love for you like I’m some sort of slut who tests the water with every boy. I have never ever once complained about any girls approaching you to confess their love for you. I’ve never once stepped out of line. I’ve always supported you Kei.”

“Dont ‘Kei’ me L/N. You have no right to complain about the confessions I get because I turned each and every one of them down and for you. I know I was genuine to you but it was clearly not reciprocated. You’ve wasted enough of my time I’m fucking done. Messing up my performance in volleyball and making me look stupid, I’m done with you L/N, go have fun comparing Hara to other boys when you’re done trying him out.”

And with that Tsukishima turned around and stormed off out the gates.

You stood there speechless. You knew Tsukishima could be cold and make uncalled for remarks but this hurt. Him denying your feelings and calling you out to be like some sort of whore.

Hara wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his chest.

“Hey it’s gonna be okay. You deserve better than that four eyed loser anyway Y/N.”

You didn’t particularly want to be comforted by Hara right now. In fact you wanted to be away from the boy who had contributed in homewrecking your first real relationship whether that was his intention or not but, you also didn’t have the physical or mental strength to push him away just yet. You needed someone and Hara just happened to be there.”

Sniffling into his chest you nodded slightly as you wondered if Tsukishima was upset or if this whole break up had no effect on him. You thought the latter as your anger towards him grew.

“He probably doesn’t give a shit anyways. It’s not like he can’t have a replacement for me by now anyways. He probably does have a girl waiting on the side for him as we speak.” You snarled as Hara pulled you closer to him.

“Probably, what a man whore. He doesn’t deserve you Y/N.”

You walked home with Hara that night trying to take your mind off of what had happened. The thought of Tsukishima not being bothered or phased by the break up lingered at the back of your head though.

What you were unaware of was that Tsukishima had immediately let his tears fall as soon as he reached the safety of his own room, and rather than watching dinosaur documentaries or studying, he spent the whole night in his room silently sobbing and wishing he could turn back time. He had loved you in his own way and would’ve worked on improving his snarkiness for the sake of you if only you had brought it up to him. But you didn’t and for that, Tsukishima stayed up all night tear stained wondering if you had ever really loved him the way he loved you.

part 2

[hh-rose]

Those Five Years

ao3

You’d think that for people who had been alive for nearly a century, five years wouldn’t have much of an impact, but you would be sorely mistaken. A lot can happen in five years. Bucky didn’t exactly know what happened in those five years, but he knew something had changed. Sam didn’t seem to remember either, so Bucky knew that asking him would be a dead end.

Steve was a whole other problem to Bucky. Before he dusted, Bucky knew that he wasn’t the person that Steve had known before the war, and he was certain that he had changed even more. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that he had changed, and he knew that he needed to tell Steve that.

Bucky waited until everything died down after the battle and the funerals to sit down and have a conversation with Steve. When Bucky told Steve that they needed to talk, it seemed like Steve also had something to say, so they decided to kill two birds with one stone.

“So,” Steve said, looking at Bucky who was pacing back and forth in the guest room that he, Steve, and Sam were sharing. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Five years?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded. “I don’t remember them at all. I know that there’s something there because I keep having weird deja vu, but I can’t remember any of it.”

“What’s the deja vu like?” Steve asked. Bucky thought about it for a moment before he answered.

“I think I met someone there,” Bucky explained, causing Steve to raise his eyebrows. “I feel like I really bonded with someone, and now that I’m back, I feel like there’s this hole.”

“I, um, I get that,” Steve responded, looking at the ground. “That’s how it was for me after I came out of the ice. It didn’t take me long to remember that the person I left behind was Peggy.”

“Right, Peggy,” Bucky murmured. He let out a breath. “It, uh, it hurt a lot when you fell in love with Peggy. I didn’t understand how you could’ve fallen out of love with me that quickly, but I think I might get it now. You don’t need to feel guilty anymore, though. I know that’s what all these years have been. You were fighting so hard for me because you felt like you left me behind to be with her, and then you felt even worse because I was alive and you didn’t know. You don’t need to feel guilty anymore because I know what it’s like to meet another person and fall in love.”

“In love?” Steve asked with a smirk. Bucky blushed slightly. “That’s not all it was, you know. I still loved you. I still love you. I was fighting for you because you were my first love and my best friend. I’m always going to love you.”

“I know,” Bucky responded, a soft smile on his face. “I’m always going to love you too. Always. But it’s not fair to keep trying to make this work if there are other people out there for us.”

“Wait, how did you know?” Steve questioned. Bucky let out a chuckle.

“Please, Steve, I know you better than anyone. The second I heard about the time travel, I knew that you were going to go back to her,” Bucky explained. Now, it was Steve’s turn to blush.

“And you’re not upset?”

“Of course not. You need to be with your love, and I probably need to figure out who mine is.”

“Oh, right. Who do you think it could be?” Steve wondered. Bucky shrugged.

“I have no idea. It could be literally anyone,” Bucky stated. Just then, Sam walked into their shared room.

“All done here, old folks?” he asked. Steve and Bucky both rolled their eyes. “Who’s sharing a bed?”

“Buck?” Steve questioned. The easy answer would be him and Steve. They shared beds together for their entire life. However, there was something inside of Bucky that was screaming Sam, Sam, Sam .

“You have a big day tomorrow,” Bucky told Steve. “Sam and I can share tonight.”

“Alright,” Steve said with a knowing smile. Bucky wasn’t sure what Steve knew, but he sure as hell knew something. “I’ll probably hit the hay then. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Sam said, walking over to his side of the bed.

“Night, Stevie,” Bucky echoed, shooting Steve a smile. He began to pull his hair up into a half-up, half-down bun.

“When did you start wearing your hair like that?” Sam questioned. “You had it like that during the battle too.”

“I’m not sure,” Bucky answered. Thinking about it now, he had no idea why he did it. It seemed like second nature, but he never did it before he went into the soul stone. “Wait, why are you being so nosy about my hair?”

“I’m not being nosy, man,” Sam scoffed. “I’m just being observant.”

“Did you observe that it looks good?” Bucky asked as he got into bed next to Sam. Sam looked at Bucky’s hair again.

“Well, I’m not saying that it doesn’t look good,” Sam responded finally. He smirked at Bucky. “Goodnight, man bun.”

“Yeah, goodnight, pigeon.”

...

Sam never exactly looked forward to his dreams at night. To him, a good night of sleep was a dreamless one. As he closed his eyes that night, he was immediately transported somewhere else, and he knew that it wasn’t going to be one of those nights tonight. It didn’t really feel like a dream though.

He was in a house that he never saw before, but it felt like he lived there for a considerable amount of time. Then, he heard someone groan.

“Bucky?” Sam asked, walking into what he assumed was a living room. “What are you grumbling about?”

“My stupid hair,” Bucky responded, pushing it out of his face. Sam tried to hide a smirk. “Don’t fucking laugh at me, Wilson.”

“I’m not laughing at all,” Sam said, most definitely holding back a laugh. “Why don’t you cut it?”

“Are you crazy? My hair is beautiful. It would be a sin to cut it,” Bucky stated. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, Jesus,” he joked. Then, he thought of something. “Wait a second. This might work at least until we see Wanda later tonight and can ask her for some hair ties.”

Sam walked into the kitchen and grabbed a rubber band from the junk drawer before returning back to the living room to find a very confused Bucky.

“Do you want it all up or just some of it?” Sam asked. Bucky shrugged. “Alright, I’ll leave some down. Turn so I can sit behind you.”

Bucky shifted on the couch so that Sam could sit behind him. Sam began to comb Bucky’s hair back with his fingers and assemble it into a pile.

“Okay, this isn’t technically meant for hair, so it might hurt a bit,” Sam explained before wrapping the rubber band around Bucky’s hair, causing him to grimace. “I warned you.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said, getting up and walking to the bathroom to look at his hair.

“You could’ve thanked me first,” Sam teased, Bucky locking eyes with him through the mirror. They shared a smile. “Like it?”

“Love it,” Bucky responded. “Thank you.”

All of a sudden, Sam was being sucked out of the bathroom and brought to what he could only assume was his bedroom. He was sitting on the bed when Bucky walked out of the bathroom. Sam thought it was weird that Bucky would be in his bathroom, but he shook it off.

“Hey, have you seen any hair ties?” Bucky asked. Sam shrugged, but he was smirking slightly. “Come on, Wanda will kill me if I ask for any more.”

“I might know where you have some,” Sam offered. “I might also have one right now.”

“Oh, really?” Bucky asked, moving closer to Sam. “Are you going to give it to me?”

“You’re going to have to ask nicely,” Sam told him. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Can I please have the hair tie?” Bucky asked. Sam stood up from the bed and pulled the hair tie off his wrist. “Hot.”

“Hot?” Sam asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, it’s hot that you have that on your wrist for me. Like you’re always ready to take care of me,” Bucky explained. Sam put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and turned him around.

“I am always ready to take care of you,” Sam told him, before tying Bucky’s hair up just the way he liked it. Then, he dropped a kiss on Bucky’s neck. “I ever tell you how hot you look like this?”

“Only every single time,” Bucky said, turning around and kissing Sam on the lips. “Well, not the first time, but in your defense, we weren’t together back then.”

“Because we were stupid,” Sam said against Bucky’s lips. “I have no idea how I ever lived without you.”

Sam shot up in bed. He looked around the room and saw that it was still dark, and both Steve and Bucky were still asleep. He looked down at Bucky and saw his little bun. His heart did a flip. Whatever he just experienced was not a dream, and he had no idea what it meant.

…

It wasn’t long until Steve and Bucky woke up. Steve wanted to get on the time travel road early. Sam was already up and out of bed when Bucky got up. Bucky had the urge to ask him why he was up so early, but the only thing weirder than Sam’s sleeping habits was Bucky picking up on them. He had no idea why he noticed such a thing, and more than that, he was incredibly confused about why he cared. Then, out of nowhere, Bucky remembered something.

“Sam,” Bucky groaned, rolling over in bed. He was feeling for something that wasn’t there. “Where the hell are you?”

Bucky rubbed his eyes and slowly got out of bed. He padded barefoot into the kitchen and saw Sam sitting on the couch with his knees to his chest. Bucky frowned before walking over and sitting a few feet away from him.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked sincerely. “If you needed space you could’ve kicked me out. It’s your bed after all.”

“No, it’s our bed,” Sam whispered, not looking at Bucky. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know you can talk to me about that sort of thing. That’s what we do. We help each other through that crap.”

“I know,” Sam murmured. “It’s just that...the nightmare was about Riley. I get those sometimes, and I didn’t want you to think that you’re just a replacement for him or something.”

“I could never think that,” Bucky replied, putting a hand on Sam’s knee. “I know that you’re always gonna love Riley, and a part of me is always going to love Steve. That doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other, and you know that.”

“That doesn’t mean that you would want to hear about my Riley crap.”

“It means that I want to hear about all your crap,” Bucky stated, causing Sam to smile for the first time since the conversation started. “This isn’t going to work if we can’t be open about everything with each other-- the good, bad and ugly. It’s going to be hard. A lot of things are hard to talk about, for both of us, but if we trust each other, then it’ll be okay.”

“Since when did you become the therapist in this relationship?” Sam asked, eyes flicking up to meet Bucky’s. Bucky smiled in return.

“I just love you a lot is all,” he responded. He looked Sam in the eyes with a sincere look on his face. “If something like this happens again, I want you to tell me. I never want to wake up in bed without you next to me again, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said with a nod. Then, he smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bucky said, standing up and offering a hand for Sam to pull himself up with. “Now, how about we make some breakfast?”

Eventually, Bucky came back to the real world when he realized that Sam and Steve were both staring at him. What the fuck was that?

“Where did you go, Buck?” Steve asked, staring quizzically at him.

“Just thinking about how much I’m gonna miss you is all,” Bucky replied. Sam looked away when he said that, and Bucky wondered if Sam was having any weird memories too.

“Well, you can’t miss me if we don’t get this show on the road,” Steve stated, grabbing the shield and hammer. “Let’s do this.”

The three of them exited the house and met Bruce outside. Everything was all set up for Steve’s mission. Bucky was being honest earlier; he was going to miss Steve a lot. Well, he was going to miss this Steve. Young Steve. His Steve, not that he was his anymore.  

Bucky felt bad that Sam didn’t know what was going to happen as Steve disappeared and didn’t come back. It wasn’t fair to him, and Bucky was going to tell Steve that when he returned. But, Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he sent Sam to go talk to Steve. He smiled even wider when he saw Steve give Sam the shield.

“Cap,” Bucky said with a grin when Sam walked over to him. The poor guy looked mortified.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“I knew he was going, but I didn’t know he was going to make you Cap,” Bucky informed him. “It was the right move, though. You’re going to be a great Captain America.”

“Thanks,” Sam responded, sheepishly. “You gonna talk to him?”

“Yeah, I think I will,” Bucky said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. His hand tingled as he did it, and his eyes went wide. He walked away as quickly as possible and hoped that Sam didn’t notice. “You should’ve told Sam.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve asked. Bucky just rolled his eyes before he sat down next to Steve on the bench.

“I’m sure it would’ve been nice for him to know that his best friend was gonna come back with one foot in the grave.”

“You know as well as I do that if Sam knew he would’ve told me not to go,” Steve stated. “He would’ve told me that the world still needed me, and it would’ve worked. Plus, he never would’ve taken the shield if I didn’t just spring it on him.”

“You’re right,” Bucky stated. Steve smiled.

“How do you know so much about the inner-workings of Sam’s brain? What’s got you so worried about him?”

“Asshole,” Bucky muttered, causing Steve to smirk. “Yeah, okay, so it might be him.”

“What brought you to that conclusion?” Steve asked.

“There’s just something pulling me to him. I don’t know how to explain it,” Bucky stated. “Plus, I kind of had a really vivid memory about him earlier.”

“When you zoned out?” Steve asked, causing Bucky to nod. “I knew it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“There’s no way that he still feels that way about me,” Bucky stated sadly. “It was probably just because he was lonely wherever we were.”

“Buck…”

“I’ll tell him, Steve. Just not right now. I need time.”

“Just don’t take too much time. I’m not letting you use any Pym Particles to go back and time and make it right with your love,” Steve told him. “That’s only cool when I do it.”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

...

Sam watched as Bucky and Steve talked. He was feeling weird after the dream, and that weirdness was just amplified when Bucky touched him and he felt every single hair on his body rise at the same time.

He was watching his two friends very intently, though. He figured that Bucky was probably taking Steve going back to Peggy pretty hard. He didn’t know that much about Bucky before the Blip, but he did know that Bucky’s world revolved around Steve.

“Fuck.” Sam heard someone groan when he came to. He looked up and saw Bucky standing in the middle of a field. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Steve!”

“Bucky?” Sam asked, slowly walking over to Bucky. He had absolutely no idea where he was.

“Sam?” Bucky replied. “Where are we? Where is Steve?”

“I have no idea. I just remember fucking disintegrating and then waking up here.”

“Are we dead?” Bucky questioned, but Sam just shrugged.

“No.” They both turned to where the voice came from and saw Wanda sitting on the ground looking miserable. “We’re not dead. Thanos snapped us all here. We’re in the soul stone.”

“But we’re alive?” Sam asked.

“Unfortunately,” Wanda replied. “We’re stuck here until they figure out a way to beat Thanos, if that ever happens, of course.”

“They’ll figure something out. They always do,” Sam assured her. Then, he turned his focus back to Bucky who looked like he was going to throw up or cry or maybe both. “Bucky?”

“I just got him back,” Bucky said, collapsing to the ground and holding his head in his hands. “This isn’t fucking fair.”

“You’ll get back to him again,” Sam said, sitting down next to him. “You guys were, uh, together weren’t you?”

“Not since before the war,” Bucky responded. “We were waiting until I was alright to try again, but obviously that never happened.”

“It will,” Sam promised. “Until then I guess we just sit in this field.”

“The soul stone can be whatever you want it to be,” Wanda informed him. “If you imagine something, it’ll appear. Doesn’t work on people though, so don’t even try.”

“Okay, let me try,” Sam said, closing his eyes tight.

“Woah,” Bucky breathed out. Sam opened his eyes and saw a house not twenty feet away from them. “You living in that big thing alone, pigeon?”

“No, dickwad. I imagined two bedrooms, so you’re more than welcome to live with me.”

Sam came to as Steve and Bucky walked toward him laughing at a joke he wasn’t in on. That’s just how it was always going to be. Even if something had happened between him and Sam in the soul stone, Bucky’s heart was always going to belong to Steve. Sam was just going to have to live with that.

...

It only made sense that Sam and Bucky move in together, even if they didn’t admit why it made sense. It also made sense that they lived in New York rather than DC. It wasn’t because of Steve. If that were the case, they would’ve lived with him in Brooklyn, but no, instead they moved to Queens. Queens . Neither one of them had any idea why they would have such a strong bond with Queens until Bucky ran into someone at the grocery store one day.

“Oh, sir, I am so sorry.” Bucky heard a familiar voice say after he felt something smash into his back. He turned around to see a teenage boy whose face he didn’t quite recognize. “Buck?”

“Pete?” Bucky asked, nickname slipping out of his mouth without his permission. He had no idea who this kid was. Then, like magic, a memory from the back of his head was pulled forward.

It was a few days after the dusting when Bucky was sitting on the porch of his and Sam’s house. There wasn’t much to do in the soul world, so Bucky had taken to old man activities such as watching his nonexistent neighbors. Well, they were all nonexistent until he saw a teenage boy walking up the street.

“Hey, kid. You lost?” Bucky asked, shifting forward in his rocking chair. The boy stopped walking and stared at Bucky. He looked so lost and alone, and Bucky’s heart broke.

“Are you the Winter Soldier guy?” the kid asked.

“I don’t really go by that anymore,” Bucky responded. “You can call me Bucky.”

“Hi, Bucky. I’m Peter Parker, but um, you probably know me as Spiderman,” the kid, Peter said, and Bucky’s eyes went wide.

“No way. You’re the kid who beat the shit out of me and Sam!” Bucky exclaimed. Then, he got worried again. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Shit, kid. You have anyone here?”

“Um, no. I’m alone.”

“Well, Sam and I, we have a big house for just two people. You’re more than welcome to stay here,” Bucky stated. Peter smiled softly.

“Really?” he asked, grinning.

“Of course, kid. Come on, Sam’ll want to meet you.”

Just as quickly as he was pulled into the memory, Bucky was thrown out. Now, he was standing in a grocery store in front of a kid who he didn’t know but who he also helped raise.

“Peter,” Bucky breathed out, pulling him into a hug. Peter hugged back just as tightly. “I saw you at the funeral, but I didn’t recognize you. I’m sorry. Are you alright? Are you back with your aunt?”

“It’s okay. I didn’t remember you until I saw you just now,” Peter explained into Bucky’s chest, neither of them wanting to pull away just yet. “I’m alright. Still adjusting to being back, but I’m fine. And, yeah, I’m back with May. How are you? How’s Sam?”

“Me and Sam are just fine,” Bucky told him, finally pulling away. “We just moved into an apartment a few blocks from here. I’m sure he’d love to see you, but, Pete, he doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t even remember being with me. At least, not yet.”

“He what?” Peter asked, completely shocked.

“Look, I’m positive he doesn’t remember me, but maybe he remembers you. I don’t want you to be upset about it. It’s nothing personal. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

“No, I know. I’m not upset about that. I’m upset that my da-- that you guys aren’t together,” Peter explained. Bucky knew what Peter was going to call them, but he didn’t say anything.

“I know, bud, but it’ll all work out. I promise,” Bucky assured him. “I should probably get going, but I’ll see you around. I’ll do more than that. I’ll see you all the time, okay?”

“Yeah, course,” Peter replied. He hugged Bucky one last time. “Bye, d--Buck.”

...

Bucky had been out for a few hours, which gave Sam a lot of time to think about things. There wasn’t really much for him to think about as he didn’t know the full story. He had no idea what happened in those five years.

Sam’s mind jumped from topic to topic hoping beyond all hope that something would trigger another memory. Eventually, Sam’s mind landed on Steve, and that did the trick.

“I wish I could just forget about Steve,” Bucky said as he and Sam sat on the couch that night. Sam was taken aback by Bucky’s abruptness. “I wish there was a way for me to just forget about it all and move on.”

“Well, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Sam offered, looking at the television and not the man sitting next to him.

“Who exactly am I going to get under here, Sam? The only people around here are other Avengers who either hate me, are with other people, or are minors.”

“You’ll just have to go search for someone I guess.”

“If only there were someone right under my nose who could help me out,” Bucky stated, staring pointedly at Sam. Sam wasn’t budging though. Bucky moved closer to him. “Someone I really trust. Someone who knows me. Someone who isn’t all that bad to look at.”

“Oh, you really know how to charm a man, don’t you, Barnes?” Sam asked, still not looking at him. Bucky moved impossibly closer. “Bucky, come on. You don’t actually want this.”

“You don’t know what I want,” Bucky whispered. “If you don’t want to, then obviously it’s a no, and we both move on and forget it ever happened. If you do want it though, then it should happen. I want you, Sam. I need you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Sam asked, finally turning to face him. “You want to have sex with me?”

“Look, I don’t know how long we’re gonna be here. What I do know is that I’m not spending all my time here not doing anything worthwhile.”

“And you think sleeping with me will be worthwhile?” Sam asked, smirking.

“I know it will, bird boy. What do you say?”

“I say that we should go to my bedroom,” Sam said, leaning into Bucky’s space before getting up and grinning as Bucky hurried behind him.

So, that was it. He and Bucky must’ve had a no strings attached, friends with benefits thing going on. It must’ve just been a way to pass their time while they were stuck in there. Mostly, it was just a way for Bucky to get over Steve. Just then, Sam’s phone began to ring. He groaned when he saw that it was Steve.

“Hey, Steve,” he said when he picked up the phone. “Now isn’t the best time.”

“Oh, is something wrong?” the old man asked. Sam absolutely hated how he sounded. His blood began to boil, and he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Yes, Steve, something is wrong but it’s you not me,” Sam spat. “How could you do that to Bucky? I don’t understand. How could you just cast him aside like that?”

“What?”

“I’m not dumb, Steve. I know that you two were together before the war, and I know that he’s still in love with you now.”

“Sam, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said calmly. “Buck and I talked before I left. He gave me his blessing.”

“Of course he gave you his blessing. He would never have told you not to go. He loves you too much,” Sam told him. “You shouldn’t have done it. It was a messed up thing to do, and now Bucky is suffering.”

“Bucky isn’t suffering,” Steve assured him, but Sam just rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m right. You would know that if you just talked to Bucky. Or if he just talked to you. I’m sorry if you think that what I did was wrong, but I never would’ve done it if I didn’t know that Bucky would be okay.”

“You’re right,” Sam breathed out. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“Don’t worry about it, pal. You were just looking out for Bucky.”

“Not sure why,” Sam muttered, and he swore he heard the old man laugh.

...

It was a few hours later when Sam and Bucky sat down to have dinner. Things were still very awkward between them, but neither one of them wanted to be too far from the other for too long. It was just an unspoken thing. Even if they weren’t talking, they always had to be near each other.

So, they sat across from each other at their kitchen table. They were eating takeout from some Italian place. Sam had ordered penne with vodka sauce, his favorite food. Bucky wasn’t sure how he knew that fact, but he knew it. Bucky looked across the table at Sam, who seemed to be very much enjoying his dinner, and he smiled to himself.

“This is good, but it has nothing on the vodka sauce back home,” Sam said after taking a bite of the food that Bucky made. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “God, you try to do a nice thing around here, and it’s never good enough.”

“Shut up,” Sam told him, looking him in the eyes. He raised his eyebrows at the man sitting across from him. “It’s very good for your first try. And thank you for tonight.”

“All I did was kick Pete out for the night and make some half ass pasta.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it. Plus, you’ll really celebrate my birthday later on.”

“So you’re saying I could’ve just fucked you for your present?” Bucky questioned, causing Sam to shrug. Then, Bucky’s heart began to beat faster. “Actually, Sam, there’s something that I wanted to talk to you about. It’s about the sex.”

“I don’t think my birthday is the best time for you to tell me that you want to stop having sex with me, Barnes.”

“No, no, it’s, um, not that,” Bucky stammered. “Your birthday probably isn’t the best time to bring this up, you’re right, but if I don’t do it now, I might not ever, and I really, really need to get it off my chest.”

“Buck, calm down,” Sam said, putting a hand over Bucky’s on the table. “Whatever you have to say, just say it. I won’t be upset.”

“I love you,” Bucky whispered, looking Sam in the eyes. Sam’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, especially because it’s your birthday, but it’s true. I love you so much, and I love what we have. I love our house and our fucking kid. I love our little family. I just love you, okay?”

“Bucky, Jesus, I thought it was gonna be something bad,” Sam breathed out. He smiled at the other man. “I love you too, dummy. So fucking much. I love our family more than anything.”

“Okay, good,” Bucky said, going back to his dinner. Sam scoffed.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say.”

“I worked very hard on this meal, and I’m not letting it go to waste,” Bucky explained, forking more food into his mouth. “Love you, though.”

“It’s moments like this where I regret loving you.”

“You could never,” Bucky stated, and he was right. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Bucky?” Sam asked, shaking Bucky from his memory. His eyes shot up to meet Sam’s. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I was just zoned out for a few minutes,” Bucky explained, going back to his food. “Your dinner good?”

“It’s good, but I feel like I’ve had better before,” Sam responded, and Bucky’s cheeks went red. “And, I don’t think it was in DC either. I don’t remember when or where, but I remember having this really good vodka sauce on one of my birthdays.”

“Weird,” Bucky muttered, hoping beyond all hope that Sam would drop the conversation.

...

It wasn’t getting easier for either of them. Sam kept remembering exclusively sexual things, and Bucky kept remembering all their happy family moments. It had been a week since Bucky saw Peter at the grocery store. He knew that he needed to do something, so he came up with a plan. He hoped that Peter would be at the grocery store again at the same time, and he very politely asked Sam to go pick up some things for dinner. Bucky was hoping that they would run into each other and hopefully Sam would remember.

Sam was looking all around the store for the ridiculous number of things that Bucky asked him to buy. He was beginning to think that Bucky sent him to buy a bunch of random things just to play a joke on him when he heard a gasp from behind him.

“Sam?” a voice asked. Sam turned around to see a teenage boy who did not know.

“Sorry, do I know you?” Sam asked, not knowing if he was a fan or someone who actually knew Sam. He looked over the kid’s face for a moment before it hit him.

“Hey, Pete, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Sam said one day as he and Peter were eating lunch in their kitchen. “But, you can’t tell Bucky.”

“Come on, Sam, you know I’m not good at secrets,” Peter groaned. Sam rolled his eyes fondly.

“I could just keep this really fascinating information to myself then,” Sam suggested, taking a bite of his sandwich. He knew that Peter would take the bait.

“No, no, I wanna know. Tell me.”

“Whatever you say,” Sam replied, a smirk on his face. Then, his smile turned soft. “I’m gonna ask Bucky to marry me.”

“What?” Peter asked, almost choking to death on the food he was chewing. Sam laughed at the idiot kid across from him. “Sam, that’s awesome.”

“You think so?”

“Duh, my dads are gonna get married,” Peter blurted out, but then his eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. I just, I’ve come to think of you guys as my dads.”

“We’ve been raising you for five years, kiddo. I think it’s perfectly fine if you call us your dads. Lord knows we think of you as our kid,” Sam said sincerely, causing Peter to grin. “Anyway, you want to help me propose to your other dad?”

“I would love to,” Peter responded. Then, he felt an all too familiar sensation. “Dad, it's happening again.”

“What’s happening?” Sam asked, but his question was answered when he watched Peter turn to dust.

“Pete, holy fuck,” Sam whispered when he came to, tears in his eyes. He pulled Peter into a bone crushing hug. “You scared the hell out of me the last time I saw you. It was only a few minutes before I followed, but then I lost all my memories. I missed you so much, bud.”

“I missed you too, dad,” Peter said into Sam’s shoulder. He pulled back frantically. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m not sure if that’s okay now. I know you said it was okay back then, but now is different. Bucky said you didn’t even remember us, so obviously you wouldn’t be okay with me calling you dad.”

“Kid, take a breath, jeez,” Sam said, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. He squinted at the kid. “What did you say about Bucky?”

“Shit,” Peter muttered. He let out a groan. “I saw him here last week. We didn’t remember each other, but then we did. It was so weird. But, then he said that you didn’t remember being with him, and he wasn’t sure if you remembered me at all.”

“I didn’t,” Sam admitted. “I didn’t know that me and Buck were serious, and I didn’t remember you at all. Clearly, we were serious though because I was gonna ask him to marry me. I was gonna ask him to marry me, Pete. And, you, you were, are , our son.”

“Are you gonna ask him to marry you now?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam responded honestly. “I didn’t think he remembered. I figured he would want to be with Steve. I have no idea what he remembers or what he wants.”

“He wants to be with you, dad,” Peter stated easily. “He was a mess when I saw him the other day. He misses you.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“You love him, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said softly, smiling slightly. “I do. I can’t believe I didn’t remember how badly I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Then, talk to him. Please. For me,” Peter practically begged. “I have to get home or Aunt May will kill me, but I’ll give you my number so you can call me the second you talk to dad.”

“Alright, bud,” Sam stated, smiling at Peter as he typed his number into Sam’s phone. “I’ll call you soon.”

“You better.”

...

Bucky figured that he had some time to kill while Sam was at the store, so he decided to go to Steve’s house. Steve was always happy to see him, and he was even happier to lecture him on why telling Sam was so important.

“You have to tell him,” Steve said as soon as Bucky walked through the door. He was sitting in what Bucky liked to call Steve’s “old man chair.” Bucky rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch across from the chair.

“Steve, come on,” Bucky groaned. “You know that it’s not that easy. I don’t even know if he remembers or if he would still want to be with me. You of all people know how hard it is to love me.”

“What?” Steve asked, disgusted by Bucky’s statement. “Bucky, loving you was the easiest thing I ever did.”

“Yeah, well, you’re you, and that was before. Who’s to say that Sam would still want me after everything?”

“Did he tell you that he called me?” Steve asked, not paying any mind to Bucky’s ridiculous notions.

“No, but I’m not exactly surprised considering you’re friends,” Bucky responded.

“He called me to tell me off about leaving you,” Steve stated, and Bucky’s eyes went wide. “Yeah. He thinks that you’re in love with me and heartbroken because I left you for Peggy.”

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned. Just then, both men heard the door open.

“Oh, sorry Steve. I didn’t know you had company,” the person said. Bucky turned around to see Wanda closing the door behind her.

“What do you need Bucky?” Wanda asked, closing the door behind him as he walked into her house.

“I have to talk to you about something personal, and I don’t want to upset you,” Bucky stated, pacing back and forth, not looking at her.

“I’m a big girl, Bucky,” she said, causing Bucky to scoff.

“Please, you’re practically a fetus compared to me,” he joked. Then, he looked at her apologetically. “Sorry, I do actually want to have a serious conversation. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, you dork. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“If you met someone else, would you ever think about getting married?” Bucky asked abruptly. Wanda looked at him quizzically. Bucky began pacing again. “I always planned on marrying Steve. Even when it was illegal, marrying him was all I wanted. I never thought I would want to marry anyone else, but here I am. And if we get back, what if Steve’s upset that I moved on? I just don’t know what to do.”

“Alright, breathe. Why don’t you sit down?” Wanda offered, leading Bucky to the kitchen counter. Bucky sat down on one stool and Wanda sat on another. She waited a moment before she said anything. “I am not in any way over Vision. He is very much still the love of my life. However, if there came a day when I found someone else and Vision was really gone, I would like to believe that he would want me to be happy. That’s all the people we love want for us after all. They just want us to be happy.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“If the roles were reversed and Steve found someone in these last few years, would you be happy for him?” Wanda asked, and Bucky was taken aback. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Yeah, I think I would be,” he answered honestly. “He did find someone else at one time, and I wasn’t happy for him. I didn’t get it, but now I do. If he wanted to be with her now, I would just be happy that he found her again.”

“Then, I think you have your answer,” Wanda replied with a soft smile. “If Steve loved you as much as you loved him, then he would be happy for you.”

“Thank you, kiddo,” Bucky said, and Wanda rolled her eyes.

“So, you gonna ask Sam to marry you?” she asked cheekily. Now, it was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes.

“That’s the plan,” he replied, a smirk forming on his face. He was back to the Bucky that Wanda knew and loved, but then his face fell.

“Bucky?” Wanda asked, eyes wide with horror as she watched him turn to dust.

“Kiddo, Jesus,” Bucky said, standing up abruptly when he was brought back to the present. “I haven’t seen you since...well…”

“Since we talked about you asking Sam to marry you,” Wanda finished, smirking. They both heard Steve clear his throat, and Bucky blushed.

“I didn’t remember until I saw Wanda. Calm down, old man,” he told Steve. He turned back to Wanda. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” she said with a grin, taking Bucky’s abandoned seat on the couch. “What were you boys doing before I got here?”

“Just telling Bucky how he needs to tell Sam that they were in love in the soul world,” Steve stated, and Wanda whipped her head to look at Bucky.

“Shut up, both of you. I’m leaving now.”

“Wait, Buck, don’t go.”

“Do you want me to talk to Sam or not?” Bucky asked, grin taking over his face.

...

Bucky arrived home almost the same time Sam had. He walked into the apartment and helped Sam unload the groceries. He sifted through the bags and found some ice cream. Before he could even register, a question popped into his head and came out of his mouth.

“Why didn’t you get cookies and cream ice cream? You know Peter always asks for it,” Bucky blurted out, handing Sam the chocolate ice cream. Sam just stood there for a second, holding the ice cream in his hand. “What?”

“What did you just ask me?” Sam asked. Bucky’s eyes went wide, registering what he asked. “You asked me something about Peter.”

“Do you remember Peter?” Bucky questioned, looking Sam in the eye.

“It would be a bit hard to forget our son.”

“Wait, you remember us?” Bucky asked, hearting beating fast. Sam smiled slightly.

“I don’t remember all of it, but I remember some big things,” Sam explained. He put the ice cream away and turned back to face Bucky, entering his space. “For example, I remember that I had a pretty big question to ask you.”

“No, I had a pretty big question to ask you,” Bucky countered, pulling Sam closer to him.

“I think Peter would be pretty mad if we asked each other anything without him being here,” Sam stated, causing Bucky to nod. Sam pulled out his phone. Bucky began kissing Sam’s neck as he dialled. “I guess I’ll just have to call him.”

“Oh, so it worked. You did run into him.”

“I knew you sent me there for a reason,” Sam said, putting the phone up to his ear and kissing Bucky once on the lips before Peter answered. “Hey, bud, what are you doing tonight? Wanna come over for dinner with me and dad?”

...

Peter was incredibly confused as knocked on Sam and Bucky’s apartment door. He had no idea who remembered what, and he didn’t know what exactly he was walking into. All the nerves went away when Bucky opened the door with a warm smile.

“Sammy, the kid’s here,” Bucky announced from the doorway. He pulled Peter in for a quick hug before leading him into the apartment.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sam greeted from the stove. “I’m just finishing up dinner.”

“Cool,” Peter said. Bucky handed Peter some plates, and Peter began to set the table like he always did.

“So, how’s school been?” Bucky asked.

“Good. I’m almost done for the year, and then I’m going on a school trip during the summer. MJ and Ned are gonna be there.”

“Oh, MJ, I almost forgot about her,” Bucky said, smirking at Peter and then Sam. “You tell her how you feel yet?”

“God, no,” Peter responded, blushing a deep shade of red.

“Bucky, don’t bother him. Lord knows that you took your grand old time telling me how you felt,” Sam offered from the stove.

“Excuse me, I can say the same for you,” Bucky argued, but he was smiling all the same. “Peter, tell your father that you don’t mind me busting your chops.”

“What if I do mind?” Peter asked.

“Duh, then, you’re grounded.”

“Right,” Peter replied, smiling. He was done setting the table, so he and Bucky sat down as Sam finished the food and set it down.

“Dinner is served, boys,” he said, sitting down next to Bucky.

“Looks great, sweetheart,” Bucky told Sam before kissing him on the cheek. Peter pretended to throw up. “Don’t disrespect your dads, boy.”

“You tell him, honey,” Sam said to Bucky before casting a smile at Peter. “When is your trip, Pete?”

“Um, July I think,” Peter replied, before digging into his food.

“Okay, so that’s a no on July. Maybe August?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know. Steve’s birthday is July and yours is August. I don’t really want to put it in the middle like that. I wanna spread things out,” Bucky explained. “My half of the year is so boring. There’s nothing going on in the winter and spring.”

“I didn’t peg you for a spring wedding type,” Sam stated.

“I’m sorry what?” Peter asked, and both Sam and Bucky looked at him. “When did you get engaged?”

“Technically speaking, we never did get engaged,” Sam stated. “Neither of us ever proposed.”

“Didn’t need to,” Bucky said, taking a bite of his dinner. “We already knew the answer.”

“Aww, how cute,” Peter joked, but the sentiment was true. “What about a winter wedding? January or February?”

“But then we have to go from March to July without celebrating anything,” Bucky told him.

“That’s not true. Isn’t your anniversary in April? Plus, you technically adopted me in May.”

“Kid raises a good point,” Sam stated. “I like February. January sucks because it’s just the hangover after Christmas and Peter’s birthday.”

“Fair,” Bucky responded. “I like February too.”

“It’s really the best month of the year if you think about it,” Peter began. Sam and Bucky both watched him fondly as he went on a long, nerdy tangent about leap years.

Bucky turned and grinned at Sam who grinned right back. Bucky Barnes fell in love with Sam Wilson faster than he had ever done anything in his entire life. He had been alive for longer than any human should be, but the five years he spent with Sam were the best of his very long life. As he sat with his fiance and son, he hoped that the rest of his life would be as amazing as those five years.