#i’ve never written bob before so i don’t really like his voice in this but hopefully i’ll write him more and get better

[gingersxng]

Put It In Your Mouth

Pairing: f!reader x Mingi

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: being away from each other wasn’t the easiest for you nor your boyfriend but I guess he takes it a lil extra hard.

Notes: sub!reader, rough dom!Mingi, kissing, groping, pet name (darling), Mingi has a big dick duh, Mingi is horny as fuck!, blowjob, manhandling, dacryphilia, throat fucking, cummmm, unprotected sex (don’t do it), mentions of porn

a/n: writing this while being sick and nauseous was a bit of a challenge but I’ve never written something so fast before. and also a BIG THANKS TO 1K!! I can’t believe how fast this acc has been growing, love you all so much<3 been awhile since I posted a fic so hope you enjoy!

edit: so I saw today when I reread this that it was so strange somehow, I guess it’s the result of me being sick. I’ve changed the title and Mingis line so it actually adds up better omg

Words: 699

your boyfriend was working late in his studio… again. it wasn’t any news to you cause it happened most of the time, you didn’t mind it but it made you miss him more tho.

instead of being half asleep in your bed at home watching boring television you got up, grabbed the car keys and drove to the KQ building. it was almost midnight and the street lights guided your way to the front door.

you reached the third floor where you knew Mingi had his studio and gently knocked on the door. a deep groan came from the other side and you saw how a tall silhouette came closer and closer. when he saw you his eyes lit up immediately, he wasn’t at all expecting to see you. Mingi lowered himself for your 1,60cm frame and gave you a kiss on your lips, you placed your hands on his chest and you felt his hands slide down to grope your ass, something he used to do when he wanted you to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist.

“you don’t know how much I’ve missed you darling” Mingi groaned as he placed kisses on your neck down your collarbones. you tossed your head back and responded with a breathy “really?”

Mingi took a seat in his computer chair as you straddled him, he roamed your body as his hooded eyes scanned every curve and valley. he was very quite tonight, more than he usually used to be but that didn’t mean his body language was. as you had your hands on his chest you felt how his heart rate increased and his pupils got dilated, something poked you in your core as well.

“are you this hard already?” you whispered in his ear and moved your hips a little. a low moan escaped his throat and before you could blink he lifted you up from his lap and pushed you down on your knees in front of him under the desk. his sudden action took you by surprise, it wasn’t like Mingi to be this violent with you.

he was quick to unzip his pants and pull out his massive cock, the aching red tip was leaking so much precum and the veins on his shaft looked like they were about to pop. you looked up at him with big eyes and gasped, Mingi grabbed your chin and put some pressure on his grip only for you to whine out in pain.

“put it in your mouth” his husky voice sent chills down your core, he stuck his tongue out raising an eyebrow before pushing your head down on his cock.

his cock head reached far down your throat and you gagged pretty good on it, he held you down for a couple of seconds before releasing you to get some air.

Mingi grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your movements so he got satisfied enough. he kept his eyes on every bob you did on his dick, his moans and groans got lower and he started to still your movements so he could do the work himself.

Mingi fucked your throat and he mocked you when he saw you begin to cry, “is my little one crying for my huge cock? is it that good”

you let out a loud cry and he came just from hearing that, your mouth got filled with loads of his warm cum, it even dropped out on the corners of your mouth. you swallowed all you could and then tried to catch your breath from the harsh actions your boyfriend took out on you.

Mingi tugged some hair behind your ear and you looked up at him, his cock was still out and it was still rock hard, like you hadn’t even touched it. he helped you up and tugged at your skirt and panties, he pulled the panties to the side and dragged two fingers through your folds to feel if you’re wet enough. your boyfriend sunk you down on his dick and slowly stretched you out.

“what’s with you Mingi!?”

“only being able to watch porn for days does things to you I guess..”

[throneofsapphics]

Hi I saw you were open for drabbles and I hate this idea of like reader gets sick or need to take medicine for whatever reason but wont take it because it tastes bad. So I was thinking either maybe Azriel, Fenrys or if you don't like the two you can do a poly couple having to like force feed the reader because she wont listen to them?

Its okay if you don't like the idea though.

easy decisions

Azriel x Reader

Summary: you’re sick and refusing medication, Azriel takes matters into his own hands. 

Warnings: illness, forced medicating 

A/N: thank you for the request! I’ve think i’ve written this idea before, idk why but I love it 

“Mother save me,” Azriel muttered, crossing his arms. A small mountain of pillows and blankets surrounded you, a fire still roaring in the corner of your room. You’d been ill for days. At first, Madja said you’d likely get better with good rest and food - but it had progressed to the point where intervention was necessary. 

Yesterday, you’d taken it willingly - today was proving a bit more difficult. Unlucky for him, you were the most stubborn person he’d ever met. Lucky for you, even if you didn’t think that, he refused to compromise when it came to your health. 

“I suffered through it once,” you hissed, “that was plenty.” 

“And Madja said to take it once a day.” 

Mouth clamped shut, you shook your head and slid down in the bed. Adjusting the comforters around you, you turned your back to him. 

In. one, two, three. Out. one, two, three. 

“It’ll be over quickly,” he sat next to you, running his hand over your shoulder, the other folded around the glass vial. 

“The taste will stay in my mouth for days.” 

“You’re being a bit dramatic,” he murmured, and you snapped your head towards him, eyes narrowed. 

“You take it then.” 

“I’m not sick,” he fixed you with a look, “and I have.” 

The same stubborn expression. He loved you, he really did, but right now you were making it difficult. 

“You're not going to convince me.”  

“I already have hot chocolate for you,” Azriel tried a bribe this time. 

A shake of your head. He’d give it one last try. 

“Don’t make me force you,” he said - a half plea, half warning. 

Eyes rolled, “you won’t.” 

Another breath, in and out. “One more chance.” 

You studied him for a moment, and a bead of hope flared in his chest - extinguished when you turned your head back, tucking the blankets up with you. 

Azriel didn’t like doing this, but you were forcing his hand. Either you take the damn tonic, or he has to watch you grow more ill. It’s an easy choice for him. Moving quickly, he placed the bottle on the nightstand, gently gripping under your arms, tugging you up to sit. You yelped, thrashing in his grip, but he was already straddling your hips.

A shadow floated the bottle over, he snatched it and flicked the cork off, sending it flying somewhere across the room.

“Take. It,” his jaw clenched, normally endless patience at its limits. 

Hands tried to shove at his chest, but shadows wrapped around your wrists, pinning them at your sides. Your jaw remained clamped shut, and he wondered if you were doing this just to spite him, or if it really was because you hated it. Either way, he wouldn’t feel too bad over it. 

His hand wrapped around your jaw, scarred fingers rough against your smooth skin, and he squeezed - just enough for your lips to part, and to tip the contents of the vial down your throat, before he squeezed your jaw shut. Your entire face scrunched, but your throat never moved. 

“Swallow,” his voice was firm. 

A shake of your head - as much as you could move it. Now he knew you were being stubborn on principle. He tossed the vial aside, letting it clatter over the carpet, and pinched your nose between his thumb and forefinger

A promise of vengeance gleamed in your eyes. He’d like to see you try. A few seconds passed, your face growing red, but the desire for air took over, and your throat bobbed. After taking a few seconds to make sure you actually swallowed all of it, he carefully removed his hands. 

You sputtered, sucking air in and out of your lungs. Shadows still held your arms down as he ran his fingers through your hair, one thumb brushing away the drops on your lip, before pushing back into your mouth. You glared, but your tongue swirled, cleaning the last few bits. 

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He couldn’t help the small barb - especially as he saw the spark in your eyes, the fire he loved so much. 

A healthy dose of self-preservation had him sliding off the bed before completely freeing you, ignoring the litany of curses you spit at him to retreat to the tray placed on the dresser. It was risky, giving you his back, but the illness had you weak enough you couldn’t do much to him. 

Approaching you like someone might a feral kitten, he extended his peace offering. The mug of warm molten chocolate, exactly as you like it. You huffed and rolled your eyes, but took it from him, trying to fight the small smile. 

Azriel sat a few feet down - out of your reach, and moved the blankets enough to reach under, running his thumb in circles on the inside of your knee. “I hate seeing you sick.” 

Clenching the mug with both hands, your eyes softened, “I know.” 

“Will I have to do this again tomorrow?” 

A small hum, neither a yes or no. For fucks sake. 

[loomiseater]

Rambles

Warnings: smut ofc!, unprotected sex, oral male receiving, and  p in v. 

Spencer Reid x fem reader

Criticism is appreciated! I would love to know how I can improve on my writing.

Masterlist 

Request page

Written: April 28th, 2024

Published: April 28th 2024

Wc: 1452

A/N: I'm on the same episode as the gif lmao

Summary: You find Spencer’s ramblings really cute 

“You got him started” Morgan said as he shook his head at you. He was referring to Spencer going on a ramble about some chemical reactions. “Reid! Enough” Morgan said with some seriousness in his voice. Spencer frowned a little at his words. “Don’t be mean!” You say as you slap Morgan’s arm. “His little rambles are cute!” You finish saying as Spencer’s face started turning red.

Morgan raised his eyebrow at me as Emily started smirking while sipping her drink. “Cute, huh?” Morgan teased. “Anyone else thirsty right now? Y/n?” Spencer questioned as he hurriedly went to the kitchen. He looked nervous..and on top of that his cheeks had hints of red on them. You hope he’s not too embarrassed. 

“You’re not gonna follow your man?” Emily questioned with a smirk as you rolled your eyes, soon following Spencer. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much, Spence” You say, voice hinted with a bit of sadness. “Uh-What? You didn’t embarrass me, I have no idea what you’re talking about” he replied but his voice was pitched just a little bit. 

You simply nodded your head not wanting to push him; a thought soon popped into your head. “I know a way I can apologize” you say innocently as he looked down at you. He let out a little laugh before saying “yeah?”. You drag him to an empty office that nobody has filled yet. After locking the door you push Spencer to sit down in the chair. “Why’d you lock the door, Y/n?” He questioned. Wow, he really is that innocent. 

Without answering his question, you climb onto his lap brining him into a kiss. At first he didn’t know what to do, leaving his hands awkwardly positioned until he squeezed your ass a little. You both break away from the kiss that had left you both breathless. “You’re so handsome” You complimented while looking into his eyes. “Thank you” he replied sweetly. 

His eyes soon fell back down to your lips before he brought you into another kiss which honestly was surprising. You begin to pull off his vest then moving on to unbutton his button down. You pull away from him which left him confused before you fell to your knees and started unbuckle his belt. 

“I’ve never done this before” he said hesitantly as you gave him a warm smile. “Then I’ll make it extra special for you.” 

After you unbuckled his belt, you unzipped his pants as he pulled them down along with his boxers. You pulled his cock out of his boxers and he was already hard. He was bigger than you expected. Never in a million years would you have thought Spencer Reid was packing this much.

He looks nervous as you stare at it for bit before you place a kiss to his tip which made him let out a whimper. You kiss it one more time before taking him whole. It was his first time so you didn’t wanna tease him too much. As you took him whole, his head flew back immediately as he let out a loud moan. You didn’t care who heard, you wanted the whole office to know that you were the only one who could give Spencer Reid this amount of pleasure. 

You soon started slowly bobbing your head up and down on his dick as he let out choked sobs. “Fuck!” He moaned to himself. You grab his hand and place it to the back of your head wanting him to fuck your mouth. He grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail and started forcing you down harder. As much as you like pleasuring Spencer, you couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks. His grunts and moans did nothing but make your panties soaked. 

“Your mouth feels so good” he whined as he closed his eyes. You knew he was close to finishing but you took your mouth off his dick anyway. “I was close” he complained. “Shut up” you replied as you started sucking on his balls which made him shut up immediately. He let out a moan he didn’t know he had. As you were doing that, you wrapped your fingers around his aching cock which made grip the chair tightly.

His face was filled with nothing but pleasure. You moaned on his balls which led him to whine your name. “Please, Y/n- I just need t-��� your words cut him off as you started jerking him off faster. “Come on baby, cum for me” you say seductively. 

That was the final straw for Spencer as he shot his warm liquid all on your hand. His moan was longer this time. You licked his mess up off his dick and your hand, afterwards you placed one last kiss on his tip.

“You liked that?” You ask innocently as he nodded his head with quickness. “Yes! Shit that was amazing!” He responded. “Good thing we’re not done yet” you say as you started stripping in front of him, slowly taking off your panties last. You lead him to the couch on the other side of the room. You lay down on your back first as Spencer got on top of you, grabbing his dick and teasing your folds with it. “Are you sure you wanna do this, Spence?” You asked sincerely. “I’m sure” he answered.

He pushed himself inside of you as you felt the stretch. This was the biggest you ever had inside of you, so this was definitely a new feeling. As he did his first thrust, he placed his face inside the crook of your neck before he let out a grunt. 

He pulled back out and thrusted back into you as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Spencer!” You moaned as he sped up his pace. His thrusts were amazing considering he’s a virgin- well was a virgin. “You’re so tight” he whispered into your ear which made you whine a little. His husky voice just made you somehow wetter than before. 

The room was filled with nothing but the sounds of your wetness, skin slapping, and Spencer’s grunts. With the way he was thrusting, you would’ve thought he was on a mission. He started kissing you passionately before he placed your legs on his shoulders. His actions made you clench around him as he shut his eyes before saying “shit! Don’t do that.” You did it again on purpose this time to see what he would do.

He slowed down his thrusts and started thrusting powerfully which took the air out of your lungs. “I told you not to do that again” he said as he squeezed my throat. He then picked up his pace again which had me whining like a baby. “Your dick is so good!” You scream as your legs start to shake. He lets out a low chuckle at your words before he starts to rub your clit slowly.

You close your eyes tightly due to the pleasure. “Spencer- it’s too much!” You whine as he kisses you to get yo to shut up. “We don’t want everyone to hear us now do we?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “I think were too late for that” you respond breathless. He started rubbing your clit faster than before which made you squirt on him as smiled at his achievement. 

“I think I can get one more out of you” he said cockily. He gave you one last powerful thrust which had you creaming on his dick. “YESSS!” You shouted as your nails dug deep into his back. He was still thrusting, trying to fuck you through your orgasm. You could tell he was close from his face expression. 

“Where do you want it?” He grunted due to your tightness. “Inside me” you reply while gripping his hair, still somewhat out of breath from your orgasm. With no warning you felt his warm liquid fill you up. “Ugh- Shit thats the best thing I’ve ever felt” he said in your ear. 

This was the first time I’ve ever fucked a man without protection and let him finish inside me. 

“You sure you weren’t a virgin Spence?” I asked as fell on top of me. He laughed at my question before responding “I was, I just watch a lot of porn” he said seriously as I giggled. He started blushing, feeling completely embarrassed that he said that out loud. 

“Was I good?” He asked sincerely. “You were perfect, Spencer” You reply while leaning in for a passionate kiss. “I forgot to ask..are you on birth control?” He questioned while looking down at me. 

My silence was an answer for him. 

[perseephoneee]

good morning [kai parker x reader]

synopsis: in which you wake up with your boyfriend kai and enjoy beautiful morning sex

warnings: sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), never written smut before so bare with me, 18+ only please

Who knew waking up with a witch could be pure magic?

The sun filters through the window shades, the faint sounds of people waking up hitting your ears. Probably everyone, but you didn't mind. All you could think about was the heartbeat next to yours, the soft sounds of his snores, everything. The room sits at a standstill, your perfect corner where nothing can touch you. You look at the boy next to you, taking in the curve of his nose and the relaxed look he wears when he's asleep. A sense of possessiveness overwhelms you, and all you want to do is hide him in your heart so no one can ever touch him. You lean over, planting kisses all over his face and neck. A hint of a smile graces his lips as his eyes blink lazily at you. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Kai whispers, his voice is still deep and scratchy from sleep. You lean over and kiss his nose, causing him to scrunch his face and learn a smile from you. 

"Just hanging out, what about you?" you ask, curling back into the pillows and hiding your face. 

"Looking at this cute girl next to me," he flirts, turning to his side so that you guys are nose to nose. You try to hide your face with your hands, his unrelenting stare becoming a lot, but he pulls your hands away and stares at you with eyes the color of summer lakes and falling snow. "You make my heart beat, you know that? And that's impressive, considering before you and the merge, I was a self-diagnosed sociopath."

"I've always liked them crazy," you chuckle, giving a slight yelp as Kai pulls you to him. 

"I'm crazy about you," Kai jokes, earning a grimace from you. 

"That was bad."

"I'm not as funny in the morning," Kai sighs. "Which is a letdown considering I'm usually hilarious."

"Damon would disagree," you say. 

"He's just in denial; give it some time; he hasn't heard my knock-knock jokes," Kai exclaims. You cradle his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. 

"Kai."

“Y/N,”

"I love you," you whisper, earning the biggest grin you've ever seen from the brunette boy next to you. 

"I love you more," Kai kisses you, gentle yet fiery. His kiss soothes every part of you, and all you can think of is him. 

Kai rolls on top of you, one hand grasping your face and tilting your lips closer to his. You run your fingers down the planes of his chest, feeling the lithe muscle to the shoulders until you're pretty sure you've left a fire in your wake. Kai nips at your bottom lip, and you let him explore every part of you. You push him back so you can take off your shirt, and Kai stares at your bare chest with a lust-filled gaze. He kisses your neck, pushing you back down. His teeth and tongue mark your pulse to the column of your throat, and the only sounds you can make are satisfied sighs and happy gasps. One of his hands comes up to grasp your breast, and you're struck by how much more sensitive you are in the morning. His tongue joins his hand, ensuring your nipples are peaked and you're panting above him. 

"I like knowing I reduce you to this," Kai murmurs, kissing down your stomach. "You really are such a mess for me."

You yank him back up to you, catching him by surprise as you kiss his mouth. You flip each other over, straddling his lap as you leave kisses along his neck. Kai groans when you suck and bite his pulse point, and his hands grip your hips as your fingers trail down his chest. 

"This was supposed to be my move," Kai moaned as you licked and nipped over his chest. 

"Just shut up and be pretty," you smile, taking off his pajama bottoms. Kai's hand fists the sheets when you tentatively take his member into your mouth, starting slow before bottoming out. You almost get high off the sounds he's making, the gasps and the deep-throated moans that make you wonder why you don't always start the mornings with him writhing under you. You bob your head, licking the tip before circling back down. Kai grasps your hair, letting out a string of curse words that make you smile. You let go of him, going back up to his neck and lips as Kai lets out a low chuckle. 

"Who said you could be in charge today?" he taunts, pulling back from your kisses to look at you with heavy-lidded eyes. 

"You did when you became a mess under me," you whisper, looking at his awestruck face. You watched his expression turn dark as he forcibly kissed you, much harder than before. 

"Naughty girl," he whispered, chills running down your spine. He flipped you over again, giving you bruising kisses as he held your hands above your head. "Keep those hands above your head," he orders, kissing back down your body and peeling off your underwear. You grapes the pillows above you, taking a sharp breath when his teeth nip your hip bones before kissing your plush thighs. You know you're soaking, but he's taking his time marking up your inner thighs and denying you what you want. Suddenly he pushes two fingers through your entrance, and you let out a moan you didn't know you were holding. His fingers curl and push most deliciously, and you fight the urge to reach down and grab his hair. 

"Good girl," Kai chuckles as he watches your fists curled tightly with each thrust of his fingers. Part of you wants to slap the stupid grin off his face, while the other wants to shove him between your thighs. Finally, he decides to lean down and lick your clit, causing you to let out an embarrassing sound that only he would be allowed to hear. His tongue is artful, and his fingers precise. You're wondering how you could've gone this long without experiencing this euphoria every day. You make the mistake of looking down and seeing the sight of the brunette between your legs, and you decide it's the best image you've ever seen in your life. 

"Fuck, Kai, I'm close," you groan, arching your back as he sucks on your core. 

"Come on, Y/N, show me what you got," he whispers, giving you one satisfying lick, and suddenly your world is all a rush as you come undone on his fingers and mouth. You moan as you finish, and he pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean, letting out a satisfied hum. 

"I need you to fuck me now," you breathe. 

"I couldn't agree more," Kai smiles, leaning down and kissing you as he takes a condom out of the bedside table. "You can touch me now, by the way," he whispers into your ear, kissing you right below it as he steadily pushes in. Your legs wrap around his waist as he bottoms out, and you feel complete having him this close to you. Kai starts to pick up his pace; one hand braces beside you while the other grabs the headboard. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaving kisses and letting out breaths of contentment as you feel that familiar coil build-up. Your fingers leave a fire in their wake as you scrape your hands down his shoulders, through his hair, anywhere you can touch until all you feel is him. You feel yourself come again, crying out Kai's name as he finishes alongside you. You both breathe heavily afterward before he finally pulls out and collapses next to you. Kai grabs you to his side, kissing your neck and cheek and earning a shy smile from you. 

"I forgot to say good morning," Kai murmurs, tracing the contours of your face. 

"I think what you just did was morning enough," you say, smiling. 

[b00ks1ut]

It’s All About Trust

Joe Liebgott X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, war, fluff (an attempt anyway I think), swearing, Briefly mention of reader being a medic, reader has a shit ton of siblings (relatable), not that many physical descriptions if any, mentions of death, normal Band of Brothers stuff

Sorry if this is bad. I’ve never written any BoB fanfiction and really have like hardly any writing experience at all so hopefully this isn’t horrible. Please give me feed back if you want. Thank you! Also sorry for the ending. It’s kinda abrupt but it’s the best I could get lol

Bois Jacques is hell. A very very cold hell. Nothing could truly combat the cold that seeps into everyone around me. Not even the plainish slop they feed us in an attempt at food. Or in the current case, cold, hard “pancakes”, or that’s what Domingus says they are.

Don pokes at his and calls after our ever so kind cook, “Joe these smell like my armpit!”

“At least your armpit is warm.” Skip grumbles from Malarkey’s side as he holds his pancake up for emphasis.

“You want syrup with that?” Domingus sasses back to him.

“Joe, be honest, what’s in these things anyway?” Don asks the retreating man.

“Nothing you won’t eat, Malarkey.” He replies.

“I won’t eat Malarkey.” Spina shoots back quickly causing us all grouped up to let out a chorus of laughs.

Julian brings back the topic of Babe and Spina’s run in with a German on their search for 3rd Battalion. “Hey, maybe Hinkle would like your share, huh?”

This happens to hit my funny bone and I let out a snort leading to the rest of the men’s laughter to only further increase until Peacock comes around looking for Dike.

“Try battalion CP, sir.” I tell the man. The rest of us wait for him to walk away on his hunt for the company CO before we break our into giggles again.

“Try Paris.” Skip laughs.

“Try Hinkle.” Malarkey adds, only increasing our laughter and before I know it tears are pricking my eyes.

Spina begins his less than great German impression and I have to leave before I piss myself laughing.

I seem to run into a brick wall in my way back to my foxhole, tears of laughter still stinging my eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that (y/n/n).” A deep southern voice speaks from above me.

I take a look and send a smile at the blonde who’s got me held by the shoulders.

“You’re all good Bull, no harm done.” I tell him as I step out of his hold. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm done.” He repeats before walking away with a smile sent to me.

I continue to make my way back to my temporary home of a frozen foxhole. I look down to find none other than Joseph Liebgott.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the rageful Jew. I don’t think it’s any specific thing that made me so drawn to him but rather his whole entire being.

On the other hand he’s never shown any direct attraction to me. Sure nearly all the men of Easy have sent me a glance at least once but I don’t blame them, I’m one of the few women they’ve interacted with past a single night in around 2 years. But past a glance none of the boys have soberly tried anything.

Especially Joe. He’s not unfriendly to me but he’s never really gone out of his way to interact with me. Not until now.

He’s sitting alone in my foxhole, hands tucked under his armpits, gun leaning in the dirt next to him, and his eyes intensely trained on the line.

“Joe? Did you get lost?” I ask him with a small laugh.

“Uh?” He looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “Not lost, just looking for someone to talk to.”

“Luz’s hole is like 2 over that way.” I told him pointing in the direction of the jester’s own hiding place.

“Well good thing I wasn’t looking for George then, yeah?” He says with his trademark smirk. “I can leave if you’d like me to, though.”

"You're fine, but can I ask a question?" I asked as I began the short descent into the frozen foxhole.

"Shoot away (y/l/n)." The Californian told me, looking back at the line across the cold, white field.

"Why are you talking to me? I'm don't mean to be rude but you've never put any effort into having any interaction with me." I asked sitting across from him and stuffing my frozen hands into my jacket pockets.

"I'm just trying to be friendly. No time better than the present, right? Do you have a problem with that? I can leave if you need me to." Joe had begun to get a little defensive but that's hardly surprising when he'll jump at a chance to be upset, whether isn’t reasonable or not.

"Why now? There's hardly a point in making friends when fucking Babe and Spina barely just ran from a Kraut fucking foxhole so excuse my confusion at your extremely sudden olive branch when we're all about to be sent home either on a stretcher or in an enveloped as a piece of shitty metal with our names stamped into it!" I grabbed my dog tags and shook them for emphasis. It took all of my self control to not start yelling or crying, but I could feel the sting of unshed tears at my eyes. "We're all going to be blown to kingdom come by all of this damned artillery." I whisperd.

"Hey. That's not true. We've made it this far but look at us. Sitting in this frozen hell hole and you're alive, I'm alive, and so is Bull and George, Don, Babe, Doc, Skip, Penkala, Perco, and Buck and Lip." He began listing some of the guys we had been with for so long. "I know it's scary and there's not a single thing I can promise you to make anything seem ok, because I'm scared and I have no clue what's going to happen even 10 seconds from now but one thing I can tell you that might make you feel slightly better is that you've made it this far. You made it through Sobel's shitty personalty, Normandy, Carentan, and I know that if you have made it this far without a scratch then what can take you down? You’re what, one of nine kids back at home, you managed to talk and work your way into the airborne and then continue to be an absolute badass throughout boot camp and combat!” He took a break to really look at me and I took that as an opportunity to defend myself and my feelings.

“I’m really flattered but don’t you think I’ve been too lucky? I’ve come so far with nothing more than a bruise and I’m sure the next thing you know I’ll be blown to pieces! I don’t know why I thought I could do this, Joe! I’m fucking terrified and there’s no where to go!” I can feel the tears beginning to well in my eyes and in a sorry attempt to stop them I look to the sky. “I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.”

“Hey, you can’t go thinking like that. You’re going to make it out of here alive. I need you to believe that because trust me when I say that you are the toughest damned woman I’ve ever met in my life.” He scooted closer to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.

The tears couldn’t be held any longer and the dam broke, salty waves rolling down the sides of face into my hair line. A sob escaped my lips before I could muffle it with a fist that had been stuffed between my lips only seconds too late.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, (y/n), we’re all feeling it, you’re the only one brave enough to let anyone see it.”

I let out a scoff. ‘Brave’ is not the right word to use. “I’m pathetic. I’m sitting here crying, doing nothing to help anyone around me who has it worse. I’m a a medic for fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t be crying when I routinely see how bad I could have it.”

Joe had only pulled me closer and wrapped his other arm around me, essentially cradling my shaking form. “Don’t you see? That’s what makes you so brave, (y/n). You see all these men in so much pain and put yourself in harms way to make sure they get patched up and safe. You are completely allowed to be overwhelmed and scared and cold and any other feeling a person can have. Not one man here would blame you for being upset right now. They know that as long as you are safe so are they, because when shit goes down you’re always there to help us.” He was talking so softly and so gently that I couldn’t help but cry harder.

“Oh fuck.” I muttered , wiping at my eyes. “I’m sorry Joe.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Doll.” He gave me an affectionate pat. “Just know that you are such a light in the dark here, and not one of the men in these woods would judge you right now.”

I gave him a weak smile and sniffed, wiping at my eyes and nose. “Thank you, Joe, really. I’m forever grateful.”

“Oh don’t mention it, just don’t go telling anyone that I give out cuddles, I can’t have my reputation ruined like that.” Joe snickered with his smirk and a pat to my side.

“Your secret is safe with me as long as you don’t go telling people I cry.” I tittered and wrapped my arm around his neck.

“Your secret is safe with me, (y/n).”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“It’s all about trust. I trust you, you trust me; that’s how this has to work, yeah?” I was nearly bumping noses with him and if I wanted to I could just lean in a little and kiss him. The thought quickly crosses my mind but part of me knows better.

“I trust you, Joseph Liebgott.” I meant it, with more of my heart than I thought was still there.

[star--joy]

5 TIMES PEOPLE THOUGHT PERCY AND VEX WERE DATING…

And the one time they decided to prove them right.

Chapter Six: +1

-

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 1665

Originally posted: 7/23/23

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43509219/chapters/123095971

“Have you noticed,” Vex begins, with the kind of hesitant tone that tells Percy she’s about to bring up something serious. He immediately looks up from the book he was skimming, giving her his full attention, though she’s still idly scrolling through her phone.

When she doesn’t continue for a few seconds, he prompts, “Have I noticed what?”

The bobbing of her throat tells Percy that she’s swallowed several times before looking up from her phone to meet his gaze. They’re on opposite ends of the sofa in her dorm, and it occurs to both of them that that’s a bit unusual. Most of the time, they settle in side-by-side. “People keep assuming that we’re together.”

Percy tries to keep himself neutral, but he’s not sure works so well if Vex’s raised eyebrow is any indication. “I… have.”

They lapse into silence once more, but where they would normally settle easily into the comfortable, quiet atmosphere provided by each other, neither of them seem very relaxed.

“Does it bother you? When they think that?” Vex asks.

“Ah— I suppose not. It’s not like they mean any harm by it,” is what he says.

I don’t mind it as much as I should mind it, and I’m afraid that makes me a horrible, selfish person, is what he doesn’t say.

Vex fully sets aside her phone, eyebrows knitting together as she stares at him. “Right.”

“Do you mind it?” Percy asks. She doesn’t answer right away, and his heart deflates pathetically. Of course she minds it. Vex is far out of his league, and the fact that people would think she would settle for him is rather insulting. “I’m— I’m terribly sorry, I never meant to give anyone the impression that—”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Vex insists, lips pressing together. There are lines of deep thought etched into her face, and Percy wants nothing more than to soothe them out, but it really isn’t his place. “I don’t mind it either, really.”

Softly, he sets his book aside, turning so he’s properly angled towards her. “You don’t have to lie. I know I’m hardly the kind of person you would want to be with.”

His words make her scoff, catching him off guard. “You don’t get to decide who I would want to be with,” she mutters, defensive walls visibly rising in the shape of her posture.

“I didn’t mean that. I simply— you could do far better than me, Vex’ahlia.” Her full name rolls of his tongue like it belongs on his lips, each syllable enunciated with an emotion he doesn’t dare name. 

“For someone so smart, you’re really fucking stupid, sometimes. Anyone would be lucky to have you, Percy, do you not see that?”

His alert rises at a rapid pace when he notices the strained tightness to her voice, like a rubber band about to snap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he rushes to say, even though he’s not sure what he did to cause this distress.

Vex’s jaw flexes. When she speaks, her words are fiercely passionate. “I know you have your flaws, Percy, but you make me happy. And you make Keyleth happy. And Tary and Pike and Vax and— I don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” she breaks off, turning to stare away from him. “Just— you’re wonderful. You’re passionate and creative and the biggest damn nerd I’ve ever met.”

Percy wants, selfishly, to… to do something. He’s not even sure what, but he knows it involves Vex and being honest with his feelings. It’s as if there’s a string between them, pulling him closer, and it takes all his willpower to resist. “You always see the good in me.”

“There’s a lot of it to see,” she insists, turning back towards him. Something like determination is written in the harsh set to her face. “And I would like to see more. If you’ll let me.”

“I’m an open book, to you. You already know everything about me.”

Something possesses her, then, and Percy wonders if he’s somehow fallen into a trap as Vex smirks, sliding across the couch towards him. “Actually, I don’t know everything,” she murmurs, low and raspy.

He laughs, a little nervous. She’s hovering over him now and they’ve been close before, of course, but this feels different in a way he can’t describe. “What do you mean?”

And then her hands are cupping his face. Percy blinks, trying to sort through the thoughts in his brain that have suddenly become very unimportant in comparison to how close she’s gotten. Every one of his senses can’t fathom anything but her. He wants… He wants…

He just wants.

“I don’t know how good you are at kissing me,” Vex whispers, looking directly into his eyes, centimeters from his face.

Percy can’t help it: he looks down to her lips, breath trapped in his lungs. This close, he can smell her, woodsy with a hint of cinnamon sugar, and fuck it. He just barely musters the wherewithal to whisper, “May I?”

Her answer consists of her lunging forward so their lips connect. If Percy had known that this would be happening today, he would have brought chapstick, but that’s a distant thought. There are far more important things to be focusing on, he decides, hands blindly reaching to pull Vex in. It’s hard to find the right angle, with his eyes closed and movements clumsy, but eventually his left hand rests on her waist and his right hand cups the back of her neck.

She settles into him so perfectly once they find their footing, fingers exploring his stubble covered jaw in a way that makes him want to purr, despite not having the anatomy of a cat.

“Vex’ahlia,” he says, not bothering to pull away as he whispers it against her lips. 

“Percy,” she responds, one hand leaving his jaw so she can clutch the collar of his button-up, neither of them giving a single shit about the wrinkles she’s leaving behind.

When Vex eventually pulls back, even slightly, Percy can’t help the way he tries to chase her. He hasn’t gotten his fill of this, yet. He probably won’t ever get enough. He needs to spend the rest of time kissing her, or he might just keel over and perish.

“We have all the time in the world, darling,” she assures him, and Percy wouldn’t even be surprised if he found out she actually could read his mind. He wouldn’t care much, either, despite the scientific implications.

The world could come crashing down around them, and he doubts he’d even notice.

“That— I, ah— You are very good at that,” he whispers, head still spinning too much to form a much better compliment.

Vex laughs. “You’re not bad, yourself. Though, it’s hard to really tell how talented someone is from just one kiss. I think I’ll need a few more before I make a final decision.”

That’s all the warning Percy gets before she’s surging up once more, pressing him back against the armrest of the couch. He goes easily, allows her anything and everything she wants. God, he’d allow her to tear the heart from his living body if it only it meant he got to stay here with her, like this, for the rest of time.

He tries to tell her as much, but she won’t let him up for air, much less to speak, so all that escapes him is a series of muffled, incoherent noises. It’s probably for the best— Percy can’t think of a better use for his mouth right now than kissing Vex.

And then the door to the room slams open. “Come help me put away grocer— oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” Vax announces. “On our goddamn couch?!”

Vex pulls away to glance at her brother, far too coherently, given how she’s still basically draped over Percy. She’s a little out of breath and a flush covers her skin, but her tone is clear when she asks, “You finished shopping already?”

“Yes, now come help me put it away. You too, Freddie.”

“Yuh,” Percy mumbles, head falling back against the armrest as he tries to think once more. The change of atmosphere has thrown him for a complete loop, and a large part of him is insisting that he ignore Vax’s presence and just keep kissing Vex. He manages to restrain himself.

Vax groans. “God, you’re disgusting, the both of you. Come on, the ice-cream is melting.”

“Mmph.”

“Jesus, Vex, look at what you’ve done. You broke Percy.”

Vex laughs, and that, at least, cuts through his foggy brain. It’s a lovely sound. “I didn’t break. I ascended. I’m on the next level of humanity. It’s quite nice,” he hums, watching as Vex climbs off him and stretches her muscles.

“Well, the sooner you finish helping me, the sooner you can get back to your little make-out session.” Vax’s nose wrinkles with disgust as he speaks. “But no more snogging on the couch. That’s off-limits. Take it to your room. And don’t be loud enough for me to hear you.”

Vex tugs Percy up. “You heard him, Love.” The nickname almost cuts through all of his composure once more.

“Alright, alright,” Percy huffs. “I can handle groceries. I think.”

Vax throws a loaf of bread at him that he barely manages to catch before it nails him in the face. “Good. Oh, and don’t forget to update all those people who thought you were together that the two of you finally got over yourselves and realised you’re hopelessly in love. I’m sure that won’t be awkward at all.”

Percy and Vex groan in sync as Vax giggles. They have a lot of explaining to do, that much is correct. And it’s going to be horribly awkward, yes.

But, they decide as they glance at each other, relenting to one final peck on the lips before helping Vax, some things are worth a little awkwardness. 

[narrators-journal]

Tatsujun having rough sex Top!Jun and bottom Tatsuya or make them both switches :0

Don’t ask me why it’s such a challenge to really capture a guy being dominant vs a girl for me. I’ve written so many femdom!Margaret stories, femdom is thoughtless. I fluster myself when a dude is dominating, just a lil lol. So, I’ll admit this might be a bit of a miss of the mark, I kinda just went feral with this one bc it gave me SO much trouble to think of a properly hot set up. Anywho! Hope u enjoy!

CW: Dub/noncon, tentacles, I hope Joker comes off as at least SLIGHTlY dominating here. Monsterfuckery (bc of the tentacles), a LIGHT touch of degrading enery. If u feel something else needs to be warned, I’ll add it. Rough sex, Jun’s in his joker era, but. It kinda counts lol.

For once, Tatsuya Suou’s bedroom was blissfully quiet after the sun had set. The normal chaos of nosey demons gone, no calls or texts from Eikichi or Lisa to inform him of the latest implosion of chaos and disaster, his brother gone on a case. Nothing but the soft buzz of nightly insects outside his open window. So, he was content to snuggle under his comforter and bury his face in his pillow. Finally able to get a full breath into his lungs without some vaguely snowman-esque demon to remind him of Joker’s hatred for him, nor puddle of living goo to get in his face and try to suffocate him.

He was free to take a deep, slow breath, and let it out so that his body melted into his mattress like a pad of butter on a fluffy pancake. His stress and anxiety washed out of his head by the usual drip of nonesensical thoughts and memories of a rail-thin ravenette he used to be friends with. Of their games, the gifts they swapped, the secrets they shared up until Jun had been transferred out of Sevens.

Yet, while the pale, soft-faced boy had left Tatsuya’s class, he continued to drift through his head when the sun went down. Allowed to haunt his dreams like a bittersweet siren, or some sort of succubus. One with a body that never seemed to be male or female at a glance, large, dark eyes curtained by thick black lashes on an annoyingly effeminate face. Did Tatsuya think so much of him because he was attracted to him as a dude? Or did he simply like shorter-haired girls who let their bangs hide one of their eyes so dramatically? It was a question that would haunt the brunette when morning came, but for the night, his subconscious was free to conjure some playful mimic of Jun to sit on Tatsuya’s lower back and run his delicate fingers up the backs of Tatsuya’s arms.

A mental image that, was rather vivid. Enough so, that it began to pull the tall brunette back out of Hypnos’ grasp at the gentle brush of the ravenette’s smooth skin over his own.

Too smooth of skin, actually. Tatsuya had felt Jun’s hands before, and they were smooth, but the warmth he felt crawl along the skin of his wrist was far toosmooth. More akin to the smooth, almost slimy skin of a frog rather than actual human skin. What the fuck…

So, the brunette opened his eyes to try and see an explanation in the thick shadows of his quiet bedroom. Which, seemed undisturbed at a first, bleary-eyed glance. However, as his eyes began to clear of the sleepy haze, a figure at his desk came more into focus. And, it didn’t take long for Tatsuya to recognize the snowy white of the familiar uniform, or the burning ember of blue flames that dimly glowed with dark amusement. “Good morning, sleepy head.” Joker mocked, the hiss of his gleeful voice like the scrape of metal upon metal. Yet, when the brunette shoved himself up in a panic, all it took was a firm yank from the thing at his wrists to flatten him back into his bed. “Oh, no no. Don’t bother squirming.” The demon giggled, the flower at the tip of his thin tail bobbing as he waved it at the brunette who snarled back. At least, until he honked like a car at the feeling of more heavy, smooth tendrils worming their way under the waistband of his pajama pants and pushed the fabric down to Tatsuya’s knees. “Hey!” The brunette yelped, but his attempts to fight away from the slime-drooling tentacles that trailed themselves up the backs of his thighs were useless. Well, to him. Joker seemed to enjoy the panic in the tall man’s voice and wide, brown eyes. “Oh yeah, I suppose you expect me to kill you, don’t you?” He asked, or more accurately, mocked in amusement, his tail asway behind him, as casual and calm as someone out for tea. “Sadly, that would be too merciful for someone like you, Tatsuya Suou. No, I can’t let you get off that easily. So! Instead, I’m going to break you down. Slowly tear down each and every ounce of pride and ego you have, until you’re nothing more than my personal bitch. Until you’re all mine.” He explained, his layered voice lowering into a dark, feral tone as he continued.

Each dark word like a fresh shot of adrenaline in Tatsuya’s blood, but no matter how he pulled and squirmed in the hold of the heavy tendrils, his wrists couldn’t escape their hold. Despite how smooth they were, the ink-colored tentacles were like a vice grip on his limbs, so all Tatsuya’s panic got him was a demented giggle from Joker. “It’s useless to fight, my cursed star. You can barely survive an encounter with my underlings. Just give in and submit to me quickly.” The demon purred, his words punctuated by the abrupt thrust of a tentacle into Tatsuya’s ass.

The pain of sudden penetration not at all softened by the thick lubricant-slime-pre-cum substance that the dark appendages had been using to draw desings over the tanned skin of his thighs and ass cheek. Nor by a grace period before the first thrust. Instead, once the thick tentacle was buried inside the brunette, it almost instantly began to pull out in order to slam back into him.

It wasn’t until the third ruthless thrust, that the slime it leaked seemed to finally work to ease the painful drag of girthy muscle against Tatsuya’s walls, but it also allowed the tentacle to thrust quicker. Which, translated the friction into pleasure all too quickly for the tall brunette’s comfort.

Yet, the feelings of shame and arousal only mixed together into a melancholic mess of emotions. On the logical hand, Tatsuya knew he couldn’t help but feel his stomach clench whenever the tentacle slammed against his prostate, and thus shouldn’t be all too ashamed that the cruel pace excited him so much. On the other, though, he didn’t want to cave so easily into Joker’s whims. So, he kept his face in his pillows and sheets as much as possible, and swallowed the noises that the ruthless waves of pleasure threatened to loose. But, his sheets and pillows didn’t seem to do much to fully silence the rogue noises that slipped out of the brunette. Much to the Joker’s sick amusement. “It’s so cute to see you fight so valiantly, my cursed star.” The demon purred, his layered voice simultaneously screechy, and melodious as he continued, “Just makes your eventual submission all the sweeter,~” But, Tatsuya refused to answer the monster that watched him, in fact, he all around tried to ignore the demon’s presence in the room. Not only because of the humiliation of being watched while smooth tentacles threatened to awaken something dark and shameful in him, but because it was simply painful to see the doppleganger’s smile. Jun’s smile, in the dark.

So, while Joker giggled, the brunette simply kept his face buried in his bedding until one of the demon’s tendrils wrapped around his throat to lift his face and let him breathe. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t think you can just suffocate and escape. That’d be too nice for you.” Joker said, and Tatsuya couldn’t help but glare at him. But, the dirty look didn’t do anything but earn the brunette a cruel grin and harsher, more targetted thrusts from the thick tentacle that filled him up.

And, with no pillow to muffle the renegade hums and gasps, all Tatsuya could really do was stew in the shameful pleasure that rippled through his body each time the thing brushed against his prostate and claw into his sheets. “That’s a good boy~ Make plenty of noises for me, Tatsuya.” Joker purred, the tendril around Tatsuya’s neck shifted slightly to trace a heart onto the tanned man’s cheek with the odd lubricant-slime-pre-cum slime that they produced. Which, he tried to focus on instead of the painful increase of smog that threatened to empty his head of any other thoughts but the desperation he felt in his belly. But, it was near impossible to escape the twisted pleasure that lapped at his skin like the flames of a house fire. Worsened, when Joker continued to offer praise for Tatsuya’s ‘good behavior’.

So, to some extent, it really was futile as the demon claimed, to fight against the weight of the tendrils around his limbs and waist. With the way the tendril relentlessly thrust into him, writhed and flexed against every sensitive spot in Tatsuya’s body until his shame burned into thoughtless need. “That’s it, cursed star. Be good and loud so all the demons know who you belong to.~” “Good boy.” “Cum for me, Tacchi. Cum like the whore you are.” All fed the fire in Tatsuya’s skin along with the friction. Until, finally, Tatsuya couldn’t help but succumb to the flames of hell.

Not that his weak whines did anything to stop the tentacle that pistoned into him, but for a brief moment, it did give him a brief burst of pleasure to dull the shame and pain. At least, until Joker’s jumbled, layered voice bled back in through the haze of euphoria. “Naughty little brat, who gave you permission to actually enjoy yourself? As selfish as ever, I guess. We’ll break that, though.”

[flowerfan2]

I can't believe it's Halloween... I haven't written anything new for spooky season, much to my dismay. But I offer up for your reading pleasure this lovely Halloween fic from a few years ago.

Love Is Kind of Crazy (With a Spooky Little Boy Like You) M, 28 k. Jack/Bitty.

Jack is contemplating what to do after retiring from the NHL, so he and Bitty take some time off to enjoy autumn in New England. They hadn’t counted on the scary stuff that would happen, both of the Halloween variety and of a more personal nature.

Chapter 1

Bitty spreads newspaper on the kitchen island, and carefully lays out their carving tools and his second best knife. Jack is going to be home any minute from a Halloween event with the Falconers, and he had promised to bring home two of the best pumpkins for their own carving session.

It’s been a difficult time for Jack lately. Ever since deciding to retire from the Falcs, he’s been at loose ends. He had never fully recovered from a knee injury in his fourth season that kept him off the ice for six weeks, and after limping (literally) through the rest of the year, he had come to the conclusion that he would never recover fully enough to play professional ice hockey again the way he wanted – needed – to be able to play. 

Bitty remembers with a wry grin a conversation over drinks with Bob and Alicia, outside on a warm summer night in the backyard of their Montreal home. Jack had been so worried about the whole discussion, his hands clenching nervously in his lap.

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Jack,” Bob said, glancing quickly at Alicia, who nodded in agreement. “I know you have interests other than hockey, much as you might try to hide it from the world. Now you can spend more time on something else.”

Jack looked helplessly at Bitty, who laid his hands over Jack’s and gave them a squeeze. “That’s what I keep telling him,” Bitty said encouragingly.

“I just don’t know where to start. I’ve been getting calls and offers ever since the news broke. It’s…”

“Overwhelming,” Alicia said. “I remember those days. Isn’t Melinda helping you?”

Melinda was Jack’s agent-slash-assistant; when Jack came out, he had enlisted her help, wisely realizing that it might be of use to have someone not on the Falcs’ payroll helping him navigate the shark-infested waters of the media. She’s been called in on various occasions ever since.

“Yeah, but she wants to know what I want to do so she can narrow it down. And I don’t know what to tell her.”

“You don’t have to decide right away, son,” Bob said, leaning over to refill Alicia’s glass, which had been drained rather quickly.

“I know, I told her I’d let her know by the end of the week. But-”

“A week? That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Bob replied, a smirk growing on his face.

After further discussion, Jack and Bitty had decided that he would take six months, more or less, before committing to any other long-term obligations. So Jack had continued to help with Falconers publicity events, sat in on board meetings of various national organizations, been a guest coach for hockey leagues large and small… and still didn’t know what he wanted to do. Lately Bitty had been sending away for brochures for masters’ programs in history and photography and teaching and leaving them lying around their apartment, and while Jack accepted them good-naturedly, he hadn’t expressed any interest in finding out more information.

Bitty doesn’t want to rush him, but he thinks that Jack’s indecision itself is starting to upset him. He really hopes something strikes Jack soon, before he worries himself into a complete inability to make up his mind.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jack calls out, a smile in his voice as he shoves open the front door with his hip. He’s carrying two gigantic pumpkins with ease. His knee doesn’t bother him much most days, at least if he doesn’t push himself too hard. Jack sets the pumpkins down on the kitchen island before accepting a hello kiss from Bitty.

“Lord, those are big boys,” Bitty says, and flushes when Jack winks at him. “Shush, you. You know I meant the pumpkins.”

“Fine.” Jack presses Bitty up against the counter and kisses him again.

Bitty winds his arms around Jack’s neck, happily obliging. Jack seems much cheerier right now than he has of late, and the words pop out of his mouth before he can stop them. “What’s got into you, sweetheart? Weren’t you just carving pumpkins for hours with elementary school kids?”

Jack laughs and steps back. “Yes. But all the way home I kept thinking of you, getting ready to draw your pumpkin face for the year, that little frown crumpling your eyebrows…”

Bitty regards Jack curiously. “You were thinking of me while playing with the kids?”

“After I was done playing with the kids. And yes, I was.” Jack leans in for another kiss, prim this time, and then motions to the counter. “So, which one do you want?”

Bitty considers his options. “This one.” Bitty points to the slightly narrower pumpkin. “I want to do a scary face this time, and this one seems scarier.”

Jack doesn’t question his decision, although Bitty has no idea why that pumpkin seems scarier to him. “Okay.”

They get to work, cutting around the stem on the top of each pumpkin and scooping out the insides. Bitty gathers up the seeds for toasting; he’s going to use them in a pumpkin seed granola recipe he found online last week. 

“How was today’s event?” Bitty asks, as he searches for a better pencil with which to sketch his design.

“Same as last year. Except they had a different story for me to read.”

“Oh?”

“Yup.”

“What story?”

Jack pauses with a paring knife in his hand, and looks at Bitty. “Any chance you know what the origin of ‘Jack O’Lantern’ is?”

“Um, who’s the history nerd here?”

Jack makes as if to flick a pumpkin seed in Bitty’s direction, but continues. “There’s an Irish folktale about a man named Stingy Jack. He invited the devil to have a drink with him, but didn’t want to pay. Things went downhill from there-”

“I can imagine.”

“And so when Stingy Jack eventually died, the devil wouldn’t let him into hell. Instead he sent Jack off into the night with only a burning coal to light his way. Jack put the coal into a carved-out turnip and has been roaming the Earth with it ever since. The Irish took to calling him ‘Jack of the Lantern’ or ‘Jack O’Lantern.’”

“Well, that’s not a very nice story to read to kids.”

Jack harrumphed. “I know, right? But I guess the idea is that people started to carve scary faces into turnips and potatoes and eventually pumpkins, and put them in the window to frighten Stingy Jack and other evil spirits away.”

“So the kids all made scary pumpkins to scare Stingy Jack away?”

“Exactly.”

“Still sounds like a bad story to read to kids.” And not a very nice story to make Jack read, either. He’s no evil spirit, whether he quit the Falconers or not. Bitty can’t imagine that the Falcs publicist meant anything by the choice, but he still doesn’t appreciate it. And he has the feeling Jack doesn’t either.

Bitty looks at the pumpkin in front of him and starts to rub off the pencil lines. “I changed my mind. I’m making a happy face this year.”

Jack doesn’t say anything, and when Bitty looks up at him, his eyes are wet. “What?” Bitty asks. “I can change my mind.”

“I love you, Bits,” Jack says, his voice low.

Bitty puts down his knife, wipes his hands on his apron, and takes Jack in his arms. “Love you too, sweetheart. Always."

Read the rest of the chapters on A03 here.

[themagicalmysticalboy]

PLEASE do that bob&george oneshot there's barely any content for them I love your stuff!!! :D

a/n: in which George and Bob Dylan are v e r y high on acid. this is technically closer to what a shroom high is like as opposed to an acid high but who cares abt semantics, right?

You've Really Got A Hold On Me

The flower pattern on the wall was doubling and tripling into a never-ending spiral, budding and blossoming in the blink of an eye. John joking and making the intimate circle of people laugh brought the wallpaper’s movements to a slow end. George took in a deep breath, grounding himself. Brian was to his right with his knees to his chest. Cynthia fell to his left, cuddled up against John. Leaving George directly in front of his friend.

They all sat around on the floor as the party around them went on. George wasn’t quite sure what John said but the flame of Cynthia’s lighter dancing strangely as she lit a spliff was enough to have him giggling. A wave-like sensation followed and tumbled through his body pleasantly. His fingers were a retreating tide, stretching impossibly long as he fiddled with a tune on the guitar only to come back to normal. He curled and uncurled his toes, feeling them roll like a carpet being put into storage. His whole body could be a rolled-up carpet for all he knew. Wouldn’t that be nice? But then again, carpets can’t hear and George was quite enjoying the music at the moment. Someone was playing a familiar song on the piano but the name of it couldn’t be placed.

Before he really understood his thought process, he was standing and his guitar was propped against a chair.

“Where you off to?” John was looking up at him with half-lidded eyes and a far-away smile.

“Duh know.” George laughed at the realization and let his feet guide him away.

Enough acid, alcohol, and weed had gone around that the party was nearing its peak. Whose party? At whose house? For what occasion? No clue. The important thing was that it felt warm. And not in an uncomfortable way. More like an excited hug from a long-unseen friend. Vibrantly dressed people filled the room and lined the walls. Some melted into the floor while others didn’t even touch it. Music was still going and Paul’s voice belted lyrics with the tune of the piano. He wasn’t visible in the crowd of people but he sure could be heard.

Swiping a drink from a serving table, George strode through the crowd and ascended a set of wildly painted stairs. Two birds sat together, painting a step with a bottle of sparkling nail polish. They didn’t look up as people passed. They only saw each other as they practically sat in one another’s lap. George rather liked when people did that- got lost in each other. He excused himself to pass and moved along.

At the top of the stairs, a couple rushed into a room in a fit of laughter and kissing. The door slammed behind them as George went by. The sound hit every inch of his body like a brick wall and suddenly the fringed lamps were giving off the worst lighting possible. When he tried to breathe he found that the warm hug had turned into a stranglehold. With the chug of his drink, George took swift strides down the hall. Tension rose in his muscles and tendons with each movement and the lights only got brighter and brighter, threatening to blind him. Finally, he opened the very last door at the very end of the hallway.

New energy from the space calmed him almost immediately. The glow of the lights somehow tasted much kinder in there and no one else was occupying the space, save for a tabby cat.

“You mind the intrusion?” He addressed the cat. It responded with a short meow and settled on the couch, unbothered. “Ta.”

The door clicked closed, sealing in the soft vibes. The art studio he found himself in was covered with finished and half-finished work. One piece still sat at the easel with nothing but a messy black background. Paint and drop cloths cluttered the space around the easel and couch. The floor was a beautiful and giant daisy, splattered with freckles of stray paint. George laid himself down on a delicate white pedal and took in the energy of the room. He felt yellow and orange bursting in his chest and behind his eyes.

There was a rhythmic knocking at the door. It echoed and bounced until it was all George could hear. The muffled chatter and music from the party fell away to the knockknock, knockknock, knock. The orange in his chest fell way to blue which melted into yellow seamlessly. He wasn’t very sure how to respond to the knocking, so he didn’t.

The door creaked open, regardless, and George slowly sat up to find a mess of curly hair on top of a small frame. “Bobby,” He greeted with a toothy grin. “You’ve got to ask the cat if you can stay.”

“Oh, man. Really?” Bob smiled, awkwardly removing the cigarette from between his lips though both hands already held drinks. “Well,” he asked the starring tabby, glancing to George as they both tried not to laugh.

The cat hopped from its resting spot and rubbed against Bob’s trousers. He looked to George to see if he had passed.

“Oi, well, now you have to leave. They like you more than me.”

“Apologies to your ego,” He stated as he sat in the center of the daisy and placed one cup in front of George before taking a sip of his own.

“I’ve got a drink, actually.”

“I’m sure yours isn’t water.”

The green vibrations romped around George and he took up the water appreciatively. “I feel romanced.” And he kind of meant it though his tone made it seem more of a jest.

Bob only hummed, placing his cigarette back between his lips. He leaned back on both hands to stare at the ceiling, casting his features into the soft yellow lighting. Both his legs were laid out flat, one foot on either side of George. “It’s loud down there. I couldn’t feel - see - anything right, you know? The noise was a cloud over my eyes.” Smoke poured from between his lips, delicately floating into the air.

“Mmm, suffocating like.” As Bob rose his head up George realized he hadn’t been seeing right either. A radius of color encapsulated him, dancing softly above his skin. It shimmered around him in an impossible display of greens and yellows. He saw nothing like it when he was downstairs. “Blinding too, yeah.”

“You Beatles are hard to find. You, Ringo, and John, at least. If anything, Paul’s hard to lose.”

George rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. God. He really hadn’t seen anything before this very moment. “Paul’s good for company ‘til he finds a bird to fly off with or gets bored,” he answered listlessly, lost in the explosion of color and energy before him. “Do you see all the colors?” He had to ask, even if it sounded a little silly out loud. “You’re as good as a rainbow.”

Bob gave a youthful grin and tilted his head. New shades of blue and green and yellow spun out from around him. “Yeah. You look like the sun just as it’s rising.”

The flow of energy between them felt magnetic, compelling George to move closer. Once they both occupied the bright yellow center of the daisy- George’s legs overtop of Bob’s thighs- the pull finally settled.

“You think it’s our auras,” he asked as he rested his hands above Bob’s hips.

“All I know is that I can see all of you.” He said as his eyes flicked between George’s eyes and mouth. “I could taste your favorite song on your lips.”

Though he fought to keep a straight face, his lips defied him and curled into a smile. He bit down on his bottom lip in a vain attempt to gain control but quickly gave up. “You think so?”

Bob nodded ever so slightly and cupped the side of George's face. His calloused fingertip gently rubbed his cheekbone. “Can I…?”

They were almost nose to nose already. It took so little effort to close the gap that George barely registered that he had done it at all until their lips grazed and a bolt of lightning struck through his veins, illuminating the room so brightly that George could see the pale yellow through his closed eyes. His fingers curled into the fabric of Bob’s shirt as he pressed into the kiss.

When they parted Bob’s head fell onto his shoulder, his hands circling George to clasp behind his back. “Hold me, please. Hold me, squeeze, hold me, hold me,” He sang softly, his usual folksy vocals nowhere to be found. “You really got a hold on me. I said you really got a hold on me.”

George gave a breathy chuckle and did as the song called for, holding Bob tighter in his arms. “The Miracles. Can never go wrong there.”

Bob raised his head and they kissed again before George repositioned. He tugged Bob along with him until they were both flat on their backs, laying on the same flower pedal, hand in hand.

After a while, Bob pressed his head into George’s. “How long do the colors last?”

“Probably another hour.”

Bob rolled on his side and George turned his head so they could meet eyes. “What even is an hour?”

With a quizzical glance at his own fringe, he surmised, “Somewhere between five seconds and an infinity.”

“Perfect. We’ll lay here ‘til then.”

[ofstoriesandstardust]

forever winter (lt. jake “hangman” seresin)

a/n: i feel like we don’t talk about Jake post-suicide mission enough, so i wrote this. honestly this has been the most difficult thing i’ve ever written and i’m so glad to be done with it. i don't know why introspective pieces about Jake give me so much creative trouble but they do

summary: He knows, that on some level at least, he’s not good enough, no matter how much he pretends to be. So he puts on the facade, the “too good to be true” act, and hope no one sees through the cracks. The cracks though, are getting harder and harder to hide. Because he wasn’t good enough, was he? Sure, he saved them, but he still wasn’t enough. And maybe... maybe he’s not good enough to be here. With them. With the Navy. Maybe it’s time he start to figure out life outside the Navy, re-find and meet Jake, a person he hasn’t seen in so long, since the Hangman persona took over. 

Because Hangman’s the reason no one likes him, the reason no one wants him around. They say they do now, but all good things must come to an end. It’s only a matter of time. 

And then he meets her. 

inspired by taylor swift’s “forever winter” and you should definitely listen while you read it.

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: kissing, insecurities, swearing, hurt/comfort, angst with a hopeful ending, panic attacks, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts (if you look very closely), PTSD, child abuse, alcohol, lowkey a character study, as in the relationship is not the main focus, my hometown knowledge pulled through for this one, the author believes men’s mental health needs more attention, gross abuse of italics, i did minimal research about resignation from the Navy

word count: 6,416

The lockers around him open and close as he reviews that day’s training over and over in his head, wondering where he went wrong. 

You’re not good enough. 

Someone claps him on the shoulder, startling him. He blinks the thoughts away, to see the face of his best friend, looking down at him worriedly. “You coming Hangman?” 

He takes a deep breath, running his palms down his flight suit. He still hasn’t changed, the only one. 

You’ll never change. 

“Nah, nah, I think I’m gonna pass on this one.” Coyote bites his lip, searching for an answer before Rooster’s cutting him off. 

“Hangman, you’ve hardly come out with us at all recently. Think you’re avoiding us or something. Decide you’re too good for all us mere mortals?” 

Bradshaw’s tone is teasing, meant to be a friendly jab, but Jake’s skin prickles at the teasing regardless. Coyote sighs, grip on his shoulder tightening. His touch burns him. 

Coyote deserves better, he knows it. Coyote, who’s been such a good friend, a loyal one. He can already see it, that one day he’ll realize that he’s become so accepted by the rest of the Daggers that- why did he ever really need Jake in the first place? 

It’s what Coyote deserves. He wants that for him honestly. To not be dragged down by Hangman anymore, to be confined to the box that puts him in. He hasn’t made it easy for him, he knows. 

So better for the break to just be clean, to stop coming around, to stop setting himself up for failure. Sure, they all seem to like him right now, but these things don’t last forever and he knows it’s only a matter of time before they go back to how they were before. He can’t ask Coyote to do that, can’t ask Coyote to go back to living on the island with him, to give up all these great friends he’s made. He doesn’t want to hope that these people might stay his friends, doesn’t know how to. 

So he won’t. He won’t let any of that happen. Won’t set himself up for failure once again. 

“Hangman?” 

It’s Bob’s voice this time. 

He swallows, looking up to meet the brown of eyes of the soft-spoken boy of their team. “You good? You zoned out there for a few minutes.” 

He stands up, ignoring the looks he’s getting from his team mates, making him want to run and hide. He wants to come up with a witty response, shake the concern, but his mouth feels dry, like it’s full of cotton and he’s blanking on the words that usually come so naturally to him. So instead, he just grabs his shower stuff, shutting the locker behind him, leaving his not-friends-just-coworkers confused and concerned in his wake. 

-

He isn’t sure why he pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley and arcade, a good twenty minute drive from Miramar without traffic. It’s across town, in El Cajon, and honestly, he isn’t sure why this is where he ended up. He just knows that once he pulled out of the parking lot, drove off base, he picked one direction and drove. 

He ignores the fact that he waited for everyone to leave the locker room and even longer in the parking lot to make sure everyone else had gone. 

His grip tightens around the steering wheel and then untightens as he swallows, working up the nerve to go inside. He had no business being here, no friends to meet up with. 

No friends. 

He winces at the thought, letting out a sigh as he turns the ignition off, the car falling silent. He weighs his options, to go inside, to people watch, to eat shitty food, or to go back to an empty home where the silence rages louder than any noisy bowling alley. 

The decision is made in a split second and he’s pulling his seatbelt off as he gets out of the car, something fueling every step towards the doors. Pulling them open, he’s immediately greeted by the sounds of bowling balls hitting the lane, the machines returning balls, the music from 2012 only overshadowed by the loud cheers of different groups of friends. He lets his eyes map out the room as he walks towards the food area, stomach jumping at the greasy pizza he can see behind the counter. His eyes skim over the menu, unable to stomach the thought of any of this food. 

Never mind the fact that he’s struggled to keep down any food since the mission, unable to bring himself to eat in the first place. He turns, unsure of what to do with himself now that he’s in here. He has no business being here and suddenly it feels like it shows. Like everyone can read him, like everyone knows. 

His fingers are twitching as he slides down at a table near the back, looking out at all the lanes. It’s a Tuesday night, so the alley is half-full, maybe. The largest group happens to be at the closest to him, their laughter the loudest thing in the room. 

It makes some part of him ache, thinking about how badly he wants that. How badly he doesn’t deserve it. 

He thinks of his team, at the Hard Deck, probably a mirror image of the sight in front of him. 

They don’t need him.

He blinks, realizing someone’s appeared in front of him. She offers him a small smile as he clears his throat. “Hi.” She says, momentarily pulling one the hands that’s holding her bowling ball to wave at him. “Came to return this, can never pick the right size, but you seem... kind of upset.” 

She turns as someone from the group calls her name and she looks over. “Stop talking to strangers!” They shout, laughing. She rolls her eyes, ignoring them. 

“Sorry if I’m... being weird or like... creepy? You just seemed kind of upset and you’ve been sitting here all alone, for like, fifteen minutes.” 

He blinks, wondering if he’s really been lost in his thoughts for that long. He shakes his head, looking back up to the girl. “I’m good.” He says, forcing a smile. It hurts, makes him dizzy with the force he puts into making it believable. 

She tilts her head, clearly not quite believing him. “Well, if you, uh, wanted to join my friends and I, we wouldn’t mind. Unless, you’re waiting on someone, which is totally cool, I just- sorry.” She rushes out, cheeks going an unmistakeable red, even in the dark lighting of the bowling alley. 

His chest tightens at the thought of joining her group, the group that’s caught his eye since he got here. Something akin to hope flares in his chest as he realizes she doesn’t know him. 

They don’t know you. Not like the team does. 

This could be a chance to see if there’s still something in him left worth saving and so he finds himself nodding, standing up from the table. Her smile is bright as she turns, walking back to her table, him trailing a few steps behind. You turn to the group, introducing them all to him. One of her friends, Blaise (he’s pretty sure that’s what she introduced him as), smirks. 

“And what’s your friend’s name?” 

You pause, turning to him. “I guess I didn’t get your name.” 

“Jake.” He says, the words sounding strange on his tongue, so used to introducing himself by his callsign. 

They don’t need to know Hangman. 

You nod, introducing yourself to him. “Nice to meet you Jake.” 

One of the girls, Morgan, joins in with Blaise’s teasing. “So distracted by the attractive man you forgot to get a new bowling ball. It’s your turn, by the way.” 

You immediately blush, smiling sheepishly at him. Muttering an apology, you turn and jog back to exchange the ball and jog back in order to take your turn. He takes a few steps back from the group, watching you play as he sticks his hand in the pockets. 

It’s not good.

The ball barely stays in the lane before slipping into the gutter as your friends boo. You walk back to the group as Blaise gets up to take his own turn. 

“You’re not very good at this.” He says, the words slipping out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

He winces, waiting for you to immediately rescind the nice gesture that had been you inviting him over here. Instead, you just laugh, nodding your head. “Oh extraordinarily. But I got outvoted tonight.” 

“Outvoted?”

“Oh, we just sort take a vote to decide where we go on nights out. Or nights in, depending. But the consensus was the bowling alley, and I lost 5-to-1. I’d much rather be next door at the arcade. Consider myself a Skee-ball champ.”

“Oh yeah?” You nod, confirming. “Well, why don’t we go find out?” He says, some of his confidence returning to him. He isn’t sure where it’s coming from, haven’t seen it in weeks. Months, if he’s honest with himself. 

Not since Mitchell passed him up. 

You smile. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that.” You nudge Morgan, telling her where you’re going, and she nods as the two of you head over to the arcade. The arcade is even quieter than the bowling alley, leaving the three Skee-ball lanes completely open for the two of you. He stares at the machine as you wander off to get tokens, realizing he’s never played Skee-ball in his life. 

Not like there was all that much in his hometown, and the best escape from his Dad was drives to the next town over, which was only marginally better in that they had a movie theatre that played four movies instead of three. 

You reappear at his shoulder, counting through the tokens in the little cup. You hand them to him, setting the rest of your stuff off to the side. “So, how do you play?” He asks nervously, fighting to keep them hidden from his voice. He pretty sure he fails. “We didn’t have an arcade where I grew up.”

You don’t tease him, just explain the game to him as he feels the tokens grow sweaty in his palm. It’s simple enough, and if they let him fly the multi-million dollar planes for a living, he’s sure he can figure out an arcade game. 

May not be flying for much longer. 

He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, willing himself to listen to you instead of his thoughts for once. 

“So where are you from Jake?” 

“Texas. You?”

“I’m a native San Diegan. ‘Bout as Californian as they get.” 

He nods. “You should meet my buddy Rooster. He embraces the fact that he’s also from San Diego. Annoys the shit out of our team.” 

“Rooster?” You ask curiously, scoring another set of points. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow as he cringes, realizing he’s let the man’s callsign slip, and then looking down at the ball still in his hand. He hasn’t even started playing. 

“Work for the Navy as a pilot. We use callsigns.” 

You nod. “Oh, gotcha. One of my family friend’s worked on the Midway before it was decommissioned and turned into a museum.” 

In all honesty, he hasn’t been to the Midway, even though he’s been stationed permanently in Miramar for the last six months. No point in driving out there to see the inside of a decommissioned aircraft carrier when he’s seen more of those than his own house in his life. 

You don’t say anything more. Usually, when girls learn he works for the Navy, they’re drooling at his feet, wanting him to tell them some epic story, usually trying to slip their way into his bed. Usually, it works. 

Jake tosses the ball up, finally deciding to start playing. 

-

He isn’t sure how long the two of you stand there playing, but it’s long enough that his legs begin to ache, even though he’s begging himself to ignore it, wanting to stand here for a few minutes more with you. It was easy. You never pushed, always just listening. Returning his competitive streak, you offered him kind smile and a loud laugh when he beat you. 

It was simple, not like the push-and-pull of his team. It was a simplicity he could see himself getting used to. 

Blaise appears at your shoulder and you turn to him as you pause your throw. “I know you’re enjoying your time with your new attractive man-friend, but we’re headed out and I am your ride.” Before Jake can open his mouth to say he could drive you, Blaise is giving him a once over and turning back to you. “And I’m not in the business of letting one of my friends wander off into a car to be murdered by a strange man she met in the bowling alley, so we’re going.” 

Jake turns, trying to remind himself that it’s not personal. Entirely reasonable. He wouldn’t let Phoenix or Halo wander off alone and get into a car with a random man they met in a bowling alley either. 

You sigh, tossing the last ball into the machine, the score flashing across the top. He isn’t sure if it’s his ears that are ringing or the machine as you take your purse from Blaise. “Give me a second. I’ll meet you at the car.” 

Blaise eyes you and then Jake. “Five minutes and then I’m coming back inside and you’re not getting a choice. I’m setting a timer as we speak.” You concede, waving him off. You sigh, turning back to him.

“Sorry, you date one shitty man and it’s game over.” You shake your head. “Anyways, it was really nice to meet you Jake.” He can’t bring himself to say anything, a lump forming his throat. Can hardly bring himself to breathe. “Um, if you wanted- I could give you my number? I’d love to see you again. Unless this is weird and you think I’m weird and you never want to see me again-”

“I’d love your number.” 

You smile through a deep breath, sliding your phone out of your back pocket to let him enter his number. He does, noting the time and swallowing as he saves the contact. “Well, it was nice to meet you Jake.” 

He nods, realizing he hasn’t thought about his shitty day since you walked over to his table two hours ago. “You as well.” 

-

He really doesn’t believe you’ll text him. It was just a passing thing, nothing more than a moment. Yet there your text is the very next morning, asking if he wants to join you for the farmers market in La Mesa on Saturday. His fingers fly over the keyboard, confirming he’ll meet you there, bright and early. 

It gives him something to look forward to, something outside the team he doesn’t really feel a part of. Maybe this is his chance to cut the cord, to walk away, before someone gets hurt. 

He feels himself being pulled back down to Earth by the thought of seeing you, of your texts, sending him pictures of your family dog and the sunset from your backyard. He reciprocates, sending back pictures of the dinner he cooked (because that’s the new thing he’s trying, cooking, as he tries to sort out his life) and the book he picked up after work that day, because that’s the other new thing he’s trying too. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay, from making a decision he can’t unmake. From doing something he’ll regret, even though right now it’s looking like the best thing. 

If the team notices a change in his behavior, they don’t say anything, though Rooster is always at his wing when they fly, Javy hovering. Jake hasn’t been to the Hard Deck in days and ignores the Dagger group chat as Saturday morning rolls around. 

The farmers market is the perfect balance of quiet and busy, bringing him a moment of calm in a stormy week. Stormy couple of months. The conversation is easy, you telling him about all the years you (and your siblings) went to preschool in the neighborhood as the two of you pick through old records and fresh fruit. He observes the obvious fact that the Saturday farmers market is part of your routine as you chat with the family that sells locally-grown honey. His heart clenches at the thought you letting him slip into your life and routine so easily. 

It’s as you’re picking through flowers for your house, asking for his opinion that he realizes this is too delicate, too fragile, to push the boundaries. 

When asked if you should get the sunflowers or wildflowers, he blurts out that he can’t date you. He isn’t sure why he says it aloud, although he knows that the words are too true. He’d break you and he’s done ruining things. Ruining people. 

You just nod and assure him that it’s okay, that you’re not looking to date either. That you’re always open to a new friend. He swallows and nods, telling you to get the wildflowers. That they suit you. 

Wild with a quiet beauty. 

The friendship grows from there, a lunch out at the Mexican restaurant just across the street from the market to a Sunday brunch turning into Taco Tuesday to drinks on Friday to another Saturday farmer’s market with lunch afterwards. He finds himself leaning more and more into your friendship, pulling farther and farther from his team mates. 

They don’t need him anyways. 

Nights away from the Hard Deck turn into weeks as he spends the time with you instead. Sometimes your friends join, sometimes it’s just the two of you. Your friends have warmed up to him, welcoming him into the group naturally. Even Blaise has settled in, joking with him, letting him into what has been a years-long friendship. 

He’s sure the Daggers don’t miss him around. Don’t miss his competitive streak, his arrogance, his jabbing and prodding and poking. 

They were better off without him.

Maybe Javy does, always feels the man hovering, waiting for Jake to talk about where he’s been disappearing off to when his feet hit the ground. But it’s been a while of this and even if Javy missed him at the beginning, he probably doesn’t miss him now. Too happy with his finally solid friendships to miss the one that had kept him out of the group in the first place. 

He’s better off without him. 

-

He knows what he has right now is fragile, delicate. One wrong move could send you spiraling out of his life with the door slamming shut behind you. He tries his best to let you go before he could hurt you, because that’s what he does. You don’t let him though, always encouraging him to stay, to talk about what’s bothering him. 

He hadn’t even mentioned that anything was wrong. 

He doesn’t mention that it’s been getting harder these days. That everyday he gets closer to walking away from the team, before someone can get hurt, before he can get someone killed. 

The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

He knows what he has right now is fragile, delicate. He can’t act on the feelings simmering just below the surface, can’t act on his desires. You’re too good. He’ll ruin you. It’s only a matter of time before you see what everyone else does, before you leave. No one stays.

-

It’s quiet the night he finally caves, fingers sliding over the call button before he can lose his nerve. 

He needs you. 

The phone rings once, and then twice, and- shit is it really three am? 

He goes to click the red button, to end the call, say it was an accident and sorry for bothering you when it clicks, signaling that you’ve answered. 

“Hello?” 

He doesn’t answer, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. 

“Jake? You okay?” 

He wants to answer, but he can’t remember how. 

Why had he called you again?

“Jake? You’re worrying me. Is everything okay?” 

He begins to pace again, crossing the shitty hardwood of his shitty rental, as he runs a hand up to pull through his blonde hair. Tugs at the roots, as he tries to remember what he wanted to say. “I can’t do this anymore.” He finds himself saying, because it’s true. 

He can’t lead this team, can’t be here, shouldn’t be in the Navy. He’s not good enough, never enough. 

If was enough, Mitchell would’ve chosen him as wingman. Mitchell would’ve trusted him. 

He hadn’t. Had trusted Rooster instead. 

If he’d been enough, he would’ve been faster. Wouldn’t have had so close of a shot, would’ve been there with plenty of time.

“Okay... Is it work stuff? You wanna talk about it?” Your voice is soft, kind, and he tugs at his hair harder. 

He’s going to ruin you. He’s sure of it.

Only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. 

“I’m sorry.” He says flatly instead. “I shouldn’t have- it’s late.” 

“It’s fine.” You say automatically. “I was up anyways. What’s going on? Do you want me to come over?” 

“No, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have called.” 

“Jake-” 

“Goodnight.” 

He ends the call before you can protest, struggling to breathe as he lets the phone fall from his grip as he tugs at his hair again. He barely hears the phone clatter to the floor over the ringing in his ears, his chest tightening. 

Panic attacks aren’t new to him lately, but this one brings him his knees as he realizes how badly he needs you. How much he doesn't want to let you go. How much he knows he has to. 

It isn’t fair to you, to ruin you. To hurt you. He needs to get out, before he can hurt anyone else. 

Only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

-

He sits there, back pressed up against the foot of his bed as his ears never stop ringing. The night passes him by, dawn rolling in, bringing pink splashes through the cracks in his blinds. 

He should be getting ready for work when the phone rings again. He watches numbly as your name crosses his phone. He lets it ring once, and then twice. It rings a third time and then the screen flashes bright with a text. 

I’m worried. 

What’s going on? 

Jake, are you okay?

Jake, answer me. 

His chest aches at the hurt and worry he’s causing you. What he swore not to do. 

Fine. Just stressed about work. 

Never mind, didn’t mean to worry you. 

Sorry. 

He clicks the phone on do not disturb, pulling himself up from the ground. His limbs protest, his chest still feeling tight. He shouldn’t fly today, shouldn’t go into work. 

Shouldn’t go into work ever again. 

He swallows as he changes. 

It’s only a matter of time before the Navy agrees.

-

His skin feels taut as he goes through the motions of the day, running on no sleep and pure nerves. 

He started off his day right, slipping the paperwork into Admiral Simpson’s office and ending his pre-flight checks in Mitchell’s office, being asked what the hell is this?

I think you know exactly what that is sir. 

He’d fumbled the trainings for the day, leading to Phoenix yelling at him over the comms. All he could hear in his head, over and over again, was Javy’s disappointed sigh over the comms as he left another person behind. 

The water of the shower is scorching his skin as it falls over him, his head resting against the tile. Distantly, he can hear his teammates, chatting amongst themselves. His fingers twitch as he thinks about calling you, asking you to come over. He stretches them out as he thinks about what it would like to come home to you, pull you close to him, and just rest.

His chest aches at the thought of all that he can’t have. 

He turns the shower off, pulling himself out of his daze as he walks to his locker. He hears the door to the locker room slam open as he pulls his pants on but he doesn’t turn. It catches his attention when his body is being shoved against the locker, causing their team mates to protest and stand up, moving to stand between the two of them. 

It’s Bradshaw.

“What the hell man? I thought we were a team.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, ignoring the way his shoulder is protesting at the sudden collision against the metal lockers. “What are you on about?” 

Bradshaw, Rooster, is seething. “You know exactly what I’m on about.” 

He rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the locker and swatting Payback’s hand away. “If you’re really that mad about training today, get over it.” 

Rooster turns to Coyote, who’s watching the two of them warily. “Did you know?”

“Know what?” Hangman almost grimaces as he turns back around, opening the locker up to pull his shirt over his head. 

Time’s up. Secret’s out. 

“Seresin’s leaving us.” 

He forces himself to chance a glance at Coyote, who looks nothing short of betrayed. 

“What, decide you’re too good for our team?” Fanboy teases, but he can hear the hurt underneath the joke all the same. 

“This why you haven’t been hanging out with us?” Omaha asks, settling on the bench. 

“You know, my world does not revolve around me going to the bar with you people and listening to Bradshaw play the same shitty song from the ‘80s and playing the same game of pool over and over again. I’ve got better things to do with my time.” 

He’s being cruel now, he knows it. Pulling at any frayed thread, to make the whole thing come unraveling. To say, look it was never meant to work in the first place. 

Rooster takes a step back from him. “C’mon man, I thought we were friends.” 

“Don’t kid yourself Bradshaw. How do you even know anyways?” 

“Mav told me.”

He almost scoffs. “Of course he did.”

“He wants you to stay.”

He wants to roll his eyes and turn away. “That’s not his decision. Nor is it yours.”

“Hangman-”

“You know, it’s really none of your business whether or not I want to stay in the Navy. Nobody’s business where I go after I leave here. We’re not friends.” He snaps, not missing the way Coyote’s body language changes from defeated to guarded.

“So much for all those years we haven’t been friends Seresin.” Coyote mutters, turning away from him. 

His heart cracks at that, soul stinging in the way he’d let Hangman take over, to push these people away. “Coyote-”

“Just forget it Bagman.” Bob says, his own hurt coloring the words as his arm slings over Coyote’s shoulder as the two of them turns towards the door. Rooster shoots him one last look before he’s grabbing his bag, following them out the door. 

He can do little but watch the way the team filters out of the locker room, all tossing him looks of hurt and anger as they leave for the day. Finally, he sinks down, head in his hands as he thinks about what he’s done. 

The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. 

-

You’re waiting for him as he pulls into his driveway, sitting on his front porch. He sighs as he slips out of his truck, shutting the door behind him. 

He doesn’t want to do this with you now. Not today. Not after he sat in Mitchell’s office, being told he couldn’t resign without a valid reason. Couldn’t look the man in the eye all day after the conversation that morning. He still wasn’t sure how the paperwork had ended up on his desk so quickly, in matter of thirty minutes or less, but the day had made him feel hopeless. 

There was no out. Nothing left for him. 

The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

He wordlessly unlocks the front door, leaving it open behind him for you as he walks towards the kitchen, pulling the whiskey out of the cabinet. He hears the front door shut as he knocks the liquid back, gritting his teeth at the burn. He hasn’t medicated the pain away with alcohol since you came into his life but he’s feeling his control slip after the day he’s had.

“Jake.” You say, appearing next to him. He pours himself another shot, but you pry his fingers off the glass before he can down it. He lets you, reveling in your soft touch. 

Won’t get that for much longer. 

“Jake, you scared me last night.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” His words are cold, detached, as he wills himself to do this one last thing. 

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re friends. We-” 

“You should leave.”

You jerk back, fingers leaving his own as if they had burned you. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice doesn’t feel like it’s his own, floating somewhere above him as some part of desperately begs him to stop. 

“Jake, something’s clearly wrong. I’m not leaving you.” 

“Well, I don’t want you here.” 

“Well, too fucking bad because you’re my friend and I want to be here for you.” 

He cautiously raises his eyes to meet your own. 

You want to stay? For him?

Where would he even start though?

I tried to resign from the Navy today?

My Dad used to hit me?

One of my not friends, co-worker at best, almost died because I wasn’t fast enough?

If I stay, someone’s gonna get killed because of me?

“I don’t know what to say.” He whispers and you nod. 

“That’s okay.” You say softly, hand returning to his. “Why don’t we go sit down? You don’t have to talk, but let’s just sit.” He nods, letting you guide him to the couch. He thinks he can count on one hand all the times he’s sat on the piece of furniture. You don’t let go of him as you both sit. 

He can’t meet your eye, can’t begin to tell you the truth. If you knew, you’d run. 

Maybe that’d be best. 

“You should go. I’ll only hurt you.” He says quietly, turning away from you. 

“Jake.” 

“’M not good. I- I hurt people. I ruin them. I- You need to leave.” His voice is begging now, pleading with you to see reason. 

“Jake, look at me.” You say softly. “You don’t ruin people. You’re so good, so so good. I can’t believe you don’t see it.” 

“I tried to- I need to-”

The words are trapped in his chest and it feels like he’s choking. Like if he speaks the words, he’ll be giving him the rope to hang himself with. 

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk. It’s alright.” 

So he swallows, nods, and sits there. Allows himself to let you touch him. To rub your thumb over his shoulder blade as his head falls back against the couch.

It’s some time again before you speak.

“One of my friends in college was in the Marines.” You say quietly. “Not the same thing as the Navy, I know, but still. He wouldn’t talk about it, even if he was asked. I don’t know if he ever learned to talk about it.” He turns to look at you, even as your movements don’t cease. “We had lost touch after we graduated but-” You shift, shaking your head. “Something I’ve been thinking about lately. You don’t talk to me much about your work. ” 

He swallows, watching you as you watch him. You don’t say anything more and he realizes you’re opening the door for him to talk about it. About all of it. 

“There was this mission.” He feels himself begin to say, voice almost detached from him. He can’t bring himself to look away from you. “Almost a year ago now. Reason I got stationed out here. We- we weren’t meant to come home. One of my fr- coworkers almost died.” You just wait, listening, and he takes that as encouragement to continue. You haven’t run away yet. “He said something, about how the only place I’ll lead anyone is an early grave. Can’t help but feel like he’s right.” 

Your touch burns him, eyes staring into his soul as he wrestles with himself to lay it all bare in front of you. He pulls away, standing up to pace the small living room. You let him, simply just watching him. 

“I’m going to get them killed. There’s a reason I wasn’t selected to fly the mission. I’m- I’m gonna hurt them, gonna get someone killed. I shouldn’t be there. I’m not good enough and it’s going to cost someone their life.” 

His hands reach up to his hair, going to tug at it again, the familiar feeling of trying to ground himself as everything spins out of his control. 

“I- I feel out of control all the time. I can’t look them in the eye. I feel like I can’t breathe up there, that the only time I’m safe is on the ground. They don’t need me anyways.” 

He chances a glance back to you and every part of your face is screaming pitypitypity

He doesn’t need your pity. 

“I wanted to resign from the Navy. My CO told me no.” 

You finally break your silence, shifting up. “I’m sorry, he told you no?” 

He waves you off, starting a new round of pacing. “He needs a valid reason.”

“A valid reason? What’s more valid than I want to-?”

“Leaving is complicated and there’s a lot of paperwork, you have to have all these forms and a letter-”

“That a big decision, Jake.” You breath out, interrupting his explanation, moving to the end of the couch, looking like you might walk over to him. He hopes you don’t, despite how badly he wants to be next to you. “Are you sure of this?” 

He pauses, feeling the tears sting his eyes. 

He will do anything to not break right now. Not in front of you. 

Bitterly, he can hear his Dad in the back of his head, reminding him how weak he is. 

Real men don’t cry.

“I just don’t know what else to do.” He whispers, afraid of the words he’s speaking into the night. “I just need it all to stop.” 

That’s what propels you off the couch as you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him. The feeling of you holding him close makes him buckle as his resolve cracks and crumbles, the tears taking over as his knees sink to the floor. His sobs rack his body as he reaches up to clutch tightly at your shirt. You run your fingers through his hair as you try to soothe him. 

“Jake, I-” You swallow, your hand stilling in his hair. 

Here it comes. When you tell him this is too much, that you didn't sign up for this, that he should never contact you again-

You kneel to be eye-level with him, pulling his face into your hands. “Jake, I am so sorry. You deserve so much better than that. And I wish there was something more I could do for you, more for me to say. All I can say is that it’s going to get better. Things will always get better and I will be here to help you. I’ll always be here.” 

He swallows, wanting so badly to believe your words. He almost does, if he squeezes his eyes shut and forces his Dad’s words out of his brain. “I want to believe you. I don’t know how.” 

“That’s okay. I’m here, Jake. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You can’t fix me. You can’t make me better.”

The words are blunt, cruel. You don’t flinch away or move back. 

“I don’t want to.” You move closer to him. “I just want to help you. Let me help you.” 

Without thinking, he surges forward, kissing you before he can think about the consequences of his actions. He knows in the half-second before you freeze that he’s fucked up. 

You pull away, ducking your head as your bottom lip catches between your teeth. Neither of you say anything as your chests heave with what just happened, unable to meet the other’s eyes. Your hands haven’t left his face as you swallow, finally pulling up to look at him. 

“Jake-” 

He shakes his head, pulling out of your grasp to stand again. “Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.” 

You stand too, sighing. “Jake, please-”

“Just go.” His voice wavers, cracking, a reflection of how he feels on the inside. 

“Jake, this isn’t- Now’s not a good time-”

“Don’t make excuses. You don’t return my feelings and that fine. Just- get out, please.” His back is still turned from you as he waits for your footsteps to signal that you’re going to leave, just like everyone else. He succeeded in driving you away. 

He does hear your footsteps but they don’t leave through his front door. No, there you are, figure blurry in front of him through the tears he’s been trying to suppress. 

“Jake.” You softly, and he feels his lip tremble as he wraps his arms around himself, wanting to make himself small. “It’s not that I don’t return your feelings and I’m not saying never, but- you’re going through a lot right now. You need a friend, not a new relationship, and I’m happy to be here in whatever capacity I can be for you. You deserve the world Jake Seresin and I’ll be here no matter what.” 

Your hands reach to his face and he allows his hands to unwrap from around his body, pulling you close to him. His head falls into the crook of your neck as he takes a shaky breath. “Don’t leave.” The words are muffled against your skin. “Please.” The words are like a prayer as he grips you ever so tighter. 

“Never. Believe me Jake, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

For the first time in months, he takes what feels like his real breath, feeling like he isn’t drowning under the waves of his own mind. 

For the first time in months, he allows himself to consider that things might actually turn out okay. 

[goosewithtwoos]

TRUTH OR DARE

pairing: Bob x Reader

summary: sexcy truth or dare cause why the hell not // written in like 20 minutes and posted without proofreading🥸

“Okay, okay, you’re turn.”

You and Bob had been sat on your bed for the past half hour, playing truth or dare, and slowly getting close enough for your knees to touch.

“Hm…okay, truth or dare?” Bob asked, taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Let’s go with truth.” You replied.

The game had gone from innocent questions to progressively more dirty as time went on.

Bob had been forced to answer when the last time had kissed someone was - two years ago unless you counted a drunken game of spin the bottle, in which case it was three months - and you had been dared to call Hangman and ask to borrow his lube.

“When was the last time you brought someone to bed?”

You laughed at the question. Of course Bob wouldn’t want to ask it crudely so you mentally translated. ‘When was the last time you fucked?’

“I think probably sometime in the last year. It wasn’t anything to write home about though so I’ve honestly forgotten.”

Something flashed across his face but before you could figure it out, it was gone and he was back to his normal self.

“Okay, my turn,” You knew you needed something good. Something juicy. Something that was going to really make this night fun.

You took a while to think about it, going over a few different options in your mind before deciding on one.

“When did you cum last?”

Bob almost spit out his water when you asked.

He quickly composed himself, setting the water aside as to not spill it again, before sitting up a little straighter.

“Um…I uh…I can’t really remember.”

Your jaw dropped. His face turned a bright red at the admission. You both sat in silence as your mind was turning.

“Why - why can’t you remember?”

Bob turned an even brighter red than was possible. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. After a few moments, he finally spoke.

“I can’t.”

You sat back, looking around the room and trying to act casual. “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer. I’ll pick a different question.”

“No, no, I meant like, I just can’t…finish…when I’m here.”

The got your attention faster than when Maverick dumped the textbook in the trash. Your head whipped up to meet his eyes, finding that he was covering his face.

“Wait, you mean…you haven’t gotten off since you got here?” You were incredulous. You had to get off at least once a week here to blow off some steam. Everything made you tense, you needed a way to release it.

Bob shook his head. He finally uncovered his face and it looked like his eyes were glassy. “I just can’t. It’s like I try, I start, I think of hot girls and yet I just can’t.”

You bit your lip, trying to not laugh. Hot girls. Bless him.

“It hurts.”

Your brain short circuited. You thought you were dreaming, maybe hearing things, but you would swear you heard a bit of a whine in his voice when he spoke.

“I dare you to get off right now.” The words were out your mouth before you really thought about the gravity of them.

Bob squeaked, sucking in a sharp breath.

“It’s…not your turn.” He was still bright red, shifting uncomfortably, trying to not look like he wasn’t completely freaking out.

“Fine, okay I pick truth. What’s my favorite color? Good question. Blue. Now I dare you to show me how you get off.”

Your mind was racing. You didn’t know why, but you had never wanted anything more in your life than you wanted this. Not getting into the Academy, not when your celebrity crush was coming to town. All that mattered right now was him.

His big, blue eyes were watching you, waiting for you to say you were just joking and begin making fun of him.

“Please.” You whispered, desperate for him to show you.

You couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Maybe it was lingering effects from the beers or maybe it was the fact that he whined when he talked about it but you needed to see him get off.

His hand slowly went down to his joggers, shifting them around so he could get a better angle. You saw his black boxers peaking up and you leaned closer subconsciously.

At a snails pace, like he was trying to tease you, he pulled down his joggers just enough that you could see the outline of him through the fabric of his briefs. It was growing rapidly, almost half hard before he even touched it.

“Are you sure?” He asked, gaze shifting between you and his cock.

“Come on,” you stopped yourself from calling him baby and settled on “Bobby. Show me what you can do.”

He moved the band down, slowly, slowly, and you were sure he was trying to make you combust. Finally, his boxers were pulled down enough to let his cock spring out and your mouth went dry.

God, he was so pretty, every part of him. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“You’re staring.” He muttered.

“Your gorgeous.” Came your easy reply.

He tentatively brought his hand up, wrapping his long fingers around himself. He wasn’t exceptionally girthy but he made up for it in length.

His hand slowly began moving up and down, drawing gasps from the both of you. He was so reactive to touch, you noticed the way his shoulders had hunched inwards and were already beginning to shake. He continued his slow pace, squeezing as he got closer to the head.

You couldn’t help but study the way he got himself off. His eyes were closed like he was trying to pretend you weren’t there and his bottom lip had been sucked in with his teeth. His back was against the wall, allowing his other hand to come up to his chest. Through his shirt, he was running his hand up and down his chest, paying extra attention to his pectorals.

God, you wanted to touch him.

He let out a whimper as precum began to bubble from the slit. With the added lubricant, he was able to move his hand faster. This ended up drawing more moans from him and caused for your mind to completely stop working.

“Just like that,” you muttered your praise to him. “Keep going.”

He cried out again, hunching forwards as his body began shaking even more. “Please, please, please, it hurts.”

You couldn’t tell if he was actually asking you to do something or if he were just too lost in his delirium so you opted for gently pushing him back against the wall by his shoulder and placing your hand over his.

His movements stopped instantly and those big, glassy eyes looked up at you again.

“Do you want help?” You needed consent before you dared to touch him further.

He nodded. “I can’t do it.”

You leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his temple before pulling his hands away and replacing them with your own.

Your left hand traveled up and down his chest, massaging his chest like you had seen him do earlier. Your right hand was on his cock, which fit perfectly in your hand, slowly stroking.

“It’s okay, you can let go, I got you.”

Bob was babbling out your name mixed with other incoherent phrases as you speed up.

You used your thumb to press over the slit and he openly sobbed. His hands were covering his face to muffle the sounds but you were sure your neighbors could hear you taking him apart piece by piece.

You firmly grasped at his chest at the same time you flicked your wrist perfectly and it was finally enough to send Bob over the edge.

“Good boy, good boy.” You whispered as you continued to stroke him through his orgasm.

You knew he was going to come quick and a lot but you were surprised by how much. Your hand was covered along with his joggers.

He continued to cry through his high, coming down as you pulled your hand away.

Looking around for your tissues, you found the box was empty. Without second thought, you began licking him off your hand, relishing in the taste.

You looked up, accidentally making eye contact with Bob who had been watching you the whole time. He hiccuped another cry when he watched your tongue clean up the mess, wishing you would do the same to him.

“I’m so sorry,” You said, suddenly extremely bashful. “I couldn’t find the tissues and I didn’t want to wipe it on my sheets.”

Bob shook his head. “It was hot.”

You smirked as an idea popped into your head. “Oh yeah? Do you want a taste?”

He nodded, slowly opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue. You gently placed two of your fingers in his mouth, watching intensely as he closed his lips around them and began sucking.

Good God, he was going to be the death of you.

“How long have we been here for?” You ask despite his mouth still being occupied. “Three months now? That’s twelve weeks. I think we need to make up for some lost time.”

His eyes closed as he used his tongue to spit open your fingers and lick between them. It was lewd and the implications sent a shiver of excitement through you.

“Eleven more to go.”

[scrumptious-delusion]

•°∘∗ treacherous ∗∘°•

summary: you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.

pairing: outlaw!bucky barnes x female reader

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors DNI), swearing, fluff, angst, mention of: alcohol, blood, injuries, guns, death, murder, violence, and non-con (it’s alluded to in regards to an unnamed character).

length: 16.8k

a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. i know nothing of the old west but this is fiction so. title inspired by this song and one part of this fic is inspired by a scene in butch cassidy & the sundance kid (if u know which part ur cool).

You never could quite handle the sight of blood, nor could you ever hide your instinctual response to it. Your father used to terrorise you with the cuts he’d sometimes earn from a hard day’s work, always finding your reactions humorous.

Each time he would smile and say, “You’ll get used to it one day, kid.”

That day didn’t come while he was alive and it hadn’t come now.

Opening your front door to the man you’d spied knocking on it from the kitchen window, you almost shut it again.

The stranger towers above you, his frame taking up the entire doorway, but your focus is drawn down to where his hands - covered in dirt and blood, press above his left hip.

“Ma’am,” He greets in a gruff tone. “I hate to bother you, but I find myself in need of some assistance…” The man nods to his injury, as if it had gone unnoticed by you.

It takes a moment for you to respond and when you do it’s with a jerky bob of your head as you step out of the doorway.

One blood stained hand raises to tip his hat at you as he enters.

Your eyes follow him as he wanders into the kitchen to his left, a slight sway in his steps.

How long has he been bleeding out?

Shutting the front door, you finally find your voice. “What do you need?”

Grunting as he lowers himself into a chair at your small, rectangular table, he answers “Rag, needle, thread, and alcohol - whiskey preferably.”

Removing his hat, he places it on the tabletop.

Okay, he’s done this before.

Focusing on the task he’s provided, you move around the kitchen and sitting room across from it, gathering each item.

The stranger is in luck. Your father had loved whiskey and there’s still plenty of bottles stashed away in the cupboard.

When you come to stand in front of him with everything in hand, you find that he’s lifted his shirt, providing an unobstructed view of his injury.

There’s so much…

“Bullet just grazed me.” The man observes quietly to himself. “Still made one hell of a mess though.” He grumbles, finally lifting his head.

Blood. There’s so much blood and the skin has -

A deep, rough laugh pulls you from your spiralling, making you swallow thickly.

“It’s alright darlin’.” There’s a lighter edge to his tone. “Just put the stuff on the table, I’ve got it.”

You do as he directs but remain where you are.

The man opens the bottle of whiskey first and takes three healthy swigs before pouring the liquid over his wound, hissing.

Quickly averting your gaze with a wince, you focus on his face instead.

What skin you can see is dirty, like his clothes. It’s clearly been some time since he last bathed or even tidied his appearance. His hair is long and tangled. You think it’s naturally a dark brown but it’s hard to be certain. A thick, wild beard hides most of his mouth and half his face, while a sharp nose -

Oh god.

You’ve seen the wanted posters hanging around town. Heard the stories that accompanied them.

Bucky Barnes.

The famed outlaw, responsible for some of the decade’s most daring robberies and revered as the fastest gunslinger in the west, is sitting in your kitchen. Tending a gunshot wound.

For the briefest moment you wonder who it was that shot him and what their fate had been.

Then you realise that’s something you really don’t want to know.

“Ma always said I could never be a tailor.” The man - Bucky mutters, eyeing his truthfully pitiful stitching. “But it’ll do.”

Placing the blood soaked rag on the table, along with the needle and leftover thread, Bucky’s eyes meet yours as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey.

You feel the shift in the air as he sets the bottle back down.

Somehow he knows.

“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble ma’am.”

“Says the man famous for trouble.” You can’t help but retort.

Did I seriously just smart mouth him?

To your shock Bucky merely grins, his teeth surprisingly white and clean. “That’s fair, but a pretty girl’s house isn’t exactly where I make my trouble.” Morphing his grin into a smirk, he amends “Unless I’m asked.”

Your skin heats at the insinuation.

“I won’t be asking.” You state firmly.

“Then you’ve got nothin’ to fear.” Bucky assures, his mouth returning to its serious line underneath his beard.

He regards you carefully and it’s only then that you notice his eyes are the most electrifying blue.

“I best be on my way.”

The sudden declaration should fill you with relief, but as you watch Bucky rise from the chair with an unsteady step, you hear yourself saying “You can stay.”

Something tells you the last time he bathed was also the last time he had a decent meal or rest. He wouldn’t be finding any of those things nearby, especially in his condition.

It’s a miracle he even found you.

The downward tilt of Bucky’s eyebrows is the only indication of his confusion as he looks up from the hat in his hands. “Are you -”

“Just for the night and no funny business.”

Bucky’s eyes study you again and you swear no one has ever looked at you with such intensity.

Then he blinks, focusing on the front door over your shoulder. “I left my guns with my horse. You can keep ‘em with you if it’ll make you feel better.” Meeting your gaze once more, his deep voice rumbles “But I promise you won’t need ‘em.”

How much was an outlaw’s promise worth?

Eyeing him in the same observing manner, you begin to understand what Bucky had been searching for.

Slowly shaking your head, you tell him “It’s alright.”

You had your father’s shotgun should it come to that and you were familiar with the weapon.

“I’ll show you the bathroom.” You declare, striding out of the kitchen. “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna be clean.”

Behind you, Bucky responds with a - dare you say, amused “Yes ma’am.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Your eyes fall shut as you lean back against the front door, sucking in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air.

There’s an outlaw in my bathroom.

Re-opening your eyes at that insane truth, you realise you’re not alone.

Bucky’s horse watches you curiously from where she stands in front of the porch steps, her gorgeous white coat shining under the setting sun.

Descending the steps cautiously, you extend a hand to the mare, letting her sniff you. When she makes a soft whinny and nudges at your hand, you move it to stroke her neck.

Her calm temperament surprises you, as she gladly allows you to lead her over to the barn not far from the house.

You settle her in a stall opposite your own horse, Chester. A gelding you aptly named after his chestnut complexion.

When you relieve her of Bucky’s saddle, you spot two guns amongst his belongings, just like he said you would. You leave them there in the barn.

Back in the kitchen, you clear everything except the quarter filled whiskey bottle from the table.

He might as well finish it off.

Wiping down the wooden tabletop to erase any trace of blood, you lift the bottle to clean under it and get a large whiff of the alcohol, making you pause.

It’s been years since you smelt the once common scent and it has memories flickering behind your eyes as you realise you’ve missed it.

Shaking your head, you put the bottle back down.

An hour passes, Bucky yet to emerge from the bathroom.

You stir dinner distractedly, staring out the window in front of you that overlooks the barn and the great nothingness beyond it as the sky slowly darkens.

“Smells good.”

Christ.

Heart thumping sturdily at the small fright, you let the wooden spoon rest against the side of the pot and turn to face Bucky.

Oh.

It’s no wonder he took so long. Bucky had found good use in a pair of scissors and your father’s razor.

His wild, untamed beard has been reduced to stubble, highlighting a handsome jawline. Bucky’s hair - which is a dark brown and currently damp, curls under his ears instead of brushing against his shoulders.

Definitely trouble.

However, dressed in your father’s old clothes, it’s hard to find him as intimidating. 

Your father had been a stout man, so you knew the clothes wouldn’t be a perfect fit.

The pants are a bit baggy and come up short, ending above the ankles of his bare feet, while the shirt tucked into them is an even looser fit. Bucky has rolled up the long sleeves to keep them out of his way, revealing just how thick and muscular his arms are.

“I can wash your clothes if you like.” You offer, realising you’ve been staring.

“No need darlin’,” Bucky responds smoothly “Washed them with me and hung ‘em over the porch.”

You hadn’t even heard the front door open or close.

“Kid, that wanderin’ mind a’yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.”

Nodding, you gesture to the table. “Well take a seat, dinner’s ready.”

Dishing out two bowls of stew, you place one in front of him, along with a basket of bread rolls.

“Can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” Bucky divulges, taking the spoon you offer him.

Sitting in the chair opposite him, you say “There’s plenty more if you want it.”

The two of you eat in silence, Bucky at a much faster pace. You’re only finishing your first serving when he begins his third.

Guess it has been a while since he last ate.

Or maybe this is just his usual appetite. 

“Is it just you here?” Bucky asks after polishing off another bread roll, ending the quiet stretch.

In any other circumstance you’d think twice before giving an honest answer, but it’s pointless to lie to him now.

“Yes, it used to be my father and I, but he died two years ago.”

The pain his loss caused wasn’t something you could describe.

Your mother passed away when you were only four, taken by illness. If it weren’t for the two photographs your father had of her, you wouldn’t even know what she looked like.

After she died it was just you and him.

When his health began failing him some years ago, you both knew it was only a matter of time. You had just hoped for more.

Adjusting to life without your father had been challenging, but you were fortunate. You’d been left with a home - having no one else to come claim it, and the money that came from loaning out the land to cattle ranchers. It kept you fed, warm, and content.

Bucky lifts his eyes to look at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You nod, your throat tight with emotion.

Pushing up from the table, you take your empty bowl to the sink as Bucky continues eating.

The subject of your father’s passing stopped affecting you heavily some time ago, but it seems the turmoil of today’s events has brought your pain back to the surface.

“I’ll get your bed ready.” You announce, leaving the kitchen.

He’ll stay in the spare room - your father’s old room. It’s bigger than yours, but you could never find the will to claim it as your own. You were happy in your childhood room.

Grabbing sheets from the bedroom’s wardrobe, you start making the bed.

The room is sparse, containing only the bed with a small table either side of it, the wardrobe, and a chair. On one bedside table sits the two photographs of your mother.

You’re slipping a cover over the pillow when Bucky’s figure appears in the doorway.

“Have enough to eat?”

You doubt there’s any leftovers.

“More than, your cookin’s somethin’ else.” He declares.

A smile escapes before you can stop it.

You’ve always loved cooking and it’s been years since you’ve had someone to feed or receive compliments from.

Dropping the pillow, you look over at Bucky and find his gaze fixated on the bed.

“I’ll leave you be.” You state, moving towards the door.

Still staring at the bed, Bucky steps further into the room and out of your way.

Glancing at him one last time, you utter out a soft “Goodnight Bucky.”

You’re startled by how quickly his dark blue eyes jump to you. Then you realise it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

A pause.

Softly, you tell him your name.

Bucky’s deep voice repeats it, adding “Thank you, for everything.”

His tone is lighter again, like it had been earlier after he laughed, allowing you to hear the emotion in it - sincerity, in this instance.

You’re not sure why it pleases you so much.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

When you wake you’re not as well rested as you’d like, eyelids heavy and unwilling to open.

You spent most of the night tossing and turning, all too aware of the outlaw just two doors down.

Forcing your eyes open, you sluggishly get out of bed, taking your time getting dressed and fixing your hair.

Emerging from your bedroom, you peer down the hall to your right. The bathroom resides next to your room, the spare room next to it. Both rooms have their doors wide open, unoccupied.

Taking a few steps down the hall until you reach the opening on your left that leads into the sitting room, you walk in and find Bucky to your right, in the kitchen... making breakfast?

“Mornin’,” Bucky greets as you approach. Cracking two eggs into a pan, he answers your unspoken question. “Figured I at least owed ya breakfast.”

You weren’t going to argue that.

Taking a seat at the table, you ask “How did you sleep?”

Peering at you over his shoulder, Bucky replies “Like a rock.”

“And your wound?”

“Healin’ just fine.”

Bucky’s still wearing the clothes you gave him, but judging by the heat you can already feel in the air, you know his will be dry before you even finish breakfast.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You walk back to the house with Bucky on your right and his horse - Alpine, as he’d introduced, on his other side.

He doesn’t mount the mare until you’ve reached the steps that lead up to your front porch. When he does you’re stunned by the ease and swiftness his large body executes the movement with.

“Thanks again darlin’.” Bucky nods, touching the brim of his weathered black hat. “For your cookin’ especially.”

Back in his own clothes with a gun belt around his hips, Bucky looks every bit like the outlaw he is.

For the second time since you’ve met, your mouth takes on a mind of its own. “Well, if you ever find yourself this way again maybe I’ll cook you something else.”

The edges of his lips turn up in a smirk at your offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a light press of his leg into Alpine’s side, the white beauty starts moving forward. You watch as she builds her momentum until she’s galloping, her and her rider becoming nothing more than a dot on the horizon.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 7 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Truthfully, you never expected to see Bucky Barnes again.

The memory of his visit had been stored away at the back of your mind and some days you wondered if it ever even happened - if it had simply been a daydream you’d gotten too lost in.

However, the knocking you hear on your front door one afternoon weeks later is very much real. As real as the man you see standing on your porch through the window above your kitchen sink.

Once you’ve opened the door, Bucky smiles in a way you can only describe as mischievous.

“Hi darlin’.”

You’re relieved to find not one speck of blood on him, just dirt.

Bucky’s maintained his shorter hairstyle but his beard has thickened, though not to the wild state it’d been in when you first met. 

You realise your memory had failed to capture the precise blue of his eyes, as well as the depth of his voice.

Quirking an eyebrow - but giving a small smile nonetheless, your only response is “Bathroom.”

Chuckling, Bucky tips his hat at you, stepping out of his muddy boots before entering the house. You assume the bag in his hand contains clothes since he doesn’t ask for any as he disappears into the hallway.

Walking out onto the porch, you meet Alpine at the bottom of the steps and stroke her neck in greeting, leading her over to the barn.

Bucky’s left his guns on his saddle once again and you place all his belongings on one of the workbenches before settling Alpine in the same stall she’d occupied last time.

After stopping by Chester’s stall to dote on the horse, you head back to the house and start making dinner.

It’s not too long after when you hear heavy footsteps cross through the sitting room, followed by the front door opening.

Glancing to your left, to the window above the sink that looks out onto the porch, you watch as Bucky hangs his wet clothes over the railing.

He disappears from view and you hear the front door shut before his voice fills the room “How ya been darlin’?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you answer with a simple “Good.”

You’re caught off guard when Bucky appears on your right, the smell of the soap he just used invading your senses.

Standing side by side, it’s impossible to ignore his imposing height.

The top of your head barely reaches his broad shoulders and you feel like you have to look up and up to see his face.

You lower your gaze as your heartbeat accelerates, unnerved by Bucky’s sudden closeness. However, it slows as you spy him inhaling the contents of the pot simmering on the stove in front of you.

“‘M starvin’.” He quietly groans.

Smiling, you roll your eyes and tell him “It’ll be done soon.” Pointing to a cupboard at the end of the kitchen you add “There’s whiskey in there if you want some.”

When Bucky doesn’t move or say anything in response you look up at him again, startled to find him staring at you intently.

“You a saint or somethin’ darlin’?”

He speaks gruffly, but you hear a trace of humour in his tone.

Scoffing, your gaze drops again as you take a step towards him, so you can stand in front of the counter. Bucky takes a step backwards to accommodate you.

“What’s saintlike about offering someone whiskey? And to an outlaw no less.”

As the last part slips from your mouth, you tense.

“You’re always talkin’ first and thinkin’ later, kid.”

Bucky merely hums in response, turning around to lean against the counter as his arms fold. The action pulls his shirt tight across his chest.

Not that you’re paying attention to that sort of thing.

“Isn’t that what saints do? Help lost souls?” He drawls.

“You’re lost?” You retort sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

That earns a chuckle from him as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m always right where I wanna be.”

Bucky’s midnight blue gaze hasn’t left you once, while yours constantly shifts away, like it does now. “And that’s here instead of somewhere nice?”

“Nice costs money.”

Your eyes dart up to his for no less than a second before flitting away.

This time you’re smart enough to not say the first thing that comes to mind.

Concentrating instead on the corn in your hands, you jump when you feel the rough pad of Bucky’s index finger under your chin, nudging your head up until you meet his gaze.

“Don’t start holdin’ your tongue now darlin’.” Bucky states in a low tone, dropping his hand.

Your heart is racing again, but you’re not sure if it’s from fear or... something else.

Swallowing thickly, you manage to voice “I thought you’d have plenty of money.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“Sometimes?”

Really can’t help myself, can I?

The left side of Bucky’s mouth twitches. “It’s not always about the money,” He answers vaguely.

You frown, “Then what’s it about?”

At last, Bucky smirks. “Curious thing, ain’t ya?”

The comment flusters you.

“Why do you wanna know?” Bucky deflects, leaning in until his face is only inches from yours. “Thinkin’ about joinin’ the life darlin’?”

“No thank you.” The bite of your words is lost in your breathless tone, the result of his close proximity.

Bucky just huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling your face. Then he’s gone, strolling across the kitchen for the whiskey you offered hours ago - or so it feels, and that’s the end of that.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Waking with a deep inhale, your eyes blink repeatedly against the bright sunlight your curtains do little to block.

You stretch with a satisfied hum, having found sleep much easier than the last time Bucky stayed the night.

It’s well into the morning so you dress quickly, curious to see if Bucky’s still here, maybe even making breakfast again, or if he’s already taken off.

When you venture down the hall into the sitting room, you find the answer to your question lounging in an armchair, one of your favourite books in his big hands.

“Not an early riser, are you darlin’?” Bucky drawls conversationally, not looking up from the page he’s reading.

You frown, crossing your arms. “It’s morning, isn’t it?”

He’s right though, you’re not one to rise with the sun - never have been. The few times you have are few and far between, the most recent being on his last visit.

Regardless, it’s not that observation that has you feeling defensive.

“Ten o’clock is hardly mornin’, you’ve missed half the day.” There’s nothing in his tone to suggest it, but you know he’s teasing.

It goes straight over your head however, as you’re too focused on what’s in his hands.

“Enjoying the book?” You snark at him.

Bucky smirks.

Oh yeah, he’s definitely winding me up on purpose.

“Tell me, are all your books so -” Bucky breaks off in a chuckle as you pluck the worn book out of his hands and press it to your chest. “So... romantic?”

You grasp the book a little tighter, having half a mind to hit him over the head with it for the gleam in his eyes.

An urge you think he senses.

“I like their humour.” Is your only answer.

Bucky hums lazily, clearly finding your answer lacking as he raises out of the chair.

The visual reminder of his towering height briefly shortens your breath.

Gazing down at you, Bucky lightly brushes against your side as he heads towards the kitchen. “I’ll go warm up breakfast.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 5 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’re not sure what shocks you more when you open the front door. The fact that Bucky is clean, or the fact that he’s holding flowers.

Flowers.

It’s definitely the flowers.

You recognise the handiwork too. Clara, an elderly woman who was as kind as they come, grew all sorts of flowers and sold them from a stall in town.

They’re a little wilted from the long ride here, but still vibrant and pretty.

Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, inadvertently bringing him closer, Bucky’s deep voice teases “What’s the matter darlin’? No man ever bring you flowers before?”

Dragging your gaze up from the bouquet and narrowing it, you jab “I’m just wondering if they’re stolen.”

Bucky only chuckles at your bite, like you expect him to.

You’re not sure what to make of that realisation - that you expect things from him.

Holding the flowers out to you, he states “They’re paid for darlin’, I promise.”

There he goes again, making another promise.

Kept his last one, didn’t he?

Your facade doesn’t last long either way, the corners of your mouth turning upwards as you accept the flowers, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand in the process.

Raising the flowers to your nose - and ignoring the tingle in your fingertips, you breathe in their scent, the stems of lavender standing out the most.

Before you can thank him, Bucky’s bending forward and ducking his head until his dark blue eyes are level with yours. “Was the money technically mine...”

Your mouth drops open as he trails off, his implication hanging clear in the air.

Bucky gives a genuine laugh at your reaction, the warm sound almost eliciting one from you as he pushes away from the door.

You watch him saunter down the porch steps to take Alpine to the barn, completely and utterly bewildered by this outlaw.

He looked dangerous with his imposing height, broad shoulders, and wide chest that peeked through the unbuttoned top of his long sleeve shirts. The same shirts that his muscled arms bulged beneath.

Not to mention his roguish features - the dark hair, thick beard, and piercing blue eyes.

He sounded dangerous, his voice deep and coarse in a way you’d never heard before, every word he spoke seeming to rumble out of him.

He just didn’t act dangerous.

Outlaws weren’t giving, they didn’t tease, or smile, or laugh, and they certainly didn’t let some girl smart mouth them.

However, you weren’t a complete fool.

You knew there was another, more prominent side of him that you were yet to truly witness. You saw glimpses of it sometimes - of the outlaw.

A man who was used to being respected or feared, or both. A man who had the strength and skill to take whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, and without asking.

Then Bucky would blink or turn away, and that momentary glimpse you were afforded passed.

It shouldn’t drive you mad, it shouldn’t make you want to see that side of him, yet... it did.

If you thought about it too long - the image of him being rough and commanding like his lifestyle demands, well...

You jump when Bucky’s hand waves in front of your face.

Looking up from the spot on the porch you’d been staring at but not actually seeing as you lost yourself in your thoughts, you meet Bucky’s blue eyes below his furrowed brow.

“You really get lost in there, don’t ya darlin’?”

Thoughts still scattered, you absentmindedly respond “I don’t mean to.”

Bucky just hums.

Shaking your head to finally clear it, you walk back into the house, listening as Bucky shuts the front door behind him.

Grabbing the old, empty vase that sits on the small glass table in the sitting room, you bring it to the kitchen sink and fill it with water before arranging the flowers in it.

You can feel Bucky’s gaze following you as he takes his usual seat at the dining table, but it doesn’t unsettle you.

Returning the vase to its place in the sitting room, you admire the flowers once more with a soft smile before treading back to the kitchen.

When you pass Bucky you let out a small, confused sound as you come to a sudden stop.

Spinning to face him, you feel the skirt of your light green prairie dress tighten around your legs, and you discover the cause when you spot Bucky’s hand holding onto the bottom of your dress.

“What are you -” You start, flabbergasted until you actually focus on the section Bucky has grabbed.

“What happened?” He asks, not even having to look up from where he sits to meet your gaze.

The fabric is ripped, splitting the skirt upwards about four inches. There’s a scratch to match it along the back of your right leg, which you assume Bucky must have seen.

You can’t read any emotion on his face, but you sense that he’s not pleased.

Strange.

“I was trying to fix the curtain rod in your - the spare room, but the wooden crate I was using broke and I fell.”

Fell seems like an exaggeration.

There wasn’t much distance between you and the ground, but you had landed awkwardly, the wood catching on your dress and scratching your leg - thankfully not deep enough to draw blood.

Currently, you’re more concerned about how you almost referred to the spare room as Bucky’s.

When did it become his room?

Bucky frowns at you but doesn’t speak, making you frown back.

A moment passes before he finally releases your dress, standing up. Still silent, Bucky turns and strides towards the hallway.

By the time you catch up he’s already in the spare room, assessing the window.

You’d been replacing the curtains when the curtain rod bracket came off the wall on one side. It just needed to be screwed back in but the bracket was out of your reach.

The screwdriver sits on the windowsill, where you left it while you tossed the broken crate outside with some unfriendly words as your leg throbbed.

Grabbing the tool, Bucky reaches up to screw the bracket back in, the height not even a stretch for him.

Picking the curtain rod off the bed, you sit down in the same spot and bunch the curtains in your lap, keeping them off the floor as you watch Bucky quickly complete the task.

Turning around, he takes the curtain rod from you and hangs it up.

“What else?”

You stare at him for a second before pointing to the wardrobe behind you. “The right door’s a little loose.”

Diligently, he rounds the bed to the wardrobe and opens the right door, tightening the screws in the top hinge.

“I thought it was you the first time I saw it.” Bucky says abruptly, nodding to the bedside table closest to him where two photographs sit.

Both are of your mother.

In one she’s holding you as a child - you’re no more than two years old, on her lap with a smile. In the other she’s by herself and younger, about the age you are now.

“I once told my dad that I wished I could remember what she looked like, he told me to look in the mirror.”

He hadn’t been exaggerating, the resemblance between you and her was clear as day. Something that always made you wonder if it was hard for him at times - being constantly reminded of her when he looked at you.

You might not have been old enough to remember it, but the love your father had for your mother shone brightly, never once fading over the years that followed her death.

“He said that was the only thing we had in common,” Grinning, you drop your voice to a faux whisper as you repeat your father’s loving words “She was a horrid cook and complete trouble maker.”

Bucky grins at that, giving a slight shake of his head as he swings the mended wardrobe door shut. “I dunno darlin’, I think you’re plenty of trouble.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

After dinner is eaten and the dishes are cleaned, you always move into the sitting room for a bit while Bucky heads straight to bed.

Tonight however, he’s joined you.

Each sitting in an armchair across from one another, he nurses a glass of whiskey while you stitch the ripped fabric of your dress back together.

You use the light provided by the oil lamp and candles on the glass table between you and Bucky, placed around your vase.

As you glance at the flowers you realise you never actually thanked him for them.

Drawing your eyes higher, you’re not alarmed when you meet Bucky’s gaze.

He’s always watching you.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

Bucky was right of course, no man has ever given you flowers before.

“My pleasure darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles.

You’re not sure why you suddenly feel so warm.

“And for fixing those things for me.”

It’s not like you don’t do anything for him in return, but you still want him to know you appreciate the help.

“I’ll fix anythin’ you need,” Bucky states a little rougher “Just don’t go hurtin’ yourself again.”

I didn’t do it on purpose, you almost huff out.

Bucky must anticipate the retort or something similar to it, because he stands, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful.

He takes his glass to the kitchen sink before returning, clearly on his way to bed.

“See you in the morning.” You say as he passes you.

“You mean afternoon?” Bucky calls back, his tone lighter.

This time you do huff, letting out a quiet “Shut up.”

His chuckle echoing down the hall lets you know you were heard.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 4 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

The fourth time you open your front door to Bucky Barnes is... different from the others.

Nothing’s wrong per se, but it’s not right either.

Bucky’s the dirtiest you’ve ever seen him. In fact, you’re struggling to find a visible patch of skin on him.

His large hands rest on the top of the doorframe and his dark blue eyes bore into you the moment the door is open.

“Darlin’.” The word is spoken bluntly and you instantly know he’s not in the mood to talk.

You have a short-lived thought of turning him away.

Instead, you step to your left, silently inviting him inside.

For the first time since you’ve met, Bucky feels dangerous.

Especially when you eye the guns still on his hips.

If this had been the Bucky who knocked on your door while bleeding out, you’re certain you never would have let him stay the night - let alone return.

Bucky trudges off to the bathroom, your eyes trailing after him.

When you hear the bathroom door shut you release a short breath, looking outside to find another irregularity.

Your feet carry you out onto the porch and down the three steps without a thought, drawn to where Alpine patiently waits.

She greets you cheerfully, nuzzling into your hands and covering them with dirt. She’s filthy.

Every other visit her white coat has gleamed, leaving you no doubt that Bucky cared for her deeply. Yet, like her owner, it’s hard to find a clean spot on her.

Alpine makes a noise and seems to nod towards the barn, as if to tell you that she needs food, water, rest, a bath.

The irritation you felt at Bucky’s stiff demeanour is replaced with concern.

You were in town only yesterday and hadn’t heard of any new incidents involving Bucky.

Not that you were keeping an ear out.

“What happened, huh?” You ask Alpine, leading her to the barn.

She simply whinnies in response.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’ve just started drying Alpine when you hear heavy footsteps enter the barn.

Her white coat shines once more, the familiar sight easing you, unlike the man approaching.

Bucky’s body radiates warmth as he comes to stand behind you, the scent of soap filling the air.

Daring to glance at him over your shoulder, you find him clean but worn out, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by.

Wordlessly, you let him take over the task.

You prepare Alpine’s stall, stocking it with fresh food and water while Bucky dries her. He’s quietly murmuring to the horse, but you can’t hear his words over the sound of Alpine chewing hay.

When Bucky’s finished he leads Alpine into the stall, closing and locking the gate behind her.

It’s almost humorous. Alpine and Bucky are clean but now you’re not. Your dress is soaked and covered in mud.

The walk back to the house is taken in silence.

“I’ll start dinner after I clean up.” You tell Bucky once you’re inside.

He gives no response.

After your bath you change into a simple white dress, the fabric light and less likely to make you sweat until you switch into your nightgown later on.

Stepping into the kitchen, you find Bucky leaning back in his usual seat, a bottle of whiskey opened on the table in front of him and almost finished.

You decide to make one of your specialties for dinner, hoping it will... well, you’re not really sure what you’re hoping it will do.

As you move around the kitchen you feel Bucky’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement as you keep your back to him more often than not.

That is until you have nothing left to do but let dinner simmer on the stove.

Turning around, you rest your back against the kitchen counter and meet Bucky’s stare.

He doesn’t shift his gaze and neither do you.

“What happened?” You ask quietly.

You don’t expect an answer and Bucky’s continued silence tells you there won’t be one.

Probably for the best.

Instead, Bucky lifts the whiskey bottle and swallows another mouthful, emptying it.

Pushing off the counter, you tread over to him.

“You should have some water.” You state, reaching for the bottle.

Before your hand can wrap around it, it’s grabbed by one of Bucky’s, the quick manoeuvre drawing your gaze.

He doesn’t look at you as he turns your hand over in his, focusing instead on your palm as he runs his thumb over the lines of your smoother skin.

You watch in a dazed state, letting him do as he pleases.

Bucky slowly brings your hand towards him, closer and closer until he’s pressing his forehead into your open palm.

The action stuns you and for a moment you don’t know what to do.

So, you go with what feels right.

Pushing your fingers back and forth timidly, you weave them between the strands of his damp hair.

The droop of Bucky’s shoulders boosts your confidence and you take a step forward, raising your right hand to join your left.

Bucky’s head remains bowed, his face hidden from you.

Taking another step forward to stand more comfortably, you release a small noise of surprise when Bucky’s hands grab at your waist, tugging you even closer until his forehead presses into your stomach instead.

Your heart stutters in your throat and your hands falter, but with a shaky breath you start stroking Bucky’s hair again, just as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against him.

Being held in such a way makes you feel...

No, don’t dare think it.

Growing bolder, your fingertips start drawing shapes on the back of his neck while you play with the ends of his hair. The longer you do this, the more relaxed Bucky becomes.

Eventually however, the sound of dinner bubbling concerningly cuts through the peace.

You look over worriedly, not wanting the meal to ruin.

Bucky seems to realise, his arms tightening around you before dropping completely. Without looking at him, you dart over to the stove and turn it off.

Dinner is eaten in silence.

“‘M going to bed.” Bucky states once he’s finished.

His first sentence since arriving.

“Okay,” You reply softly.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You don’t expect to find Bucky making breakfast.

Walking into the kitchen, you had been prepared to discover that Bucky had left long before you woke. You’re glad he hasn’t.

He doesn’t appear as worn down either, and the brief upwards tug of his mouth when he turns to see you is more than enough to have you smiling back.

While Bucky’s still clearly dealing with whatever, his mood has at least improved.

Predictably, it’s quiet throughout the meal.

You wait at the bottom of the porch steps while Bucky retrieves Alpine from the barn, admiring the flat plains that appear to stretch on forever all around you.

The sound of Alpine’s hooves reaches your ears and you watch as Bucky leads the white beauty to you, stopping her by your side.

“You gonna be okay?”

You’re not sure why you ask, but you do.

Bucky looks at you over his shoulder, his hands on the saddle he was about to mount.

He studies you, his eyes dark under his hat, before doing something that muddles your brain.

In a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, Bucky drops his hands and turns from Alpine, covering the distance between you in a short step before pressing his mouth to your forehead, his beard scratching at your skin.

“Just fine darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles as he pulls back.

Looking at you one more time, Bucky spins back to Alpine and mounts her in one fluid movement. Then they’re gone.

You can still feel the touch of his lips as you watch their figures fade.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Town was a good hour’s ride from your home, and it was for that reason you only ever made the journey once a week, every Thursday.

Your main stop was the general store where you bought food and other necessities. The store’s owner - Billy, would talk to you from his spot behind the counter, giving you a weekly rundown of town affairs.

Most of the time it was just mundane gossip you didn’t really care for, but not today.

According to Billy, there was a new gang causing havoc around the plains, trying to make a name for themselves.

“They’ve been robbin’ properties all over, startin’ fires and roughin’ up any fella in their way, they even -”

Billy never finished that sentence, but his averted gaze told you how it ended.

“Dunno why I’m worrin’ ya with this girl, God himself couldn’t find ya all the way out there.”

The declaration wasn’t that farfetched. Unless someone knew where you lived they needed to be lost to find it.

However, if someone was intentionally on the prowl...

You check over your father’s shotgun the minute you return home.

Some days it’s hard to forget that you’re a woman living on her own, with no help nearby. Tonight that fact looms over you like a dark cloud.

In fact, it keeps you wide awake, sitting at the dining table with the shotgun in reach until the sun rises again.

You’re sluggish the whole day, tired and on edge.

When afternoon rolls around you’ve cleaned the entire house in an attempt to distract yourself and for the most part, it’s worked.

That is until you hear the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance.

Fear strikes your heart in a way you’ve never experienced and you instantly wish to never experience it again.

Racing to the window above the kitchen sink with the shotgun in hand, you almost cry in relief at what you see.

A white horse and her dark rider.

Sucking in deep breaths, you close your eyes and focus on the fast thump of your heartbeat until it returns to a calmer rhythm.

You’re putting the shotgun back in its place under your bed when you hear his heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by three loud knocks.

There’s no denying the way you immediately feel... safe.

“Bucky,” You greet a little breathlessly as you open the front door.

“Hi darlin’.” He grins, eyes softening just slightly.

It’s hard to picture the sombre man you invited inside only two weeks ago.

“Back so soon?” You attempt to tease, though you feel it falls flat in your drained state.

You wonder if Bucky can tell.

Ducking his head and pinning you under his stare that’s regained its usual intensity, he responds “You don’t mind, do ya?”

No, never.

Smiling, you answer “Luckily for you, I’m in a gracious mood.”

The tease lands better this time.

Humming, Bucky agrees “Lucky me.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

After dinner it wasn’t Bucky who retired to bed first, but you.

The moment your head hit the pillow you were out cold.

Maybe it should concern you how easily you let your guard down just because Bucky was close by, but you don’t ruminate on it long enough to let it.

It’s late morning, maybe even afternoon when you eventually wake. The heat in your room makes that much obvious.

Bucky doesn’t say a word once you walk out into the sitting room where he waits, reading one of your books again. However, the smirk he occupies as he gets up and goes into the kitchen says it all.

While you eat the breakfast - lunch, Bucky has made, you feel fear start to leach back in.

You don’t want him to leave you.

Unable to voice your plea, you take your time eating, dragging out the inevitable until you’re standing and taking your plate to the sink.

When you don’t hear the familiar sounds of Bucky collecting his things, you peek over your shoulder and see he’s still seated at the dining table.

Your gaze meets his.

Bucky answers the question in your eyes. “I’m supposed to meet my - some friends east of here in a couple of days.” You don’t miss his slip of tongue. “If I wouldn’t be overstayin’ -”

“No.” You interject much too quickly. “No, you wouldn’t be.”

He nods and stands up from the table, gesturing to the front of the house. “Your porch needs fixin’.”

While you kept the inside of the house to a spotless standard, the exterior was starting to show its age. The porch in particular, the boards old and beginning to rot.

“I know, I’ve got new wood to replace it with.”

You had it delivered out a couple of weeks ago. You just hadn’t gotten around to actually starting the task yet.

The sun beams down on you both as you walk side by side to the barn, past the horse stalls where you give Chester’s outstretched neck a fond pat, to the back where the tools and wood are stored.

Bucky hauls a bundle of wooden planks over his shoulder while you carry a crate full of tools behind him.

That’s all he lets you do, refusing your help when you go to walk back with him to collect the rest of the planks.

Standing on the bottom porch step, you watch him go back and forth from the barn until he’s brought out the last plank, creating a large pile.

“I can help.” You insist, feeling guilty about having him do all the work, even though he was the one who offered.

Bucky just shakes his head with a huff.

“Darlin’, go inside and relax.” He instructs, bending down to pick up a hammer from the crate. “Or,” He adds, straightening and strolling over to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Sit out here and give me somethin’ pretty to look at.”

Your stomach drops as heat floods your face.

Managing a weak scoff, you avert your eyes and spin around, quickly retreating into the house.

Bucky’s hearty laugh follows you inside.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Taking Bucky up on his first suggestion, you spend the rest of the day in the sitting room, reading.

When late afternoon creeps around and Bucky’s been outside for around three hours, you mark the page you’re on and get up to make him a snack.

Using the door at your end of the hallway that leads outside to where you do the laundry, you balance a sandwich and glass of lemonade on a tray as you walk down the side of the house.

The sight that greets you when you round the corner almost has the tray slipping out of your hands.

Bucky’s shirtless.

His tanned skin glistens with sweat, the muscles in his back and arms prominent as he saws a wooden plank in half.

The longer you stare the more scars you begin to see, most small, others not, marking his body in a pattern unique to him.

You want to ask for the story behind each and every one.

Blinking out of your stupor, you step closer to where Bucky stands in front of the porch steps, sawing through the few remaining planks.

Swallowing thickly, you call out his name.

Bucky’s head lifts, looking over his shoulder at you before the rest of his body turns.

For a second time, you fight to keep the tray steady in your hands.

You’ve only seen peeks of the hair that covers his chest, but now it’s on full display and you can’t help but sweep your gaze down, over his firm stomach, to another patch of hair that leads to -

“Made you something to eat.” You declare, lifting the tray.

It only shakes a little.

Striding over to you, Bucky grins “Thank you darlin’.”

His large, rough hands brush over yours as he takes the tray and warmth pools in your stomach.

“You’ve done a lot.” You observe, desperate to look at anything except him.

All of the old boards have been ripped up and Bucky’s already laid down new ones on the entire left side of the porch, as well as on the steps, where he now takes a seat.

“Should be done by sundown.”

It’s... nice, you realise. So utterly nice to have a man around to help you - to help look after you.

Though not just any man.

Bucky.

You’ll admit that. To yourself at least.

The sound of Bucky’s glass hitting the tray draws your attention. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s already finished.

“You keep eating that fast and your stomach will end you before anyone else gets the chance.” You comment with a raised eyebrow as you wander over to him.

Bucky smirks as he stands, handing you the tray. “Darlin’, if your cookin’ is what takes me out, I’ll die a happy man.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

As the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, the front door opens.

You look up from where you’re curled into one of the armchairs with a book in your hands.

Bucky’s dark blue eyes roam over you for a prolonged moment before he husks out “Come take a look darlin’.”

He disappears back outside as you stand and make your way over.

Opening the front door fully, you take in the restored porch with a wide smile, stepping out onto it.

“Wow,” You gush “It looks amazing Bucky, thank you.”

You glance over to where he stands in front of the porch steps and meet his gaze briefly before he breaks it, pointing to a pile of the old wooden planks a few yards away.

“That wood’s no good for your fireplace so I’ll burn it tonight, that way it’s not takin’ up any space.” Bucky explains, moving to pick up the tools he left on the ground, dropping them into the crate.

You watch him quietly, leaning against the railing just down from where his shirt and gun belt hang.

It hadn’t escaped your notice that Bucky was wearing it when he arrived yesterday, like he had on his last visit.

You hadn’t thought much about it at the time and you don’t now, too mesmerised by him.

There’s a sense of delight in watching him while his attention is focused elsewhere.

Suddenly you think you understand why he watches you.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that darlin’.”

Bucky’s abrupt words startle you as he turns and captures your gaze.

Like what?

You can’t find the courage to ask him.

Shifting your eyes, you act as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of name is Bucky?”

His chuckle makes you brave enough to look at him once more.

“It’s a nickname.” Bucky answers.

Watching him as he slowly wanders towards you, you press “What’s your real name then?”

Bucky comes to a stop in front of you and for the first time you’re the one that has to look down - if only just.

He runs a hand through his sweat dampened hair, pushing it back from his face as he studies you.

“James Buchannan Barnes.”

The confession is gentle, meaningful.

“James,” You repeat softly, giving a small smile. “Now that’s a name.”

Vivid blue eyes - dark and electric, gaze upon you with something you can’t name as you unexpectedly feel Bucky’s knuckles brushing against your cheek.

“Say it again,” He murmurs.

Your breathing grows heavier as your heart begins a wild rhythm in your chest, his touch so... addictive on your skin.

When your mouth parts to speak, his thumb catches on your bottom lip and it’s a miracle you remain upright, clutching at the porch railing.

Before you can utter his name again, you hear it.

It’s faint, but it still manages to draw your attention.

There’s horses in the distance, kicking up a large dust cloud behind them as they race towards you, the sound of their hooves echoing across the flat landscape.

You can’t tell how many there are yet.

The rough sound of your name returns your focus to Bucky, who is already marching up the porch steps. He breezes past you, reaching for his shirt and gun belt.

“Get inside and stay there.” Bucky orders sharply.

Just like that, the side of himself he’d just been presenting to you disappears, replaced by -

“Now.” He grits out, his eyes shifting to you.

That finally sends you rushing inside, leaving him as he buttons up his shirt.

Darting into the kitchen, you draw the curtain across the window that overlooks the porch.

Bending over the sink, you pinch the bottom right corner of the curtain between your thumb and forefinger, lifting it until you can just peek out.

Redressed, Bucky takes a seat on one of the two porch chairs and places his black hat on his head, tilting it down until his features are obscured and leans back.

He looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

You pick up on a faint noise and realise that Bucky’s whistling, as if truly unbothered.

A man like him would be.

Somewhere between a minute and an eternity passes before the horses - four of them, come galloping up to the house with their male riders.

Bucky keeps whistling.

The horses come to a stop beside each other in front of the porch, forming a line. The man to the far right urges his horse forward a step.

He eyes Bucky before glancing back at his comrades, pulling out a shotgun from behind him and placing it across his lap.

“Oi!”

Bucky’s whistling fades out, the sudden silence unsettling as he straightens in the chair, hat still tilted.

“Can I help you?” Bucky drawls.

His reaction has clearly thrown the men into confusion as they all look to one another before three of them focus on the man who yelled - their leader you assume.

“You’re not too bright, are ya fella?”

The insult makes you wince.

Bucky laughs.

It’s a sound you should find familiar for all the times you’ve managed to raise one out of him, but there’s nothing familiar about it - it’s dark and without humour.

Maybe it should scare you.

It doesn’t.

The men dumbly laugh with him, the one on the far left announcing “We’re here to rob you fool!”

Laughter rings out louder from them, the gang appearing to relax in this odd situation they’ve found themselves in.

“Yeah,” Another one echoes “Everythin’ ya got.”

Not to be left out, the only one yet to speak adds “That means any ladies too.”

Bucky’s laughter abruptly ceases and the leader notices immediately, unlike his three cackling morons.

“Ya gonna give us trouble fella?” He asks warily, the others falling silent at the sound of his voice.

There’s a pause before Bucky answers “Depends.”

“On what?” A moron sneers, clearly unimpressed.

“On whether or not you leave.” Bucky states, voice low and menacing. “‘Cos you make one move towards this house and the last thing any of you will see is the bullet I put between your eyes.”

He draws their attention to the guns on either side of his hips.

The leader hovers his hand above the shotgun on his lap.

Another moron lets out a guffaw, “They’re not even out!”

God they’re dumb.

“No,” Bucky agrees, his tone clearly revealing his dwindling patience. “But I’ve been told I got pretty fast hands.”

Knocking his hat back from his face, Bucky’s hands drop to rest on the handles of his guns.

“Bucky Barnes.” A moron gapes, looking like he just wet himself.

The atmosphere completely shifts amongst the gang, their leader’s eyes widening as he moves his hand away from his shotgun, raising it in the air instead.

“Mister Barnes, we ain’t mean no disrespect sir.” He quickly appeases.

Heads bounce up and down as the others hurriedly agree, watching Bucky fearfully.

You can’t stop the smile that pulls at your lips.

“Well boys, I’m not too bright,”

Oh, he’s good.

“So remind me what it was I just told y’all to do.”

Instead of actually doing it, one of the morons stutters out “Uh, well, you told us to leave sir.”

There’s a lull, Bucky’s frustration palpable, and a part of you believes he’s going to shoot them. In fact, you’re about to turn from the window to avoid the sight.

Before you can however, Bucky speaks again, his voice harsh. “So?”

Finally they gain an ounce of sense and urge their horses to move.

“Thank you sir.” The leader gasps gratefully, turning his horse around.

He’s smart enough to know he’s escaped a bullet, but not smart enough to see how his words irk Bucky further.

It doesn’t matter now. He and his morons are already racing away like the devil himself is behind them.

Maybe he is.

Bucky doesn’t move from the chair. Instead he watches as the gang disappears into the horizon.

When the sky grows dark, the sun all but gone, you pull back the curtain and move away from the window.

You’re lighting the candles and lamp on the sitting room table when the front door opens and Bucky steps inside.

Looking up at him, you straighten and say “That was...”

Trailing off, you frown as you realise you don’t really know how to describe what that was.

Watching Bucky handle the situation, making the four men appear stupid and harmless had been amazing, even though -

Even though they weren’t.

The realisation hits you then.

If you had been alone like you should’ve been, those men, those four men would have -

“Hey,” Bucky’s deep voice cuts through the terror settling in your chest - the terror he must see on your face. “You’re okay darlin’.”

But...

You’re vaguely aware of Bucky striding over to you.

“If you weren’t here -”

“I was.” Bucky cuts in, his voice leaving no room for argument. Grasping your chin, he tilts your head up until you meet his gaze. “I was here and that’s all that matters.”

The declaration is spoken gruffly, but the tender stroke of his thumb over your chin is comforting - the action belonging to your Bucky.

Your?

“Okay.” You reply quietly, after a few minutes have passed and his words have sunk in.

“You’re safe,” Bucky assures. “You’re safe with me.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

It’s late at night, the moon high in the sky when you find yourself standing on the porch.

You can’t sleep, your mind refusing to be quiet.

Too much happened today. Too many emotions were brought to the surface, bringing with them revelations you’d been trying hard to ignore.

Ignoring them now seemed impossible.

You’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone. You knew long ago that your future would be a lonely one, and you had made peace with it.

Then he came along.

Instead of finding your usual place of contentment in the loneliness each time he left, you found yourself counting the days between his visits, eagerly listening for his knock on your front door.

Then came the feelings.

At what point did your heart choose to swell and thunder in your chest at the mere sight of him? At what point did you find yourself missing his watchful gaze when it wasn’t on you? At what point did you decide to trust him with your life?

In your relatively short time together, Bucky had somehow managed to carve out a space for himself within you, and you didn’t know how to get him out.

You don’t know if you want to get him out.

“Everythin’ alright darlin’?”

For a second you think you’ve imagined Bucky’s voice during your ruminating, but his presence beside you is real.

“Yeah,” You answer softly. “Was just looking at the stars.”

It was one of the reasons you came out here.

Humming, Bucky leans against the railing to your right, peering up. “There’s no better sight to fall asleep to.”

You remember him once mentioning that most of his nights were spent on the ground in the great nothingness.

“I’m sure,” You reply. “But I think I’d miss my bed every once in a while.”

Bucky lets out a faint chuckle.

There’s a comfortable silence as you both admire the stars twinkling above, but soon a prickling at the back of your neck has your head turning to find Bucky openly watching you.

“You drive me crazy like this.” He murmurs, almost to himself. “You drive me crazy all the time,” He amends “But especially like this.”

Like what?

You don’t have to find the courage to ask this time.

“Standin’ in your nightgown, smellin’ like lavender,” Bucky admits freely, repeating “Drives me crazy.”

Your body comes to life at his confession.

Goosebumps erupt over your skin and your heart pounds faster as a warmth settles low in your stomach.

“James...” You respond softly, not sure what to say.

“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since we met. Every day, you’re my first and last thought. Always wonderin’ if you’re havin’ a good day, if you’re safe, if you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me.” He shifts closer to you, ducking his head until you’re eye level. “Wonderin’ what your mouth tastes like, how your skin would feel under my hands, what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”

Your breathing grows short and heavy as he leans in so his mouth is only an inch away.

“Gonna let me find out darlin’?” Bucky whispers against your lips.

“Yes.” Breathless and desperate, you add “Please.”

Desperate to be touched - loved, by him.

A thought you’ll come back to another day.

Bucky’s mouth claims yours gently, his lips softer than you imagined as they press against yours, his beard grazing your skin.

You’re tentative in your inexperience, but soon you’re pressing back with an eagerness Bucky happily returns. His tongue glides along your bottom lip, encouraging your mouth to open and when it does he consumes you.

Your arms anchor around his neck to steady yourself as his hands run down your sides to find purchase on your hips.

When you pull back for a desperate gulp of air, Bucky’s hands slip behind your body to grasp your bottom, making you gasp as he lifts you against him.

Securing your legs around Bucky’s waist, you cling to him as he carries you back into the house.

You use the time it takes to get to your room to feel him.

His beard scratches against the palms of your hands before you slip them into his smooth hair, all while you press light, shy kisses to the bare skin of his neck. The soft sigh Bucky releases enchants you.

Then you’re feeling the floor of your bedroom under your feet as he gently sets you down.

Bucky lowers to his knees in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands close around the hem of your white nightgown, his knuckles brushing against your calves.

The only lighting is the candle you left burning on your bedside table and the moon beaming through your thin curtains, but it’s enough to see the desire in his eyes - which is surely reflected in your own, as you nod to his unspoken question.

In one swift motion Bucky stands, slipping the nightgown up and off of you.

Your legs press together instinctively and your hands twitch with the urge to cover yourself once more as you’re hit with the vulnerability of being completely bared to Bucky.

“No darlin’,” He husks out roughly, grasping your wrists and holding your arms still as his heated gaze peruses your body. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

The fervour Bucky speaks with has you weak.

Pulling you to him, Bucky’s clothes rub against your skin and for some reason make you burn even hotter as his mouth swallows yours in a passionate kiss.

Walking you backwards until your legs hit the bed, Bucky breaks the kiss to lay you down, crawling over you still clothed. His lips seek out your neck this time, sucking and nibbling at the skin.

The sensations of his mouth are soon drowned out by the sudden feel of his rough hands on your lower stomach and you gasp as he slides them up your body to cup your pebbled breasts.

For the first time, you moan.

Bucky’s head jerks up from your neck to look down at you, his expression ravenous as he massages your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples as you feel the wetness pooling between your legs.

He lowers to kiss your mouth, this time slow and intimate as his hands continue their sinful touch, his right hand straying away from your chest to trail down and down and...

Gasping against his lips, your body shudders as you feel Bucky’s fingers push through the curls covering your sex, just millimetres from -

You reach for his wrist.

Bucky stops instantly, his hand stilling as he pulls back from your lips to meet your gaze.

There’s no way he doesn’t already know, yet you still find yourself needing to say “I... I’ve never...”

“I know darlin’,” Bucky soothes. “I’m gonna go nice and slow. Make you feel so good, I promise.”

You release his wrist.

Bucky’s left hand cups and rubs one of your breasts while his right continues its way down to where no man has ever touched you.

The whole time, you watch one another.

You gasp sharply when his fingers graze along your folds, feeling the wetness and warmth flowing from your centre.

It pulls a deep grunt from Bucky who dips down for a hot kiss.

“Gonna treat you s’good, sweet girl.” He whispers as he breaks away, moving down your body.

He’s never called you that before.

Say it again.

You’re torn from your thoughts when his mouth wraps around your left nipple while his right hand keeps caressing your sex.

Bucky switches his attention between each breast until you’re a wriggling, panting mess. With a smirk he moves even further down, planting kisses over your stomach as he goes.

Kneeling between your spread legs, Bucky wraps his large hands around your ankles before skimming them up your legs to grasp your thighs. He rests them on his broad shoulders, his warm breath fanning over your core.

Confused, you’re frowning down at him when he does the unexpected. Staring at you, Bucky lowers his head and licks along your slit.

Your hips buck up but don’t go far in his hold, your stomach tightening at the strange sensation as you let out a strangled noise.

Bucky makes a sound of satisfaction as he glides his tongue over your sex, his hands clutching your inner thighs tightly to keep you open for him.

This...

You’ve talked about sex in hushed whispers with some women in town but they never, ever mentioned anything like this.

When Bucky closes his mouth around your sensitive bud your legs jerk while your hands seek him out, gripping his hair firmly as you moan so vulgarly you don’t recognise your own voice.

“That’s it,” Bucky praises, licking your clit. “Keep makin’ those noises for me sweet girl.”

Your brain is nothing but a puddle of mush as one of his fingers pushes into you experimentally.

How long Bucky spends working you over, you have no idea, but eventually he’s pushing three of his fingers in and out of you.

You’re loud, making noises foreign to you as he licks, pushes, and sucks. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s...

“I’ve got you darlin’, come on, come for me.”

With one final suck on your clit, your body tenses and then snaps.

You shout out in your pleasure, tugging on the strands of Bucky’s hair as he keeps licking, watching you explode.

It’s not until your sounds turn into something small and pitiful at the overstimulation that he stands from the bed, his beard shining with you in the moonlight as he finally undresses.

You eye him hungrily in your dazed state, watching as his shirt flutters to the floor, followed by his trousers. Your stuttered breath fills the otherwise quiet room.

He’s...

Subconsciously, you press your legs together again.

Bucky tsk’s, his hands sliding under your knees and pulling them apart. “Sweet girl, what did I tell you?”

Settling between your legs once more, he hovers above you.

You can only hold his dark gaze for a moment before your eyes drift downwards.

His cock is hard, and leaking, and big. You don’t think they’re supposed to be that big. Your hand wouldn’t even be able to fit around it, so how was it supposed to fit in you?

“Like whatcha see darlin’?” You hear the smirk in his rough tone before you look up and see it.

Flustered, you mumble out a breathless “It’s big.”

Bucky groans deeply, like he’s in pain, and swoops down to kiss you, dominating your mouth.

“Don’t worry sweet girl,” He whispers against your lips. “It’ll fit in your little pussy.”

Shivering at his wicked tongue, your eyes dart down to look at it again.

“Can I touch it?”

Bucky grunts, watching you from underneath his lashes. “S’all yours darlin’.”

Timidly, you reach down between your bodies until you can wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

You were right, your hand doesn’t fit around it.

It’s hot and heavy in your palm as you give it a soft stroke before returning to the base. You repeat the action but this time you trail your thumb along the vein you had felt on the underside of his cock.

Bucky’s forehead drops onto yours, his breathing heavy.

A flick of your eyes upwards shows you that Bucky’s are closed, his jaw clenched tight.

The sight sends tingles through you and with a burst of confidence you tighten your grip around his cock and stroke him again, thumbing at his leaking head when you reach the top.

Hissing, one of Bucky’s hands shoots down to grab your wrist.

You look up and meet his open eyes.

Pulling your hand off his cock, Bucky husks “Won’t last if you keep doin’ that sweet girl.”

The statement thrills you.

Bucky’s hands wrap around your thighs, placing them over the top of his and spreading you beneath him.

Grasping himself in one hand, Bucky keeps his eyes on you as he slowly pushes into you. The stretch burns, making you bite down on your lip as you try to take all of him.

Stopping, Bucky lowers to capture your mouth while his other hand sneaks down to gently circle your bud, relaxing and distracting you as he continues to push in bit by bit until he finally bottoms out.

“You tell me when darlin’.” Bucky pants above you, unmoving.

A few minutes pass and when you feel like you’ve adjusted as much as you can, you say “Okay, just...”

“I’ll go slow sweet girl.” Bucky promises again, reading your mind.

True to his word, Bucky gradually pulls his length out of you before pushing it back in at the same pace. Your teeth snag your bottom lip again as he moves in and out of you, the feeling just shy of painful.

Bucky never looks away from your face, catching every emotion that flashes across it. You’re warm and tight - so tight, around his cock and it has him on the brink of madness. However, your pleasure is what he cares about most and when your face remains pinched on his fourth push into you, his eyebrows draw in concern.

As he pushes himself in on his fifth stroke, Bucky says “Darlin’, do you -”

You moan loud and short, the sound a mixture of bliss and surprise as the pain suddenly gives way to pleasure.

Bucky grunts above you, the look on your face seeming to make him even harder as he puts a little more power behind his next thrust, watching as it makes you moan again.

“There you go sweet girl,” He husks. “That feel good darlin’?”

“Yes.” Your hands wind in his hair, bringing his face down to yours for a desperate kiss as Bucky continues his slow thrusts.

Something’s clawing at your stomach, wanton. You need more.

Your right hand untangles from Bucky’s hair to slide down his muscled back, brushing over the bumps of scars as you hold onto him.

Breaking apart, you pant against his lips “Faster.” You don’t know how you know that’s what you need, but you do. “Harder, please.” You plead in a lustful tone.

You haven’t been oblivious to the wild look in his dark blue eyes, to the barely restrained control he exhibits.

However, your words, your tone, they undo Bucky’s control for a moment and in an almost uncontrollable action his hips slam up into yours as he grunts “Fuck darlin’.”

The powerful thrust claws a breathy whine of shock out of you.

“Gonna kill me, aren’t ya sweet girl?” Bucky murmurs thickly, reining his control back slightly as he does what you asked and pushes into you at a faster pace, his thrusts harder.

Your head pushes back into the bed beneath you as you moan out, the nails of your right hand digging into their hold on Bucky’s back while your left grips his hair tighter.

“Look at me.” Bucky commands in a tone so low you feel the rumble of it against you.

You tilt your head down to meet his heady gaze.

“James,” You whimper, the sensations building within you.

“Fuck.” He thrusts a bit deeper, pushes a bit harder, making you mewl. “I know, I know darlin’, gonna come for me again, aren’t ya?”

He gives another deep thrust, the force pushing you slightly up the bed.

It feels so good. You’re so close, you’re right there...

“Say my name sweet girl,” Bucky groans, rubbing at your clit. “Say my name when I make you come.”

A pleasure so intense it has your eyes rolling back erupts in you, making your whole body tighten and relax repeatedly as you moan, whine, and pant for James as you swim in ecstasy.

The sight of you coming so undone for him - because of him, sends Bucky hurtling.

Pulling out of your pulsing heat, his right hand wraps around his painfully hard cock and squeezes as he tugs it roughly, consumed by lust. On the third harsh stroke he spills over your stomach with a wrecked moan of your name.

Bucky’s forehead drops to yours, your heaving breaths mingling together as you both come back to yourselves.

Pressing forward, Bucky claims your mouth in a brief, sweet kiss.

“You okay darlin’?” He whispers.

A drowsy, satisfied nod is all you can manage.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’re surrounded by warmth when you blink awake and it takes you a moment to realise the source isn’t the sunlight streaming into your room, but Bucky’s body underneath yours.

If heaven was a feeling this had to be close.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” Bucky’s voice is raspier, a clear sign he’s not long woken.

Tilting your head up from where it rests on his bare chest, you meet Bucky’s gentle gaze and give a small smile, quietly returning “Morning.”

In a movement too fast for your sleepy mind to comprehend, Bucky grabs your hips and effortlessly rolls you onto your back so he can hover above you.

Nudging your nose with his own, he captures your mouth in a tender kiss.

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling back.

Images of last night rush back to you, flooding your body with heat as you answer honestly. “A little sore, but good.”

Humming, Bucky runs his left hand up and down your side. “Just good?”

You duck away from his burning gaze, making him laugh.

“Still shy after last night darlin’?” He questions, though it comes across more like a statement.

Regardless, Bucky doesn’t wait for a response, instead he leans down and kisses you again.

This one is deeper, his lips pressing against yours harder as you willingly open your mouth to him.

You feel the air in the room thicken as Bucky’s left hand continues to roam and grasp while both of yours stroke through his hair.

Despite the soreness between your legs, that desire from last night begins pooling in your stomach.

Breaking apart, you both breathe heavily as Bucky utters “Already need you again sweet girl.”

Pressing soft kisses all over your face before moving down to your neck where he scratches his beard against you, Bucky speaks against your ear. “But I gotta let you recover first before I ruin you all over again, don’t I darlin’?”

You shudder at his words as he places a final kiss below your ear before moving away and getting up.

He pulls on his trousers, his blue eyes swimming with desire as he peruses your naked body while doing them up.

Licking his lips, Bucky husks “I’ll get breakfast started.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

“When do you have to meet your friends?” You ask Bucky as he takes your plate and sets it with his own in the sink.

“Whatcha mean darlin’?”

“You said you were waiting to meet them.” You remind him, recalling the conversation you had yesterday.

Yesterday?

It felt like a lifetime ago now.

Bucky’s back is still to you and his silence makes you frown. “You’re... not meeting them?” You guess hesitantly.

Why would he lie?

If he wanted to stay longer, he just had to ask.

Turning around to lean against the kitchen counter, Bucky’s arms bulge as they cross over his still bare chest.

Despite the current circumstance, the sight makes your stomach flip.

Bucky observes you for a moment before admitting “I heard there was a new gang causin’ problems ‘round these parts.”

That’s all he says, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

Your heartbeat quickens at the possible implication of his words.

“So...” You prompt softly, daring to hope.

Pushing from the counter, Bucky steps over to you, his gaze holding yours as he rests a hand on the table beside you before ducking until your eyes are level.

“So I needed to make sure my sweet girl was safe,” He whispers, raising his other hand “And that she stayed that way.” Brushing a gentle finger over your cheek, Bucky finishes “I’ve got nowhere else to be darlin’.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 6 DAYS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

For six days you’re in a world of your own, where only you and Bucky exist.

You knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment you feel when life finally crashes in.

Waking up to an empty bed for the first time since you surrendered yourself to Bucky, you don’t think too much about it as you slip on your nightgown.

Venturing out into the hallway, you freeze when you hear voices.

Fear begins to take hold until you push it back.

Bucky would never put you in danger. Of that, you’re certain.

“You sure? The law’s been gettin’ closer than I like.” An unfamiliar male voice states.

“We’ve been plannin’ this for too damn long to back out now.” Is Bucky’s reply.

Sucking in a breath, you know you really shouldn’t be listening to this.

Continuing towards the sitting room, you step louder than you normally would, alerting them of your presence.

Two men sit in your kitchen, their hulking figures making the small table between them appear child-sized. Their heads turn and two sets of blue eyes - one light, the other dark - land on you as you loiter awkwardly in the sitting room.

Glancing as long as you dare at the stranger, you note his dark blond hair which brushes against his dirty collar and wild beard that reminds you of Bucky’s the first time he knocked on your door.

You know you’ve seen his wanted posters, but his name eludes you.

“Darlin’,” Bucky crooks a finger at you, urging you over to him. “This is Steve, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”

Steve.

You could recall the name at the bottom of the posters now - Steve Rogers.

“Hello,” You greet shyly, offering your name as Bucky’s hands settle on your hips and pull you onto his lap.

Not meaning to interrupt them, you look up at Bucky in question. He squeezes your hips, telling you it’s okay.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve declares with a secretive smile. “I’m sorry for barging in.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you?” Bucky grumbles at the same time, making Steve chuckle.

This one laughs too.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” Steve appeases, standing up and settling a worn brown hat on his head.

You realise he’s only wearing socks and find it oddly thoughtful that he took his boots off before coming in.

“We’ll have to get acquainted some other time.” Steve remarks, and by the way Bucky’s grip tightens you gather he’s only saying it to be a menace, especially when he adds “Maybe you can cook me somethin’ too.”

“Fuck off.” Bucky growls, but Steve’s already slipping out the front door with a grin.

Grumbling, Bucky lifts you off his lap and onto the table, fusing his mouth to yours.

Once he’s thoroughly reduced your mind to empty space, Bucky pulls back and orders “Don’t you dare cook him or any other man anything, ever.”

“James.” You sigh, smiling.

“You won’t like what happens if you do darlin’.” He promises in a darker tone.

The thrill that shoots up your spine suggests that maybe you would.

Regardless, you playfully huff “If you insist.”

“I do.” Bucky grunts before kissing you again.

When you break apart, the mood turns solemn.

“You have to go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah darlin’, I gotta go.”

Forcing a smile, you whisper “Okay,” as if you have any say in the matter.

Rubbing his nose against yours, Bucky soothes “I’ll be back darlin’, like always.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 3 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Sighing, you dry the plate in your hands and eye the dishes you still have left. You probably would’ve finished the mundane task by now if you didn’t move so slow while daydreaming.

You spent most of today in the barn, completing chores. It wasn’t until the sun had almost set that you wandered back into the house and began making dinner.

Once these dishes were away you planned on taking a long bath.

Stacking the last plate, you pick up one of the candles on the dining table and blow out the rest, blanketing the house in darkness.

Using the light source in your hand, you check over the windows and lock the front door before trudging down to your bedroom.

Stepping into the dark room you can’t help but miss the moon and the light it provides as you place the candle on your bedside table.

Clutching the bottom of your pale yellow dress you lift it up and off, leaving you in nothing but a thin slip when you hear the unmistakable sound of a match striking.

Gasping, you whirl around as your heart hammers in your chest.

“Don’t stop on my account darlin’.” Bucky drawls, seated in the chair at the opposite corner of your room.

Waving out the match he just used to light the candle on the dressing table beside him, his dark eyes watch you like a hawk. “Go on.”

A shiver races down your spine.

This isn’t your sweet Bucky.

In an almost nervous manner you reach for the straps of your slip, hesitating for just a second before pushing them off your shoulders.

You hear Bucky’s deep inhale as the fabric pools at your feet.

“Come here.”

Your feet are quick to obey the order.

The candlelight flickers over his face, allowing you to take in his appearance.

He looks much the same as he left, beard full but tamed and brown hair reaching his shoulders. He’s a little dirty, but you can’t complain since you are too.

Bucky grabs your waist as soon as you’re within reach and pulls you down onto his lap, your legs either side of his as your naked breasts press into his shirt.

His hands move to grip your bottom roughly, drawing another gasp from you.

Grazing your lips with his own, Bucky whispers “I’ve missed you.”

You’re not given a chance to return the sentiment as his mouth captures yours.

The kiss is ravenous as Bucky takes everything he wants - everything he needs, from you. All you can do is hold onto him, your hands wrapped around his thick biceps as you let him take.

Both of you are panting for air when he eventually pulls away, his right hand gliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck and urge your head backwards, exposing your throat to him.

Running his nose under your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone, Bucky groans in satisfaction against your skin. “Smell s’good.”

It was merely coincidence that you had been using your lavender oil more often since his comment on the porch.

You feel him bite the place where your neck and shoulder meet - as if in claim, before licking over the spot, making you moan.

Bucky nips and sucks along your collarbone, dipping lower until he tugs one of your nipples between his teeth.

You don’t even realise you’ve started rocking against his hard length under you until both his hands seize your hips, halting your movements.

Raising his head, Bucky taunts “Desperate for me darlin’? Where’d my sweet, shy girl go?”

Why those words make you whine at him you have no idea, but Bucky loves it.

Smirking, he slowly rocks you up and down on his length and hums “Maybe my girl’s not so good, huh?”

You moan as he moves you faster, pressing you down to rub harder against his erect cock straining beneath his trousers. Your hands tighten around his biceps as your head drops to his shoulder.

“That’s alright darlin’, ‘cos I plan on doin’ bad, bad things to you.” Bucky murmurs in your ear, beard scratching as your sensitive skin.

His words added with the light press of his thumb on your clit undoes you, making you cry out his name.

If it didn’t feel so good, you’d be embarrassed at your quick climax.

Growling, Bucky stands while you’re still reeling in pleasure and carries you to the bed, manoeuvring your compliant body until you’re on your knees, face down.

He’s never had you like this before.

The sound of Bucky removing his belt has your hands gripping the sheets.

“Can’t wait any longer darlin’.” He grunts, shoving his trousers to the floor before grabbing your hips. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this little pussy every day, dyin’ to feel it wrapped ‘round me again.”

That’s all the warning you get before Bucky pushes in, the intrusion tearing a shout from you, followed by a drawn out moan.

You feel so full. You didn’t realise how much you missed this.

How badly you’ve been craving it.

“That’s it.” He purrs, your walls clenching around him. “Fuck.”

Pulling out until just the tip remains, Bucky surges back in.

You whine again, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

“Oh, you are a good girl, aren’t ya darlin’?” Bucky thrusts into you, pitching your whole body forward as he bends down and husks in your ear, “‘Cos you’re gonna take everythin’ I give ya.”

The way he’s talking is hurtling you towards the edge again.

You don’t respond - you can’t, but Bucky’s not looking for a response.

Straightening, he begins pounding into you relentlessly. You swear the bed is going to give out with how it creaks as the frame bangs into the wall, competing with the sounds coming from you.

When Bucky’s large, rough hand trails under your body to cup your sex, his fingers sliding up until they reach your bud, you almost scream.

Chuckling out a groan, he states “You’re squeezin’ the life outta me sweet girl.”

Bucky’s fingers are as unforgiving as his cock as they rub tight circles on your clit, bringing you to that point.

“Come.” He growls, leaning over you to wrap his large body around yours as his fingers bully your bud. “Now.”

You’re helpless to his demand.

“James!” You squeal, falling limp as your release slams into you.

Moaning deeply, Bucky pulls out of your spasming centre and flips you onto your back. Tugging his cock, he spills onto your stomach, cursing your name.

Collapsing forward, Bucky catches himself on his left elbow, hovering above you.

You’re breathless, eyes fluttering as he lowers to kiss your lips.

It starts out tender but soon turns into something lustful as you feel Bucky growing hard against your stomach. Your resulting whimper breaks the kiss.

“Keep those eyes open sweet girl,” He whispers. “I’m not done with you yet.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You wake wrapped in Bucky’s arms and a smile instantly spreads across your face. Lifting your head from where it rests on his shoulder, your smile widens when you realise his eyes are still closed.

Bucky always woke before you, yet here he is, fast asleep.

He looks different. Peaceful.

For a while you just watch him, listening to his steady breathing as you feel his chest rise and fall under your right palm.

Eventually you can’t resist the urge to brush his hair back from his face, which leads your fingertips to dance over his beard, down his nose, and over his mouth.

Your forefinger traces across his bottom lip before it’s suddenly snagged between his teeth, making you gasp then laugh.

Bucky’s eyes blink open and lock onto yours as he releases your finger.

“Morning,” You smile softly.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” His raspy voice after waking up is a sound you’ll never tire of. “What you doin’ up so early?”

Huffing at his teasing words, you sit up and move until you’re straddling his firm stomach, both your hands pressed against his chest.

“It’s not that early,” You glare playfully.

Cupping your hips, Bucky smirks “I just know how much my girl likes her sleep.”

My girl.

Lowering until your nose bumps his, you respond “I like spending time with you more.”

Bucky gives a quiet groan, his hands gliding up to cup your face and pull you down further until your mouths connect. It’s a slow kiss, every stroke of his tongue deliberate as he savours the taste of you.

He doesn’t let you go far when you break away for air, his nose prodding yours as he whispers “I have to go.”

“You just got back.” You can’t help but protest, eyebrows furrowing.

Bucky sighs, “I know darlin’.”

Rolling the two of you over so he can hover above you instead, Bucky’s forearms settle on either side of your head as he rests his forehead against yours.

“I got a... job to do,” Bucky explains vaguely. “But, when I come back it’ll be for a good while.”

You mull his words over for a moment before whispering “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He angles his face lower to place light kisses over your cheeks and down your neck where he then rubs his beard, well aware of how much it tickles your sensitive skin.

Once you have tears in your eyes and are stuttering for him to stop between giggles he finally relents, raising his head to meet your gaze.

The grin on his lips is much too boyish to belong to the man who spoke such sordid things to you last night.

“How ‘bout I get breakfast started?” Bucky suggests.

It’s at that moment, in the warmth and safety of your bed - of Bucky, in the little world you’ve started to create together that you realise you love him.

That you have for quite some time.

It’s in that moment, with his dark blue eyes shining down at you, his rough hands tenderly caressing your skin, and the lingering ache in your body from last night that you almost tell him.

Fortunately, common sense rears its head, snatching the words from you before they can tumble out and ruin everything.

You know he cares for you - maybe even adores you, but you don’t think men like Bucky Barnes can do love.

So instead you say “That sounds great.”

You’ll take everything you can from him before he leaves, knowing his absence will be even more palpable this time around with your realisation, and you’ll wait patiently until he comes back and gives you more.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Securing Chester’s reins around a post outside the general store, you give his chest a loving rub as he drinks from the water trough.

Moving around him to retrieve some money from the satchel on your saddle, the sound of running feet grabs your attention.

You turn in time to see a group of young boys race past, rushing towards the town centre.

“Hurry up or we’ll miss it!” One of the boys shouts back to his slower friends.

Frowning, you look around and notice that quite a few people are heading in the same direction.

Closing your satchel with the money still inside, you walk up the two steps leading to the general store’s small porch, intent on asking Billy what all the fuss is about.

A piece of paper stuck to the front door informs you he’s not inside. The messily written ‘be back soon’ only fuels your curiosity.

Striding back down the steps, you join the people making their way to the town centre.

It’s an underwhelming reveal.

Your eyes roll when you round the final corner and see that the gallows have been erected.

A hanging, of course.

What else drew such a crowd?

Certainly not one to enjoy such a gruesome sight, you turn around and head back the way you came. You’ll simply wait with Chester until Billy gets back.

You take four steps before stopping.

The whole town seems to be gathering - if not more. Only someone with a name important enough to know would be worth so much attention.

Don’t be stupid.

Fear turns your blood cold.

It can’t be him.

You’re thinking foolishly, you know that.

In what world did law enforcement ever actually catch a man like Bucky Barnes?

The notion was comical.

However, your need for reassurance has you spinning back around and trekking closer. You weave your way through the growing crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the criminal yet to be led up to the high platform of the gallows.

After a few minutes you’ve only managed to make it halfway through the throng of spectators, the rough shoves of uncaring men hindering your progress.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you peer around the figures in front of you, looking to the left corner of the gallows where you know the stairs that lead up to the platform start.

You’re not sure if it’s just a trick of your overactive imagination, but for a split second you swear you catch sight of familiar brown hair and your breath lodges in your throat.

No. It can’t be. It can’t.

The next few moments seem to occur in slow motion.

A brief gap in the crowd gives you a perfect, straight line of vision to the brown haired man. The reveal of his face almost brings you to your knees.

No. No, no, no -

You’re frozen in denial at who you see.

James.

His hands are tied behind his back and two deputies flank him, ready to escort him up the stairs.

Your direct line of sight is broken by the crowd, causing everything to speed up as you finally kick into motion.

Like a desperate woman - because you are, you push through the crowd, ignoring the protests and elbows you receive. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the front.

Ducking around the unsuspecting deputy stationed to keep the mob at bay, you bolt to Bucky, sliding to a standstill in front of him, your shoes touching his boots.

“Darlin’,” Bucky speaks like the wind’s just been knocked out of him, his blue eyes wide.

“James what are you - they’re -”

You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.

This was Bucky Barnes, the famous outlaw. He didn’t get caught and he certainly didn’t die.

“You promised.” You gasp out, eyes itching with tears “You -”

“I’m so sorry baby.” Bucky’s voice strains in his effort to speak softly and you hate it.

As much as you hate that you can’t give a second thought to his sweetest term of endearment for you yet.

“Don’t -”

Regaining their wits, the deputies around you spring into action, one of them grabbing your arms from behind and pulling you backwards.

“Hey!”

“Don’t touch her!” Bucky spits vehemently, rearing forward only to be tugged back by the deputies either side of him.

Throwing your right heel back, you catch the deputy in his shin, forcing him to let go. You lunge at Bucky, clinging to the front of his shirt like it’s your only lifeline.

“Please James,” You plead, as if he has any say in this. “I love you, please.”

You should’ve told him. You should’ve told him that morning.

“Listen to me baby,” Bucky implores, his deep voice gentle like you know it can be with you - not soft. “I want you to know how much I love you, that you’ve given a meanin’ to my life that I had no right to expect, that no one can ever take from me.”

“James.” You choke out, throat tight with the tears that stream down your face.

He loves me. He loves me.

The beautiful declaration should fill you with happiness, not anguish.

“You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky declares, lips curling as his blue eyes admire you.

When the deputy grabs hold of you this time there’s no chance of you breaking out of his tight hold even if you had the strength to try - which you don’t.

Your body is limp, weak, and shattered as you’re dragged away from the only man you’ve ever loved. The only man you’ll ever love.

“It’s alright darlin’,” Bucky insists over his shoulder as he’s pushed up the stairs, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”

You’re shoved into the crowd - which parts from you in disgust, while you watch Bucky ascend to the top of the platform, feeling anything but okay.

They stand him beside the noose and your legs tremble as you subconsciously start walking backwards through the horde of onlookers - as if you can escape what’s about to happen next.

“Bucky Barnes...” A big, well dressed man addresses him before reading out his sentence.

They’re going to kill him.

Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth as the reality sinks in.

He’s going to die.

Only watching you - always watching you, Bucky’s mouth opens.

You can’t hear what he says, but you make out the words.

“Don’t watch.”

“Please.”

The pain suddenly burns you and your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.

Gasping in a deep, shuddering breath, you look at him one last time before closing your eyes, forcing yourself to honour his final request.

Why? Why does death have to take him from me too?

You’re barely aware of anything other than the affliction raging inside you, so you don’t know how you even hear it over the jeering crowd, but you do - a low whistle.

It shouldn’t mean anything to you, but something urges you to open your eyes.

Blinking through your tears, you turn your head to the right - where the sound had been loudest, and zero in on a man who towers over most of the spectators.

A black bandana covers the lower half of his face, but he’s looking at you, his bright blue eyes visible as he winks.

Steve.

Shifting his gaze from you to Bucky, he whistles again, this time a two tone note that’s loud and piercing.

All around you, people scattered within the crowd fling back ponchos to reveal guns that they fire up at the sky or towards the gallows, sending the crowd screaming and running as all hell breaks loose.

[swirlysmile]

it’s finally here

this behometh that i’ve written

word count: 3k

warnings: not entirely movie accurate! plot could be out of order and dialogue is not 100% correct, married couple fighting for a long period of time,

POORLY WRITTEN,

Pride

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw never thought that the words “Arrogant prick” would be directed towards him. He’d never thought of himself as arrogant, much less a prick. Those words were reserved for Hangman, especially coming out of your mouth.

“Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” Phoenix asks, running up to you. 

“No. I don’t think it was harsh. Bradley needs to get over himself.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Rooster stood dumbfounded on the other side of the tarmac, head tilted and mind racing. You almost feel bad when you look behind you, he looks like a lost puppy. Bob is giving him a little pat on the back, saying something you can’t quite read. Hangman is standing nearby, toothpick in his mouth and cocky grin present. He’s happy that your ego-shattering insults were directed at someone else for a change. 

You’re sitting at the bar, it’s Sunday and the Hard Deck isn’t officially open yet. 

“Pen,” you say after recalling the situation “I can't believe I said that to him. He’s been sleeping on the couch all week,” 

Her eyebrows are furrowed, trying to make sense of the situation. That’s your Aunt Penny though, ever so reasonable. 

She’s wiping down the clean bar, reveling in its pre-spilled drink shine.

“Can you blame him?”

“For what?”

“Sleeping on the couch,”

“No. Not really.” 

You bury your face in your hands, elbows propped up on the bar counter. 

“He’s being so, so difficult!” You say. 

Penny nods, although you’re not entirely sure if she’s nodding in agreement or understanding. 

“It’s Pete’s fault too,” She offers, and all you can do is shake your head.

“He’s making an effort- Bradley is being prideful.” 

She sighs and steps away from the counter, headed towards the door. She unlocks it and you walk out, not wanting to be around when Rooster inevitably shows up.

“See ya around,” she says, holding the door open for you. Once you’re out the door, you turn back and she makes a ‘call me’ gesture, a makeshift apology for the lack of help she provided. 

You wake up bright and early the next morning, still not managing to beat Rooster. He’s been avoiding you, it’s obvious. You’re showering, and it’s likely he’s already on base.

“Bradley, you arrogant fucking prick! That could have killed both of you, and for what? Just because you’re so damn prideful? Because you can’t be professional?” 

It was running through his head. Not just the insults, but the underlying truth in your words. You never told him to forgive and forget, but he was trying to convince himself that you did, just to make his anger towards you more justifiable.

Surprisingly, he’s still on the couch when you walk downstairs. You’re not sure if you should wake him up or let him sleep, but with his habit he’s accumulated this week of being on base before you’re even awake, you decide to wake him up. 

“Bradley,” You say, and it’s the first word he’s heard from you in a week.

“I’m up, okay?” He semi-shouts defensively.

Instead of sticking around to hear more, you grab your keys and head out the door.

He shows up eventually, about 30 minutes after you give or take. His curly hair is still a little damp. 

You’re flying the course today, the nav system helping you follow it directly. 

“Hangman, slow the fuck down!” You shout, and much to your dismay, he doesn’t oblige causing you to “collide” with a wall. 

Everyone had similar problems, crashing, or going above the 300 foot max limit, getting “shot down” by SAMs.

“Why are they dead?” Maverick asked, and when Phoenix went to give an explanation she was shut down. “Don’t tell me, tell that to his family.” he says, voice low.

“You’re giving time for enemy planes to intercept,” Maverick scolds Rooster. It’s almost getting out of hand.

“We’d still have a fighting chance.”

“Against 5th generation fighters?”

“It’s not the plane,” Rooster says. “It’s the pilot.” 

“Exactly!” Maverick shouts back, and the silence is deafening. 

You’ve heard about tension you can cut with a knife, and this is most definitely one of those situations. 

“Rooster,” Hangman clicks his tongue. “You don’t get it. You’re not flying fast enough!” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes at Hangman, always adding in unneeded commentary. 

“Either a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come home. No offense intended,” He says, winking in Phoenix’s directions. She scoffs.

“Yet somehow, you always manage.” 

Then, he brings it up. Maverick and his involvement in Goose's death. You hardly have time to react when Rooster lunges at Jake, holding him back. He’s cussing Jake out.

“I’m cool, I’m cool.” Jake laughs, shrugging everyone’s hands off of him.

Maverick isn’t helping, his shouts of ‘That’s enough!’ doing little to cool off the situation. 

“We all know Rooster doesn’t have what it takes.” Hangman shrugs, turning on his heel to leave the room when Maverick gives the call. 

You return home with a killer headache, and a want to be snuggled into Bradley’s arms. 

“To the beach!” Maverick shouts, and everyone stares like he’s crazy, but nobody asks any questions. 

You can only imagine the look of shock on Admiral Simpson’s face when he realizes all his pilots are gone, but at this point you’re having too much fun to think much about it. You’re split into two teams, going along with Mavericks' latest idea. Dogfight Football. 

Rooster is keeping his distance from you, meaning he’s on the opposite team avoiding you at all costs. Hondo even joined in at one point. 

You fight the urge to run up and tackle Rooster right when you see him offer Mav a hand. You’re so proud, but you know he’s not completely over his grievances.  

Hangman is showing off, like usual, and Phoenix is preparing to knock him down a peg. 

Mav taps out, but the rest of the crew continues playing. You’re standing back towards the ocean, just in time to see Admiral Simpson walk up to Maverick. You’re wincing just imagining the scolding Cyclone wants to give Pete, but end up being thoroughly surprised when he turns a blind eye to the whole ordeal after a little conversing. 

Rooster has Bob on his shoulders, and you softly smile at it heading towards Penny.

“Did you see that, Aunt Pen-?” You ask, starstruck. 

“You’re going to need to be a little bit more specific,” 

“Bradley pulled Captain Mitchell up, do you think he’s getting over it?” 

She shrugs, a bit skeptical.

Everything winds down, and you’re so happy to be home. You walk into your house, the sound of Bradley’s record collection blaring. He’s in the kitchen, humming along and making some food. Even if you hadn’t been talking, he’d been leaving you food. 

“I’m proud of you,” you say, careful not to get too close. You know it isn’t resolved, but he took the first step. You’re slowly starting to wonder if your pride is worth the absence of him in bed, or in life really.

He doesn’t respond, and your heart aches a little, but you leave the kitchen anyway. 

When you walk back downstairs, after a relaxing shower, he’s curled up on the couch reading your favorite book. You grab a glass of water, opting to put the food he left for you in the fridge. 

You probably linger a bit too long.

The ‘argument’ with you is leaving a bitter taste in Bradley’s mouth, and it shows when he’s flying. It’s been 10 days since you last had a real conversation, and sure, maybe you had tried to talk to him last night but he was much too proud to respond until he got an apology. One that he didn’t think would come for a long time.

He’s up and at 'em’ before you are again, like he had been for the past week before he was so rudely thrown out of the groove. Damn alarm clock. He’s on base about 45 minutes before you, sitting around with nothing to do.

He’s starting to think this has gone a little too far, and that he’s to blame. 

Hell, he’s been sleeping on the couch all because of his petty rivalry with Captain Pete Mitchell.

“Good morning aviators,” Maverick says loud and clear over comms. Everyone is having a go at dropping the bombs, attempting to hit their targets. You’re scheduled to be flying with Halo and Fritz. 

After a few failed attempts, you’re back on the ground. Currently, Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote are in the air. 

“What the fuck is that?” you hear, and someone confirms that Maverick is trying to intercept. 

“Well, this just got a whole hell of a lot harder for us.” You say, chuckling. 

They make the decision to pretend like Maverick isn’t even there, to stay on course. 

“We’re almost there,” Bob offers to Phoenix and Coyote. 

You can hear Javy curse when they miss, 

A few seconds of heavy breathing, and you hear Maverick tell Coyote to level out. 

“Shit, he’s in G-lock, I’m going after him to try and get tone.” Maverick says, and the ringing in your ear returns for a different reason. 

You have confirmation he’s okay now, and Phoenix and Maverick are chatting when you hear shouts of a bird strike. 

“Climbing!” Phoenix says, going through all the protocol to save the plane.

“Phoenix, the engines are on fire, do not restart it!” Mav tries to say, but he’s cut off by the sudden drop of the jet. Phoenix is in the midst of one last ditch effort to save the aircraft, but is ultimately forced to eject. You’re praying that they’re safe. 

Rooster is still sitting in the common room, much later than he should be. His mind is racing. He’s concerned, worried for his friends, and his relationship. 

“Phoenix and Bob are alright, they’re being kept in the hospital overnight for observation.” Maverick says, snapping him out of his daze a little. He appreciates the gesture Mav made, worrying about him and all but really he’d just rather get to the point. 

“Why’d you pull my papers? Why did you stand in my way?!” He shouts, standing to slightly tower over Mitchell. 

“You weren’t ready.” 

“What? Ready to fly like you?” 

“No. Ready to trust your instincts! Don’t think, just do! Believe me,” Pete shouts, adding fuel to the flame. 

“My dad believed in you. I’m not going to make the same mistake.” 

Pete stares, dumbfounded with tears welling in his eyes. 

“Maverick,” a voice calls from the doorway. He’d do anything to get out of this conversation. “It’s Ice.” and his heart drops once more.

The funeral isn’t fun, not that funerals ever are. Somehow, it reminds Bradley of the harsh truth. Someone might not come back from this mission, and it very well could be him, or even worse you. 

You're standing there, at Iceman’s funeral, to pay respects to a man you’d never had the pleasure of meeting, but one that was important nonetheless. You can see the tears that threaten to spill from Mav’s eyes, and hear the heartbreak in the sobs of Admiral Kazansky’s wife. 

You’re reminded of another harsh truth. Funerals are gloomy, and it’s likely you’re going to be in attendance of another funeral soon. 

The minute that Admiral Simpson announced the new mission parameters though, you’re sure that you're going to be in attendance of a few funerals in the near future.

You hear your peers whisper to each other, saying things that made this plan even more unsafe than Maverick’s. 

When Mavericks' voice pops up over comms, everyone's a little shocked but not surprised. Your attention is immediately ripped from Admiral Simpson, towards the screen showing the course that Maverick is flying. 

“I don’t see an event scheduled for you?”

“Yeah, well, I'm going anyways.” Maverick says, and even Cyclone is watching the screen 

“Nice.” You hear Phoenix muse. For some reason, you can only stare at Bradley, his jaw clenched, but he’s looking at the screen like his life depends on Maverick succeeding. You can faintly hear Maverick say ‘climbing’ and that’s when you hear the click, letting you know that he did it.

The room erupts into cheers, but Admiral Simpson is looking unimpressed. 

“No way, that bastard did it!” Omaha says right as Cyclone leaves the room. Phoenix is smirking, just a little, and even Hangman looks happy. 

Bradley can’t say he’s not a little excited by the victory Mav procured. 

The next day, when Maverick is back on the job, (as team leader for the upcoming mission no less,) Rooster isn’t surprised. Mav sure gave everyone a hell of a show, and Warlock probably pushed the issue to Admiral Simpson. Just a bit of a nudge in the right direction. 

What Rooster wouldn’t give for one of those right now. 

He’s watching you from the other side of the room, talking to Bob with a small smile, and for once, he’s jealous of Bob. 

You’re side-eying Bradley, silently begging him to come over and strike up conversation. Not that there’s anything wrong with Bob, no, Bob’s actually pretty interesting, and good at conversation despite what some people seem to think. You just miss him. 

Maybe it’s pathetic, sitting in a room on the carrier praying that Mav will send Hangman to his death and not Rooster.

Not before he’s apologized, not before you’ve apologized. 

The world, or Pete Mitchell, works in mysterious ways though and your stomach drops hearing Rooster be called. 

Do you approach him? Kiss him goodbye? Do you wait for him to come up to you? 

His pride wouldn’t allow him to forfeit that easily, and you know it, but you’re hoping he decides to say goodbye anyways.  

The tears flood your eyes too quickly when he walks right past you. 

You’re on reserve, waiting in a fighter jet in case, god forbid, anything goes wrong on the mission. Your head is aching, probably due to dehydration thanks to the tears that just seem to keep coming. You’re doing your best to silently sob so that you can still hear comms. 

Everything’s going smoothly so far, and you can only hope it stays that way. Mav hits the target and calls on Rooster for a status check.

“Almost there, Mav.” He says. 

Rooster is freaking out a little. He knows this is dangerous, and he’s not even at the hard part yet! 

He’s cussing when Fanboy’s laser is going crazy, praying to whatever god there is that he will hit the target when he drops in blind. 

He pulls up, the G’s weighing on his body.

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!” 

The comms are getting overwhelming, there’s too much going on at once and it’s terrifying. 

“Talk to me Bob,”  and then,

“Shit, I'm out of flares! I can't shake ‘em” and that’s enough to induce tears again, and you hear Rooster say a strand of curses. 

“We can’t go back,” Phoenix says.

“He’s gone, Rooster.” And Bob sounds just as defeated, but like hell Rooster isn’t going to go back.

At this moment, you hate him for his decision. What if Mav had been gone, done for? Rooster would have been too. 

Mitchell knocks Bradley into the ground, and when Rooster stands up he doesn’t hesitate to argue with Maverick. Old habits die hard.

“You should have been back on the carrier by now!” 

“I saved your life!” Rooster says, trying to defend himself.

“No, I saved your life! What the hell were you thinking?” 

“You told me not to think!” And Pete has no remark to that. It’s true, he did say that and at this moment he regrets it. 

Rooster throws his arms up into a slight shrug motion, and Maverick stares at him, dumbfounded.

“It’s uh, good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.” 

Rooster’s not sure how he let Mav drag him into this.

He’s currently sitting in an F-14, or as he likes to call it, a bag of ass. He’s made it clear to Maverick about his problems with this plan, but they don’t have much of an option. 

“Mav, this is a taxi-way. Not a runway. This is a very short taxi-way!”

You’re ready to sob, still in your plane, everyone’s back except for Rooster and Maverick. You suppose you should be grateful that nobody else has a scratch on them, but not when you think that he’s gone. 

Then, you hear confirmation that Rooster is up in the air and you’re so, so grateful. 

You can't hear anything from their department, just confirmation that the radar says he’s in the air. 

Hope is dangerous, and you know that.

“Dagger spare requesting launch.” Hangman speaks, and you’re surprised when he’s granted permission, but you’re so happy. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your savior speaking.” Hangman says, and you can feel the smirk dripping off his words. Yet, you can’t find it in you to care when Maverick roughly lands the plane.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw,”

“Other Lieutenant Bradshaw,” he says, smiling. He’s ready to forget the whole thing, and at this point so are you. 

“You’re a fucking idiot.” you whisper, wasting no time to kiss him for the first time in a few weeks. It’s what you missed, the feeling of his stupidly gorgeous mustache rubbing against your upper lip, and his slightly chapped lips rubbing against your own.

“God, I missed you.” He says, wrapping his arms around your waist. He doesn’t want to break from you when everyone comes over to celebrate, but he reluctantly does so anyway, even accepting a truce in the form of a handshake from Jake Seresin.

He sleeps in your bed for the first time in a few weeks, and god you’ve missed his arms around you. 

Even his terribly loud snoring is desirable right now, and so you hold onto his arms a little tighter. 

You could talk about the fighting tomorrow, but for now you were going to make up for lost time. 

[nationalharryleague]

Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that. 

Genre: Famous Fake Dating! 

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries​) and Lu (@meetmymouth​) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N  looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.  

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.  

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.  

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.  

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!! 

An extra for our babies can be found here!

[mcyt-peach]

sweeter than honey

*:･ﾟ summary: your first venture into the building's kitchens introduces you to a girl almost as sweet as the things she's baking

*:･ﾟ pairing: cc!niki x gn!reader

*:･ﾟ warnings: reader uses they/them pronouns

*:･ﾟ note: oh sweet darling niki <3 this may be the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written and I’m not mad about it one bit

*:･ﾟ series masterlist

Sometimes you wish you could say no to Phil. He’s a great boss, always willing to listen to your problems and work around your schedule when you’re struggling.

But today was your day off and somehow you found yourself at the SMP Honey Company once again.

"Thank goodness you’re here!" Phil looks tired, like he’s running on too little sleep and too much coffee. This is why you can never say no to Phil.

"Half the kitchen staff just called out sick. I know it’s not what you’re trained for, but she’ll help you, ok? She’s really nice." He’s ushering you into the kitchen before you can ask who "she" is and closes the door behind you.

There’s gentle music playing over the sound system, a far cry from the usual chaos of the store. Someone’s humming distantly and you follow the sound of it, weaving around tables and ovens. A girl’s standing with her back to you, mixing something in a bowl.

"Um... hi! I’m Y/n, Phil called me in to help you today." You try not to squeak when she turns to face you and sends the biggest smile your way.

Her hair’s tied back, tucked under a bandana, though a few strands frame her face. Her glasses are slightly crooked and her sweater sleeves are pushed up to stay out of her way. She’s got a streak of flour on her cheek and you think she might be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

"It’s nice to finally meet you!" She sounds so sweet as she beckons you over to the table. "I just need some help with the baking prep for tomorrow. Don’t worry, it’s not hard. I’ll help!"

She hands you a couple recipe cards and sends you off to find the ingredients. When you return, she takes the milk crate full of items from your grasp. Her hands brush yours and you can’t help but feel a bit dizzy at how soft her fingertips are.

The two of you chat idly and you get lost in the way she speaks. The way her hands move around the machinery and craft something out of nothing.

"Ok, so now that the dough's set, we have to knead it." She looks up at you and suddenly the bread is a far more interesting subject than her eyes.

You try to match her movements and knead the dough, but it sticks to your fingers like glue and won’t take form. Niki’s laugh captivates you and you’re glad she found your struggle funny. You smile along with her until she calms down.

She takes your hands in hers and directs them through the kneading process. Her voice is kind and delicate as she explains how much pressure to use and when to let it rest.

Her hands are still on yours and you look up to see her madly blushing before she pulls her hands away. She turns back to her own dough, trying to hide her face from you.

You’re sure you’re grinning like an idiot as you knead the bread. Niki clears her throat and gives you a nervous smile, holding out the baking tray for the loaves.

"Niki, you have something on your cheek." She wipes the wrong cheek and you giggle at the bewildered expression she wears.

"No, no, come here. I’ll help you get it." She steps close, fidgets with the hem of her apron and finally meets your eyes. She lets out a little hum when you brush the flour from the side of her face.

"Wanna have a picnic Y/n?" She smiles when you release her face, bobbing on her heels with energy. You nod and she grabs a slice of cake and a blanket.

The both of you sit outside, watching the farm hands bring the cows out of the barn. Niki’s humming again, to some song playing in her head. You share the cake and talk and laugh and you think maybe, just maybe, you should visit the kitchens more often.

taglist: @hunneiuwu @lous-blue @girlofthefandom @somethingsuperstupidsstuff @greatesthitz @cultof-medusa @mooncaffeine @lemonedbeetle @patchesofwork @junebug-isunavailable @cryptidcritter @paradigmax @soot-and-co @alovestruck-fool @onehellofaweeb13 @stayacarat @ladylapize @satellitesunshine @hanaamara @nonetookind @tinylillx @jhinx-it @h0p33e @flowerguywashere @olibv @daydreamerwriting @mayempress @kaii-jpeg @msbonink @kkusuxa @gifted-axolot

[callme-barnes]

A Lesson in the Art of Seduction

*GIF does not belong to me!*

Summary: You love the way Bucky sounds when you’re making him fall apart. So after a night out, you decide to put a little plan into action to fulfill one of your fantasies. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,310

Warnings: SMUT (possibly poorly written), oral sex (m! receiving), IF YOU ARE A MINOR PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT! 18+ only!

A/N: Again, 18+ only! Minors DNI! Please do not repost my work anywhere! I wrote it for Tumblr so it should stay on Tumblr. Idk what the title is that’s the hardest part of this writing stuff! This is my first time ever writing smut of any kind. I’m surprised I was able to get it out on screen but I’ve had this idea on my mind all day so I guess that’s why I was able to finish it. Again, I’m not thinking much about posting this so I won’t back out so all mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

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If there was one thing about James Buchanan Barnes, just one thing, that you could enjoy every single day for the rest of your life was the way he sounded. The way he grunted after lifting something heavy. His gasping for air when he came back to the apartment from a run. The moans and groans in protest when you needed to get out of bed in the morning for work but he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet.

And then there was the not so PG version of those delightful sounds.

The grunting when he seated himself inside of you after a short dry spell when he went on a mission. The gasps you pulled out of him when you were riding him like you might never be able to again. The moans and groans he presented to you when he was fucking you into the mattress. Him fucking you was something you wanted until the day you would die to be honest. The power you felt you held, to be the reason the ex Winter Soldier was falling apart at the seams, was the best thing to have in your true opinion. It's a power you liked to take full advantage of, as well as test out every now and again.

Which brought you to this very moment in time. You were hardly the type to be jealous. It was a promise you made to yourself after a young life full of jealousy in partners. The feeling you had within you right now was not one of jealousy exactly, but more playful curiosity. You were both returning from a public Avengers event, a little earlier in the night than expected but the feeling you were feeling just couldn’t wait. It bubbled to the surface when you watched an investor get a little too close to Bucky. It seemed like the more their conversation went on, the closer she got and the more hands on she decided to get.

When you made your way over to them to join their conversation, the woman pulled out her card, handed it to Bucky and walked away, probably wanting to keep that mystery working for her. You remember the move well, it was what you used on Bucky when you first met him. You smirked to yourself when you approached him, him reiterating what the woman spoke to him about and you nodded in acknowledgment, your eyes peering up at him through your lashes, sending him a knowing look. A knowing that only you knew what was going to happen tonight, and he had no idea what was going to be coming to him.

Bucky had walked up to your apartment building and unlocked the door before stepping in and removing the jacket he had on, you following close behind him.

“Who would’ve thought these functions would start to become a monthly occurrence”

You laughed as you set your bag down on the counter and slipped off your heels, “Yeah well you are a part of the team. The rich people gotta know who their investing in after all”

Bucky reached out to you and hugged you to his chest, the gesture making you even more ready to show him exactly what you were all about. Just before he reached down to press a kiss to your neck his pocket began to vibrate. He let out a small groan, one of those cute little frustrated groans that you loved hearing from him so much. He reached in and pulled out his phone and answered, his face lightly exasperated. You heard a woman on the other side and you smirked a bit to yourself, realizing it was the woman from the party.

The plan you had to begin the night was in rotation, thanks to not only your scheming, but Natasha’s willingness to help you. Before you left you asked for the assistance from the super spy to get the woman from the party to give Bucky a call. You left Bucky’s side, his lips turning down into a frown as he began to hold a conversation, although it was very clear to you he would rather start doing something else.

You made your way to the room, slipping off your jewelry and letting Bucky drop his guard a bit. He had to be completely oblivious in order for you to get the reactions you wanted to get from him, and you were more determined than ever to get him to be vocal tonight. You knew he wouldn’t look at any other woman the way he looked at you, but tonight you wanted to just show him exactly why that was. You wanted him to fall apart, and you wanted to be the reason he did.

After about 5 minutes, you walked out to the living space seeing Bucky had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and was sipping on a beer, sitting down on the couch as he continued his conversation. He looked up, giving you an apologetic look since he wasn’t supposed to be exactly working right now. You smirked a bit to yourself as you sent him back a reassuring smile before you pushed yourself away from the doorframe you were leaning against.

You maintained eye contact with him as you swayed your hips and made your way over to the couch. Bucky’s eyes watched you very closely, the way your hips moved and the way your legs looked in the dress you were wearing made his body react and you knew that. You made your way behind him, the sofa back separating you from him as you reached your hands to his shoulders. You began to massage his shoulders a bit, your fingers kneading into the thick muscle that was present there. Bucky let out a soft sigh in response, leaning back and enjoying the actions you were making. You leaned over to kiss the side of his neck as your hands slipped down from his shoulders to his chest, your lips now traveling up to his ear.

“Pay attention to your phone call Bucky, let’s not be rude”

The tip of Bucky’s tongue flicked out against his bottom lip as you made your way to stand in front of him, his eyes roaming down against you once again. You smiled at him before you ran your hands down the front of your body, making your way down to your knees in between his parted legs. Bucky made to sit up before you moved to press him back against the sofa again.

“I’m sorry can you hold for a second…”

You raised an eyebrow at him as he pulled the phone away from his ear, “What do you think you’re doing pretty girl?”

Your hand trailed down his chest, to his abdomen and continued its way down until you reached the tent that was fully formed in his dress pants, the hitch in his voice like music to your ego.

“Just being productive while you're preoccupied. Shouldn’t keep her waiting, finish your phone call James”

Bucky muttered a quick ‘fuck’ under his breath before he pulled the phone back to his ear, “I’m really sorry about that what were you saying?”

You maintained eye contact with him as you popped open the button to his pants and unzipped him, your other hand resting on the thickness of his thighs before making its way to release him from the confines of his briefs. His thick cock sprang free, slapping him lightly on his lower abdomen as your eyes moved from his face to the entire reason you were down on your knees. You sent him a smile, taking him in your hand and bringing him to your lips, the way his abs tightened making you more than excited to continue.

Bucky’s free hand reached down to caress your cheek and made its way up into your hair in anticipation. Your tongue reached out and began to lick at his dick slowly, taking your time to really map out where it was that made him shiver and clench up. You gave him that sultry look between your lashes and you could’ve sworn you saw his soul leave his body as you leaned up and took him into your mouth. You took your time, working on the tip of his dick before you felt you had him on edge enough to take him further into your mouth towards the back of your throat.

“Oh fuck...shit”

Bucky’s hand tightened into your hair, not quite pushing you down just yet but just holding onto you to keep him grounded in a way, “Sorry I was...I dropped something��

You internally laughed as you bobbed your head up and down his length, your hand fisting and pumping at the rest of what you weren’t quite ready to bless him with yet.

“No I don’t….I don’t think that would be a problem”

Bucky sounded breathless as he spoke, the way he was trying to maintain control was cute to you, but you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him. You wanted him breathless, and you wanted to be the reason why. You kept your pace, jerking him off and sucking him as he continued his conversation. When you felt he had gotten too comfortable controlling himself you removed your hand and pushed your head down to take in the rest of him down your throat, gagging around him in response. Bucky quickly jerked up in surprise, causing his hand to hold onto your hair tighter and pressed you down in the process.

“Shit! Holy fuck”

His hand reached to the back of your head as you sped up your head bobbing, now taking it upon himself to push you down against him and letting his hips meet you halfway into your mouth. You looked up at him again to gauge his face and holy fuck you were sure you were going to cum with how he was looking. His eyes were closed, his lips parted and in that tiny grin that you loved seeing on him because it meant he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Bucky twitched in your mouth, the beginnings of his orgasm coming when you suddenly slowed down your movements, wanting to keep him on the edge for as long as you possibly could.

“No I just...fuck I’m going to have to call you later. I’m sorry”

Bucky quickly hung up and through his phone behind him, his other hand reached over to join his grip on your head, causing you to let out a moan in response.

“Shit you’re such a bad girl baby. You like me watching me struggle to stay together don't you? That shit turn you on?”

You let out a hum in approval at his words as you sped up once again, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth and your gagging getting less prominent the more you took his dick down your throat.

“Shit sweetheart, I’m gonna fucking cum. Want me to cum down your throat? You want this don’t you?”

Bucky grabbed onto your hair and pulled you completely off of him, making you gasp and look up at him as he leaned over and pulled you to meet him halfway, meeting you to kiss you roughly. It was all tongue and teeth, your hands rested on his thighs and your core pulsing in anticipation.

“Tell me. Tell me you want it”

He pushed you back down to your position as he took himself in his hand and pumped himself in front of you, making you whine with how hot he sounded to you right now.

“Fuck I want it. Give it to me Bucky please. Please I want it so bad”

Bucky smirked as he stopped pumping himself and pushed you close to him, you taking the hint and taking him completely down your throat once again, “Then take it baby. Fucking take it. Oh shit yes just like that Y/N”

You let out a moan, swearing that if it weren’t for Bucky’s hand in your hair you would think this was all just a dream. Bucky allowed himself to moan, a string of ‘oh shit’ and ‘fuck’ coming out of his mouth. Soon it turned into just your name, over and over again, causing you to grind down to receive some sort of friction, any type of friction. You felt Bucky pulse and tighten in your mouth before he released, the sound of his moans and gasps making you grind down a bit harder. His hand tightened in your hair as you continued sucking him off until he was spent, and even a little after that.

“Shit Y/N, you gotta...gotta stop baby”

You couldn’t help but continue, just for the simple fact that he wanted you to stop. Bucky moaned and grabbed you, pulling you off of him. You let out a small gasp for air as he pulled you off and you sat back on your heels, just watching him recover from your actions. His chest was rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, his hand running through his hair before looking up and over at you. You sent him an innocent look, but the smirk that you sent him was the complete opposite. Devilish, sexy and a little bit mischievous.

“Shit Y/N you....I don’t know what all that was about, but I’ve got a feeling you had that planned somehow”

You smiled and shrugged, “Just had to prove a point to myself”

Bucky let out a groan and smiled before he moved over quickly grabbing you and standing up. You yelled as you wrapped your legs around him and laughed as he made his way over to your room, “My turn now you little minx”