#he looks so awkward and uncomfortable ALL the time i need him to have like. a silly pose or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

risuola · 7 months ago

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ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

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

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

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

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

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darkmatilda · 2 months ago

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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: basically just two bookworms arguing about books and having a s3x right after

𝐚/𝐧: please read the note! so it's only a very short part of my upcoming fanfiction that has...25k words...i'm aware no one is going to read it all soo i'm publishing one of my favorite parts.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

Maybe it was that one drink you had, but your legs seemed to take you in a certain direction.

You weren’t sure if Spencer was even home. But if you had nothing else to do, why not check? A short walk. You were a little desperate, after all, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. That’s how you justified it. You were going to him because you had no other option.

He opened the door, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, trousers, and a tie loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, and you felt an urge to run your fingers through it and style it the way you wanted, but it would’ve been awkward.

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

"No... Actually, I was asleep."

"In those clothes?"

"I fell asleep while reading..." he explained, trailing off when he noticed your appearance. To put it modestly, you looked incredibly hot. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on your dress, visible beneath the open jacket and ending high on your thigh. "Very... nice dress. Is it... is it your mom's too?"

You chuckled.

"Can you imagine my mom, a school psychologist, in a dress covering half her ass?"

Embarrassed, Spencer raised his hands in apology and also chuckled softly.

"Sorry, I'm still half-asleep. Anyway... is there something wrong that you're here?"

"My mentally unstable ex-boyfriend of my roommate is lurking under our apartment.” You confessed bluntly “I'm a little scared to go back, and... I didn't know where else I could go."

It seemed like he was suddenly waking up quickly. He swung the door wide open, letting you in.

"Of course, come in. Is he dangerous?"

"He shows up every now and then and then disappears. It's like a lottery. Jude doesn't want to ever see him again, so we just pretend we're not here when it happens."

The inside looked just as you remembered. The lights were off everywhere except the bedroom, where he was probably reading. You allowed yourself to take off your uncomfortable shoes and set them by the door.

"Why don't you report it to the police?" His forehead furrowed with concern.

"Jude doesn't want to. And I don't want to do anything against her will. But I swear, if this happens again, I'll convince her. Or I'll do it myself."

"You should," he said, and suddenly a silence fell between you.

You weren't sure how to act. You'd barged in on him in the middle of the night, pulling him from his sleep. Not to mention, you hadn't seen each other since that conversation at the bar.

"Let me take your jacket," he said after a moment, as if remembering how to behave when hosting a guest.

You slowly took it off, revealing the full dress. Spencer momentarily let his gaze linger on it, but then he caught himself and turned away to hang your jacket. The glance didn't embarrass you in the slightest; if anything, you expected to catch him looking.

"Sorry if I woke you," you said, realizing you should probably apologize. It was only then that you began to feel a little awkward about the situation.

"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm glad I can help," he said, and once again, silence settled between you. Spencer placed his hand on his forehead as he realized you were still standing in the hallway. "Sorry, it's been a long time since anyone's visited, and I don't even know how to act... Do you want something to drink, or need anything?"

"I’m fine," you assured him, walking behind him into the living room. "I don't want you to act like I'm some important guest, Spencer. Or like you need to serve me."

"But you are an important guest," he replied.

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

"What were you reading?" you asked, leaning your lower back against the kitchen island, the two rooms connected as one. You glanced around the cozy interior, in soft, almost warm hues, where the darkness of the night blended with the orange light of the lamp. "Let me guess, some spine-chilling thriller?"

"I have spine-chilling thrillers every day at work," he snorted. "I was reading... Emma. Jane Austen."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You fell asleep reading classic literature on a Friday night? Spencer Reid, what kind of man are you?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He stood across from you, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Your eyes lingered on the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

"Of course, in a good way. Why would I judge someone for reading?"

"I don’t know," he shrugged. "Some people think it’s boring. And weird, especially on a Friday night. And what about you? What were you doing before your roommate’s ex showed up?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nodded meaningfully toward your outfit. "Were you reading too?"

You lifted your chin high.

"Exactly. I was reading my favorite Shakespearean drama in my favorite dress. And those incredibly comfortable shoes I left by your door."

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

"I wouldn’t even suspect you of that."

"I was doing what any God-fearing virgin would do," you said, bursting into laughter at the absurdity. "Alright, alright. I’m getting carried away. Now I actually feel like reading something. But nothing too classic—I don’t have the brainpower for it. Do you happen to have any romance novels?"

I'm afraid not."

"Really? You have more books in your home than the library in my hometown, and not a single romance? I’m not talking about dark erotica or anything—just something subtle. Friends to lovers, polite sex..."

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny.

"Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips. I'm just hyperactive. That’s what the night does to me."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"So? Aren't you hiding any sinful books in there?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly amused rather than annoyed by your persistence.

"You're welcome to look," he offered, gesturing toward one of the shelves. "But I’m not promising you’ll find anything like that."

"But if I do, you owe me a drink."

“And if it turns out I’m right, then what?”

You bit your lip, pondering.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You know, I won’t enter a bet unless I know what I get in return.”

“And what do you want?”

“A dinner together,” he replied without hesitation. “Or breakfast, if you prefer.”

“Deal,” you answered just as quickly. You weren’t worried about regretting it—your blood was buzzing too much for that.

He extended his hand for you to shake on it, sealing the deal. Instead of letting go, you held onto his fingers firmly and tugged him toward the bookshelf. He stood so close as you examined the books one by one, taking some out to inspect their covers to see if they suggested any hint of romance. When they didn’t, he let out a short laugh, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t let it show.

“Spencer…” you started after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “It counts if the book has a romantic subplot, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count! We agreed on a romance. A full-fledged, contemporary one.”

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

“I assumed it was implied since I mentioned owning Jane Austen books. Pride and Prejudice is a romance, among other things…”

“Ha! So you do have one. I won!” You raised your hands high in victory.

“…But it’s also a social and domestic novel. Doesn’t count.”

You poked him in the chest with your finger.

“You don’t know how to lose.”

He glanced at the spot where you touched him, clearly trying not to smile.

“Maybe I just care a lot about that dinner,” he admitted boldly.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to look at him confidently, but it was hard to think and maintain eye contact with him at the same time.

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

“Or breakfast,” he agreed. Realizing how close he was standing, he instinctively stepped back half a pace. “So, are you ready to admit my victory?”

You shot him a defiant look.

“Not a chance. I haven’t even checked all the books yet. I’m only about three-quarters through. Who knows what kind of BDSM might be lurking in the last quarter?”

“Seriously?” he asked with a sigh. “Okay, just look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who reads stuff like that?”

“Honestly, you look like the kind of guy who reads encyclopedias. But the one thing I know about people is that appearances can be deceiving. Still waters run deep.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe I just really want that drink,” you teased.

“I can make you one,” he offered unexpectedly.

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

“I don’t drink much, but some friends gave me a few bottles for my birthday.”

You hesitated, considering.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you admitted. You felt good, even without alcohol. “But I do have another request… Do you happen to have something I could change into? I won’t lie, this isn’t the most comfortable dress… though it’s absolutely stunning.”

He smiled softly.

"You’re right. And yes, I’ll find something for you to change into. Just… it’ll be something of mine."

Following him into the bedroom, you let out a small chuckle.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to have a closet full of women’s clothes. Plus, in my size. Although, who knows what girls leave behind at your place. It’s a tactic, you know? You leave a sock at a guy’s place to have an excuse to come back. Unless you didn’t like it, then you have to accept losing the sock."

He didn’t say anything, opening the wardrobe to find something appropriate for you. You’d been in his bedroom before and didn’t feel the need to look around; nothing had changed inside.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, inspecting a t-shirt. "Use the sock strategy?"

"No," you replied, shrugging. "I’m too straightforward for that. If I like it, I just go back and say 'Let’s do it again' Or I don’t leave at all. I’m a bit of a parasite too."

He chuckled at the comparison and finally handed you some clothes. You didn’t really look at them; you just needed something looser, something you hadn’t danced in for hours at the club.

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

You confirmed and were about to head in that direction when you stopped.

"Wait," you said, turning back toward him. But then, you turned again, facing him with your back. "The zipper on the dress," you explained, pulling your hair to the front. "I could manage it myself, but I don’t want to risk breaking it. Could you…?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed after a moment, stepping closer.

He stood just behind you, reaching for the top of your back. Before he pulled the zipper down, there was a moment where he simply paused, unmoving. Your knees suddenly trembled, almost impatiently. Then, he tugged at the zipper, unfastening the dress, and the coolness and freedom teased your skin.

You could have said thank you and headed to the bathroom, but you didn’t. Something kept your body rooted in place, right there next to him, feeling the pads of his fingers on the lower part of your dress.

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

When you began to, slightly disappointed, assume that he wouldn’t do anything more, his lips found a spot on your neck, kissing it slowly. You inhaled deeply, your head instinctively tilting back, giving him more access, as if you had been waiting for just that. He stopped for a longer time in this specific place, pressing on it harder, as you barely hold a groan.

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

You reached your hand back, wrapping it around his head and pulling him closer to you. You felt him sigh directly into your skin, leaving another two hungry kisses on an exposed skin on your shoulder. God, why were you still wearing that dress?

You abruptly stopped, turning around and almost hitting the top of your head against his jaw. You didn't care about it, and the thought of apologizing never crossed your mind, just simply pushed him, planting a strong kiss right on his lips.

The clothes he gave you slipped from your hand and fell to the floor, but neither of you were concerned about it, as you were both too absorbed to care. You pushed him again, this time onto the bed, on which he sat, surprised by your suddenness. You saw red marks creeping onto the parts of the neck exposed by the undone shirt.

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," you said, shaking your head in a mock reprimand. He tilted his head to the side, unsure of where you were going with this, his fingers impatiently brushing your waist on both sides. "You lied to me."

Your hands grabbed his face, positioning just under his jaw and lifting it upward so you could find his lips right against yours.

“I lied to you?”

"“That's right. You said you don't read romances. But tell me, how does someone who doesn't do that know such practices?”

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

His gaze was focused solely on your lips to which he tried to get closer, but you hadn't allowed him to yet.

"This whole unbuttoning of the dress. And then, the neck”

With your index finger, you traced along the skin on his neck

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. He removed one hand from your waist and took your hand, the one you had been playing with.

“Did I like it?” you scoffed with a genuine laugh.“I’m like half naked now. Answer that for yourself”

Undressing was the element you hated the most. You became impatient and couldn't understand why your clothes couldn't just disappear from you, instead of threatening to burn your already overheated skin. Spencer didn't help, so slow in his movements. You had a feeling he was doing it on purpose. He probably enjoyed watching you struggle to untangle yourself from the dress. He waited a minute before helping you, effortlessly pulling it over your head.

Maybe slow wasn't the most accurate description.The way he touched his body wasn’t slow. It was like rationing a treat, breaking it into small pieces and savoring them one by one. Meanwhile, it gazed straight into your mouth, shouting, eat me!

It required incredible self-control and composure, but it resulted in something more than just pleasure. When he found himself right between your legs, his lips touching gently every single inch of your thigh and refusing to go further despite your pleas, you compared him to the previous guys you slept with. With them, on the other hand, you had to tell them to slow down, to do everything more carefully, and not to focus solely on their own needs.

“Does it feel right?” He asked, briefly lifting his gaze, his hands gripping your thighs.

Your back arched, probably enough of an answer, but you confirmed it with a soft moan.

"I'd rather you said it out loud. Does it feel right?"

"That's edging on sadism, do you realize that?" you whimpered, trying to release the tension by pulling at his hair.

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

The rest went similarly. You liked how his confidence and courage grew, but you also went wild when, at certain moments, the same gentle and sometimes awkward Spencer returned. It was a perfectly balanced mix.

"Can you talk to me more?" he asked over time, once he was already inside you. "I want to know how you feel about all of this." After those words, your forehead twitched slightly as you felt the onset of pain. "Does it hurt?"

"No," you whispered, accompanied by a faintly tired exhale.”A little. But it's normal I just didn't have sex for a while”

"No, it shouldn't hurt you. Do you want to stop?"

"Just... give me a moment."

He slowed down, almost stopping. You took a breath,pressing your forehead to his. You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you in a hurry. After all, where to? Outside, the night still reigned, long and patient, winter’s grip holding steady. You liked having his face so close to yours, joining them together and not speaking. For the first time, you could truly say that you enjoyed the silence.

You had always considered silence overwhelming, incapable of calming the chaos that arose in your mind. You preferred moments of wildness, loud sounds, and fast pace, but it was in that silence, which fell then, that you found a peace filled with intimacy.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

After everything, you simply lay facing each other, tangled in one another. Actually, you didn’t like that expression "after everything." After everything—after what exactly? Sex wasn’t just about the physical act; it also included the long moment before and the even more significant one after. It was precisely that moment after which revealed the true you both. How much you cared for each other and how much you meant to each other beyond the bed. That was often missing in one-night stands; the perspective of quickly disappearing from each other's lives and being forgotten somehow intensified selfishness in people.

Lying there, you played with the hair on his forehead.

"You know, they say this is the moment when people are the most honest with each other."

"Do you want to squeeze a few secrets out of me?" he asked.

"Just one," you said mysteriously, turning onto your back. Before that, you noticed his eyebrows furrow.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you again.

"Which one?"

You pretended to hesitate before answering. You tried with all your might to keep the smile from appearing on your face, betraying you.

"I'm afraid that even now, you won't be honest with me."

"I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to tell the truth. Give me your pinky."

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay”

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

"Now tell me the truth. You got any romance books at your place you're too embarrassed to admit to?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll find them," you teased. "I’ll get up right now and find them."

You pretended to get up, but he pulled you closer, preventing you from moving.

"You're not going anywhere."

i know some of you were curious about this fanfiction, so I'm tagging it.

@nightfullofparadox @bloodredrubyrose @lillaberry @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #bau team #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

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pricetagged · 1 month ago

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Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

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

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

#you have a sweet little blossoming romance until tommy starts acting up and simon joins the army #but youre his first love and who knows...there may be a future for you years down the line #when old grizzled simon spots a familiar pretty face walking the streets of manchester while he's on leave #and really，him watching you and looking out for you is a relationship tradition at this point (:#idk im not confident with this and its not great but the idea was lingering and idk self indulgent #simon riley cod #simon “ghost” riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley/reader #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #báirseach writes #cw implied abuse #cw fatphobia

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vunblr · 2 months ago

Text

The Weight of Choices

Pairing: Ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex, dirty talk. A little angst.

Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.

Word Count: About 8.9k.

He was late. If Y/n didn’t know better, she’d think he was doing it on purpose. Bucky had agreed to watch their son tonight so she could go on a date, the third one since their divorce two years ago. The last couple of times, she’d managed to find a friend to babysit, but Saturday nights were always tough. So in the end, she had no choice but to come clean and ask Bucky.

She could still hear his voice from that awkward phone call, his tone edged with surprise when she’d told him she had plans.

“A date?” he repeated, the edge of disbelief was hard to miss.

"Yeah," she’d replied casually, but Bucky’s silence lingered longer than usual. He hated texting, so phone calls had become their norm, even for the smallest of things.

“With who?” His attempt to sound nonchalant fell flat, the tension was evident, threading through every word.

“Chris,” she said, keeping her tone light, “You know, the music teacher at the kindergarten where I work? Blonde, easy smile... we walked past him once when he was out with his dog, Dodger.”

Bucky scoffed, the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. “I knew it. I knew he had a thing for you.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Oh, please.”

“Every time I’d drop by the kindergarten, he’d just… linger. His eyes followed you the whole time like he couldn’t look away. People don’t stare like that unless they’re thinking something. And the way he’d smile, all soft and attentive, he was trying too hard to be just a ‘friendly co-worker.” His voice had dropped a notch, as his irritation crept in.

“Are you serious?” she shot back, incredulous. But Bucky wasn’t done.

“How long’s this been going on?” The question came out more like an accusation.

“It’s our first date. You know I only recently started dating again,” she replied, her patience wearing thin.

He paused, clearly unsatisfied. “So what, he’s just been waiting for his chance, ready to pounce-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, James,” she interrupted firmly. “You’re not entitled to know anything about my love life the moment you decided you wanted the divorce.”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. She could hear him breathing, and the tension stretched between them, until finally, he sighed.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I’ll take care of Benjamin on Saturday night.”

The recall of the conversation was interrupted by Ben, who wanted to show her what he did with his Legos.

Bucky had been sitting in front of the house for half an hour now. Sometimes, like tonight, he regretted what he’d done, but deep down, he knew it had been necessary. After the terrifying incident when Hydra agents attempted to kidnap their son, hoping to test if any of the serum’s powers had been passed down genetically, he realized that his past would eventually catch up with them. He had to make sure they were safe, even if it meant tearing apart everything they’d built.

He knew she wouldn’t understand if he told her the truth. If he had laid out his fears and his guilt and spiraled into a self-deprecating parade like he always did, she would have fought him and convinced him to stay. So he waited.

He knew the only way to make her believe it, was to weave in just enough truth to his argument, so, slowly he began pulling away, setting the stage for what would be his ultimate break. Late nights, distant conversations, an almost non-existent sexual life and missed moments with their son, all led to this. He needed her to see that the life they had wasn’t something he could carry anymore.

When the moment came, he didn’t hesitate. He told her he felt suffocated by their life together. That the roles of husband and father were more than he could bear after everything he had been through. She didn’t believe him at first, and he could see the determination in her eyes, the will to fight for what they had.

So, he played the card he knew would make her stop fighting him. He spoke of the years he’d spent as a puppet, how he had never truly known freedom, never had control over his life. He appreciated everything she had done for him, all the love and support she had given, but it wasn’t enough. He needed air, space to figure out who he was beyond the roles he had been forced into. He made it sound like staying with her, staying in the family they’d built, was just another form of captivity.

It crushed her. Bucky could see the moment her resistance faded. She believed him, not because she wanted to, but because he made it seem so real. So she stood there, heartbroken, but unable to argue against the logic he’d presented.

The first months after the divorce were hard on both parts. For her, that time was the hardest, filled with sleepless nights and the nagging feeling that Bucky had simply abandoned her, walked away from their life, their love, without a second thought. She wrestled with the confusion and the heartbreak, trying to piece together where things had gone wrong. For Bucky, it was a different kind of suffering. He bore the weight of his decision in silence, knowing he had walked away to protect them, but that didn’t ease the sting of loneliness or the guilt that clawed at him.

Their lives moved on separately. They saw each other only in passing, and even that was rare. Bucky would pick up Benjamin directly from daycare once a week, dropping him off the next morning before heading back to his life, careful to avoid lingering long enough for awkward conversations. Sometimes he didn’t make it at all, missing his time with his son when missions pulled him away. Immersing himself in his work was easier than facing what he had left behind, the family he still wanted but couldn’t allow himself to have. Meanwhile, she did her best to create some normalcy for Benjamin, even as the space Bucky left behind echoed through their small home.

Even though their lives had drifted apart, Bucky never truly let go. He kept his distance, but never far enough to lose sight of them. Unbeknownst to her, he knew everything that went on in the household, the daily rhythms of their life, the way she struggled and adapted to her new normal without him. From the shadows, Bucky lurked unnoticed in the neighborhood, always keeping an eye on them. She never noticed, never had a clue that even when he was away on missions, he somehow knew when Benjamin caught a cold or when she had a rough day at work.

It was a secret vigil that gave him a twisted sense of comfort, knowing they were safe even if they no longer shared the same home. He would catch fleeting glimpses of her tucking their son into bed or hear his faint laughter playing in the yard. It was enough to remind him of what he’d lost, but not enough to bring him back to the life he believed he couldn’t have.

That was why Bucky was caught off guard when she mentioned her date with that guy, the music teacher. He never saw that coming. He had always known the man had a soft spot for her, could see it in the way he acted whenever she was around, how he lingered a little longer during pick-ups at the kindergarten, helping to manage the children even if it wasn’t his job, always with an excuse to retain her and talk. His body language was an open book. But back then, Bucky had dismissed him as harmless, barely giving him a second thought. To him, Chris had always been like a friendly Labrador: approachable, with no bite. A non-threat.

But now, that harmless Labrador had grown fangs. The guy wasn’t just hanging around the edges anymore; he was stepping in, taking her to dinner, moving into a space Bucky had once occupied. And he had no choice but to suck it up and watch it happen, watch her walk out the door with him. He could handle the distance, the brief moments of tension when they had to interact, but this? The idea of Chris sitting across from her at a candlelit table, making her laugh, holding her gaze... it twisted his guts.

And God knows what else would happen after dinner. Would Chris try to kiss her goodnight? Would she let him? Or worse, would they end up back at his place? His mind ran wild with the possibility of them taking things further, crossing a line he never wanted to imagine. Would she let him touch her in ways Bucky used to, let him see sides of her only he had known? He knew he had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the thoughts from torturing him.

Eventually, he glanced at the clock and sighed, raking a hand through his hair. There was no point in torturing himself any further, he couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer.

Reaching the front porch, Bucky hesitated for a moment. He straightened his posture adjusting his clothes, then knocked on the door. As he waited, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the tension.

When the door finally swung open, for a split second, neither of them spoke. Her eyes widened just a little, her lips parting as she took him in. It had been a long time since she’d seen him. His hair had grown back to shoulder length, a few strands falling loose across his forehead. A three-day stubble sharpened his jawline, in a way that made him look rugged and effortlessly handsome. And was he wearing that shirt? The red and black lumberjack one that used to drive her wild?

Bucky caught her reaction and hit him like a shot of adrenaline. When he exited the bathroom that night and picked what to wear, he told himself it was just practical, something comfortable to wear while watching and playing with Ben. The cologne? Just a habit. But deep down, a part of him knew the truth: he wanted her to notice, and that split-second when her eyes widened, scanning him from head to toe, told him everything. She noticed. She definitely noticed. And something about that felt like a victory, even though he wasn’t supposed to be playing that game anymore.

He stared at her longer than necessary, his blue gaze drifting over the black dress she wore. New, he realized. It hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating her curves in a way that was impossible to ignore. The hemline? Too short for his liking. He clenched his jaw slightly, knowing full well Chris would be thrilled to see her like this.

Forcing himself to snap out of it, Bucky cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Hey,” he said, low and calm, though the tension still simmered beneath the surface. “You look... good.” He meant it, but the words tasted bitter.

"Thanks," she said, politely but distant, deliberately choosing not to compliment him back. She lingered for a moment, then added, “You’re late.”

Bucky flinched inwardly at the remark, though he kept his expression neutral. "Traffic," he muttered, stepping inside as she moved aside to let him in. An awkward silence settled between them, the air thick with things left unsaid.

Her fingers toyed with the edge of her dress as she cleared her throat, trying to fill the silence. “Ben is in the bathroom,” she said, casually, but there was a tension beneath it. “You can wait for him in the living room.”

“Right,” Bucky replied, nodding stiffly. He walked past her and into the living room, the space feeling both familiar and foreign at the same time. He took a seat, trying to shake off the strange energy between them, but his mind kept wandering back to the fact that she was dressed for someone else.

A moment later, the doorbell rang, and she turned toward the sound, visibly relieved. She opened the door, and Bucky heard Chris’s voice, a cheerful greeting that she surely responded to with a soft, warm smile. Bucky didn’t need to see it, her tone was different with him, softer, more open.

“Hey,” Chris said with bright tone, though there was a subtle shift when he paused. There was a beat of silence before he added, “You look amazing.”

Bucky couldn’t help it. Something pulled him from the couch, and before he knew it, he was standing in the hall, watching the interaction from a few feet away. His eyes narrowed as he observed Chris, sizing him up instinctively. Chris was taller than he remembered, clean-cut in a casual but neat button-down shirt, his easy smile faltering just a fraction when his eyes darted past her, catching sight of Bucky standing there.

Chris’s brows furrowed, but he quickly masked his reaction, giving Bucky a curt nod. “Uh, hey,” he greeted awkwardly, glancing between them.

It was her turn to narrow her eyes. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw him. Bucky stood at the edge of the hallway, staring directly at Chris, his expression unreadable. His eyes locked onto the man without blinking. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t saying anything, just staring.

Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. Really? A display of male dominance, here and now? After everything he’d put her through, the mess he’d made of their lives, he suddenly decided he had the right to act territorial? What exactly did he think he was entitled to? The nerve of it sent a wave of irritation through her, tightening her grip on her coat.

But what frustrated her even more -what really troubled her- was that a part of her didn’t mind. Beneath her annoyance, something stirred, deep and undeniable, lurking just beneath the surface. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but his presence still had a hold on her. Maybe it didn’t bother her as much as she wanted to believe. Maybe, despite everything, there was still a part of her that reacted to him, to the way he watched her, the way he used to make her feel like the center of his world.

Before those feelings could rise any further, before she could let herself dwell on what they meant, she quickly turned back to Chris. She forced a bright smile, pushing away the conflicted thoughts swirling in her mind.

“We should get going,” she said, pretending not to notice the tension still hanging in the air. She stepped closer to Chris, signaling it was time to leave, hoping to put some distance between her and the weight of Bucky’s gaze.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky stood frozen in place for a moment, the tension that had gripped him not easing, even with their absence. The quiet of the house felt heavier now, pressing down on him. His chest tightened as he stared at the closed door, half-expecting her to walk back in. Of course, she didn’t.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he replayed the scene in his head: her standing there, beautiful and confident, and Chris… that guy was so normal, so easygoing. Exactly what she deserved. Exactly what Bucky could never be. He raked a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. What was he even doing? He had no right, he was the one who walked away. He was the one who made her believe she wasn’t enough to keep him, that he wanted out. And now, here he was, silently raging because she was moving on, exactly like he supposedly wanted.

Stupid. That was the only word he could come up with to describe how he felt. Stupid for showing up looking the way he did, stupid for thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could still affect her. But what for? His job was to protect her and their son from the shadows, not to stand in the doorway, playing the part of some jealous lover. But God, it hurt more than he expected.

He crossed the living room, his steps heavy against the floor, and slumped into the couch. The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of the TV in the background. Ben was still in the bathroom, probably playing with the liquid soap and making a mess, unaware of the tangled web of emotions his father was caught in.

The hours slipped by, though Bucky barely noticed at first. Benjamin was beyond excited to have his dad all to himself for the evening. They played, joked, and built elaborate lego fortresses, the boy’s laughter filling the house with a warmth Bucky hadn’t realized he missed so much. For a little while, he was able to shove everything else to the back of his mind. Being a dad, just a dad, felt like a relief. But every now and then, his gaze would drift to the clock on the wall. He couldn’t help it. As much as he tried to stay in the moment with his son, there was a lingering pull, a constant, nagging thought of where she was.

After he’d put Ben to bed, Bucky’s mind wandered back to the date. The image of her in that black dress haunted him, the way Chris had looked at her, the possibility of what might have happened after dinner. His thoughts spiraled, even though he knew it was none of his business anymore. He poured himself a scotch, the amber liquid swirling in his glass as he tried -and failed- to push the thoughts aside.

Eventually, the sound of the front door opening cut through the quiet. The familiar click of her shoes against the entryway tile echoed through the house, sharp and distinct. She was home.

Bucky didn’t move. He stayed where he was, seated at the old teakwood table, nursing his scotch. The only light on in the house was the dim glow above the kitchen, so she’d find him.

The sound of her footsteps grew closer, and he listened intently, his heart beating just a little faster despite his best efforts to keep calm.

She entered the kitchen, her steps a little less steady than usual, mumbling a soft “Hi” as she made her way inside. Bucky glanced up, immediately sensing that she was a little tipsy. She didn’t meet his eyes, just plopped down in the chair next to him with a tired sigh. “God, my feet are killing me,” she muttered, kicking off her heels and wincing.

For a while, the silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the fridge. She sighed absentmindedly, then reached for his glass of scotch, taking a sip without asking. He was taken aback by the casual intimacy of the gesture, but he said nothing, just watched her as she leaned back in her chair.

Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “Want me to rub your feet?” He froze. He couldn’t believe he’d said it, half-expecting her to snap at him or give him one of her sharp retorts.

But instead, she surprised him. She looked over at him, her eyes tired but soft, and then shrugged. “Yeah...” she said, a little more relaxed than he expected.

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by her response. His heart thudded against his ribcage as he moved toward her, kneeling down in front of her chair. His fingers hovered hesitantly over her ankle before gently wrapping around it, lifting her foot onto his knee.

As he began to knead his thumbs into her sore muscles, the tension that had been brewing in him all night seemed to ease, just a little. Her head lolled back against the chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this, touching her again in this way, after everything. He shouldn’t, but she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to relax more as the seconds passed, letting her guard down in a way that felt dangerously familiar.

“So... how was the date?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost too casual as he broke the silence.

Her eyes fluttered open at the question, and for a moment, he thought she might brush him off or remind him that it wasn’t his business. But instead, she gave a small shrug, her tone indifferent. “It was fine.”

Bucky frowned slightly, pressing his thumbs a little harder into the arch of her foot. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration or something else pushing his hands. “Fine?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice even.

“Yeah,” she murmured, closing her eyes. Her voice was soft, almost distracted. “Just... fine.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that. He couldn’t help himself, he pressed, his tone still light but with a thread of tension beneath it. “Only... fine?”

She sighed, her eyes still closed as if trying to keep the conversation from getting deeper. “What do you want me to say, Bucky?” Her voice wasn’t sharp, but there was a subtle edge in her words. “That it was amazing? That he swept me off my feet? Some dirty little details?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled for a moment, resting against her foot as he met her gaze. He didn’t respond right away, unsure if he even wanted to hear the truth, whatever it might be. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice a little more vulnerable than he intended.

“It was just fine, nothing more, nothing less”

A silence settled between them, but he wasn’t ready to let it drop. “Are you going to see each other again outside work?” he ventured, his hands slowly moving up her shin, his touch hesitant but growing bolder. The fact that she didn’t push him away emboldened him further. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Bucky’s hands continued their slow ascent, fingers brushing over her calf and then her knee, his touch firm but careful. When she didn’t pull away, he felt his pulse quicken. The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of things unsaid.

“In a way,” she finally answered, her voice elusive, a touch distant. She shifted slightly in her chair, subtly parting her thighs as his hands wandered higher. The movement was small, but enough for him to catch it. His breath hitched, and his gaze flicked down to her legs before rising back up to her face, darkening with lust.

"Care to... elaborate?" he pressed again, his voice lower now, rougher. His fingers slid up to her inner thigh, lingering there with a possessive grip as if testing her reaction. Her legs instinctively spread wider beneath his touch, and that simple motion sent a rush of heat through him.

She shifted slightly, as if searching for the right words. "He’s... nice," she finally said, a bit breathless under his touch. "He’s thoughtful, considerate, makes me laugh…” Her lips twitched in a small smile, but it quickly faded as she looked down at his hand resting on her thigh. “He’s... good.”

Bucky’s thumb paused, pressing a little harder, as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a murmur. “…And?”

She sighed, her eyes opening again to meet his intense gaze. “And… he’s not you.”

His grip on her thigh tightened involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat. He’d pushed her away, done everything he could to sever the ties between them, convinced himself it was for her protection. But now, hearing her admit that, it sent his head spinning.

“He’s not you.”

The room seemed smaller, the air heavier, as the tension between them crackled like electricity. His hand inched higher, dangerously close to where he could feel the heat radiating off her body. Every instinct in him screamed to close the distance, to take what he wanted, to forget everything that had led them to this point. But he forced himself to stop, his gaze locking onto hers, searching her face for any sign that she would tell him to stop.

She didn’t. Instead, she held his gaze, her breathing shallow as if waiting to see what he would do next.

Bucky’s grip tightened again. Fuck it. He leaned forward, pressing his face against her other inner thigh, his stubble grazing her skin as he inhaled her scent deeply, a growl rumbling in his chest. She tensed, feeling him nip gently at her sensitive flesh, and then a slow, deliberate lick followed, sending a shiver through her.

"Did he behave, or..." he paused, his tongue teasing the same spot before he looked up at her, his lips brushing her thigh as he continued, "...things got handsy?"

A gasp escaped her when she felt his mouth so dangerously close to where she wanted it most. Her head tilted back just slightly, her body betraying her as desire pooled in her belly. His eyes flicked up, meeting hers, their blue depths darkened with lust, and something more. His lips remained pressed against her skin, refusing to budge until he had his answer.

"You let him touch you?" His voice was a husky whisper, laced with jealousy.

She exhaled slowly, her breath shaky as the memory flickered through her mind. "Yes," she admitted, her voice low, reluctant. "But just briefly, when we ki—"

Before she could finish, Bucky’s hand shifted, moving up to cup her mound, his fingers pressing firmly against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her words died in her throat, a sharp intake of breath replacing them as his touch ignited a fire that spread through her veins. His hand was deliberate, unapologetic in the way it claimed her, the heel of his palm pressing against her pussy as if he had every right to be there.

"And then?" His question hung in the air, but she couldn’t find the words immediately.

Her lips parted as she finally spoke, barely above a whisper. "I wanted to feel something... but I didn’t. I just didn’t."

Her confession landed between them like a spark to dry wood, setting the tension ablaze. Bucky’s hand remained where it was, but his thumb stroked over the wet fabric, teasing her, testing her resolve as his gaze bore into hers. She had said what he needed to hear, what he craved to know, and now, there was no turning back.

Bucky’s thumb slid the fabric of her underwear aside, his fingers unhesitating as they slipped between her folds, finding her slick with need. He brushed upward, just barely grazing her clit, watching with dark, heavy-lidded eyes as she gasped at the contact. Her body arched involuntarily, but he didn’t relent, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, teasing her just enough to drive her crazy but not enough to give her what she craved.

“And…” he murmured, rasping against the tension rising between them, “how long did it take you to realize you’d had enough? That it wasn’t going to work?”

His thumb circled lazily, making her hips shift forward, chasing the friction he barely offered. The question hung in the air, laced with his possessiveness, through every word. He didn’t wait for an answer, his fingers delving deeper inside her, coating themselves in her arousal before they moved back up, brushing over her clit again, this time with more pressure.

"One kiss?" His lips curled in a half-smirk as he watched her face contort with pleasure. He dipped his fingers inside her again, slow, dragging them out just as leisurely. "Two?"

She trembled, unable to form a coherent response, the sensation of his touch overwhelming her senses after so long. Her breath hitched as his fingers increased their pace, every stroke purposeful, designed to unravel her. Bucky leaned upward, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “How long, doll?” The way he said it, like a dare, made her heart race even faster.

Her head fell back, her body betraying any attempt at control as she whispered breathlessly, “One…”

A satisfied growl rumbled from him, his fingers rewarding her honesty with a firmer stroke, sending her spiraling closer to the edge.

It wasn’t fair. He had cast her aside, almost without looking back, tearing her world apart with his cold departure. And now here she was, grinding her pussy against his fingers like some desperate, needy whore, begging for more. A part of her wanted to slap him, to shove him away and scream at him for every sleepless night she spent wondering why she wasn’t enough, why he had thrown their life away so easily. She wanted to tell him how much she hated him for walking out on them.

But then, there was that traitorous side of her. The part that had never stopped hoping. The part that had always waited, held out some foolish, silent hope that he’d come back. That she’d see that flicker of warmth in his eyes again, the one that told her she was his entire world. And it wasn’t just her heart that longed for him, her body had missed him, too. She hated herself for it. For still thinking about him late at night when she touched herself, fingers slipping between her thighs as his name slipped from her lips in the darkness.

And that same traitorous side of her had ruined her date with Chris. She’d tried to be present, to laugh, to be charmed by his warm smile and thoughtful gestures. But all night, all she could think about was Bucky.

The way he’d looked at him, cold and assessing, as if he didn’t belong there, his presence filling the hallway like he still had some claim to it, to her. What was he trying to prove, anyway? That he was still the man of the house?

She hated how, even while Chris was talking, her mind drifted back to the feeling of Bucky’s fingers tracing his stupid shirt, her memory filling in the rough, familiar feel of his hands on her skin. And she knew, even if she couldn’t admit it aloud, that some part of her had wanted him to see her dressed up, to feel in some small way the longing and ache she’d carried in his absence.

And maybe that’s why she’d felt nothing when Chris had leaned in for a kiss, why his gentle smile and soft touches had felt hollow. Even his laugh, light and kind, hadn’t stirred her because it wasn't Bucky’s rough, rumbling chuckle or his stupidly confident grin. Bucky, in all his infuriating ways, still occupied every corner of her mind.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as his fingers worked her closer to the edge. She wanted to be angry, to let that rage consume her, but every time she opened her mouth to say something hurtful, to lash out at him, her body betrayed her. Every roll of her hips against his hand, every needy whimper that slipped from her throat, reminded her of just how much she had missed this.

It wasn’t fair. But she couldn’t stop.

With a light pinch on her swollen clit, the tension snapped, and she came hard on his fingers. Her mouth fell open, a moan escaping as her body convulsed, riding the wave of pleasure that coursed through her. The world blurred around her as her climax took over, her hips grinding against his hand, chasing every last second of the release.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, a mix of the overwhelming pleasure and the emotional storm swirling inside her. A few finally escaped, rolling silently down her cheeks, but before she could turn away, Bucky was there, his lips brushing them away with surprising tenderness. His breath ghosted over her skin as he whispered soft, comforting words she could barely make out, something about how beautiful she was, how good she had been for him, as if they hadn’t been tangled up in all this pain and heartache.

His touch was almost reverent as he slowly withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening from her release. Their gazes met, and he didn’t break eye contact as he brought those same fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with deliberate, agonizing slowness. He stood up in one fluid motion, effortlessly lifting her from the chair by the waist as if she weighed nothing, and in a swift, controlled movement, he placed her on top of the table, positioning himself between her legs.

Before she could even process it, his arms were around her, pulling her into a bear hug that was both tight and needy. His face buried itself in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin as he inhaled deeply, taking her in.

He held her as if letting go was not an option, his grip firm yet strangely vulnerable. The way he clung to her felt like both a claim and an apology, urgent -almost broken- like he was holding onto her not just physically, but emotionally, too.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough and low, against her neck. He didn’t dare look at her, not yet, because if he did, if he saw doubt or rejection in her eyes, it would break him.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Each second felt like an eternity. His breath was uneven, ragged, as he waited for her to say something, anything. Another moment passed, tension coiling tighter in his chest until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers, bracing himself for the worst. But instead of the words that would send him away, he saw her eyes flicker downward to his lips. It was brief, a split-second decision, but it was enough.

So he leaned in, cautiously at first, like he was testing the waters after years of distance. His lips brushed against hers softly, almost hesitant, as if afraid this fragile moment would break apart. But the second she responded, it was like a dam broke. His hands cradled her face, deepening the kiss with desperation. It was messy, all-consuming, there was no gentleness, no tenderness. This was not the careful, delicate dance of two people testing the waters. This was hunger, a ravenous need to reclaim what had been lost. His lips moved down to her jaw, her neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, and she moaned softly, her fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked on the sensitive skin below her ear.

His hands gripped her waist, strong and possessive, pulling her closer until her body was flush against his. The need to feel her, to claim her, was overwhelming. It was like two years of silence, longing, and frustration had ignited in an instant, everything that had been pushed down now surging forward, unstoppable.

“I’ll ask you again, babydoll. Are you sure you want this?” Bucky’s voice was thick with restraint, the tension in his muscles barely contained as he hovered over her, his breath hot against her neck. He was giving her one last chance to stop this, to pull away, even though every fiber of his being was screaming for her. But instead of words, her answer was a quiet, deliberate motion. Her hand slid between them, deftly unbuttoning his jeans, her fingers brushing against the outline of his erection.

A low growl escaped him, and his hand shot down to catch her wrist, halting her movements. His gaze met hers, dark and intense, his chest heaving with barely restrained desire. “I need you to say it,” he murmured, voice rough, on the edge of control.

“Yes,” she whispered.

That was all he needed.

Without hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, not bothering with the buttons, his muscles flexing as the fabric slid off. The moment his skin was free, he didn’t give himself time to think. His eyes locked on hers as he grabbed the neckline of her dress. With a sharp tug, the fabric tore easily under his grip, the sound of it ripping filling the air. The dress fell to her waist, exposing her bare breasts to his gaze.

“Hey! It was brand new, you know?” she protested.

“I noticed,” he replied, his fingers grazing the tattered edge of her dress. “But you didn’t buy it to wear it for me, did you?” His voice dropped, thick with jealousy as he alluded to her date with Chris. He dipped his head, his lips hovering just above her exposed skin, his breath warm against her chest. “I don’t want it on you”. He latched his lips onto her nipple, his tongue swirling with a hungry need, while his vibranium fingers pinched and teased her other breast. His breath was hot against her chest as he whispered between kisses, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this... missed you.” His words came out rough, full of longing that he couldn’t hold back any longer. “Every night... thinking about touching you again. Tasting you. Making you come over my cock.”

Her body responded, arching into him. She bit her lip, trying to stifle a moan, afraid that maybe Ben could hear her, but it slipped out anyway.

His hands moved to her thighs, gripping them firmly as he let out a low growl. “I thought about this, over and over... how you’d feel under me, how you’d sound when I made you scream my name again.” His voice was thick, hoarse, as he tugged at her dress, tearing the fabric completely until it was nothing but rags on the floor. He didn’t stop there, his thumbs slipping under the waistband of her flimsy panties. With a swift tug, the seams gave way, tearing effortlessly in his hands. He brought the soaked cloth to his nose, inhaling deeply, groaning as if the scent alone was enough to drive him insane. “God, I’ve missed this,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving hers. He flicked his tongue against the ruined cloth, savoring the taste with a low, hungry growl.

Without warning, he tossed the panties aside. His hands moved quickly, unbuttoning what remained of his jeans and kicking off his shoes before sliding the denim and underwear down in one fluid motion. They hit the floor with a soft thud as he stepped toward her. “Tell me how much you missed me,” he demanded softly.

She stared at him, drinking him in. He looked leaner, his body sculpted in sharp lines of muscle. He’d lost weight, surely by going mission after mission mixed with his poor eating habits. He was never good at taking care of himself. She almost missed the small paunch he used to have these last years, the one he hated, but she’d loved to bite. There was something comforting about that softness, but now he was the embodiment of raw strength.

Her gaze drifted lower, lingering on the sight of his cock, standing at full attention. She swallowed. Apparently, her memories failed to measure up to reality. He was big, sure, she’d always known that, but this big? Her core tightened with need, clenching in raw anticipation.

"I missed you,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, laced with longing as her eyes lifted to meet his. “So much… you have no idea. God, you’ve ruined me.”

Her words shattered whatever restraint he had left. He’d imagined, countless times, that if this moment ever came, he’d take his time, savor her, and make it last. But now, faced with her beneath him, so close and so ready, patience was a luxury he no longer possessed.

Without a second thought, he gripped her thighs and spread her wide on the table, lining himself up as he dragged the head of his cock along her entrance, coating himself in her slick heat. In a swift, desperate thrust, he drove into her, hard and deep, filling her completely as a ragged groan escaped his lips.

She cried out, her body responding immediately, arching into him as he slammed into her again. His hands gripped her hips with bruising force, and his own moved in a relentless rhythm, every thrust driving him deeper. He couldn’t stop. Her moans spurred him on, her words circling in his head like a drug.

“Ruined you, huh?” His breath was ragged as he pulled almost all the way out, teasing her with the loss, before slamming back in. “Let me remind you how much.” With a raw hunger that had been bottled up far too long, Bucky's thrusts became brutal, each one driving her back along the table, her nails scraping against the wood as he took her over and over. The grip on her hips was iron-hard, pinning her down so she could do nothing but take everything he gave her. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “Think anyone else could ever do this?” he murmured, his voice dark and rough, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. His lips ghosted along her jaw, and he pushed her to answer, knowing the effect he was having on her. “Tell me,” he demanded softly “Could anyone else make you feel like this?” He wanted her to say it, to make her admit that no one else would ever satisfy her the way he could.

She whimpered, clutching at his shoulders as he pounded into her, her nails digging into his skin as he pushed her higher and higher. “No… no one else.” Her words were broken, barely audible over her moans, but it was all he needed to hear.

“That’s right” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he breathed, each word laced with raw possession as he thrust deeper. “Only me,” he rasped. “Only I get to make you feel this way.”

He growled, one hand leaving her hip to slide between them, his fingers pressing down on her clit in quick, merciless circles. “This is mine,” he hissed, metal fingers working just enough to bring her close before pulling away, only to return just as she thought she couldn’t take any more.

She cried out, her body writhing beneath him as he drove her to the edge. His pace never faltered, his hips grinding against hers with a relentless rhythm, and his grip on her only tightened as she arched off the table, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice thick with lust and something darker, something possessive. His hands slid down the back of her thighs, pushing her legs up against her torso as he plunged deeper, she could barely breathe every time he bottomed out. The way he hit her, the pressure at her cervix, sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain coursing through her, each one making her mewl helplessly. Her thighs shook against his chest, her hands desperately clutching at his forearms, fingers digging into his skin.

He leaned in closer again, his face inches from hers, his lips brushing her ears as he growled, “Tell me you’re mine.”

"I’m yours… fuck, Bucky!" she complied, her voice breaking between her panting breaths.

"Again," he ordered, his hips slamming into hers, the table creaking under the force of his movements. He could feel her walls clenching around him, so tight, so wet, he almost lost control then and there.

“I’m yours,” she whimpered again, her voice shaky, breathless.

“Chris will be so disappointed to hear that” he growled. “Let’s make sure you stay ruined, just in case.” He was relentless now, fucking her hard, deep, his body pressing hers further into the table as he pushed her thighs harder against her body giving him even better access, hitting that sensitive spot that left her gasping, his grip and the relentless pace leaving no room for anything but the sensation of him filling her completely, over and over.

She whimpered in response, too overwhelmed to speak, her entire body tensing as the pleasure became almost unbearable. His thumb moved between them again pressing against her clit, rubbing circles that sent sparks of heat shooting through her. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as her orgasm built rapidly, her body teetering on the edge.

“Milk my cock.” he ordered, his voice harsh, primal. His words pushed her over the edge and then she was gone, her body shivering violently as she clenched around him, her thighs tightening around him as her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer. The sound of his name fell from her lips, half-whisper, half-cry as the climax gripped her, intense and all-consuming, leaving her a trembling, breathless mess.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled through gritted teeth, his hips snapping into hers with bruising force. “And then some more,” he rasped, his voice thick with raw need. “You won’t even be able to keep it all in, babydoll.”

With a final thrust, Bucky’s head fell back, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he reached his climax. His body trembled, muscles tensing as he spilled himself inside her, a heated wave of release filling her completely. He held her there, his cock kept pulsing until his release overflowed, warm and thick, beginning to trickle down, pooling beneath them.

Still buried inside her, Bucky loosened his grip on her thighs, hands sliding down to cradle her waist as he leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against her shoulder. He nuzzled into the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent, grounding himself as the heat of their union slowly ebbed, replaced by a quiet intimacy that neither of them seemed prepared for.

After a moment, he gently eased himself away, untangling their bodies but letting his hands linger at her hips, as though afraid to lose the connection. He took a step back, his gaze dropping for a moment before lifting to meet hers, hoping she’d break the silence but she didn’t look at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

Bucky’s chest tightened, a familiar pang surfacing as he watched her withdraw inward, her mind elsewhere despite the intimacy they’d just shared. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, tentative. “So… what now, Bucky?”

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I don’t… I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I know I shouldn’t have done this. Not after…” He hesitated, but the truth slipped out anyway. “Not after what I put you through.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding her expression, old wounds resurfacing. “Then why did you put me through this, Bucky?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with pain. “You said you couldn’t do this. That you needed space, that we were holding you back.” Her words hung heavy in the air, each one a quiet accusation tinged with vulnerability. “And now, you’re here, acting like…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…acting like you never left.”

He hesitated, knowing this was his chance to finally tell her the truth or let her keep believing the lie he’d used to protect them. He rubbed a hand over his face, then lowered it, meeting her gaze with raw honesty. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I left because I was afraid that my past... everything I tried to bury might come back to hurt you. Hurt him.” His voice softened. “I thought if you believed I didn’t want this life, it would keep you safe.”

He glanced down, his hand twitching at his side before he looked up again, his voice hushed but resolute. "But… I want to come back,” he admitted, the words raw, like they’d been buried deep for too long. “To the house. To you, and Benjamin.”

A chill lingered in the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself, gaze flicking over their scattered clothes still strewn across the kitchen floor. She looked away, her shoulders tense as she rubbed her temples. "So, what’s changed, Bucky? The risks are still there, the same threats, the same fears..."

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver, his hand reaching out as though to touch her, but he stopped short, fingers brushing the edge of the table instead. "What’s different is me. I’ve had time to face what I couldn’t before. Stepping aside didn’t keep you safer; it just kept me away. I don’t want Ben growing up with a dad who keeps him and his mom at arm’s length. Almost a stranger.” His voice softened, the vulnerability seeping through. “Being apart from you doesn’t make things better. I miss you, doll. I miss us.”

“You can’t just leave and come back like nothing happened, Bucky.” Her voice was softer this time, almost breaking. “I wanted you here… every day, every night. Not just for me, but for Benjamin.” Her voice trembled with raw vulnerability.

He took a step closer, his hand hovering near hers, unsure if she’d pull away. “I know, and I hate that I ever thought leaving was the answer.” His tone was low, his gaze steady on her.

She looked down, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, emotions tightening her expression. “If you come back, I need to know you’re here to stay,” she whispered, the words more for herself than for him. “Because I don’t think I can go through this again… and I won’t let him either.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her hands gripping the table harder as if to keep herself grounded.

Her words shattered the last remnants of his restraint. Without another thought, Bucky dropped to his knees in front of her, the hard tile digging into him as he pressed his forehead against her thigh. She sucked in a breath, her hand instinctively moving to his hair, fingers trembling as they brushed against him. He could feel her hesitation, the walls she’d built so carefully to guard herself from the ache he’d left behind.

“Say yes,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with the vulnerability he could no longer hide. “Say yes, doll. I know I don’t deserve it.” His hands gripped her hips, anchoring him as if she were the only thing keeping him steady. “But I swear,” His voice cracked, raw and pleading. “I swear, I’ll never walk away again. Not from you, not from Benjamin.”

She looked down, a mix of shock and pain written on her face as she saw him there, broken, open, begging her for something she’d once offered so freely. Her hand gently settled on his cheek, and he leaned into the warmth of her touch, feeling the softness of her fingers against the rough stubble of his jaw. The ache in her eyes nearly undid him, but he stayed there, his forehead still pressed to her thigh, his breath heavy, waiting.

Her eyes searched his, and slowly, her resolve began to waver, the smallest flicker of trust finding its way back into her gaze. "Then prove it," she whispered, barely trusting herself as her hand lingered against his cheek, the warmth of her palm seeping into him. "Show me you’re here to stay."

After her words hung in the air, a fragile silence between them, Bucky’s gaze dropped. He swallowed, his hand reaching for something inside the scattered clothes on the floor.

From his back pocket, he drew out a small, well-worn leather charm, a little star-shaped pendant, its edges smoothened from years of handling. She recognized it immediately. It was something she’d passed on to him when he left for his first mission after they married, a symbol she hoped would keep him safe. She thought it had been lost long ago, like so many pieces of them.

He held it out to her, and the look on his face was raw, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen since the early days. “I never stopped carrying this,” he murmured, his voice rough and thick. “Even when I tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing by staying away. I couldn’t let go of you…of us. I kept it close, hoping… hoping someday I could come back and give it back to you. I know it doesn’t make up for the time I lost, but…” His voice faltered, the sincerity there unmistakable.

She stared at the pendant, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out, fingers grazing the familiar leather. All the memories it held, the late-night goodbyes, the whispered promises, the hope she’d once tied to it, all of it rushed back, filling the space between them.

She looked down at him, seeing in his eyes the weight of the years, the regrets, but also the glimmer of the man she’d fallen in love with.

Taking a shaky breath, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “This… this was supposed to keep you safe, Bucky. Keep us safe.”

“And it did,” he replied softly, his hand covering hers over the charm. “It kept you here.” He paused, his voice barely a murmur. “And maybe now… it can bring me back home.”

The last of her defenses wavered, and she felt herself letting go of the anger, the hurt, all the pieces that had kept them apart. “Maybe… maybe it was always meant to guide you back here,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his with a warmth he hadn’t seen in years. “So if you’re really here to stay… then welcome home, Bucky.”

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction #Ex-husband!Bucky

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solelifauna · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 3

Finally getting a tiny bit of Bruce's monologue!! And uh oh, looks like you've gotta clock in!

As the car began to move, you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of panic. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on you. You tried your best to focus on anything but the Waynes, your mind desperately attempting to process what just happened in the parking lot. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. It was then that Damian decided to break the awkward silence.

“Father, what is the meaning of bringing her along with us?” Damian spoke curtly, disdain marring his voice when mentioning you.

As much as you disliked him as well, he had a point. Why the hell are you sitting here with them?

Bruce glanced at Damian. Truth be told, he didn't quite know why. While you were his child, one out of the only two biological children he had, he had never really had the time or care to acknowledge you. You coming into his life abruptly disturbed everything, so he paid you no mind. He’ll admit, it wasn't fair of him to do so, but he had bigger things to worry about. He was tired, and a child that wasn't involved with his night business, who did not understand what his life of vigilantism took out of him, would never understand the sacrifices that he's had to make. It wasn't until seeing you on the football field, happy, talking to your friends and acting in a way he'd never seen you do, he'd begun to realize what he missed.

When did you get so tall? He could have sworn you were no taller than his waist. And when did you join the cheerleading team? And who was that girl throwing her arm around you? Who was that boy? Gods, just how much has he missed?

But he couldn't say all of that. So instead he just replied, “She's a part of this family, Damian and she needed a ride back home.”

He could feel Cassandra’s knowing stare, she could read him better than anybody and she knew the inner turmoil brewing in his heart. That's coupled with Stephanie’s smirk and Dick’s predatory grin. Jason grunted in response, clearly not pleased with the arrangement. Lastly, he could see the disbelief on your face, as if you couldn't believe you'd even be considered part of this family. And he’s mostly to blame.

He internally sighed. He'd have to work on that. You were his daughter. His. It was his job to keep you safe and happy. It was his job to make sure you felt loved. And right now? He was no better than Jannet and Jack Drake leaving poor Tim to fend for himself. But that would all soon change, starting with himself and his children.

You on the other hand were still reeling from Bruce’s words. “Family”? Is he fucking kidding or what?

Dick, always the one to break the tension with his charm, spoke up next. "Hey, (Y/n), when did you become a cheerleader? I didn't know you were into that sort of stuff." Dick said with that condescending tone.

Your eyes twitched. You did not like his tone.

“That's none of your business Dick.” You shot back before you could even think.

Everyone looked your way. Whoops, that was your bad.

It was Jasons turn to get upset, “Watch your fucking mouth.” He growled, ever possessive over his older brother.

You immediately froze up, offering a quick and quiet apology before retreating into your own head. Jason–Jason scared you more than any of the others. You knew about his pit rage, you knew about the bloody and beaten bodies he's left in the wake of his rage. You knew he’d never dream of hurting his family, the pit often aiding in his possessive tendencies over the rest of the bats but– you weren't family. And you'd hate to be on the receiving end of Jason’s wrath.

If anyone had continued talking to you, you wouldn’t know. The sound around you was muffled like your head was filled with cotton and you could feel yourself shaking. You wanted out. Now. Thankfully, the rest of the ride was mostly quiet. Sure, everyone would occasionally turn their eyes towards you, making you shrink further in on yourself, but you were almost at the manor. The vehicle barely came to a stop before you were throwing yourself out the door and into the manor. You bid Alfred a quick “goodbye” and “thank you” before bolting up the stairs and into your room.

You locked the door, not that anyone would bother coming up to your room, but still it gave you security nonetheless. You stripped and hopped into the shower, the soreness in your body now making itself known. God it was gonna suck tomorrow. Why? Because it was Friday today, that meant tomorrow would be Saturday, and that meant that you'd have to go to work at the ass crack of dawn, 5 am. Plus, you didn't even have your bike, so you’d have to rely on Alfred to take you and bring you back. Great.

So with a heavy heart and heavy limbs, you tucked yourself into bed ready for the worst sleep of your life.

You wake up to the grating sound of your iphone alarm, as you groggily get up to brush your teeth, shower and get ready for the long day ahead. Making your way down for a cup of coffee, sleep still in your eyes, you fail to notice the looming figure of Tim Drake already sipping his own coffee. It was dark downstairs and you were still fighting off exhaustion from the day before, so who could blame you for not seeing the corner of the cabinet. Before you knew it, you were hunched over on the floor grabbing your pinkie toe in pain.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, that hurt! Holy shit, kill yourself, kill yourself! Who the fuck puts a cabinet there, oh my god.” You wailed in pain, cursing at the damn cabinet. You’d blame it on delirium and exhaustion. Honestly, it was an expected crashout.

You laid pathetically on the floor for a couple of more seconds before you heard a monotone, disinterested voice make itself known.

“Are you done now?” Tim says from behind you.

You yelp in surprise, before clumsily scrambling up and turning around. And there he was, sitting at the counter, coffee in hand and an almost (dare you say) amused look on his face. You blanche. Shit, how long has he been sitting there? Oh god, please don't say he’s witnessed the entirety of your embarrassing crashout?

And as if reading your mind, he cryptically answers, “Yes, I've been here this entire time.” All while sipping his coffee as his calculating eyes scarily bore into your figure.

You don't know what to say, embarrassed out of your mind, so you just apologize.

“Right–um, sorry about that. I’m just tryna get some coffee. I'll be out your way.” You hastily say before turning, tail tucked back towards the coffee pot.

You could still feel the weight of Tim’s stare on you but you're too tired and embarrassed to care. You pour yourself a big cup of straight up black coffee and proceed to chug it while walking towards the sink. After finishing it, you proceeded to gag for a few seconds, the bitter taste still permeating your mouth. God you hated the taste of black coffee, but you’d do whatever it takes to not fall asleep on the job. You discard your cup into the sink before you decide to find Alfred, it was 4:37 am and you needed to clock in by 5:00 am or else your ass was grass. You conveniently ignore Tim who has watched all of your misfortune happen this morning. He doesn't say anything when you leave the dining/kitchen area, just eerily watches.

God, he made you nervous.

Anyways, your quest to find Alfred was short lived as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, Damian in tow (you could feel the scar on your face burning). Great, was everyone up at this ungodly hour or was it just them two? You avoided the heat of Damian’s glare as you relayed to Alfred your predicament, apologizing profusely since you did ask him last minute. He simply smiled at you, letting you know that “it is never a hindrance when you need something Master (Y/n).” You smiled back in relief, thanking him once more as Alfred got ready to drop you off.

But of course, Damian just had to break the silence.

“What could you possibly need to do at this hour? Alfred has better things to do other than encouraging your galavanting.” Damian spoke sharply.

You just sighed, “Not that it's any of your business, but I have work.”You don't offer any more information as your hand unknowingly caresses the scarred tissue on your face.

Damian’s eyes draw to your face at the movement, seemingly fixated on the scar he left on you. He doesn’t think much of it, but sometimes, something green and dangerous purrs inside of him. Yes, his mark. It was his mark on your face. As much as he hated you, you were his only other blood-sibling no matter how weak and useless you were. He had bested you, and usually would pay you no mind, you knew your place and would typically remain docile. But recently you’ve been showing a new abrasive side, one he is not particularly fond of.

He’d have to talk to father about it.

Silence permeates the air as he doesnt bother to dignify your disrespect with a response. You’re saved when Alfred comes back with keys, both you and him rushing to whatever vehicle he's pulled out from the large, large selection of coveted cars Bruce owns. Looks like it's a BMW today. You practically throw yourself in, as Alfred speeds away to the cafe you work at. You arrive at work in record speed, bidding Alfred a “goodbye” before rushing to throw your apron on and clock in.

You’re greeted by the one other person working your shift, Matheo. He’s a sweet boy, very soft-spoken and mostly sticks in the back near the kitchen to bake the pastries while you work the register. Of course he comes and helps with drink orders when it's particularly busy, he’s too kind to leave you to fend for yourself. Regardless, you have a pretty straight forward agreement, which is what spells your doom. It was a regular Saturday shift, with the pilate moms coming in, middle schoolers loitering, and the occasional customer with an attitude. Everything was fine and dandy till three familiar faces walk in.

You were ever the busy body, finishing one last drink before yelling out a quick “I’ll help y’all shortly!”, to whoever just walked in. You quickly rush over to the register, not even bothering to look up from the register.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait! Now what can I get you?” You said in your regular customer service voice.

“Well, well, well, turns out you were right Dami, she does work here.” A chillingly familiar voice jests.

You freeze, slowly looking up only to be met with Dick smiling at you. It was not a kind smile, no, there was something dangerous about it. Behind him, you could see the familiar figures of Cassandra and Damian. What the hell are they doing here? God, you should have never mentioned anything to Damian, now you had to deal with this.

“R–right, what can I get you?” You shakily say, putting back on your customer service persona.

Dick’s smile grows, his teeth now visible, almost as if he was baring his teeth. Danger. Something inside you screamed.

“I’ll just have a vanilla cold brew, extra cold foam. Dami, Cass, what do you want?” Dick grinns.

“Tch, I don't want anything from this place.” Damian says, uninterested.

“Cass?” Dick asks, looking at her.

She comes up to the register, giving Dick a one-off-glance. Worryingly, her eyes seem to be fixated on you. She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, holding immensely uncomfortable eye contact with you before relaying her order.

“Just a caramel latte.” Cass says, still looking down at you.

You frantically fill in their orders on the register.

“Will that be all?” You ask. You hoped that was all, you didn't want them spending another minute talking to you.

Dick says a quick cheerful “no” before you ring them up and get started with the two drinks. It doesn't take too much time before you’re calling out their names to come get their drinks. You hope they leave right after. But of course, nothing goes according to your wishes as they grab their drinks and seat themselves at a table. Great.

The minutes after result in further disaster. After a couple of more customers, a lady comes up to you, face already molded into a scowl with a half empty drink in her hand. Oh great, a “karen”.

“Hello ma’am, how can I help you?” You kindly say.

“You! I need a refund. Right. Now!” The lady booms, wagging her finger in your face.

“A refund, right, is there a reason you’re requesting a refund?”

“A reason!? You made my drink wrong and I want my money back!”

“Please correct me if i'm wrong, but I believe you ordered a double mocha cappuccino, correct?” You ask slowly.

“Yes, that's what I ordered! Why are you asking me all these questions?!”

“Sorry ma’am, but that is the drink I gave you. Is there something specifically wrong with the drink?”

“The drink that you gave me is wrong, you made it wrong! It doesn't taste anything like regular coffee!”

“Oh, well sometimes different cafes use different recipes for the same drink, i think maybe that's why–”

“–Well I don't care! I want a refund!”

You could feel eyes on you as the other patrons start to notice the commotion brewing.

“Ma’am, i'm so sorry but i can't give you a refund, you’ve already drank half the drink. If you would have let me know sooner, I could've remade it for you, but–I'm sorry ma’am I can't give you that refund.”

“Are you serious! Why I never!? It's always bitches like you who try scamming people out of their money!”

“Ma'am, I'm really sorry, it's the company policy. I just work here–” You gently say, trying to calm her down.

“–Go to hell you bitch!” Is all you hear before you’re doused in the face with warm coffee.

You just stand there is shock, blinking through the coffee. There's no way that just happened. Theo, comes out having heard the commotion (albeit a little too late), only to be met with the sight of you covered in coffee.

“Oh my gosh (Y/n)! I should have come sooner, are you okay?”

“Peachy.” You say, voice audibly watery and cracking.

“I'll take care of everything up here, you go take some time in the back. Clean up or honestly if you don't feel like it, just rest in the back–”

“–It's okay Theo, I–I just need a couple of minutes. I'm fine.”

He gives you a quizzical stare.

“I'm fine. I promise.” You smile, although you could feel your eyes starting to water.

You hastily walk off to the break room and proceed to cry for a good 2 minutes before deciding to start cleaning yourself up. You do your best to get the coffee that's dried into hair out while wiping down your now sicky arms and face. Changing your apron gets rid of most of the mess, but your shirt underneath still has a couple of large patches of coffee. Sighing, you tidy yourself up as much as possible before heading back to the counter, Theo worriedly waiting for you. You just shoot him a thumbs up and let him know that it’s okay for him to retreat back to the kitchen; he lingers for a moment, hesitant to leave you alone, but drudges back regardless.

There are eyes on you. You look up perturbed, only to find Dick, Cass, and Damian still sitting at their table, sharp stares pinned on your figure. They saw all that happen, didn't they? You mentally cringed.

Checking your watch, you realize that there are still four more hours left on your shift. Great, that's great–just another four more hours, which is technically thirty minutes eight times, which is technically fifteen minutes sixteen times–and you’ve lost it. Jesus you were losing your mind, which was understandable (honestly you're surprised it hasn't happened sooner) during one of the worst shifts of your life.

It’s fine. You got this. Just four more hours, and you can have your “Mental Breakdown Part Ⅱ™”.

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#yandere batfam #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #platonic yandere #neglected reader #neglect #yandere Stephanie brown #batfamily #batfamily x reader #batfamily x neglected reader #female reader #fem reader

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badkitty3000 · 4 months ago

Text

Don't Stand So Close To Me

Five was doing his best to resist you. You were too young for him. Too eager. But when he decided to try and scare you straight, he got a little more than he bargained for. That's when he realized maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought he was.

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 6,700 words, One-shot

Warnings: Smut, explicit sex, everyone is an adult

This was born from a request I received for Five with a young(ish) woman that won't leave him alone. I have modified a few things, but I hope it still works! ❤️

Five sighed and rolled his eyes when he saw you coming toward him. He had been balancing a bag of dry cleaning in one hand and cup of coffee in the other and was just about to chance blinking inside his apartment instead of using the door when he heard your greeting.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, wishing he had just risked spilling his beverage all over his newly pressed suits by disappearing inside. Now he was stuck.

“Here, let me help!” you chirped, jogging up to him.

“No thanks, I’ve got it,” Five argued, but as he did so the bag of clothes nearly slipped from his hand.

“Got it!” you exclaimed with a smile, snatching up the bag.

Five gave a weary smile and another sigh. “Thank you.”

“No problem!”

As Five fished around in his pocket for his key, he tried not to make eye contact with you. Actually, he tried not to have anything to do with you most of the time. You just hadn’t gotten the hint.

“What are you up to tonight?” you asked, and Five could hear the twinge of hopefulness in your voice.

“Oh, you know…the same as usual. Make some dinner, watch Unsolved Mysteries, and go to bed.” He opened the door and took the dry cleaning from you. “Typical old man stuff.”

You nodded as if you knew exactly what he was talking about. You did know, in a way. You knew all about Five’s history, his powers, and his actual age. It’s hard to keep that shit private when your entire life has been broadcast across the world for everyone to witness. Unfortunately, at least from Five’s point of view, you didn’t seem to care.

You bit at your fingernail and looked down at the ground. Five wasn’t about to invite you in, so he waited for an uncomfortable few seconds before speaking up again.

“Ok, well, thanks for your help. Have a good night.”

“Oh…ok,” you said sadly. “Good night, Five.”

As Five stepped inside his apartment and flicked on the light, he draped his bag of suits over a chair, taking a sip of his coffee. He shoved a hand in his pocket and looked around his small, quiet apartment. It wasn’t much; just a shitty one-bedroom with a miniscule kitchen. But that was all he needed. That and to be left alone.

Despite trying to keep a safe distance from you, you had yet to be deterred. Five knew you liked him; it was pretty obvious. Ever since he moved into the building, you hadn’t missed an opportunity to corner him at the mailboxes, or in the hallway. Being trapped in the elevator was the most awkward, so Five tried his best to avoid those encounters by blinking around as much as possible. You always seemed to catch him, though.

It's not that Five didn’t like you. You were sweet, and cute, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered that you were so into him. The problem was that you were 21 and he was in his late sixties. Old enough to be your grandfather; at least mentally. Physically, he was in your same age range, which he assumed made things very confusing for you. While you did know all about his older consciousness, Five figured you conveniently forgot most of the time. Like when you wore those tiny little running shorts with a sports bra and decided to do some warm up stretches directly in front of his door.

Five wasn’t fully immune to your little come-ons. He still had a pulse, after all. Not to mention the hormones and libido of a much younger man. Still…even after all that he had witnessed and done throughout his life, he had managed to hold onto a couple scraps of morality. And only sleeping with women who were over the age of 30 was a personal rule of his.

He wasn’t sure why he picked that age; it was still more than half of his. But he figured most people’s brains had fully matured by then and it made him feel like less of a sexual deviant. He hadn’t had a date or any hook ups in a while, though. Most nights he just came back to his place and did exactly what he told you he did. Old man stuff.

As he stood there, contemplating all of this, there was a knock at his door. Five rolled his eyes yet again and set his coffee down. When he opened the door, there you were, as he suspected. You looked up at him with nervous eyes that couldn’t quite hold his own while holding two large containers of food and a bottle of red wine.

“Hi, again. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Five. So, it turns out I made too much food for dinner, so I wondered if you wanted some?” You held out the containers to him. “It’s spaghetti and a salad, and I had this bottle of wine that I thought would go well with it. It’s nothing fancy, but I know you’re alone, so you probably don’t have anyone to cook for you…” Your voice trailed off and you looked away.

Five ran a hand down the back of his neck and looked down the hallway. No one else was around and he was hungry. He reached out to take the food, but left you holding the wine.

“Thank you, that’s really nice of you.”

Your eyes lit up at his compliment and you smiled. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I cook all the time, so anytime you want me to make you something, just let me know. I’m pretty good at it.”

Five chuckled. “I have no doubt that you are. It looks great.” He was about to go back into his apartment, when he looked back at your disappointed face. Shit. If he didn’t invite this girl in, he was going to look like a real asshole. He was definitely going to regret this, though. “Would you like to come in and join me for dinner? Looks like you made plenty for both of us.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

Five smiled gently and shook his head. “No, you’re not. Come on in.”

After you stepped in, and Five busied himself making plates of food for the two of you, you set the wine on the kitchen table and looked around his place.

“Wow, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.”

Five looked up while he opened the wine. “Isn’t it just the same as your place?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it is. Which is why I’m surprised. I thought yours would be a little…”

“Old man-ish?” Five grinned as he handed you the glass of Pinot Noir.

“…sexier,” you answered with a sly grin, taking the glass from him.

Five’s eyebrows raised. “Sexier?”

You shrugged and took a sip. “I don’t know. I expected more black and leather. Like a real bachelor pad, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s not really me,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “I’m not exactly a swinging bachelor these days.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Oh, no? How come?”

Five saw he had backed himself into a corner and he didn’t really want to get into his love life with you, so he cleared his throat and gestured to the table. “Food’s ready.”

As you sat across from one another at Five’s small dining table, the initial awkwardness began to wear off as the wine started taking effect. You became a little bolder in your flirting, and Five was finding he didn’t mind as much as he usually did. By the time dinner was finished, and another bottle of red was opened, you had moved to the living room to continue your conversation. Five sat down on the couch as you plopped in the armchair across from him, tucking your leg up under you, making your shorts slide up your bare thigh. Five couldn’t help but notice, and you caught him in the act.

As you continued your small talk, Five watched as you fidgeted in your chair. Every adjustment of your body seemed to be just for him, and he found his mouth pooling with saliva that he tried very hard to subtly swallow back down. It was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. The smooth, bare skin of your legs, the curves of your breasts, the way your lips looked so damn delicious as you talked. He was in trouble.

“So,” he said, his voice cracking. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded with an upturn of your mouth before standing up and crossing to Five. As you loomed over him, he looked up, his gaze traveling the full length of your body. The wine was giving you more confidence that you normally would have. He looked so damn good, sitting there with his hair a little disheveled from running his hand through it all night, and you weren’t quite ready for the evening to end yet. You reached down, taking his wine glass to set it on the table with your own. When you climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and draping your arms over his shoulders, he was shocked into silence.

Your warm groin settled over his lap with your tits pressed against his chest. Breathing harder, his hands automatically came to rest on your hips as he looked up at you. You smiled, your hair framing your face as you leaned in to kiss him.

Five closed his eyes, his grip on you tightening for a second as he kissed you in return. You moaned softly into his mouth, pressing yourself down when you felt him start to harden beneath you. That’s when he woke from his trance and pulled his head back.

“Stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Look…I like you, but we can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, there’s a lot of reasons, but namely I’m way too old for you. And you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Ok, well, I am. And that doesn’t change the fact that I’m about three times older than you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this needs to stop before it goes any further.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?” you asked, tilting your head to the side and giving just a little push into his crotch.

He shook his head slowly, exhaling a long breath. “No, but it’s what needs to happen. Understand?”

After you reluctantly left, Five cleaned up the kitchen, jerked off in the shower, and went to bed trying very hard not to think of you anymore. Over the next two weeks, he did everything he could think of not to run into you in the building again. He was afraid that not only would it be awkward, but that he would start feeling things he shouldn’t.

The truth was, you had gotten to him. Despite his best efforts, that little stunt you pulled by climbing into his lap had worked. Fuck, had it worked. Not a day went by when he wasn’t imagining what would have happened had he not cut it short. Those firm tits pressed against him and your soft lips against his…shit, he was going insane. He had to keep to his rule, though. You were just too young.

But you did not give up easily. You knew what you wanted and you were determined to make him see you as the adult you really were.

“Five!” you called with a little wave, as you caught him trying to enter his apartment one evening.

When Five saw you, he cursed under his breath. He really did not have the energy to deal with you. He had just gotten back from a job and he was not in the mood for your little antics.

“You can’t keep coming over here like this, I’ve told you that,” Five explained, turning his focus back to the key in the door.

“I just wanted to say hi,” you said with an innocence that he wasn’t buying.

“Yeah, I know what you’re doing,” he grumbled.

You paused. “I’m sorry about what happened before, Five. I understand why you might be hesitant, but you know…”

“What do I know?”

“I am an adult, like I said. You don’t have to keep treating me like I’m a kid.”

“You are a kid,” Five shot back.

You looked up at him with a tiny smirk. “From what I remember, it didn’t feel like you thought I was a kid the other night.”

Five’s jaw set, his teeth grinding together. He wasn’t going to stand there and get made fun of by some girl that was determined to get in his pants, even if he did have the beginnings of a boner when she sat on his lap.

“Just stay away from me, ok?” he snarled. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, please, Five…I think I can handle—”

Five turned abruptly, his face hard with dark brows pulled together. As he leaned in, his jaw set and body tense, you flinched, but did not break your eye contact.

“You think you can handle me, sweetheart? You have no idea what I’m capable of,” he hissed in your face.

Swallowing, but holding your ground, you nodded. “I can handle you, Five. I’m not scared of you. And if you’d just let me get to know you a little more –"

His laugh was laced with menace as he took another step toward you. You were left staring at one another, neither of you backing down. He was close enough that you could hear his harsh breathing through his nose and smell the faint traces of after-shave. His eyes searched over your face before turning back to his door.

“Get the fuck away from me. Please,” he said quietly.

“I know what I’m doing, I’m not sure why you think I’m so innocent.”

Five looked down and sighed. He was tired of constantly trying to maintain his morality. He was an old man in a young man’s body and he was so damn sick of taking the higher road. Most people thought he was an asshole, and they weren’t wrong. He had a high success rate of keeping the people he wanted out of his life out, and barely tolerating the ones he let in. He was a killer. A trauma-filled nightmare wrapped up in a pretty package. He was not normal, and it was time you knew that.

“Fuck it,” he said out loud to no one in particular. As his eyes locked on yours again, his normally emerald-colored ones became dark.

He continued to take another step toward you, and then another, until you were backed against the opposite wall of the quiet hallway. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed as a single fly battled for its life inside one of the fixtures.

“Alright…I will confess, I have been thinking a lot about you lately.”

“You have?”

Five nodded, closing in on you until he was inches from your body; close enough that you could see the faint line of stubble on his chin and hear his deep breathing.

“Specifically…what you would be willing to do for me.”

As his gaze traveled over your body, taking in the tight tank top and miniscule shorts you were wearing, you could almost feel the energy pulsing out of him in waves. It was terrifying and intoxicating, and it had you rooted to the spot.

“What do you want me to do for you?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes, blinking slowly.

“Strip.”

You had been trying to keep up with him. Trying to beat him at his own game. But you sucked in a quiet, yet audible, gasp of air.

“What?”

“I want you naked for me. Now.”

He was still so close to you, his mouth mere inches away from yours, and yet he made no further movement to do anything else. He was trapping you there; playing with his prey for fun. And you weren’t sure if he was going to eat you or let you escape.

“Here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “That’s right, sweetheart. You think you know me? You think you want me? Then, prove it.”

“What if someone walks by?”

Five shrugged with a grin. He took a step back, allowing you enough room to leave, should you so choose. Again, he made no move to grab you, or touch you in any way. He shook his head, eyeing you pitifully.

“Don’t play games you can’t win. It won’t end well for you.”

When you had nothing to say to that, his demeanor changed again. Back to his normal, tired expression, his eyes and mouth drooped. He said nothing more, but just turned back toward his apartment, and opened the door. After he took a step inside, he heard you clear your throat. Turning around, he was faced with an unexpected sight.

With each slow, deliberate step you took in his direction, you started to strip your clothes away. First your top, lowering the straps over your shoulders and drawing it up over your head. Then your shorts, unbuttoning them before sliding them down your thighs and kicking them to the side. Five seemed frozen to the spot, unable to move and unable to speak. But his eyes followed you with an unmistakable hunger.

As you closed in on him, you were left in your bra and panties. With a small smirk, you reached behind you and undid the clasp of your bra. Slowly peeling it away from your body, you watched as Five’s gaze dropped to your breasts.

“Like I said…I’m not afraid of you,” you said, as you confidently jutted your chin out, along with your chest.

Five’s face flickered with shock, followed by what you could only imagine was lust, before it turned to anger. He grabbed your upper arm, squeezing it hard, before shaking you.

His teeth gritted and bared, he snarled in your face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You did your best to pretend you were in full control of the situation. “What you told me to do.”

Five’s eyes roamed over your body for a split second, before they were back on your face. He was angrier than you had ever seen him before. And yet, you had a feeling the anger was just masking something else. Something he didn’t want you to see.

At that moment, the loud ding of the elevator doors rang out, signaling that you would soon not be alone. He looked down the hallway and then back at you. When you didn’t make a move, his jaw tensed even more. Stalking past you to snatch your clothes off the floor, he grabbed your arm again.

“God damn it, get inside,” he demanded, yanking you forcefully through the doorway of his apartment.

As you stumbled your way inside, he continued to grasp your upper arm. He slammed the door behind you and got in your face again.

“Are you stupid?” he growled.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well, stop fucking acting like it. Jesus!” He let go of your arm, leaving you standing there in just your underwear, while he ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just go around stripping naked in public places just because someone tells you to. What the fuck?”

You smiled and took a step toward him. “What’s the matter Five? Losing at your own game?”

Five’s breath had become louder and harsher. You could practically see the wheels turning inside his head. He wanted you; you were sure of it. The juxtaposition of desire and restraint was evident in every twitch of coiled muscle and nervous hover of his eyes on your breasts. He had been trying to scare you; make you flee in terror at his aggressive advances. But joke was on him, because you fucking loved it.

Another look of anger swept over his face as he laughed darkly. “Shit. You really do not know what you are getting yourself into here.”

You swallowed nervously. “I don’t care.”

“Well, you should. And you should leave.”

Five continued to bore into you with his intense stare. His dark eyes indicated menace, but his stiff body language gave off something else. Fear. But Five Hargreeves does not give into fear easily. When he feels it creeping in, he turns it into something else. Something mean and ruthless.

When you didn’t make a move to leave, he took a step forward. A half-smirk formed on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side.

“Alright then…you’ve been warned,” he said pleasantly, right before his voice turned ice cold. “Now lose those fucking panties before I rip them off myself.”

Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, you hooked your thumbs into the elastic waist of your lace panties and pulled them down over your hips, letting them drop to the floor at your feet. You stood perfectly still, allowing him to take you all in while your chest began to rise and fall more rapidly.

You thought you had him this time. How was he going to resist a fully nude woman right in front of his face? But instead of giving in, like you knew he wanted, he gave a small shake of his head. Still holding the clothes you had discarded in the hallway, he stepped forward until he was directly in front of you, smiling derisively. His face was so close to your bare skin, you could feel the warmth of his exhale along your leg as he bent to pick up the pair of underwear. When he walked casually past you in the direction of the living room, your jaw dropped as he opened the sliding glass doors that led to a small balcony, and hurled your clothes outside. You watched in disbelief as they floated briefly on the light breeze before disappearing out of sight; fluttering to the ground, six floors below.

He closed the doors, turning back to you with a satisfied, yet stony expression. He pointed at the door to the hall.

“Get out.”

You paused, your eyes nervously darting toward the door. “What?”

He flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes in indifference. “You said you didn’t care if anyone saw you. So, leave.”

When you continued to stand there, wide-eyed and confused, he snorted and shook his head. “That’s what I thought. I’m not the nice guy you think I am. And I’m certainly not one of your little fucking boyfriends you can manipulate to get your way.” His voice softened somewhat. “I can give you something to wear to go home in, but don’t ever come back here again. This is over, understand?”

After a few seconds of silence, you nodded your head slowly. “I understand.” With a sly smile, you turned, heading for the door, letting Five get a nice long look at your ass in the process. As you reached for the doorknob, you glanced over your shoulder, relishing in his bewilderment as you walked right out the door without a stitch of clothing on.

Out in the hallway, you tried not to panic. You hadn’t really thought out what was going to happen once you had committed to your little act of rebellion. Your apartment was on the other side of the floor, and you had to pass by many nosy neighbors’ places plus the elevators to get there. As you considered your options, your back was suddenly slammed into the wall, Five’s hands gripping your arms again after he appeared in a flash of blue.

“God damn it,” he seethed in your face.

Without another word, you were being ripped through one of his portals, reappearing inside his apartment again. You let out a small cry of surprise as you were flattened against the door, Five’s body pressed against yours.

He surveyed your face one more time, his eyebrows drawn together in torment. “Fuck, why did you do this to me?”

The next few minutes were a blur as Five released everything that he had been holding back in one ferocious attack. His mouth sucking and biting at your lips, his hands fisted tightly in your hair, and his hips jerking into you. Something feral and instinctual was propelling him, and you let him unleash all of it onto you.

With another tight hold on your wrist, you were dragged away from the door and whipped through a second portal, this time landing on his bed with a hard bounce. While you scrambled to sit up, Five had stripped off his shirt and was already unbuckling his belt, the clink of the metal drawing your attention to his hands as they unzipped his fly. Breathing hard through his nose, he looked at you, running a hand through his hair while pushing it off of his forehead.

With his cool green eyes locked on yours, he crooked a finger at you, beckoning you over. You worked your way off the bed, hesitating for just a moment, before closing the few feet so that you were standing directly in front of him.

He leaned down, a hand gently cradling the back of your neck, as he kissed you softly. You thought maybe you were going to see a new, tender side of him. Until he latched a hand onto your shoulder, gripping you hard while pushing you roughly down, forcing you to your knees. As he glared down at you, dark hair framing the sharp angles of his face, one corner of his mouth twitched up.

“You talk a big game, honey, so go ahead. Let’s see that mouth of yours in action.”

He was trying to intimidate you; to show you he was the boss. But you weren’t naïve and you weren’t dumb. There were subtle hints, like the way his breath hitched when he spoke to you, or the slight tremble in his hand as he guided your face up by your chin that gave his nerves away.

With your own small smile and a lick of your lips, you reached up to pull the black suit pants down, taking his boxers with them. Five let out a shaky exhale as his hard cock stood at attention in front of your face. With another coy glance up through soft lashes, you took him into your hand. He was bigger than you would have guessed, and you slowly stroked his thick shaft, pressing your thumb into the underside while following the vein from base to head. When you stretched out your tongue to give a kittenish lick across the tip, he hissed loudly, bringing his hand down to rest in your hair.

“Shit,” you heard him mutter under his breath as you started in.

He didn’t let you work up to it with teasing kisses or circles of your tongue around his dripping head. With one shove of his hand on the back of your head, his dick was down your throat. You let out a clipped groan that ended in a gurgling noise, before he was pulling you back and off again. With eyes wide and already gasping for air, your hair was tugged backward so that you were forced to look up at him.

An eyebrow raised, Five questioned you with a low voice. “Still think you can handle me?”

From your position on the floor, he towered above you like a god, watching as you worshiped at his feet. Your eyes traveled over his sculpted abs, his toned arms and shoulders that flexed with the effort of holding your head back. You took in the scars that dotted his abdomen and thighs; the line of soft hair that trailed from his navel to the main event. He was being rough, yes, but there was something in his eyes that gave him away. Like he wanted so badly to be something else, he just didn’t know how.

You nodded your head in an answer to his question, as his magnificent cock bobbed in front of your face, and you opened your mouth wide.

“Fuck,” he growled from deep in his chest.

Five was losing his mind, he was sure of it. All of his pent-up anger and frustration over his body/mind/age situation was coming to a head; and he was shoving that head directly and violently down your throat. He couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to stop it. You felt so damn good, with your warm mouth wrapped around him and your tongue sliding over the taught skin of his shaft. As his hips jerked into your face, harder and faster, he watched as you gagged and choked on his dick; saliva building up at the corners of your mouth as you so dutifully let him fuck your face.

“Ah…ffff-uu-goddamnit…yes, fuck yes, don’t stop…ah SHIT!”

His head was thrown back in complete bliss as he unloaded copious amounts of cum directly into the back of your throat, the sheer volume making it pour out the corners of your mouth and dribble down your chin. The rest you swallowed, choking down the steady stream of bitter semen while he moaned above you and fisted your hair even tighter.

As he finally began to relax and the last few twitches of his hips came to a halt, he dared to open his eyes and look down at the sight below him. He had loosened his grip on your hair, allowing his dick to slip out of your mouth. You gasped and sucked in the much-needed air that you hadn’t been getting as he released you entirely. Collapsing onto your hands and knees, you coughed and wiped at your destroyed mouth while Five did nothing more than stare down at you with a kind of horrified fascination.

What had he done?

When you looked back up at him, though, and he saw that devilish smile sneak across your lips, daring him to give you more, he stopped caring. It was clear you were going to let him do whatever he wanted. And, fuck, if he didn’t want to do so many things to you.

“Up,” he commanded, still trying to catch his breath.

He held out his hand for you to take, letting him haul you up to standing. He ran a hand down your cheek and kissed your ruined lips. There was that moment of softness again, and you closed your eyes against his touch.

Five guided you so that you were sitting on the edge of the bed. After another kiss, this time leaving you breathless, he dropped to his knees between your legs. Gripping your thighs in his hands, he roughly pushed your legs apart while pulling you closer to him.

Digging his fingers into your hips, he buried his face into your wet, throbbing pussy, and moaned.

“This wet just from sucking my cock? Fuck, honey, you’re driving me crazy.”

Alternating between long laps with his tongue and sucking at your clit, it was obvious he knew exactly what he was doing as you leaned backward, holding yourself up with your hands flat on the bed. When you dropped your head back, it banged against the wall, but you barely noticed since you were already on the cusp of a strong orgasm.

“Five…” you gasped, eyes clenched shut and biting at your bottom lip. You tried desperately to rock your hips into his face, but his grip was too strong. He was devouring you; eating you out almost viciously, while your palms began to sweat as they pressed harder into the bed. “Five…holy fff-uck…OH GOD!” you screamed as one last, perfect lick sent you reeling. With your entire body shuddering, Five only went at you harder; until you were letting out quiet, pitiful cries, and your thighs twitched against his head.

As you tried to catch your breath, Five finally let up, tearing himself away from your warm deliciousness, and standing up to lean over you. He was just as out of breath as you were, with his mouth shining and lips red. A mixture of your arousal and his saliva pooled obscenely underneath you.

“That was…holy shit…” you tried to get out, but you were cut off almost immediately.

“I’m not done yet. Not by a long shot,” he rasped.

Though only minutes had passed since he had unloaded into your mouth, his cock was hard again. As he rummaged around in a drawer, pulling out a condom, and rolling it on, you scooted back so that you were lying down lengthwise on the bed. There was no more time for rest, though, before Five was climbing on top of you, that look of voracity overtaking him again.

He began to kiss you; hard and insistently while running his tongue over your bottom lip and venturing inside. It was a mixture of intense want and hesitation as he squeezed your ass with one hand and lightly stroked your hair with the other. When he pulled back, he looked deep into your eyes, his hand coming to rest gently on your cheek, his thumb pressing under your chin.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Ready for more?”

With a slow smile forming on your face, you nodded.

“Fuck yeah. Give it to me.”

Five groaned, closing his eyes and dropping his face to your neck. His teeth scraped against your skin as he kissed you fervently while your fingers threaded through his hair. The second you opened your legs for him, he was shoving himself inside. Sucking in a loud breath, he buried his face into your shoulder.

“Fuuuck…you are tight…god, you feel so fucking good,” he moaned pitifully into you.

You threw your head back against the pillow with a loud moan. “Oh my god, I knew your dick would feel amazing.”

He didn’t respond, but he took both of your legs and balanced them on his shoulders, angling your hips up to push his dick in even further. He was buried to the hilt, with his tight balls slapping against your ass each time he drew back and slammed back into you.

Five was gone; completely lost inside his own debauched fantasy. He wanted to fuck you harder and harder until you couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to make you cry out his name while your back arched off the bed like you were possessed. When his eyes met yours, with the strands of hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat already forming there, you bit your bottom lip and smiled. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and that made him want to absolutely ruin you.

Smacking your ass hard enough to leave a mark before throwing your legs off his shoulders, Five roughly flipped you over. He forced the side of your face into the bed as he thrust inside you again, stretching your pussy and filling you up with his thick cock. His ragged breath warmed the side of your neck with each punishing drive of his hips against your ass as you whimpered softly.

“Come on, honey, let’s hear it,” he snarled next to your ear. “You’ve been dying for me to pound that sweet little pussy…so let me hear you. I’m not stopping until I get what I want.”

“Fff-iiive,” you sobbed, your fists clutching the bedspread underneath you as he railed relentlessly into you.

“That’s right,” he answered, and you could hear that cocky smirk on his face. “Beg me.”

“Five…please…you feel SO…FUCKING…GOOD!”

The angle of his cock thrusting inside of you, along with his body trapping you beneath him, was more intense than anything you had ever experienced before. You were on the verge of coming; your cries becoming louder while you desperately tried to suck air into your lungs. The sting of his dick drilling inside of you was still not enough to mask the pleasure that was building. It hurt but you still wanted more.

Soon, that inevitable feeling of warmth and tightness formed in your core and you let go with a loud scream that echoed off the walls of his bedroom. Your body convulsed under his as his hips stilled against your ass when he expelled himself one more time. The groan that left him as he came was loud and long, leaving his arms shaking as he held himself over you.

After he was able to move off of you, you continued to catch your breath as you rolled over to face him. Five was kneeling on the bed, chest glistening with sweat and heaving as he flipped his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t say a word, but after a few more seconds, he climbed off the bed to dispose of the condom. You eyed him nervously. You had no idea how he was going to react, or if he was already regretting everything.

After tugging his boxers back on, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are you ok?” he asked, his voice tight.

You nodded and sat up. “Yeah, I’m ok, why?”

Five shook his head. “I was way too rough, I shouldn’t have…but you…” he trailed off, his frustration with himself evident. “Look, you got your way. This is done now, alright?”

With a roll of your eyes, you moved off the bed so that you were standing in front of him; the muscles in your sticky thighs aching from the movement. “Get over yourself, Five. We both wanted this, so stop pretending I put some spell on you to make you change your mind.”

He was silent, but he nodded, a brief flicker of a smile forming on his lips. “I’m sorry about your clothes.” He got up to grab a t-shirt from one of his drawers and handed it to you. “You can wear this; it should be enough to cover everything.”

As you worked the too-big shirt over your head, Five pulled his pants back on, zipping them up but leaving the belt hanging open. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small, balled up pair of women’s underwear. With a guilty smile, he tossed them over to you. “Here.”

You laughed in disbelief. “You stole my panties? What were you going to do with them?”

Five shrugged. “I hadn’t figured that out yet.”

Shaking your head, you looked down at them in your hand. “Such a dirty old man.” Glancing back at Five’s guilty face, you threw them back, and he caught them against his chest. “Keep them. I kind of like the idea of you doing weird things with them.”

Five made no comment, but he tucked them back into his pants pocket with a lop-sided grin. He held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll blink you back to your apartment so you don’t have to go back in just a t-shirt.”

You thought for a second, but shook your head. “No thanks. I don’t mind a good walk of shame now and then.”

As Five walked you to the door, you gave him a lingering kiss and trailed a hand down his arm. “Maybe the next time I make too much food, I’ll come over and share it? Think you can handle that?”

A smile slowly spread across Five’s face and he nodded. “Yeah, I think I can handle that.”

Then he watched as you walked away, wearing nothing but his t-shirt. He shook his head, not quite believing what had just occurred. He had thought he was so damn smart with his moral high-ground and superiority. But as it turned out, you had gotten the best of him. He lost at his own game. Tucking two fingers inside his pocket to stroke the silky material of your panties, he smiled to himself, thinking about how this may have been the first time in his life that he hadn’t minded losing.

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retiredteabag · 8 days ago

Text

Wishful Thinking

arranged marriage with Nanami… a continuation

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It was fair to say that the Belmond Eastern & Oriental Express was by far the most luxurious space you had ever occupied.

Your honeymoon was a weekend-long excursion aboard the aforementioned train. It would take you through the breathtaking Malaysian mountains, right through the heart of the country's culinary capital, and finally over to the coast, where you could spend the night on the beach.

You fiddled with your luggage as your husband left to speak with a steward about getting a cup of coffee. Nights ago, after much berating from your clan elders, Nanami discussed the plans of the trip with you. At the time, you had politely asked if there was a possibility you could have a joint cabin. Nanami told you he had already requested two suites, and that you did not have to worry.

When you arrived, however, giving the polite stewardess your last name, they insisted that there had only been one cabin under your now, shared name.

At this news, your husband seemed more distressed than you. For you though, in the back of your mind, you had almost expected it. Certainly, you would not have put it past your family.

Arriving to your room after some questioning from your husband, you found that the king bed, lavishly accessorized with pillows and throws, could actually become two twin XLs.

He had lifted your suitcase from your hands with one arm and set it on the luggage rack as if it weighed no more than the pillow he had simultaneously been extricating from the dual bed.

He ran his now free hand through his hair, he almost looked panicky, "I apologize. I should have called ahead to ensure your comfort. I can speak with them again and see if they have any other open cabins but for now-"

"Nanami, it's okay-" You move forward to help him de-fluff the mattress. "I should have anticipated this anyway..."

He stands up straight, "In any case, I can sleep in one of the scenic cars- I looked and there are couches and-"

You interrupt again, "Nanami, I am not going to have you sleep on the couch" You chuckle, knowing he really would. "I think I might have given you the impression that you make me uncomfortable."

His eyes raised at this, you continue, "I can assure you that you do not. And I don't mind sharing a room with you."

This whole interaction played through your mind as you waited for your husband to return. He had seemed so professional in that moment, so tense, eyes so wide. He had cleared his throat and asked if you were sure. All you had done was laugh, asking if he was hungry and would like for you to order refreshments.

Of course, he had insisted on going in your stead.

The train had fifteen carriages. Eight sleeping cars, two restaurant cars, a piano car bar, and an open-air observation car. After having shifted the bed around, you sat at the table overlooking the window in your room. Nanami had brought back coffee, afternoon tea, and a wide variety of treats. Tarts, fresh fruit, scones, and cookies.

There was a mildly awkward silence between you two as the breathtaking Malaysian jungle passed you by. Just as you were about to take a sip of your drink, Nanami pipes up.

"I wanted to make sure..." He says.

You turn to look at him but he's focused on the foliage just beyond the rails. "I need you to say if you're uncomfortable. I know you have a problem with pleasing people, but nothing would upset me more than your silent discomfort."

You choke down your tea quickly. It took you a moment, but you realize then that you hadn't even been trying to appease him or the staff when you suggested sharing the room, it had felt natural.

After having known the man hardly a week, you had come to view him almost as a friend. The notion, of course, might be due to the fact that you hadn't many friends to speak of, but nobody could deny how kind Nanami was.

"I'm not." You wave your hands in front of your face. "Uncomfortable, I mean."

He squinted at you in a funny way, attempting, you guess, to read your expression. Finally smiling, he takes a sip of his beverage and accompanies you in looking out the shared window. If only you could explain how much you appreciated every thought he gave you.

There were two restaurant cars on the train, and you would be swapping between them for meals your duration on board. There was a formal dress code at meal times, and as you spun in the mirror, you wondered if you would be able to fit in amongst all the opulence.

See, you had been trained in table manners, small talk, and most every other area of etiquette, even so, you had rarely strayed from clan meetings or school. It was not common for you to have an outing intended for pleasure.

Without the watchful eye of your family or higher-ups, you could do or say anything you wanted. You had a friend there to speak with.

You fiddled with the sleeve of your dress. Turned this way and that to get a look at every angle. Blurred your lip stain with a finger, then considered if you should reapply.

You ran a finger over the waist of your outfit, brushed off some imaginary dust, and pursed your lips.

Yes, you decided, and reached over for your lipstick once more.

A knock came at the bathroom door.

"Yes! Sorry!" You spun and unlatched the lock, pulled the door open. Hopefully you hadn't been hogging your shared lavatory. You took in the man before you.

On your wedding day, he had been dressed to the nines, hair quaffed, and likely just as striking to observe as he was now. However, you had been a tad bit occupied by your mind back then. And since that day, he had dressed comfortably around you. Smart casual, not too much, not too little either... he even appeared handsome in his pajamas, all this to say, before you now, it felt like you were seeing him for the first time.

He was adjusting his wristwatch when you opened the door. Seeing him like this, you almost wanted to hide behind the wall of the bathroom. You knew, based on what type of man he was, that he would likely feel obligated to spare you a compliment. Even the idea flustered your mind. For the first time since adolescence, you felt a sudden embarrassment at trying to look attractive. You wanted to wipe the lipstick off completely.

You tried to rush and tell him something nice before he got there first, but it seemed as though he was distracted by the image of you. His pupils looked huge in the light of the sconces on the wall and his head twitched ever so slightly to take in the whole image of you.

He didn't rake his eyes up and down in a lustful way, no, he kept his looks appropriate and gentlemanly. Even so, he looked wildly absorbed stepping forward to settle against the doorframe. He held out his free hand to help you step down.

"You look...great..." You beg yourself not to trip, holding his palm and settling to the floor. Shaking a little at your poor choice of words. He simply laughs.

"Me?" He keeps his eyes at the back of your neck, your shoulder, your embarrassed little smile, "You," He shakes his head, "you are the sight to behold."

It tickles your stomach, how genuine he sounds.

There was a table reserved specifically for you both, the window beside you painted tropical mountains that raced past at record speeds. The food came in courses and everything was delicious. There was wine and lit candles atop the intricate tablecloths in this car. Under close inspection, the wallpaper seemed to twirl in textured spirals of cream. You felt enlivened to be here.

Even happier still, dessert was coming.

"I think it might be time we try and practice." Nanami tilted his head, observing you.

"Practice what?" You asked, brows raised.

"Discovering you." He smiled.

You laugh, "Nanami. We have been talking all meal, what is there to discover?"

"We have been talking about me all meal." He mimics your tone. "That or the food...or the decor."

You roll your eyes dramatically, "I wanted to know about those things. And the food was good. And the decor is lovely."

"I agree," He nods, "but when I asked what type of refreshment you would like, I was hoping you would tell me, not simply go along with whatever I say."

You chuckle. He's a little too attentive, "I don't have much experience with wine, I preferred you picking."

"That may be true," He smiles goodnaturedly, "but you have been affirming every little thing I say. Did you know that? You know you don't have to avoid disagreements with me, right? I want to know who you are and what you think, not have a copy of myself."

No, you hadn't realized you had been doing that. As a child, you had made yourself small on purpose, it was an easy way to get people to like you. Now, it wasn't even a conscious effort. Nobody seemed to notice before, in fact, everyone prior to Nanami had seemed to appreciate how mailable you were.

"How's this," He started again, "What's your favorite dessert?"

You think and think, tapping your foot. You liked all kinds of desserts, earlier you had ordered the cheesecake alongside Nanami. And back in the cabin you had enjoyed the petit fours.

Nanami knocks a knuckle on the table. "See, this is something most everyone knows. Did you order the cheesecake because that's what I like?" He is grinning at you but his eyes seem discouraged at the thought.

"What? No!" You say, "I really do like cheesecake!"

Your husband grins, "Me too." He points to you now, speaking gently, "But what is your favorite?"

You're taking some time to answer but it really was because you didn't know. It's not as if you were granted allowance to every sweet the kitchens made growing up. You racked your brain trying to conjure a memory of a delicious custard you had eaten at a banquet once.

Just as Nanami was about to speak again, you nearly jump our of your seat, "Crème brûlée!" You recall the dish. Pleased that you could provide an answer. "That's my favorite."

As you reply, your hand comes down onto the table. Suddenly surprised by your force in response. Nanami, though, does not seem embarrassed by your show of joy.

"Very good!" He smiles as you awkwardly sip from your glass. "Crème brûlée," he considers, "very fancy, I've actually never had it."

You set your glass down, "Never? Really?" Once again, you assumed those who were not apart of a clan must be infinitely free. Free to eat whatever they crave.

"I've only had it once but it was so good. I wonder if it was because of the difference of texture... I believe that I would like it even without the caramelized sugar on top though, maybe now... since we live away I could make it sometime..." You taper off, pick up your glass and cover your face with it, had you said too much?

Since when were you such a loud-mouthed?

Nanami never once took his gaze from you. In fact, he might not have all evening, eye contact seemed to be a thing of his. "Well, that sounds delicious. I think it would be nice to share some at home."

He was so good at carrying a conversation, especially after you feel into a mood of humiliation from oversharing. At one point he had excused himself to the restroom and you allowed yourself a moment to breathe.

He was so focused on you. Not your clan, or your abilities, or your placement between the higher ups. No, he was purely focused on you. For the first time, a man had made your heart race.

Throughout all your life, at home, at school, in clan meetings, you had been viewed as a broodmare, a piece of meat that would carry on your clan name and ensure strong sorcerer children.

Knowing that, it was not difficult to become revolted by the seductive men who roamed their eyes over your body. Saw you how everyone else did. Wanted you for a prize.

Nanami Kento. You tightened your lips to keep your grin from showing. Did everyone feel this way about their friends? Maybe you are just weak to kindness.

The very man occupying your thoughts was at that moment leaned against the wall of the the locomotive, nowhere near the restrooms.

He had so much praise to speak but he did not want to embarrass you further. It seemed it was easy to do so.

He waited patiently for the steam engines attendant to return. When she had heard his request, she was more than happy to fulfill his wishes.

"Excuse me," He had asked, "I'm here to celebrate my honeymoon, you see, and my wife is very fond of Crème brûlée. You wouldn't happen to be able to specially make some?"

This must be a sign of luxury, he thought. To order something that was not on the menu and still have it presented to you.

Kento grinned like a child on Christmas as he passed between train cars. Two ramekins were tucked behind his back. He lived to see your smile, to hear you laugh, to admire this person, this strange woman he was hardly familiar with, yet craved to know. His wife.

When Nanami arrived from the bathroom, he had an oddly mischievous glint in his eye. He seemed to move something to his lap once he was seated. This grin of his was contagious.

"Well, you look suspicious." You chuckle. But it did not last long, no, because the man before you reached out to hand you a small chilled spoon.

"I suppose I cannot hide it." He said, placing two ramakins on the table. It only took a moment before you gasped, pointing at him as if to accuse him of a crime.

"You! Is that- w-when? Wait a moment." You placed both your palms facing him and coughed a laugh. "Did you really- I-" You could hardly believe him.

"Use your words." He hummed, placing the dessert in front of you, "I know you've got them."

The teasing forced you to breathe slowly. "Nanami." You whispered harshly.

"Quite the array of sweets in the bathroom, you wouldn't believe."

"No!" You laughed, Nanami swelled at the sound, "I daresay I wouldn't."

"Try it, is it as good as you remember?"

You take your spoon, look up to the man that had gone out of his way to bring you this small joy, crack the sugar, and scoop the custard into your mouth. It's hard not to make some obscene noise at the shuttering chill it brings you.

"It's even sweeter."

That night, after changing out of your dress, and he his suit, the two of you squeeze past partygoers in the bar car and walk your way to the very end where the open observation car was left vacant.

One might imagine the night air humid but only a warm breeze flies past you as you both take in the scenery. It seems impossible to suggest that you had only met this man a week or so prior. The fear you had felt being chained to him left almost as quickly as it had greeted you. How warm it feels to have a friend.

Never before had you been so free to speak of what you wished and to eat what you wished. You had three whole days ahead of you to explore this beautiful country, there were so many excursions to choose from and a man at your side who was very good at making decisions.

"I always wanted to come to Malaysia." He suddenly spoke up.

As fantastical as this whole day had seemed, you couldn't help recognizing the illusion that was being hidden. The two of you were practically strangers. Polite acquaintances perhaps. Married or not, this was likely not how Nanami saw his life going. Without the looming responsibility of a clan on his shoulders, he probably felt less free than ever before. Had he even wanted to be married prior to the higher-ups enlisting him for this role?

"Really? I'm glad you're able to come...though-" you pause, "I am sorry the circumstances are a bit..." You tapper off, waggling your head, hoping he would pick up what you meant.

He, of course, did not follow, "What? No, don't be sorry, what do you mean, 'circumstances'?"

His focus, that was once so ardently on the countryside passing by, was now on you, attempting to read the hidden pages of your shameful smile without breaking your delectably closed spine.

"I just mean... I'm sure you didn't intend to come in this position." You make a show of your hands. Trying to make light and humor of the situation. He simply cocks his head. "Married. I mean, arranged to me. It's just probably not what you expected."

He doesn't speak for a long moment. But then he is bending down and meeting your eyes. You can feel his breath on the exposure of your neck and he still smells of the caramelized sugar he had sought out just for you.

"I'm glad you're with me. You haven't...don't say that." He sighs, looking at you closely and whispering your name, "Don't apologize. I wouldn't have it any other way."

The idea is so absurd, your shoulders tense with your laugh. "How could that be true? You-you barely know me?"

He stretches his hand down to your own, softly strokes it, "And I get to know you. How exciting is that? We can learn together."

And as the wind whips in your face, you feel grateful for the slightness of the moons reflection hiding your flush. He settles your hand down again and smirks at you. A world away from the higher-ups, it's hard to imagine any trouble or obligation coming your way. This weekend was the two of yours. And as your heart raced and mind dazed at your husbands gentle and warm touch, you hoped this feeling never departed.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

tags: tag list is unfortunately full :(

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lovelybucky1 · 5 months ago

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Crybaby (Logan x Reader)

warnings: AFAB!reader, age gap, mean!logan, yelling, dacraphyillia, slightly dark, vaginal fingering, 18+ minors dni, divider from @strangergraphics

You can feel Logan’s eyes staring holes into the back of your head on the jet. You fucked up on this mission and he made sure you knew it. Loudly. In front of the rest of the team. He practically ripped you a new one with his harsh words, insulting your intelligence, strength, and ability to use your powers. Jean, the sweet angel she is, gently talked Logan down and saved you from facing more of his anger. Unfortunately, no one will be able to stop him once you get back to the mansion.

When you land, you hurry off the jet so Logan isn’t able to catch up with you. He made his point perfectly clear earlier, and you don’t need to hear any more of his yelling. You gather your things and make it back to your room without interruption, leaving you alone to clean up from the mission and deal with the day’s events.

Earth-wielding powers aren’t something to use when distracted, but so many things were happening at once that you slipped up. Storm got caught between two large rocks that you had moved and she was almost seriously hurt. Luckily you caught your mistake before any damage was done, but Logan still found your actions unacceptable. Guilt stews in your stomach as you think about what could’ve happened to Storm. You never would have forgiven yourself if a mistake you made got one of your teammates killed.

By the time you’re fresh from the shower and dressed, it’s late. You should head to bed and forget this mess of a day, but you can’t let yourself. You decide to go to the library, a place you usually go for privacy away from those with enhanced hearing. You sit in one of the armchairs with your legs tucked under you. The fireplace in the room is always lit and it give an orange glow to the cozy room.

As you sit, you remember all of the things Logan had said to you. It was as if he knew exactly how to get under your skin, targeting all of your insecurities like they were written on your face. Those insults from anyone else may not have hurt as much as they did coming from Logan, the man you’ve been in a relationship with for weeks now. You can’t stop the tears leaking from your eyes, and your stomach burns with shame as you recall what Logan had called you earlier. A crybaby.

“You’re a pathetic little crybaby who doesn’t deserve a spot on this fuckin’ team.”

He spit the mean words at you like he has been waiting to say them for a while. You thought you were getting closer with Logan, perhaps making a romantic connection. Your relationship with him started as something purely physical, but you felt like you were growing closer to him. Perhaps that was wishful thinking. You’re surprised you held back tears then, but now, away from prying eyes, you let them fall. You muffle your sobs in your shirt sleeves, but you’re obviously not quiet enough. Your attention is grabbed by a figure standing in the doorway.

Logan’s shadowed figure blocks the dim light from the hall as he looks in on you, sobbing in the dark like the crybaby he knew you were. He looks uncomfortable like he’s trying to find something to make this awkward encounter better, but he comes up short. Instead, he walks into the room and behind your chair. He places a heavy hand on your shoulder and squeezes it slightly.

“I’m sorry about today,” he says after some time. “I… didn’t mean to yell at you like that.” You don’t respond because, honestly, what could you say to that? He humiliated you in front of everyone. Logan says your name gently, wanting you to respond, but you stay quiet.

With a sigh, he steps around the chair and squats down in front of it so he can be at eye level with you. “Please say something,” he urges.

You look up from your lap at him, and you can’t help the butterflies in your stomach. He looks beautiful in the glow from the fireplace, but his features are blurred a bit by the tears in your eyes. His expression grows even more guilty when he sees your tear-stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna make fun of me?” you ask, voice thick.

Logan’s eyes furrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You were right. I am a crybaby,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean that, I just… I got carried away.” Logan pauses for a moment. “Let me make you feel better. Please.”

Hearing The Wolverine plead for permission to console you is unexpected, but not unwelcome. You nod and he gently scoops you into his arms before sitting down in the place you just were. He settles you on his lap and he wraps his arms around you. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the musky smell that you’ve come to love. You let yourself cry into his shirt, making the fabric damp with your tears.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

He lets you cry for a little while longer before the guilt catches up to him again. “Sweetheart?”

You look up at him with your glassy doe eyes and he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re so sweet, so innocent, so naive, and sometimes it gets the better of you. Logan looks at your red-rimmed eyes and your swollen lips and he thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to kiss those tears away and he feels like a monster for it. He’s the reason you’re crying, for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Whatever he was going to say went out the window. Sometimes Logan feels like he is no better than an animal, especially during moments like these. The girl he cares most about is in his lap, shaking like a leaf because of what he said to her, and the only thing the feral part of his brain can think about is how badly he wants her. It’s the predator instinct, to want to pounce on the helpless little lamb. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he hurt her and this is no way to make up for it. But sometimes he just can’t help himself.

“You’re my little crybaby, ain’t ya?” he asks. The question is condescending, but he keeps that same sympathetic tone.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m sorry about before, baby, I really am. But you cryin’ like this in my lap… you’re so goddamn sweet.”

Logan brushes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and you instinctively open your mouth and let him in. You suck on his thumb gently as fat tears fall down your cheeks again. He watches with half-lidded eyes as you take more of his thumb into your mouth like you’re greedy for more, despite being so upset.

“You cry so fuckin’ pretty,” he praises, and just to be an asshole, he adds, “I should make you do it more often.”

You pout around his finger, which makes him grin down at you. “Let me make it up to you, baby. Would my dick make you feel better?”

You should tell him to fuck off. How dare he berate you and then expect to fuck you a few hours later. You should tell him that your relationship is done. You shouldn’t want him to fuck you senseless right now.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you nod. Gently, Logan adjusts you in his lap so your straddling his thighs. Only the small pair of cotton panties that you were wearing under your sweatshirt and his jeans separate you. He undones the fly of his pants and frees his cock easily, the weight of you on top of him not hindering him any. His fingers find the elastic band of your panties and he pulls them to the side easily, exposing your wet pussy.

When he feels your slick on his finger, he gives you a questioning look. You feel like explaining that it turns you on when a man comforts you is a conversation for another day, so you just shrug innocently.

Logan works his fingers inside of you to prep him for his cock. He’s big, but thankfully it doesn’t take too much work to get you ready for him. Both of you are impatient by nature, and right now especially, you’re not in the mood for much foreplay.

Once Logan deems you ready, he positions you and sinks you down on his cock. Your greedy cunt swallows every inch like the good girl you are and he praises you for it. Once you’re fully seated, you try to ride him but he stops you.

“I’ve got you, doll. I’ll do the work and you can keep crying it out. How’s that sound?” he asks in that infuriatingly hot voice he only uses when he fucks you. Leaning forward, you hide your face in the crook of his neck and you nod. “Yeah, that’s my good little crybaby.”

reblogs are always appreciated and my inbox is open for logan thoughts!

#wolverine #wolverine smut #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #x men #x men fanfiction #x men x reader

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ellecdc · 4 months ago

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pleaseee can i request a potter!reader x barty where someone tries to hit on the reader and is pretty persistent when she’s with her friends (maybe remus, lily and reg because i feel like they’d all hang out) and then barty (and maybe james??) appears and acts as her scary dog privilege thank youu your writing is so amazing 💗💗

you sure can! thanks for the request (and your patience), I'm dusting off all my requests from the Spring hahaha <3

Barty Crouch Jr x Potter!reader who has a persistent admirer [731 words]

CW: slight harassment/not accepting no for an answer, quick defence by friends and brother and boyfriend, threats of violence

“This is getting embarrassing.” Lily muttered as she watched Gideon Prewett approach you the second you stepped into the library.

You smiled politely enough at the sod, but clearly felt awkward as you spotted your friends waiting for you in the library, shooting them a look that clearly read “help”.

“- think we could go to Hogsmeade together this weekend.” The group heard the tail end of Gideon’s sentence as the two of you got closer; or, rather, you got closer and he trailed obsessively behind you.

“Erm, that’s really nice of you, Prewett, but I’m gonna have to say no thank you.”

“Come now, Potter,” he continued easily, “I know what you’re thinking; it doesn’t have to be-”

“I would quit whilst you’re ahead, Prewett.” Remus sing-songed with a smirk as Gideon pulled your chair out for you and attempted to sit on your other side.

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Lupin?” Gideon all but sneered in reply, though he did hesitate in taking the seat.

“Hasn’t she made it clear enough she’s not interested?” Lily hissed, causing Regulus to huff a laugh.

“I say leave him to it.” He drawled in a bored manner. “It’s his funeral.”

“Is that a threat, Black?” Gideon accused at the exact moment said threat walked in.

“Hey bug!” James called loudly; appearing friendly for all intents and purposes, but the well trained eye (like that of his partner’s, one of his best friend’s and roommates, and his twin sister) could easily see the tension simmering beneath his cool facade. “S’this tosser bothering you?”

“No…” You offered carefully, clearly not convinced in your own answer as you offered Gideon an apologetic grimace. “No, I’m alright, I just-”

“What’s going on here?” Barty demanded, appearing behind you out of nowhere like some sort of deranged poltergeist as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and glared threateningly at your persistent admirer.

“It’s a sodding library, Junior, what do you think is going on here?” Gideon spat.

“What I think is going on here,” Barty started severely, “is that you’re making my girl uncomfortable.”

“Is that true, Prewett?” James queried; tone about an octave higher than normal as he threw a ‘friendly’ arm over his shoulder. “Are you making my sister uncomfortable?”

“I-”

“Because I’d hate to see what kind of trouble Junior and I could get into together should we need to team up, yeah?” He asked sweetly, and Remus nearly snorted at the way the poor sods freckles stood out in stark contrast when the blood drained from his face as he looked over at Barty who was smiling at him maniacally.

“Jeez, alright.” Gideon tried to joke, though his laugh came out rather pitchy as he shook James’ threatening hold from his shoulder. “Message received.”

But before he could take more than two steps away, Barty had him by the collar of his shirt as he brought his face inches from his own. “Next time a lady says no thank you, that’s when your message should be received. Got it?”

Gideon simply nodded quickly, and Barty offered him a smile that didn’t meet his eyes and a patronising pat on the cheek. “Good lad.”

The group of you watched Gideon flee the library before turning back to your table.

“Well, that was rather anticlimactic.” Regulus complained.

“What? Was baby Black hoping for more drama?” Remus taunted, earning himself a kick in the shin from his boyfriend’s younger brother.

“If that bloke so much as sneezes anywhere near you there will be more than enough drama for baby Black.” Barty promised as he sat in the seat Gideon had tried to occupy on your other side.

“Can we maybe not call me that?” Regulus scowled; face contorted in displeasure until James pressed a kiss to his hair.

“Just name the time and place, Junior, I’ll be there.” James agreed, and you rolled your eyes at your brother and boyfriend.

“You boys are ridiculous.” You chided, though the fact that you were leaning your head against Barty’s shoulder as he weaselled an arm around your middle severely undermined your point.

“Mmm, maybe.” Barty allowed as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “But you love it.”

And Remus knew from the shy smile gracing your lips that you did, indeed, sort of love your more than slightly ridiculous boys.

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seeliemansi · 2 months ago

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You Made Him Worried (Mr. Crawling x Reader)

Synopsis: The last thing you want is to make him worried

a/n: Wrote this while high on antihistamine, will probably rewrite after I got better *hic*

Part of this universe

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

Mr. Crawling despises it when you get hurt. He tends to be extra clingy, extra needy, and very shaky when it happens.

You have to be careful as you dance around the topic of you getting hurt because he is not playing with your safety.

That's why when you slipped, and the cause was just you being careless as you decided that running towards your apartment to go home is a good decision during a sudden rain, it hit you so bad, you didn't even have time to say ouch out loud. Enough with protecting yourself from getting wet. You were more worried that he will panic and will start a power surge that can cause an electricity loss in your apartment building. You need the heater and can't sleep with how cold it is tonight.

Your white dress is wet and ruined. Your hair is a mess. You are bruised and in pain. And you walk upstairs with a limp. A good way to end the day you supposed.

You remind yourself to be cool. Not to make Mr. Crawling worried. You just want it to not be awkward when you meet him back home, waiting for you at his usual spot.

At least that's the plan.

The moment you stepped inside, all smiles, acting silly, downplaying what happened, you tried your best. You really do.

But when you opened your eyes, and looked at him.

His smile was turned into a frown. And with a shaky voice he asked.

“You, what happened?”

“You. Blood? Wound?”

“Hurt? Hurt?” He continued asking as he grabbed your arm. A wince came out of your mouth not from his hold, but from a cut you never saw due to the dimly lit streets and the mud that clung on your skin.

“No! Mr. Crawling, I am okay. See, not hurt and painful at all.” You grabbed his hand and wrapped it around yours, trying to divert his attention. You bite the inside of your cheeks, pretending that your whole body is not sore from the fall.

“Let's go, Mr. Crawling. I need to change or I will get a cold.” You insisted as you stepped inside and tried to chuckle, trying to dissipate the tension that is slowly building up in the air. When suddenly, he stopped, pulled his hands out of your hold, slowly stood up, and towered over you.

“No!” He screamed, voice deeper than usual. He walked closer, an inch away from you. His breathing is heavy. His hair seems to have a brain of its own as it stood, like Medusa’s snakes. The electricity flickers as he moves.

You gulped, planning to take a step back but you’ve been cornered by a wall. You can only helplessly look up at him. Watching the dark look clouding over his face.

—-----

“You done?” He asked, too chirpy to your liking.

“I will be done soon. Can you let go of my hand for a moment?” You draw circles on his hand that was holding yours as you bathe in the tub. The curtains were drawn, to give you a little privacy. A little uncomfortable but if you fully close it, he will surely sit in the tub and watch you bath instead.

This is the only compromise he agreed to so he will stop standing up and darkening your hallway.

Although you know he wasn't capable of hurting you, you got so scared when he suddenly stood up and towered over you. All you can think about is to make a compromise that he will like, or at least to lessen his worry. It breaks your heart to see him worried.

“Yes. Yes. Towel?” He offered. But when you tried to grab it from his hold, he pulled it so you would let it go.

“No! Me help you.” He insisted.

“But I can do it by myself.” You countered.

“I said no. I will help you.” A shiver ran down your spine when he suddenly was able to form a whole sentence in your language.

“Alright.” You sighed and stepped out of the tub. He is standing up, hands holding the towel wide open. He is grinning and looking thrilled. Who would have blamed him? It is the first time you two are inside the bathroom together. “Come! Come!” He giggles as he wraps it around you.

The way he switches from terrifying to sweet is always a surprise to you. He can be the sweetest but when push comes to shove, the most frightening ghost you have ever seen.

“Here, kiss. Kiss. Kiss.” He spoke as he raised your arm and kissed all the visible cuts and bruises you have on your skin.

You can't help but giggle from the gesture, feeling your heart swell with happiness. You may be sore but you're glad that you took him home.

#(⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠) seelie writings #homicipher #homicipher game #mr crawling #homicipher x mc #homicipher x reader #homicipher x you #mr. crawling #mr crawling x mc #mr crawling x you #mr crawling x y/n #mr crawling x reader

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dearsnow · 6 months ago

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BIRDS OF A FEATHER

- phoenix and her girlfriend set you up with a wso they insist will be right up your alley. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is meant to be similar to bob, ie quiet, sweet, and nerdy, mentions of being drunk/having sex but nothing explicit)

word count: 2,003

a/n - this fic is parallel HEAVY, so don’t be surprised if you see the same phrase passed around. it’s truly a mindlink esque situation lol. and it’s 100% self-indulgent because the reader’s personality is so similar to mine (i am nothing if not a self caterer)

“Nat, I’m really not sure.” Bob tries to protest. “You know I’m no good with dating and stuff. Who’s to say she’ll even like me?” Natasha pats him on the back, firmly enough for him to know she means it.

“You guys are birds of a feather. Trust me, she’ll like you.”

“Jamie, I just don’t know.” You frown. She’s trying to set you up with her girlfriend’s friend, claiming that you’d be the perfect match, but you know you’re not the most amazing when it comes to meeting new people. You’re slightly awkward at best, socially anxious at worst. “He probably won’t like me. And if we’re really so similar, don’t you think it’ll be stiff and weird because neither of us can say the right, flirty thing?”

“You don’t need to be ‘flirty’ to have a good connection. Not every relationship is going to be like Natasha and I, all fire and flame. Sometimes it’s slow, and slow is good. It’s exactly what you need.” Jamie chides, putting a soothing arm around your shoulder. “Trust me. Birds of a feather, right?”

You shift uncomfortably in the booth you’re sitting in, Jamie’s hand rubbing the side of your arm comfortingly. It’s ten minutes before your supposed double date, and Natasha affirms that it’s about five minutes before he shows up. “Bob’s always early,” she stated, “so we can be even earlier to give you some prep time.”

You’re quiet. Shy, even, and you don’t have the best track record with social events. You’ve never really had a date that understood why you don’t want to get roaringly drunk and have sex in a bathroom and whatnot. The two girls, one in front of you and one by your side, have assured you that Bob will be different. He’s quiet too, but he stands up for himself. He’s strong and capable, with a humble attitude and the slight southern charm that you can bring home to your parents. If he’s really so great, though, what the hell is he doing going out with you?

Bob can see your booth through the door of the diner, and he steels his nerves quietly. He’s got this. He’ll make it a nice dinner, a nice experience, and he will not, under any circumstances, fuck it up. He owes you that much. He knows he’s probably not what you want in a guy. Natasha described you as hardworking, kind, and a good listener. He can’t help but think that you deserve much better than him.

He takes a breath and pushes open the door, the flowers in his other hand a little damp from his sweaty palms.

When he finally rounds the server stand, he can see you. And you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever had the pleasure of setting sights on.

He’s royally fucked, he thinks.

Oh my god, he’s so hot. You smile at him and curse a bit under your breath, careful to not let anyone hear. He’s everything you imagined and more, with sandy colored hair, bright blue eyes, and glasses that look like they’re just a little crooked. If you were bold, you’d reach across the table and fix them as he sat down. You’re not, though, so you just fidget with your hands under the hard wood.

He clears his throat and hands you a small bouquet of daises, sliding into the spot across from you. Nat gives a little self-satisfied smile from next to him. “Hi. I didn’t know what you liked, so I hope that’s okay. I’m- I’m Robert by the way, or Bob, whatever you prefer.”

You think your cheeks will split open from how hard you’re smiling. It’s such a small gesture, but the blush on his cheeks tells you that it’s earnest. “They’re perfect. Thank you, Bob.” You introduce yourself with the next breath, and he shakes your hand like it’s a business meeting. His palms are warm and just a little bit damp, but when his fingers curl around your own like they were meant to fit together, you couldn’t care less. “So,” you begin, somewhat shyly, “you’re Natasha’s WSO?”

When Bob hears your quiet voice, he knows he’s in deep. “Yeah. She’s a great pilot.” His praise earns him an elbow from Natasha, a silent ‘talk about yourself, dipshit’ evident in the action. He smiles nervously. “We do a lot of the weapons bits so the pilots can fly safely. How about you, what do you do?”

“It’s not as important and exciting as your job, that’s for sure.” You laugh before explaining exactly what you do.

“Honestly, that is important and exciting. I’m sure you excel at it, too,” Bob offers, somewhat bashfully. What makes your head spin is that he seems like he means it. He’s sincere, wonderfully so.

As that statement quirks the corners of your mouth up, Bob’s heart explodes. You’re charming and beautifully sweet, with a pretty smile and dashing eyes to boot.

Jamie enters your conversation carefully, like she wants to help but isn’t forcing anything. Natasha pipes in a few times, but overwhelmingly, it’s you and Bob. Neither of you have ever spoken so much in this type of setting before, and it’s great. You bounce ideas and jokes and quips off of each other like you were meant to. You feel like you were meant to, because everything just comes so easily with Robert Floyd. You’re finally talking to someone who understands every bit of you, polishing the hidden parts of yourself until they shine. You never thought you could feel this way with another person.

“Wait, have you read this book called For One More Day?” You ask, finding every opportunity to drag out a subject you enjoy so deeply. “It’s really sad, like a fictional memoir, but I think you’d enjoy it. The whole story is basically an ode to loving your parents while they’re still around.”

“I haven’t, but I’ll be sure to check it out the next time I go go the library.” Bob says, giving a slightly lopsided grin that makes your heart scream. “It seems right up my alley though. I like non fiction books, mostly, but I could go for a change every once and a while.”

Your food is almost forgotten in the midst of the conversation, and his is too. “When you do read fiction, what genres do you go for? I have a million recommendations, so help me narrow them down a bit.”

Bob will never admit this to his friends, but he’s an avid reader. He’s a sucker for a true story or anything about dogs, however, he’d read anything you could ever think to tell him about. He has already made a mental note to check out For One More Day and is currently making more notes as you list off more dog-central books. You, as you’ve told him, go for more of the fancy prose-d, heavy drama-d, and emotion-filled stories. It’s nice to see you like this, talking about something you’re honestly passionate about. The light in your eyes makes you look like a ray of sunshine.

Jamie grins at Natasha from across the table, utterly and unashamedly content that her plot has worked. Natasha rolls her eyes. “Alright, you two,” Nat says, “can we move on to something more exciting? Like planning a second date, maybe. One where Jamie and I can be happy at home while you two nerd out.”

Bob’s face reddens and you give a small, sheepish smile. “I’d like that.” You say.

“Me too.” Bob adds. Natasha can firmly say that she’s never seen him so happy, not even after a successful flight. It’s like he’s finally found the thing that made him tick, like you reached into his chest and wound up the gear box in his heart. “I’m free this Friday, if you’re up for it.”

You tap your fingers on the tabletop, thinking. “This Friday… this Friday is when I’m doing a book reading for the kids at our local library at lunchtime. We could have dinner after that, though.” You want to spend the entire day with him, but if a few hours is all you’re given, you’ll take it. You’d take anything.

Bob’s hands move to touch yours, just barely. His warmth radiates out, perfectly soothing your nerves. “If you want, I can make lunch and help you out at the book reading. I like those kinds of things, but I don’t want to impose.”

“You absolutely should.” You breathe. “You wouldn’t be imposing at all. In fact, I think the kids would really like it if Mr. Naval Aviator read a few books to them. You’d be like a superhero in their eyes.”

You’re a bit astounded by how much Bob’s face flushes. If you thought he was a bit pink before, he’s got a drunk man’s glow now. And you were being completely, one hundred percent honest when you said that the kids would like him. They’d love him. Micah’s father was in the Navy when he was younger, so there’s one connection, and April loves airplanes with a passion. It would be amazing.

“Then I’ll be there. Here’s my number, so you can text me when and where.” Bob slides a little piece of paper over to you, one that he must have written a bit ago, because his pen is securely clipped to his pocket. He likes you so much he wrote down his number while you were (probably) explaining your love for reading, or crafts, or small animals? You’re going to swoon if he keeps this up.

Natasha eyes where your hand is touching Bob’s. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. Now eat your food.” She gestures to your half-touched plates. You and Bob both stutter a little, completely having forgotten what you’re going to have to pay for.

The rest of the evening goes amazingly. You talk about so many subjects that by the end of the day, when the sun is slipping below the horizon, you feel like you’re floating on air— light and unburdened by the way you’ve been able to express yourself. Bob insisted on paying for your meal, and though you protested, a little part of you feels giddy that you’re worth spending money on. Bob walks you to your car, tucking your flowers into the cup holder between your seat and the passenger side.

“I really enjoyed that.” He muses. “I really enjoyed you. I thought Nat and Jamie were kinda full of it when they told me about this whole double date, but I’m glad they weren’t.”

“Me too, oh my gosh. I was totally expecting some stuck-up Navy nerd, but I’m glad it was you. I enjoy you too, Bob, probably way too much.” You’re standing by your door, but you feel like you can’t leave just yet.

He looks at you with something you hope to think is affection in his eyes before glancing down towards your lips. “I’ll let you get going. Text me anytime.”

You hesitate, staring up into his ocean blue eyes. Before you can stop yourself or tell yourself it’s a bad idea, you take the collar of his shirt in your hand and kiss him.

It feels right. His hand coming up to rest on your waist, his body pressed against yours as he stabilizes himself on your car, it’s everything you’ve always dreamed of. His lips work in tandem with your own, like they’re collaborating on some sort of secret mission, and he kisses you like he loves you.

His pupils are blown up and he’s panting just slightly when you pull away. He misses the feeling of your lips on his as soon as it ends, the tingling sensation working its way down his face. “T-Thank you…?” He whispers. You laugh, the sound music to his ears. He can hardly believe that that just happened.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Definitely.“

You give him a small peck on the cheek and step into your car, so happy you think you could explode. As you pull out, and as he waves at you from the parking lot, you make an effort to remember to thank Jamie and Natasha.

Who would’ve thought that you really would be birds of a feather?

Taglist: @seitmai

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