#its been a week of doing this with minimal sleep

[majorproblems77]

You think my rotating blorbos could just help me with this assignment? Rather than distracting me from it?

Like for real, Sky Flies, he can help me with space-related stuff, right?

if you can't tell, I am having a wonderful time with this assignment

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[buckets-and-trees]

EVERY MINUTE OF IT

Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 4k Summary: Claimed unequivocally by Alpha Bucky Barnes, leader of the growing HYDRA faction, that's not the end of it. But what exactly is in store for you? What will it mean to be his Omega?

Content/Warnings: omegaverse; reluctant attraction; power dynamics; mild manipulation; threats; dirty talk; explicit smut: spanking, vaginal fingering, biting, rough sex, choking, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, spitting, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, dacryphilia, overstimulation, erotic picture taking

Author Notes: Part three to what I never planned on being a series - the Alpha Bucky April drabble was only 500 words, the next part hit 1.5k, but this... well, let's just say this Bucky absolutely had his way with both me and my muse. This one will be a make up to tick orgasm delay/denail for MARCH of @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ; and the dialogue, alpha, and pet prompts for the second week of Hot Bucky Summer (thought this was going to be a short little thing I was going to whip out before week two had finished, but alas hahaha).

A/N 2: We've seen only a bit of his rough side up to this pont, but in this part we will truly see mean Alpha Bucky. Don't say I didn't warn you - here and with the actual content warning list.

A/N 3: I tried not to write any plot with this porn, but a minimal amount forced its way in.

He had made good on his threat, using your body for pleasure and for show under the full moon until there was no one left to watch, but you were not sure he had been keeping close track, instead merely taking you over and over until they grey hours of dawn. You had been too exhausted to register anything much after that – being carried away, a car ride, being tucked into a bed.

You had woken up in the afternoon alone.

Alone for the first time in three days.

On hearing you make your way to the bathroom someone had brought in water and left an impressive spread of food that lasted you through the afternoon and evening. You grazed and slept.

Your body and mind had been pushed beyond all previous limits, and so the sleep and rest had been most of those first few days after the full moon and the conqueror’s bonding ritual.

But now, a week on, you are tired, restless, and impatient.

You were in a spacious penthouse, you had been offered many luxuries, well fed by a personal chef, attended to by an assistant, your only restrictions being denied access to a phone or internet and barred from leaving the premises.

Should you have chosen an unplugged retreat or vacation, it would be perfect.

After contemplating and debating internally all morning, at lunch you make your decision. You finish yet another delicious meal, wipe your mouth with the beautiful linen napkin, and then set it down next to the bone china and plated gold utensils. The staff begins to move around you, and your assistant approaches.

Before she can say anything else, you take a deep breath and say, “I need to see him.”

There’s no question of who you mean.

She nods. “I’ll make the request.”

Whether pet or prisoner and left alone for more than seven days, you do not believe your request will be seen as any sort of priority, so when you see the more formal dining table set for two for dinner, your mouth drops open for a moment, and you stop in your tracks.

You turn to your assistant – even though she tries to afford you most of your privacy, she is ever on the edge of your presence. She looks as surprised as you. “I was given no response other than that they’d take the request under consideration.”

You nod, then pace, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, until you finally hear the rustle and then commotion of activity that announces his arrival.

Your heart races, but it’s only a few more moments before the large and imposing alpha, Bucky Barnes, appears in front of you.

“Omega,” he says with a mere nod of his head, no pretense.

Your eyes narrow a fraction, wary of his seemingly easy demeanor. “Alpha.”

“Shall we?” he asks, and motions to the table.

You nod and take a seat as he does.

Within seconds, the meal is brought in by two attendants and the chef, and Bucky thanks and praises them very simply.

He occasionally looks at you, regarding you, but does not speak.

Before long, you huff, and he looks up sharply, pinning you with his steel blue eyes, harsher than at any point since he’d arrived. “What?” he demands.

“What is all of this?” you start, gesturing your hand to indicate the penthouse. “And where have you been?”

He sets down his knife and fork and straightens a little more. “Is it not to suited to your liking? You can change anything you want. This is your place.”

“My place?” you ask.

“Yes, your place. It is not far from the place I’ve taken up residence.”

The revelation is not surprising, but somehow more irritating. “And what? You’ve had me and now you’re discarding me?”

“I should have thought you’d want your own place.”

Maybe you should want your own place, away from him. And yet…

“I should be wherever you are.”

“What?” he scoffs. “So you can be embroiled in my affairs and bring me down? ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’”

The accusation wounds you, though you know it’s only logical – and you know what you’re thinking and feeling isn’t logical. You have determined to put off thinking about it.

“I’m not your friend,” you state, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “but I’m not your enemy either.”

“What should I call you then?” he challenges.

You raise your chin a fraction. “I’m your Omega.”

He doesn’t speak or move immediately. Instead, his eyes somehow fix you even more intently. There’s a burning in your chest under his scrutiny, but you remain still.

Finally, he stands and moves toward you, the two of you never taking your eyes off the other.

“You are my Omega.”

He comes to stand behind your chair, and you remain unmoving. He takes your chin in his left hand and tilts your head to expose your neck to him. He leans down and noses along your jaw, inhaling your scent and putting your body on alert. You feel the curling tendrils of want stir in your core, already awakening for him. He tilts your head even more and draws his teeth along the side of your throat, causing a shiver you can’t suppress, and he chuckles darkly and licks at the fresher of the two bonding marks he gave you. His hot tongue, insistently pressing at the bite elicits a small noise from you, and your right hand shoots up to card into his hair. Your full omega side wants him, has started to slicken your pussy for him already, you can feel it. You know your alpha can smell it.

He bites over the mark, but not roughly enough to break the skin, and you arch up for more, but he pushes himself back up, away from you and the crook of your neck.

“So needy,” he remarks, “I like this.”

The first few days you’d spent with him, he’d kept you full of his cock, tortured with pleasure, overwhelmed, exhausted by him and the recipient of a seemingly insatiable lust unleashed on you.

This feels like the predator is going to play with his prey, and you bite your lip. He pushes your head, tilted to the left, to the right to drop into his other hand, clearly testing your compliance. It’s gentle, but it’s dominant. Back to the left, then to the right, and then he dips to nip at your ear, and you gasp.

Bucky releases your head from between his large hands then pulls your chair away from the table. “Up.”

You stand. He puts one hand on your hip and ushers you around the edge of the table and to the side, in the middle, and turns you to face the wide expanse of mahogany and its centerpiece of fresh flowers – white peonies, white roses, white hydrangeas.

“Put your hands on the table,” he instructs.

You press the palms of your hands onto the smooth, dark wood. Your omega side is ready – even eager – to comply, but with your own long game to play, you know you must play out whatever game he desires now.

“Arch your back,” is his next direction.

Keeping your breathing even, you do, hips jutting away from the table, on display for him.

The back of his hand lands at the nape of your neck, and he drags his knuckles slowly down your spine. Your body rocks back, seeking more, as he reaches the small of your back, and he hums in self-satisfaction.

While his vibranium hand plants itself on your hip, he moves the other around to skim slowly over your stomach, then up your rib cage, and to your breast. He gropes the round flesh through your shirt and bra, but the fabric does nothing to quell how the pressure stokes the fire growing in you.

You feel the heat of him press up your back as his hand moves now up your neck, turning your head to kiss him. You push back against him, and he ruts his bulge slightly into your ass. Your lips are hungry in the kiss, but it’s like he only provided his lips for you to kiss him, receiving what your lips want to give. He moves his hand back down to your chest, but this time slipping beneath the neckline and going flesh to flesh to palm your breast. He kneads diligently, almost methodically, and you know all of this is designed to warm you up, tease you, get you burning for him. He’s still largely a stranger to you, but you also know you can’t resist him. He’s spent so much time already playing with your body. He knows where and how to touch you to make you respond to him after those first days and nights spent naked with him.

Bucky moves again, ending the kiss, drawing away from your back and removing the hand from your breast. You whine, but that hand goes to the small of your back again, the vibranium hand squeezing your hip as he forces you spine to resume the curving posture for him once more.

“We’re only getting started, Omega. Be patient.”

You huff, and he laughs.

The fingers of both his hands slip into the top of your waistband. He slowly pulls your pants and underwear down over your hips, and down your legs to mid-thigh. It restricts your bottom extremities, and that plays into the mental game he’s clearly playing with you. His hands move up the back of your naked thighs, and then palms your ass with both hands. He squeezes both cheeks, goes back to palming them again, then withdraws his right hand and slaps that cheek harshly. You jump and yelp, but he merely goes back to palming and squeezing, soothing the smacked flesh. Then another slap, and you hiss at the sting over the first sting. His vibranium hand continues groping your round flesh, but instead of soothing the second smack, his flesh hand dips down to your dripping hole, where he inserts two fingers, then quickly adds a third.

“Alpha,” you moan, and your head falls back, eyes closed both to hold back a couple of tears and to soak in the barrage of sensations.

He doesn’t answer, but his fingers continue dipping in and out, slow and shallow.

He delivers another harsh slap, immediately returns to the maddening fingering until you’re keening and trying to hump his hand.

Abruptly he grips your hips with both hands and turns you around to face him. The cool metal hand grips you by the neck, tilting your face up helplessly to him, and this kiss is messy, demanding, teeth nipping at your lips. You kiss him back as well as you can as he is in full control of your head and holds you where he wants you. Both your hands hold tightly to his forearm, and you squeeze.

His other hand goes to the cut of you again below, but there’s more fervor there this time. He plunders your mouth and plunders your pussy, and you’re losing your breath, but you have no wish for him to relent as you feel the powerful orgasm you crave building and barreling towards you. His fingers curl against the spongy spot on your inner wall, this thumb is demanding against your pulsing clit, and his tongue is licking dominantly into your mouth. You’re trembling and clutching at him, moaning, only when your breath hitches, inches away from bliss, he pulls back.

You cry out as he looms over you. His smirk is cruel, and his eyes spark with fire.

“Alpha!”

He licks his one of his fingers, just one.

“Alpha, please,” you groan.

“My well-mannered Omega,” he coos. “We’ll make a mess of you yet,” he says. You’re unsure whether it’s a threat or a promise, but you have no space or time to think as he moves you again, hoisting and pushing you by the grip on your chin around and away from the table until your back is flush against the wall.

Bucky pushes you down to your knees, pinches your mouth open, then spits on your tongue. "Swallow it."

You don’t think, just swallow as his eyes bore into yours as he towers over you.

He strokes his thumb over your cheek – nearly a caress, and you can’t help leaning ever so slightly into his touch. Then his thumb moves from your cheek to your lips, tracing them before pressing down to open your mouth again. He inserts two of the fingers that had been in your cunt into your mouth, and you close your mouth and begin to suck without him having to say so. The look on his face shows his approval. As you suck, there’s something so soothing about, the weight of his fingers pressing down on your tongue, the stead rhythm, that it that lulls you even further into a state of submission for him. Your eyes begin to droop.

He chuckles and withdraws his fingers, wiping them on your face. “Don’t want that so soon in our evening.”

He begins to unbuckle his belt, and you reach for the button and zipper, but he bats your hands away and slaps your cheek.

You look up sharply at him, reaching to soothe your cheek.

“Ask nicely for your Alpha’s cock, Omega.”

His first nights with you were about physical domination. This is the other half, yielding, submission.

You think best how to ask, before saying, “Please let me put my lips around your cock, Alpha.”

He unbuttons his trousers but keeps his eyes on yours. “Tell me how you want me to use your mouth, Omega,”

“I…” you bite your lip. You aren’t a stranger to sex, but speaking so directly about it isn’t something you’ve done with any of your partners in the past.

Bucky lowers the zipper. He pushes the band of his boxers down far enough to free his cock, and you whimper. He fists his arousal slowly. “You want it, then tell me what you want exactly. You’ve already let me use your body in so many ways, we both know you want more. What are you craving?”

You wait only another beat before answering, “Want you to fuck my throat.”

You are impressed at the evenness of your own tone in that moment, and his lips tick up as well.

Bucky widens his stance, then leans down to wrap his left arm around your head, holding it – almost cradling it – in the crook of his elbow. The he pushes his cock to your lips, you open for him, he pushes in, and starts truly fucking your mouth. The first few thrusts are slow, but insistent. He fills your mouth with more of him with each of those first thrusts. Then the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. He thrusts out and in again, again, again. His other hand strokes your cheek. Then he slaps it, and you groan around his cock.

“Mmmm, fuck you feel good,” he echoes your groan. “Gonna take all of your alpha’s cock down this pretty throat,” he says, and his hand moves down to your neck, feeling himself push in there.

Your eyes are tearing up, and the tears quickly start to spill over as he continues to use your throat, never removing himself completely now that he’s overtaken your mouth. He slaps your cheek twice in quick succession and you sob around his cock as you can manage. It’s hard to breathe, and your chest heaves. You brace yourself against his thighs, and he straightens and pulls out of you.

Bucky moves quickly, taking you by the shoulders and tossing you into the middle of the floor – rough but not violent.

“Clothes off,” he barks, but it’s he didn’t need to employ an alpha command to get you to comply. You barely have enough time to discard your pants and underwear the rest of the way, and only manage to get your shirt over your head in the time it takes him to get naked.

He’s on you the next instant, covering your body with his. With his chest pressed down against yours, you feel how his breathing is just as heavy as your own, glad he’s not as unaffected as he’s tried to play this encounter.

You hitch your thighs up around his torso and squeeze your knees around him.

But he doesn’t give you what you’re most anxious for yet, instead pausing to study your face.

“Such a pretty mess,” he admires.

Heat pulses through your body, his praise undeniable to your omega side.

He dips his head to lap up the salt of some of your tears, tongue dragging slowly up your cheek. When he draws back again, he merely looks at you. His eyes seem to be looking for something, but you don’t know what. You try not to give him anything outside of this moment.

His pelvis is lodged between your hips, so you squirm beneath him, hoping your hot, dripping cunt will call him back to your pressing needs. He groans and drops his forehead to yours, another sign he’s not as cool and detached as he was at the outset.

“Please, please fuck me, Alpha,” you beg.

“Fill you up with my cock? With my seed?”

“Yes, Alpha!”

He draws his hips back and you reach down and help line up his cock with your hole. He spears in with no mercy, and you don’t need or want it. You groan together as he fills you completely.

Your mouths meet again, and it’s a combination of rough messy kisses, nipping and bites, licking, mingled heavy breaths. It’s primal and unhinged, and there’s no thought to it as he continues to fuck you.

The pace at which he thrusts is relentless and just what you need, but also not enough.

You want more and you whimper and beg through kissing for it.

Bucky continues fucking you and pulls away from your lips, but in no way is he done overwhelming you. Leaning heavily onto his vibranium arm planted next to your head, he moves his other arm and presses his inner wrist up and down your neck insistently. The sound that escapes your mouth is broken and needy as the flooding of his scent directly In and around you engulfs your senses. Then he’s also sucking on your original bonding mark until you are a heaving, panting, crying mess, clawing at his back, unable to even put coherent words together to beg for him.

His shifts just enough that his pubic bone grinds down against your clit as he pounds into your pussy. You are practically vibrating with the impending orgasm, and as your alpha can undoubtedly sense that through the bond, he bites down on your mark, and you scream and fly into your release. Your walls clench hard around him, and he growls through two more powerful thrusts before he shouts, and you feel the heat of his seed star to fill you up. He pumps and pumps until he’s left every drop he can inside of you, then collapses on top of you.

He doesn’t move, pressing you down with all his weight as you both recover from the ecstasy you’ve just experienced. You almost move to stroke your fingers up and down his spine, but you quell that impulse. You do allow yourself to keep your hands on his back though – still, but connected to this man, your alpha, who dealt you such rough but undeniable pleasure.

Finally, Bucky pushes up off you, but surprises you when he scoops you up and carries you away bridal style, heading toward your bedroom.

“Alpha?”

“You really want to live under the same roof?” he asks.

 “Yes,” you answer simply.

He glances down at your face, brows furrowed, then looks back ahead as he heads down the hallway.

“Okay then.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he affirms, entering your room.

He tosses you onto the bed, and crawls up over you again. He reaches beneath your back to unclasp your bra, and you let him pull it from your shoulders and toss it off to the side. Closing the gap between your bodies, you relish the feeling of his bare chest against yours, his chest hair teasing your nipples. He grips your chin yet again, this time with his vibranium hand, and looks into your eyes with a steely, cold stare.

“If you’re anything other than the good omega I require, I will send you back here, but it won’t be like this last week has been. You will be in absolute exile. Don’t test me – there will be no chances.”

You give a single nod of your head.

He pushes up and leans back then, kneeling above you.

“But you don’t want to jeopardize or risk that, do you?”

“No, Bucky.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him anything other than alpha and he clocks that, you see the flash of acknowledgement in his eyes.

“You want to be with your alpha, you want the limited freedom you know I can give you if I choose to, but you also have your own agenda”

It wasn’t a question, and you know you can’t fool him – you know he is too smart for that, and you know he knows you are intelligent in your own right. He made it clear when he closed in on your people’s territory that’s why your compliance and claiming you as his omega was part of the deal of surrender to spare any more bloodshed.

“Cross me and your future will only be visitations when I require you to service my ruts.”

You don’t doubt his threat.

“Do we have an accord, Omega?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

The words you two exchanged the fateful night of that initial surrender.

He nods.

“It seems fitting to seal it by kiss.”

You sit up and then kneel before him on the bed, he bends his head down to kiss you. It’s fervent, solemn, but he cuts it off before it develops into anything more.

“Stay here,” he orders, sliding off the bed.

That was an alpha command – wholly unnecessary except to remind you of his power.

You scowl at his retreating form, then huff once he’s out of the room.

He’s quick, and when he comes back in the room, he is slowly stroking his cock with one hand, and holds his phone in the other. He steps up to the edge of the bed.

“A kiss here, as well,” he says, pushing his hips forward.

You crawl to him, lower your head, and kiss his cock. He nods at you, indicating he expects more. You take the tip of his semi-hard cock into your mouth, lave your tongue around the tip, and then suck, looking up at him. He takes a few photos, moaning at your ministrations.

“Fuck you couldn’t look more pretty and more ruined,” he whispers. He tosses the phone down, then pushes you off him and back onto the bed, manhandling your hips to get you planted in the center of the mattress with your thighs splayed open obscenely.

“Only fair for me to finish sealing the agreement and kiss these lips as well.”

He dives in like a man starved, despite the rounds you’ve just finished. He pulls your next orgasm quickly from your fluttering pussy. You would be surprised, only you’ve come to accept that he has already acquired a dangerous – and delicious – knowledge of your body.

He looks up at you and grins and then goes in immediately for another.

You try and push him away and close your legs, feeling overstimulated, but he growls and roughly forces your thighs open again.

“Your one chance of being my good omega is already begun. So, you’re going to let me eat the pussy that belongs to me until you’re a sobbing overstimulated mess and think you can’t possibly take any more, but you will. And since this should be the last night we ever spend in this bed, when I’ve had my fill of lapping at your sweet, dripping cunt, I’m going to see if I can’t fuck you hard and long enough to break the bed.”

You can only hope your gamble to deal with the devil of HYDRA will not be your undoing.

full Fine Line Collection

Everyone check your pulse, please. Mine is gone.

I'm not saying this is officially a series, but I think we HAVE fallen into a collection territory... Unless y'all are through with this Alpha Bucky...

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[bear-remn]

—shu headcanon's!

hi! I've been thinking a lot lately about the Sakamaki brothers and I came up with some headcanons that maybe you guys can enjoy too, the first one in this series is shu so enjoy! also a little art piece i make during maing this post.

tw: there are some nsfw headcanons!!! if you dont like that content dont read it!

his looks and selfcare

i do think that shuu is very, good looking, shu has that kind of elegant beauty, with his fine face and a straight nose, clearly his eyes are what attract the most attention when you see him for the first time, also shu has a very penetrating and fixed gaze, in addition to the fact that his blue color makes him have a captivating look and sometimes makes people nervous without realizing it, just because of his natural gaze.

even so, shu does not realize how attractive he is, at least not entirely, mostly bc he doesnt take care of his face, like he dont put any cream or special soap on his skin, he is totally the guy that barely wash his face and has a perfect skin.

but i do think that when he wants to, he definetly put sunscreen bc thats what he thinks is makeup for men.

and maybe this is a little... dirty? but i truly belive shu does'nt shower too often, maybe three times a week? or sometimes two, and he does not smell, like too bad, bc he dont sweat for some reason, but does sometimes stink with that smell, when somebody is for too long in a bed... that kind of smell.

and the times he showers he truly takes that shower like if it was his last, ofc is a bubble bath and he puts some candles and music while he just rest in hot water. is shu's private moment with himself. and he loves vanilla and chocolate candles.

and about shaving, he has a happy trail, but cant grow a hole beard, for some reason it just grow under his chin and it bothers him so he shave it right away. and about his body hair it is very thin and not so visible.

talking about skin, something shu needs, is to feel soft things to the touch, like his sheets, he makes his bed all the time and loves the smell of vanila or lavanda the bed has when its recently done, and its the same with his clothes, he needs cotton clothes, if shu feel something that is minimally rough or that makes his skin itchy, he never wears it again or throw it away.

shu does not brush his hair too often, mostly bc its not hard to control and he likes how he looks with messy hair.

i like to think that shu has a wide body, big shoulders and a thick waist, he has a prominent v line, his arms are a little thick too, and his hands are big, but his fingers are more thin and long, as he use to play piano. and he takes care of his nails, doesnt put nail polish but do cuts them and keep them clean.

random stuff

sometimes shu doesnt realize his shirt is inside out, and he realize just when somebody else point it out. but shu dont care.

shu is actually a goosip, so he puts one of his earphones bad just so he can hear what people are talking even if it had nothing to do with him.

and a little secret of him, when shu cant sleep and is alone, he looks at cute/funny (mostly shitpost) videos, memes and photos of animals, shu is totally an animal lover.

on his vacations shu loves to watch a reallity shows, he loves drama of famous people, but ofc shu doesnt talk about this with anyone. and definetly watch them when he eats. not too often tho, it has to be a really good show.

shu has a record collection in his room, next to a wall full of vinyls of his favorite music, he doesn't use them much but enjoys collecting them.

and bc of his childhood he is actually really smart but bc he is miserable and lazy he just dont show it nor in his life or in the academy. and also as a little revenge to his father (who punish him by sending shu to alaska lol).

shu actually dont like human food, he find it boring, but do enjoy eating meat, almost raw, but not too much, bc after that his stomach hurt a little. he does like coffe or hot chocolate sometimes and better when it has milk.

and my favorite little thing about shu, i think shu dont play in consoles, not play station, not xbox, not nintendo, nothing like that. so he only play games in his phone, but not anygame. shu either playes puzzles games or play subway surfers, or both, who knows. and he loves the music of that game, it always stick into his mind when he hears it.

NSFW

so, shus dick... is great, maybe too dirty of me to say but u truly belive that shu has a pretty dick, like maybe more thick than normal, with two prominent veins and heavy balls. and its a little biger than average, probably like 19 cm. i had to say it.

also, i belive shu is a switch, ofc loves to be dominant but also enjoys being dominated, with a limit.

shu loves to tease people in any chance he gets, like, when someone (specially a girl) find out that he likes to hear woman moans as music, he tease them to make them nervous like "what? would you prefer me to just hear you? want me to make you moan? hehe". or when a girl is wearing something too revealing too close to him, like he sees someone underwear or a little peak of her chest shu be such an ass "wanting to show me something? how lewd of a woman you are huh" all of that with his sly smirk.

he flirts in a very... one of a kind, like he teases but also like to make physical contact, at firts he just do it in a way to make the other person nervous but with the time he craves the physical contact, he loves feeling his skin touch another skin, what makes him sleep naked.

shu is more perverted than laito canonically, but i think that shu is more romantic about it, like put passion in it, you can feel the conection with him when having sex. specially bc he loves making eye contact and touch everything he can. he craves to melt into your skin and its really intense. he holds you with possessiveness, hard and intense. almost needy, but shu isnt like quick and fast or desesperate. he is more the kind of sloow and deep, nice and steady. kind of guy.

and bc of his intense desire, he loves foreplay, and best of it, he knows how to do it right, i just know he can read people to know what someone like to make them weak. he also loves kissing, tongue. theeth and lips, he have to kiss at every moment, and if you moan into his mouth he just gets worked up. he would definetly make you grind on his leg while kissing. clearly he does the leg thing, he know things.

shu is a big fan of 69, like he loves to get sofocated while you suck him, and he does it right, loves to play with your clit like crazy, but he isnt rough, but if you ask for him to be more rough he get into it, until youre fucking trembling. and he expect you to cum in his face, afterwards he is happy just to be there.

and his favorite position in bed is either cowgirl or spoonign, firts bc he like when you take control, and seconds, he gets to hold you and be close to you and not making too much effort.

in the case of cowgirl, he loves pushing up to go deeper, and all of that while watching you face, damn he loves it. also likes to hold you waist, and watch you support your body with your hands on his legs, that way he can see better your boobs as you move. when he is close he bites his bottom lip so hard just bc he wants to see you how you cum as well, literally make you look into his eyes while doing it. and if he can, shu will sit up just to kiss you and and look into your eyes up close. he loves to intimidate you with his gaze.

"cmon... keep looking at me... dont take your pretty eyes off mine..."

and if you refuse to lok at him, shu would hold you face to make your eyes meet his.

and in the case of spooning, he grabs you close, like if shu wants to get into your skin, would hold onto your tits or your belly with one hand while he other is in your neck, making you look back at him while he trust into you deep and nice. would kiss your shoulder, your neck, your back, any little part of your skin that is close to him, he would kiss it gently, and if shu speed up a little, you would hear his hot breaths in your ear, occacionally biting it.

"fuck... you're mine, you know that?... only mine.. say it..."

"you're my woman... hear it?... say it... i want to hear you..."

the aftercare is another story to tell, basically he would be either too lazy to get up or just by luck he has something to clean up in his drawyer. he is the kind of men, that would prefer to stay dirty for a while just to hold you a little longer, definetly tease you for another round or just kiss you softly as he carees you hair or skin.

this man craves you with passion, and its touch starved.

── more of my content here!

[redr0sewrites]

rain against the rooftop, you against me

🐌 A/n: i have had the worst migraine for the past few days, but i wanted to write,,,

🐌 Cw: fluffy, smut, afab!reader, established relationship, heavy petting, not proofread, cumming untouched, mommy kink, grinding

🐌 dividers

the air is still and quiet within the base, the same way it had been when Tomura left. with just a hasty kiss and a promise of soon returns, he had gone, claiming that it would be safer for the League to separate for the time being. while you agreed with him, it still hurt to see your lover go. that had been two weeks ago, and although you'd never admit it, you missed him. a lot more than you thought.

rain pours against the rooftop, soothing you with its repetitive tap tap tap. you close your aching eyelids, content in just listening to the rainfall, when all of a sudden, you hear a strange noise.

tap tap tap.

it was more... prominent than anything the rain could cause, but you brushed it off. maybe it was raining fish. you heard that could happen.. or maybe you were just crazy. hallucinating a tapping noise at your window probably wasn't too far off your usual level of worry, so you kept your eyes closed. that was, until it happened again.

"what the fuck..." you grumble, standing up to investigate the source of the noise. you approach the window with caution, opening the latch and taking a look outside, expecting it to be a squirrel or maybe a cat. what you were not expecting was for your disgruntled, soaking wet boyfriend to practically flop into your arms. you yelp, nearly pushing him back out the window before realizing who he is and pulling him back inside.

"what the fuck are you doing on my windowsill?" you gasp, pulling him down and shutting the latch.

Tomura doesn't reply, instead opting to kick off his shoes and sit down on your bed expextantly.

"what do you think i was doing?" he grumbles, and he shoots you a glare that doesn't come off nearly as menacing as intended. if anything, he looks like a wet kitten with his hair plastered to his face and cheeks scrunched up.

"where are the others?"

"i'm sitting on your bed and your asking about the others?"

"i'm just asking! what else am i supposed to say?"

"oh, fuck you," Tomura mumbles, before curling up on your bed and turning away from you.

"m' going to sleep, im too tired to deal with your annoying ass."

you huff, staring at his form and watching the undulating motions as he breathes. you can hear the sound of rain against your rooftop again, no longer dwarfed by his complaints.

"hnm... what are you doing?" Tomura looks up at you lazily as you crawl into bed beside him.

"i missed you~" you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself on top of him.

"can't you not- mngh!" Tomura gasps into your mouth as you kiss him, swallowing his words with minimal effort. he rolls onto his back as you flop on top of him, entangling your limbs with his as you continue sucking on his bottom lip. you pull away with faux innocence as Tomura glares up at you. he sits up abruptly, causing you to almost knock heads with him.

"watch it you freak," you grumble, and Tomura snickers.

"so now i'm a freak? i'm wounded," he replies, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you. half gloved hands find purchase on your hips, and he rubs his bare thumb on the smooth skin beneath your shirt. you let out a soft sigh before gently kissing him again, this time over the small mole beneath his lips. Tomura's brow furrows into a small pout, but you ignore him, opting to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into another kiss.

"really missed you, Tomu," you mumble against his lips. he lets out a soft half sigh, half whine, before returning the favor. you figure that this is the closest you'll get to an i missed you too, and curl one hand into his hair. your thighs circle around his waist, keeping yourself steady on his lap as you tug on his pale blue curls. Tomura lets out a hefty sigh into your mouth, and your lips twitch into a small grin. you give his hair another tug and he groans, dark red eyes glaring at you in irritation.

"stop that," he mumbles, and you cut him off with another kiss. this one is deeper than before, and you run your tongue between his lips, asking for permission.

"stop what?" you tease before strengthening your grip in his hair and giving it another firm tug, exposing his neck to you. immediately you begin peppering his jawline with soft kisses before you begin trailing down the soft column of his neck.

"i said stop," he hisses, fingers digging into your plush waist. you giggle into the crook of his neck before biting down. he lets out a strained yelp in surprise, and you immediately kiss over the forming bruise.

"make me," you murmur against his skin, languidly rolling your hips against his as you continue your assault on his neck. Tomura's breath hitches, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing as his cock twitches in his sweatpants. the hand that had been so tentatively crawling up your shirt find a firm purchase on your skin now, and his free hand tugs at your waistband in a hasty manner.

"s' been too long Tomura.. i've almost forgotten what you feel like."

your words strike a nerve, and he rolls his hips up harder against you, his clothed cock colliding with your cunt as he begins to grind you down into his lap.

"hh.. yea? missed me?" he rasps, his three non-gloved fingers digging into your waist as he presses you down against his aching length.

"missed you ss-o much Tomu!"

you nuzzle a bit deeper into his neck, sucking on the skin just below his ear, and he whines. you grind down against him fervently, increasing your pace with each animalistic whimper that slips past his lips. Tomura Shigaraki, the symbol of fear, crumbles beneath you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into your soft chest. ypur hand returns to his hair, petting and stroking him like a dog. his cock twitches desperately in his pants at the thought.

"you're already close, baby?" you murmur, and he nods lazily.

"ye-yeah,"

"aww, you're really about to cum in your pants just from some heavy petting?" you coo, and he lets out a strangled whine as his cock throbs in his sweatpants from your mocking tone. his eyes are glazed and hazy with lust as he stares at your perfect chest, jiggling with each role of your hips. he's mesmerized, and you begin to coo and pamper him as he slips deeper into a needy and overwhelmed state. the sound of the rain has long since been drowned out by Shigaraki's needy little huffs and moans as his orgasm approaches. between your gentle treatment and the onslaught of pleasure, he was embarrassingly close to cumming in his pants- and you want to see it happen so embarrassingly bad.

an especially hard roll of your hips directly against his clothed cock combined with a tug to the curls at the nape of his neck elicits a string of garbled incoherencies from his lips, mind too boggled with pleasure to even articulate what he needs.

"please, p-please, mommy," he sobs out, pretty tears forming at the corner of his eyes as he begins to hump against you desperately. you continue massaging his scalp with one hand while the other braces yourself against his chest, assisting you in maintaining your balance in his lap. you can feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten and you increase your pace, rutting down into his lap with a newfound fervor. Tomura moans, fingers digging into your soft skin as his own movements become sporadic.

"o-oh, ffuck, gonna!" he gasps out, lifting you up nearly entirely off his lap and then slamming you down against his clothed length. he twitches once, twice, three times within his pants, before his orgasm washes over him and he cums, throwing his head back with a needy mewl. you continue rolling your hips for a few more seconds, chasing your own high as you overstimulate him. he shakes beneath you, and the combined neediness of the whole situation and the sight of his blissed out, wanton expression pushes you over the edge. your thighs shake as you cum in his lap, soaking your panties the same way he had done in his boxers.

"oh- anh- hah!" Tomura whimpers beneath you, the friction sending his sensitive cock into overdrive as he squirms beneath you. "t-too much!"

you shudder, eventually ceasing in your motions and collapsing against him- panties soaked and eyelids drooping. Tomura flops back against the mattress, breathing heavily as you nuzzle into his neck.

"how about that nap?" you mumble, and he lets out a small grumble.

"can't. in case you didn't notice, i dirtied my underwear. i need to change-"

"shh. later. i want to sleep." you reply, and he huffs.

"your annoying, y'know that?"

"yeah yeah. you love me."

"...true."

this is,,, not my best work, but it'll do. anyways ! hope u enjoyed ! im prob gonna finish the tomura and touya nsfw alphabets p soon, but if anyone has any requests lmk !!!

[nathaslosthershit]

Everyone's Favorite Uncle (TD!OP81)

(Part 6 of Teen Dad [Can be read on its own]) Summary: The 1st time Logan met the Piastri twins and the 3 other times he cemented himself as the favorite honorary uncle. Warnings: Mentions of the 'Tensions Rise' fight. But mostly a whole lot of fluff

1. First Meeting

At 3 months old, the twins hadn’t met anyone who wasn’t family, their parents being extra cautious about bringing them around new people. As expected, these first 3 months as parents had been far from easy for 19 year old Oscar and 18 year old Honey. Especially now that Frances, their daughter, had started teething earlier than usual. Being as it was a painful experience for the newborn, Frances had been non stop crying, causing her brother, Hudson, to cry in return. After days of minimal sleep, the house was a mess and so was everyone in it.

After weeks of asking, Oscar had finally let Logan come over to see the twins. Had he known what the state of his home would be at the time, he probably would have pushed back the visit even more, but Logan refused to let Oscar cancel for something as trivial as a messy house. But he was unprepared for just how messy the home he was entering was going to be.

Fortunately, when Logan had arrived, all seemed well in the house. The twins were awake and not crying, and Honey had gotten a quick power nap in while Oscar tried to clean up the living room. Logan had noticed the lack of energy his long time friend seemed to have when he entered but he had brushed it off as the first few months of fatherhood having drained his energy. They talked for a bit while Honey fed the kids in the other room, all seemed well until…

“Oscar, she is crying again and I just fed and changed her. She isn’t due for a nap either. God, I think it's her teeth again. Can you go get the teething ring? I think it's in the fridge.” Honey asked as she barged into the room, clearly stressed.

Oscar immediately got up to check the fridge while Honey offered a quick hello to Logan. After a few minutes of silence and Oscar making loud banging noises that only made Frances cry harder, he came back in, empty handed.

“It's not there, love. Could you have placed it somewhere else?” He asked, starting to panic as Frances’ cries got louder.

Logan felt awful watching this go down. He knew it wasn’t his fault but guilt ate away at him while he stood there, not knowing what to do.

“Crap, I don’t think I washed it. It may be next to the sink? I'll go wash it while you get the soothing gel. Um… Logan, can you hold her?” Even though Honey had phrased it like a question, Logan realized it was not as she shoved the baby in his hands. Thankfully he had held babies before so he wasn’t so helpless, but this pressure to not hurt the screaming child did make him shake a little.

Sitting down on the couch, he readjusted the baby in his arms, starting to sway her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He watched as his two friends hurried off while he noticed Frances starting to quiet down. Minutes later when both parents barged in, they witnessed magic. Their previously fussy daughter was now cooing and giggling while in the arms of their long time friend. 

“How?” Honey asked, too shocked to get out a full sentence.

“I-I don’t know she just stopped crying and started staring at me.” Logan replied with the same amount of shock in his voice.

“You are a miracle worker.” Oscar said. At this, Logan looked up at the two teen parents, taking in their disheveled states. He would have laughed if it wasn’t so sad. 

An idea came to his head.

“You two go clean yourselves and rest a little, I’ll watch her. Maybe bring Hudson in so I can meet him as well.” Logan demanded. He wouldn’t have used such a commanding tone if he didn’t think they would fight him on this. As much as they needed the extra time to themselves, they were far too humble, maybe even stupid, to ask for help.

With a few quick ‘are you sure' and ‘you are a lifesaver’, the two parents slowly backed out of the room after bringing their son in.

They got two hours to shower and nap before it was time to take their kids back from Logan. 

The twins might have been too young to realize it at the time, but this was the moment he became everyone’s favorite uncle, especially Honey and Oscar’s.

2. First words

Ever since Logan had met the twins a year ago, he had frequented the Piastri household to see the family. It was Valentine's day and Logan, having no plans or someone to spend it with, had stepped up to offer to babysit so the two parents could get a break. While he was happy to watch the kids, he also had ulterior motives for visiting.

For the past few months, ever since the twins turned 1, Oscar had been stressing about how long it was taking them to say their first words. Honey was less stressed than her boyfriend, as she knew she took much longer than most kids to say her first words and ended up fine, but it was getting to the point where she started to get a little cautious. What they didn’t know was that for the past few months Logan had been trying to throw his name into the mix. While Oscar tried to sound out the word “Dada'', and Honey pushed “Mama”, Logan had secretly been trying to get them to saw “LoLo”. He had gotten a ‘Lo’ from Hudson so far but he still wasn’t satisfied. 

“Don’t worry, I have done this so many times already. Go out and have a reasonable amount of fun, two kids is enough for you both for now.” Logan joked as he started pushing Honey and Oscar out of their own house. He didn’t feel the need to sit through a 45 minute lecture he had been given far too many times already. 

Once they had left, Logan began his master plan. While he changed, fed, changed again, washed, and played with the twins, he kept repeating “LoLo” hoping they would finally bite and say it. Sadly though, there was nothing but the usual gibberish from the two.

He felt defeated as he opened the door to Oscar and Honey, who had clearly had a fun night as they came stumbling in. The kids were still up as they had napped late and Honey wanted to put them to bed once she got home.

“Thank you SO much Logan. You are a gift from God as usual.” Honey slurred as she went to change, leaving Oscar and Logan alone to talk.

As Logan packed up to head to his apartment, Oscar said hello to his kids. Just as he walked out the door, Logan heard a very clear and very distinct “LoLo” from behind him. As he turned around, he was met with Hudson reaching out to him and a completely stunned Oscar holding the one year old. 

Realizing he had been caught, Logan entered fight or flight mod.

“Logan, what have you done?” Oscar asked in a stern tone.

“Nothing”

“Logan, talk.” Oscar had really mastered the Dad voice, he realized. Logan was a 20 year old man, he didn’t need to explain shit, but he still crumpled as Oscar looked at him.

“For the past few months I have been trying to teach your children to say “LoLo”. They hadn’t said it yet, I swear, this was the first time.” He rambled as if he was a kid that had been found with his hand in the cookie jar.

Oscar mentally facepalmed at the confession. 

“Alright. Fine. I am mad but I will be even more upset if Honey finds out. Under no circumstances can she know that you did this, or that your name was her son’s first word. Got it?”

Without saying a word, Logan saluted the Australian in front of him and quickly left the household, shaking off the fear Oscar instilled in him but also thrilled he had been Hudson’s first word. 

3. Logan saves the day

Hudson and Frances had been sick for the past week due to a virus they had caught at a playdate. Sadly, as the three year olds got better, their parents got worse.

As Oscar and Honey tried to push through the day, they became miserable due to the fact they couldn’t shake this virus off and that it was a beautiful day out that their kids had to miss out on because their parents were stuck inside. But after both twins gave their best puppy dog eyes to their father, pleading to go out, Oscar had no choice but to call in reinforcements. 

45 minutes later, Logan had both twins in the backseat of his car as he drove to the nearest ice cream parlor.  

Two hours, some big scoops of ice cream, and one park visit later, Logan carried two sleeping toddlers in his arms as he reentered the Piastri home.

4. Distractions

(This takes place during Tensions Rise so if you haven’t read it yet, I would advise you do so)

Wanting to give Honey a moment to collect herself, Logan walked the twins to his driver’s room where he had a very comfortable couch he knew they would fall asleep fast on. He gave them water and tucked them under some extra blankets he had and right before he got up to leave he heard Frances speak up.

“Lolo, does daddy not love us?” the three year old girl asked.

“Franny, why would you think that? Of course he does.” Logan did not feel equipped to have this conversation and started to panic, wondering if he should call for Honey. 

But he knew she needed a bit of space.

“He didn’t have breakfast with us when he said he would and he made mommy cry outside when he didn’t come.” Hudson answered for his sister. 

Logan took a deep breath as he tried to come up with some kind of answer.

“Me and Osc- your dad’s jobs are hard and take up a lot of time. Sometimes things happen and plans change, but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less. Everytime he is traveling for work, he is always showing me pictures of you guys and telling stories. That is all he talks about!” Logan said, putting smiles on the two twin’s faces. “You know, when he and your mom found out they were having twins, I was one of the first people he told. We were teammates and he had such a big smile on his face during a team meeting that I forced him to tell me. Ever since then I knew he loved you both so much. Even if he hasn’t been around too much, I have no doubt he adores the two of you.”

With that, he gave the two kids a kiss on the forehead as he walked out of the room, hoping to cheer up their mother as much as he had helped them.

[hier--soir]

heart to heart

john price x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: john takes you away for the weekend, and nestled in a cottage on the countryside, you show him just how much you've been missing him. warnings/tags: long term boyfriend!john, john price never finishes his cigars, explicit smut, a little body worship, oral [m receiving], fingering [f], unprotected piv sex, multiple orgasms [m], some overstim [m], come eating x2, brief cock warming, idiots in love, porn with minimal plot. word count: 4.4k masterlist a/n: this was born out of me being physically unable to stop thinking about that middle picture being john price, so here we go follow @hier--soirupdates if you’d like to be notified when i share my writing

It hasn’t rained in six days.

Late autumn spins the countryside in its grasp; a warm cloak that sends the leaves golden and the grass dewy. In a small, unfamiliar kitchen you drop teabags into mugs and gaze out the window. Admire the vast acreage that surrounds the cottage, and the marshland beyond that.

The early morning rays are bright and cool, turning the cabinets a washy yellow colour around you as you wait for the kettle to boil.

Everything is quiet, calm. If you listen closely, past the sound of birds chirping and water bubbling, you can hear John’s heavy snores down the hall; still catching up on sleep after a long few weeks away.

When he came through the front door two nights ago, you’d been quietly surprised to see him home so soon. After not hearing much for almost a month, you’d resigned yourself to getting on with things in his absence. A fairly covert operation, you knew, so you’d spent your days waking to an empty house. Working and eating and showering alone and never exceeding the appropriate number of messages you could send him in one day without stirring worry. Little Angus with his long orange tail and his soft whiskers your only company in John’s stead.

Home at last, he’d wrestled out of his heavy boots and draped himself over where you lay on the couch. Soap opera long forgotten on the tele, he’d slipped an arm around the back of your head, held you to his chest and said, Let me take you somewhere.

The kettle whistles and you pluck it from the stove, still smiling at the memory. Douse the teabags in boiled water and watch as the windows cloud with steam. You leave his black, just the way he likes it, but soften your own with sugar and milk. Your toes are numb against the cool tile, and you rub them against your calf in search of warmth. Inside, your body is at sleepy old war with itself. One half longing to be back in bed, or perhaps to have not gotten up at all yet; the other half taking great pleasure in the mundanity of doing things like this for him again, after so long of not. Tap tap tap of an impatient finger against the counter until his tea turns the perfect colour, and then you’re on your way back to the room.

Leant amongst paisley patterned pillows and white linens, John looks a little out of place knuckling sleep from the corner of his eyes. A little too rough around the edges, too big, too hardened for such soft surroundings. In your brief absence, he’s drawn the curtains and nudged the window beside the bed open a crack. A long arm stretches out toward the sill, ashing a cigar onto the small dish he’s balanced there.

Naked as the day he was born, he lifts the cigar to his lips and blinks drowsily at you. Stretches his legs out, the muscles in his thighs straining, curled toes skimming the end of the bed. Eyes wandering, you kick the door shut with your foot and slink to the end of the bed, holding out his mug.

“’Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. Accepts the tea with a soft smile, the skin beside his eyes crinkling as he watches you crawl in beside him. Hands full, he twists an ankle around yours, face pulling up at the feel of your cold skin against his. “Jesus, you’re like ice. I’ll shut the window.”

“Don’t move,” you hush, nestling your head against his shoulder. “You’re right where I want you.”

John laughs softly, warm body vibrating against yours. “Is that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You watch him tap his cigar against the dish, sipping your tea and trailing fingers through the dark hairs on his stomach. Enjoy the way his body draws tense beneath your cool touch, goose flesh sprouting across his skin. “Middle of nowhere… unfamiliar town… no one will ever find you. You’re all mine out here, Price.”  

“M’all yours everywhere,” he says, abandoning his cigar in the dish so he can tug on the neckline of your—his—t-shirt. “This proves it, yeah?”

“I suppose,” you smile, lifting your mug to hide behind a sip. He watches you move, calculating and quiet as he sips his own tea. You fidget beneath the intensity of his stare, painfully aware of how well he knows you. That your want, your need, must be painted across every inch of your face.

“Love you in my clothes, sweetheart, I do.” John’s fingers curl beneath the hem of the shirt then, rough callouses tickling over your collarbones. “But you’re makin’ me feel awful naked.”

Heat flares in the base of your stomach and you chuckle, matching smirks splashed across your faces as you sit up and drag the shirt over your head. He watches as you flick it to the floor, gaze darkening as he looks over your body, focusing on the thin grey panties that cover the skin between your thighs. A thick arm curls around your waist, tugging you back onto him, and as you settle there his fingers slip down to fiddle with the band of your underwear.

“Cute,” he comments airily, middle finger dropping under the band to caress the skin beneath it.

Mug discarded off the side of the bed, you put both hands to his stomach now. Tickling his soft skin, playing with the hair there as you lean in and press a kiss to the centre of his chest. And then another, and another, with John simply humming, palm flattening against the small of your back to hold you against his side.

Your lips part, tongue dancing lazily against his nipple. Soft strokes until the flesh is stiffening and you’re practically purring against his skin, drifting across to the other one. You hear the soft clink of his mug hitting the side table, and then John’s hand falls against the back of your head. Thick fingers twist through your hair, playing as you kiss and lick over his collarbones, and the little tugs he gives have a low throb starting up between your legs.

“Feelin’ needy this mornin’, hey lovey?” John asks. His fingers come to the front of your face, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. Big blue eyes watch you pout, cheeks squished between his fingers as you nod.

“I missed you,” you say, turning to press your nose into his palm and inhale the smell of him.

His eyes soften, and all sense of teasing seems to slip out the window. “I know, sweetheart, m’sorry. Come here’n give us a kiss.”

His lips are soft against yours. Warm, and familiar, with a hint of Darjeeling. Pulling you up to straddle his waist, he coaxes your chest down against his and huffs into your mouth at the feel of your nipples against his skin, teeth sneaking out to smart at your bottom lip.

“Thought about you every day,” he mumbles against your lips. “Missed you every second, love, always do.”

You feel something hot and sharp spark behind your eyelids at those words, and flick your tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing it away, not now not now. You go soft and pliant against him; let him guide you through the kiss, coaxing your mouth open with his long tongue as his fingers dance down your spine. When his hand reaches the round of your ass he grips your flesh there, kneading it between his fingers and pushing down so your clothed cunt comes flush with his cock.

“Feel that?” John says, pulling away an inch to nose at your cheek. His cock is heavy between your legs, thick and stiff where it presses against the gusset of your panties. You gasp as he rocks his hips up, grinding against you until the damp fabric slips between your slick folds and rubs over your clit. “That’s how much I missed you, sweetheart.”

As he talks, the hairs on his moustache prickle against your lips, and you find yourself opening your mouth. Breathy moans spill as you roll your hips against his, lathing hot opened mouthed kisses over his jaw.

“Looked at your picture every night,” he continues raggedly, breath hitching as you suck at the hollow of his throat. His cock twitches against you, the slide only getting smoother as more slick spills into your panties. “Thought about comin’ home ‘n’ never leavin’ again, just so I could play with this pretty little cunt whenever I like.”

Your hips stutter into his and you whine, a tiny glimpse of an orgasm fluttering through you just from those words.

“S’yours,” you whisper against his skin, the words he spoke moments before dancing through your mind. “All yours everywhere.”

Faster than he can stop you, you’re slipping off his lap and settling beside him on the bed. Continuing the onslaught, you lick hot, messy kisses over the skin of his neck, across the broad span of his shoulders.

“My big man,” you say tenderly, fingers itching their way across his chest. You skirt your teeth down the middle of his sternum, squeaking a little when he murmurs in enjoyment and presses a hand to your ass again. “I missed your body so much.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me then,” he goads lightly, grunting around a smirk when you sink your teeth into the soft flesh over his ribs in response.

His fingers toy with the material of your panties as you drag your tongue over the dip of his belly button, and when you kiss the soft curve of his lower stomach, nose buried in the dark hairs above it, you feel him grip the fabric tight. You can see his cock in your peripheral vision. Swollen and heavy against his hip now. The tip has turned a pretty shade of dark pink, accented by little streaks of white where pre-come oozes from his slit and glides down his throbbing shaft. With your mouth on his belly, you reach out and wrap your fingers around him.

“Fuck,” John grunts, head lolling back against the pillows.

You smile, stroking him slowly as you drag your nose through his thick happy trail, all the way down to nuzzle against the dark thatch of curls above his base. Insistent now, his fingers push beneath the edge of your panties and drag through your slick seam.

You whimper, forehead resting heavily against his skin as he slides two fingers through the wet mess of you. Lewd sounds of your arousal fill the room as John traces featherlight circles around your clit, and your face heats against his stomach, fingers returning to their lazy pace around his length.

The throb between your legs has become a second heartbeat now, so strong that you’re sure he must feel it beneath his fingertips. If he does, he just sighs softly. Lets the thrumming of your cunt sync with the pulse in his fingertips, heart to heart, and murmurs low encouragements as you tilt your head to the side and begin mouthing at his cock.

“Missed my cock.” Your voice is low and unfamiliar in your ears, mouth overrun with desire and spilling your guts before you can stop it. “So pretty, John…”

Circling your entrance with a thick finger, he just says, “I know, love, s’yours. Go on.”

As slow as you can bring yourself to be, you lay gentle kisses down the entire length of him. Wetting your lips and gliding them over his warm, silken skin, before dipping lower and sucking his balls between your lips. A harsh grunt sounds behind you, and, as if in retaliation, he sinks two thick fingers inside you. You moan around his sensitive skin, holding his balls in your mouth and jerking him off until he’s trembling beneath you, broad thighs straining as he tries to hold himself together.

“That’s good, love,” he murmurs softly, almost speaking to himself as he curls his fingers inside you, humming when you grind into his hand. “Need ta get my fuckin’ mouth on you.”

But you just shake your head. Let his balls slip from your mouth with a soft pop before sticking out your tongue and guiding the weeping tip of his cock towards your mouth. Hasty, too needy for your own good, you slip your lips around him and try to take him deep on the first pass. Out of practice after weeks away, your throat constricts and you choke a little around him. So big, so overbearing, you’re too eager to be filled by him that you push and push until you’re gagging and sputtering. Cheeks hot and eyes downturned, you draw back, skin prickling as you hear him say something past the rushing in your ears. Take a moment to catch your breath and ground yourself, fingers tight on his thigh as your tongue swirls around his tip.

“This what you missed then?” he’s saying, collecting your hair in his fist to keep it off your face. “Hm, missed bein’ all full of me?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, pulling back with a gasp only to press his head against your cheek. Eyes closed, you rub his ruddy tip against your chin, your lips, painting your skin with his precome. Feel the weight of him warm your skin and sigh in quiet delight. And when he groans, exhaling a heavy, ragged breath, you press your mouth around him again, desperate to hear him make that sound over and over again.

“Easy, darlin’, lemme see you,” John chokes out, thumbing sliding over the apple of your cheek. “So pretty with your lips around my cock.”

Heat floods your chest, and you drool around him. The words seem to trigger something in your mind, some insatiable desire to please, to make him feel good, because you’re relaxing, sinking your mouth down further on him. A low, drawn-out curse falls from his lips, fingers curling in the hair behind your ear.

Gaudy sounds of sucking and slurping fill your ears, and you would be self-conscious if it weren’t for the way John’s growls met them in the air. Wordlessly, he slips a third digit inside and the stretch brings a dull burn that has your mouth slowing against him.

Your eyelids flutter as his thick fingers stroke at your walls, searching for the spot that makes you spill every time, but your wanton cries of desperation are muffled by the heavy weight of him on your tongue. In slow, measured movements, he begins to shift his hips in time with your head. Feeding his cock to you and grunting when he feels your throat go soft and easy around him, letting him slip further in until your nose buries in the hair at his base.

John watches you, the blue in his eyes almost entirely swallowed by desire fattened pupils. Rakes his gaze over the way your lips stretch around his thick cock, tears dancing on your lashes as you take him in your throat. The heady taste of him is intoxicating, and you can only hold his gaze for so long before your eyes are rolling back, stomach pulling tight as you swallow around him.

Stuffed to the brim with John, John, John. He’s everywhere, filling your mouth, your aching cunt; it sends your heart racing, thighs trembling as your orgasm begins to crest.

Molten heats swims in the base of your stomach, curling and bubbling there as he you ride his long fingers, moaning his name around his cock. But just as you feel everything begin to go tight and tingly, John’s pulling on your hair and dragging you off him.

A thin strand of spit dangles between his tip and your mouth and he snarls at the sight, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Fuck, c’mere,” he huffs, squeezing insistently at your shoulders. “Wanna feel you on my cock when you come for me, yeah?”

Mind a hazy blur, you let the weight of him fall from your mouth, the hinge of your jaw still burning as you peel your underwear down your legs and spread yourself over his lap. John doesn’t pull his hand away though. No, he keeps his fingers between your legs, pumping them in and out, slowly, as you hover over his cock.

“My girl,” he says, eyes focusing on where the puffy lips of your cunt almost touch his cock. “My filthy, sweet girl.”

“John,” you puff his name, abdomen tensing when he rubs his thumb against your clit. Balanced on your knees and the tips of your toes, your legs shake a bit. Fingers dance forward to touch his shoulder, desperate for an anchor.

You frown a little, swollen lips parted in a torturous mix of desire and confusion, but he just offers a filthy grin and says, “Tell me you missed me again.”   

“Oh, fuck off,” you smart instinctually, lips twitching when he barks a laugh and slips his fingers from your wet clutch, grasp drifting to your waist. “Please.”  

“There she is,” he rumbles, jaw tensing as you glide his tip through your folds, coating him in your slick. A heavy rush of air spills from his nose. “My impatient girl.”

Once he’s got you on his cock, it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart.  

He lets you keep having it your way for a bit. Watches, gaze heavy, as you bounce on his cock, hands gripping his shoulders for leverage. You squirm on him, face twisted up as you adjust to the thick stretch of him after so long. It burns and aches between your thighs, but you can’t help but keep coming back for more, sinking down on his length faster each time. He tilts his head forward to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, moaning against the plush of your breast when you arch your back, crying out at the feeling of his teeth on the sensitive bud.

After a while he slots his greedy lips against yours. Presses hot, sucking kisses to your mouth, swallowing down every gasp and moan that crawls its way up your chest. The bristles of his facial hair scratch at your cheeks, your nose, and you love it. Have desperately missed the way it warms your skin as he presses his tongue inside your mouth and tastes behind your teeth.

Using his hold on your hips, he rolls you against his lap. Meets you thrust for thrust until you start to soak his length, jaw going slack as he growls into your open mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love, that’s it,” John groans, fingers tightening on your waist as your cunt pulls tight and hot around him. Thighs shaking, you let your forehead fall against his chest and ride out the flood of your orgasm. “I know, darlin’, I know, I’ve got you.”

Fingers fly up to grip the back of your neck, his other arm snaking around your waist as he continues fucking up into you. His cock presses hot and heavy into that soft, gushy spot deep inside you and you shudder against him, helpless little moans slipping from your parted lips. Face smushed against his hairy chest, you drool a little. Feel it pool between his pecs and smear across your cheek as your eyes roll back, dopamine pounding in your veins as he pushes you relentlessly through the high.

“Gonna let me fill you up?” he’s panting, feet planted on the bed now as he bucks into you, hips stuttering as he sinks closer and closer to his end. “Fuck, I’m gonna make a right mess of you, darlin’. That’s it, lovey, show me that pretty face.”

“John,” you mewl, toes curling against the sheets. “Shit, oh shit.”   

“Christ,” he grunts when you meet his eyes, jaw pulled tight. “So tight, m’ gonna come—”

“Wait,” you mumble suddenly, senses sharpening despite the way your thighs still shake against his hips. John stills immediately, grip tightening on your waist. “In my mouth, I want you in my mouth.”

His face crumples at that, a guttural noise sputtering from his lips as you lift off him and slip down to rest between his legs. He nods, brushing hair back off your face as you sink your mouth down on him, slick tongue hungry on the underside of his pulsing cock. He mutters your name, tells you how perfect you feel as he rocks his hips forward, tip nudging the back of your throat with every careful thrust.

“My sweet girl, doing so good for me,” he breathes, a coy grin on his face and a firm hand at the base of your skull. He holds your head in place as he fucks your mouth with slow, steady strokes. Groans every time you swallow, warm wet throat drawing tight around his swollen head.

“Look at me, let me see those eyes,” he mutters urgently, tugging on your hair until you’re blinking, focusing blurry eyes on his face. He thumbs at the teary streaks on your cheeks and gives a rough, prolonged groan as he begins to spill down your throat. “Fuck, fuck.”

You bob your head as his cock twitches and jerks against your tongue, sucking until he’s filled your mouth with warm come and it starts seeping from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down his shaft. You catch the spill with your fingers, swallowing his thick spend down and then licking what’s left from your trembling hands.

John watches on, chest heaving, and tuts fondly when you whimper, head spinning with the salty taste of him on your tongue.

“Bloody hell,” he exhales after a moment, dragging his knuckles over his face. “We’re never goin’ home.”  

You laugh, drowsily nuzzling your cheek against the inside of his thigh as his cock softens against his stomach. John cards his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, legs still twitching and eyes drifting closed as he tries to catch his breath. Lips slick with spit and come, you lay soft pecks along his sweaty skin. Smile when he shudders, fingers tightening against your scalp, but doesn’t pull you off.

There’s a hot flush of red splashed across the skin of his neck, his cheekbones, and his stomach is still warm to the touch when you reach out to graze his soft flesh. Sated and sleepy, he wets his lips and continues to play with your hair. Lovingly curls strands of it around his fingers and tugs gently before letting go, only to pick a new strand and do it again.

Overcome with emotion, and unable to stop yourself, you lean forward and take his soft cock back into your mouth.

John hisses through his teeth in surprise, eyes flashing open.

You don’t do anything crazy yet. Just let him feel the warmth of your mouth around him, the soft glide of your tongue against the ridge around his head. When he doesn’t pull you off after a second, you give him a little suck. Not hard—just enough to make his hips flinch down into the mattress and his legs pull tight at your sides.  

“Fuck,” he exhales, face pinched. His hand trembles against your head. “Fu—hang on, fuckin’ hell, love.”

You peer up past his stomach to where his mouth hangs open and his eyes are shiny and wide. His nails scratch against your scalp. Needy little nudges that blur the line between too much and not enough. You hum in pleasure around him when a choked sound falls from his mouth. Feeling a little mean, though, you pull back, licking your lips and smiling apologetically.

“Sorry,” you murmur, face hot as you squeeze his thigh. “Just want to love on you a little longer, that’s all.”

He hums deep in his chest, brow creasing a little as he brings his big hands to cup your face. His thumb swipes at your chin, smearing the saliva there, and you part your lips for him. He makes a sort of pained sound as he slots the digit into your mouth and watches you hollow out your cheeks out around it, swirling your tongue and sucking like you’d done to his cock just moments ago.

“Christ,” John breathes. Something needy and desperate glints in his eye, and he slips his finger from your mouth. Grips the back of your neck and gives a short nod. “Gonna be the death of me, ain’tcha?”

Guided by his hand, you take him back in your mouth and sigh in relief. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you rest your face against his hip, taking deep breaths through your nose and just holding him like that for a while. You can hear the way his breathing goes haggard above your head; short sharp bursts of air huffing from his nostrils. Sensitive as he must be, John lets you have your fun, shivering and spiting low curses as your touches get increasingly needier. And when you begin to suck softly at his length again, he seems unable to help the way his strong legs writhe against the mattress.

He says your name, rough and urgent, when you pull back only to snake your tongue out against his slit. Eyes fluttering open, you look up at him as you lathe your tongue down his length, smiling at how red his face has gotten, at how he seems to be holding his breath. John’s cock starts to swell and stiffen beneath your touch.  

“D’you want me to stop?” you whisper, tracing the blue vein that pulses down the side of his length with your tongue.

“No,” he pants, head lolling from side to side. “Fuck no, gorgeous. Just go easy on me, yeah? It’s ohh—” he winces “—s’a lot.”

You nod understandingly and press a kiss to his tip, smearing the fresh pearl of precome there against your lips. He’s fully hard now, throbbing when you wrap your fingers around his thick base and wrap your lips around his head. A guttural sound rips from his chest and he’s tugging at your hair. For a moment you pause, unsure, but then he’s pushing a little on you. Nudging you closer, further, so you take him deeper and deeper until his tip is nudging against your throat.

“Fuck,” John gasps, hips stuttering against your palms, sensitive cock twitching against your tongue. “S’too much, love, it’s—oh fuck.”

With a ragged grunt his cock pulses in your mouth, and a little spurt of come dribbles from his head. You moan, eyes closed, and swallow tight around him, milking every last drop of spend from his cock until he’s winded and clumsily pushing you off of him.

Breathless, you fall flat on the mattress beside him, feet dangling off the end of the bed. John’s broad palm cradles the back of your head still, a comforting weight as you wipe your face against the sheets.

Ears pricking, you realise it’s begun to rain outside. Soft patters of liquid that knock against the window, thin rivulets that drip down to splash and splutter against the sill. Long forgotten, his cigar sizzles and dies beneath the spray.

“Another tea?” you murmur finally, pushing up onto your elbows.

But with a soft, startled laugh, you find that John’s eyes are closed, chest rising with steady breaths; already back to sleep. Shaking your head a little, you smile fondly at his lax form, and consider closing the window. You settle instead for pulling the duvet from the corner of the bed. Curled against his thick side, you settle the blanket over the two of you and lay an arm over his stomach, content to have a proper lie in after such a busy morning.

thanks for reading, i'd love to hear what you thought x

[thanks-for-the-crabapples]

Arcane S2 Thoughts - Caitlyn Changing

Just thinking more about Caitlyn and her timeline and her "changing." I have to remind myself that we've only seen a snapshot of Caitlyn and her ideals. Season 1 (Acts 2 and 3) takes place over what? One week? It's a crazy week, and yes, during S1 we see Caitlyn be incredibly empathetic to the Undercity and its people. She lets Vi out of prison. She shows compassion to Huck. She bridges the gap with Ekko. She defends the Undercity in front of the Council.

But we also see her have initial prejudice toward Vi (both in prison and out of it). She makes insensitive and naive comments about the Undercity (The Last Drop, shimmer addicts). She's trying her best, but you can tell there's subconscious issues there. And all the nice things we get to see her do are rooted in her self-appointed mission of taking down the leader of the Undercity to save the people there. People she really doesn't know that much about.

And she acknowledges that. She suspects that reality is different than the rhetoric she's been fed her entire life. Vi shows her the truth, and she sees the plight of the people there.

But, she's only had that truth for what? A week? And she's had this subconscious prejudice for 20 years? And then what happens?

Her mother is killed

The Undercity brutally attacks innocent (and not so innocent) civilians at a Memorial for said mother.

I mean, no wonder that bias is bubbling up again. No wonder Vi starts looking like an exception, and the Undercity folk start looking like, well, animals.

And we can still see that internal battle right? She tells the council it's just one person causing the issues, not the Undercity itself. She defends Vi to the Enforcers. Her objectives are focused on keeping the people of the Undercity safe, or at least minimizing damage.

But she still uses Hextech weaponry. She still uses The Gray to gas them out. She still threatens incarceration to that henchman in front of Vi.

Vi asks Caitlyn not to change. But Vi's only known Cait for one emotional, adrenaline-filled, sleep-deprived, chaotic week. Does she really know Caitlyn at all? Does Caitlyn even know herself?

I truly think Caitlyn's life changed when she met Vi, through Vi's heart and through her experience in the Undercity. But what is one week of change compared to 20 years of messaging. Compared to the grief of losing your mother. Compared to the guilt of believing that you could've stopped it. Had you been decisive enough. Had you been ruthless enough. Had you just, taken the shot.

Caitlyn calculates everything she does. And I think her fatal flaw is her belief that she, and she alone, can make the right decision. It's what led her to her rogue investigation in Season 1, and it's what's leading her to become Ambessa's war general in Season 2.

The environment you're in is a hell of a factor. We've never seen Caitlyn with a grief like this. We've never seen Caitlyn with this kind of power. And wow, the power. The power of her name, of her house, of the military. We don't know who Caitlyn will become in this new environment. She's probably finding out for herself.

So did Caitlyn change? I don't know, because I don't know if we ever really knew her at all.

[kingkatsuki]

— distance

Based on this post sent to me by @toutoshodoroki. You know I can’t resist Bakugou in a long distance relationship.💕

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Warnings: fluff, long distance relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

Bakugou[7.34PM] — One New Message

Your face practically glowed as you reached across the desk for your phone, snatching it greedily as you held it to your face to unlock.

It wasn’t unusual for Bakugou to be awake at this time, as you tried to do the math in your head to work out what time it was for him. His work often called for unsocial hours, but just knowing that you could now steal a few precious moments before he had to start work was enough for you. Today had been hell, as well as much of your week— so this was already the highlight of your day.

The distance was hard, but finding the time for each other seemed to be even harder.

There were no words attached to the message, only a photograph that you were quick to click. The picture was of departure boards which seemed as though he was inside a train station, no— an airport.

You[7.37PM]: Going somewhere?

Bakugou[7.38PM]: First flight out. Checking in now.

You knew Bakugou’s job was demanding, and it often meant he disappeared for long periods at a time. It was something you fought about a lot at the beginning of your relationship. You remembered the moment you’d called him a catfish, and you’d blocked him on all platforms— until you received a tweet from the Official Dynamight agency account which solidified the fact that you were in fact talking to the number two Pro.

It was something you were beginning to come to terms with, eagerly awaiting his return and appreciating the missions where he was allowed to contact you. A welcome change to have him closer to your timezone so you could fall asleep on the phone together or feel like you were actually with each other. Waiting at home for your boyfriend to finish work and take you out.

It was selfish really, that it wasn’t the fact that it could be dangerous or he could get hurt that upset you. Of course, you worried about him, really you did. But what you hated more than anything about when he travelled for missions was that it meant that it became harder to talk to him.

You[7.39PM]: How long this time?

Bakugou[7.45PM]: I’m thinking two weeks.

Your stomach lurched at the thought that you might not be able to talk to him much for the next two weeks, grimacing over the fact that your week had most certainly gotten worse.

Curling up into a ball on your couch as you continued to text him back, trying to get as much of his attention as possible before he stepped onto the flight.

You[7.46PM]: Where to this time?

Bakugou[8.05PM]: Sorry, princess. Had to get through security.

Bakugou[8.05PM]: Grabbing a quick coffee. It’s too damn early for this shit.

He’d ignored your question about where he was heading, which made you think it was going to be one of the more serious missions. The ones where he couldn’t disclose his location, and that he had to surrender his cell phone at the airport before he stepped onto the flight. Wondering if you’d have enough time to call him before he left, a quick FaceTime today would be better than nothing.

The call connected as Bakugou came into view. Holding the phone in its usual position by his waist as it gave you a view of his handsome jaw, a large coffee in his other hand and a hold-all slung over his shoulder as he made his way through the quiet airport.

“Hey, beautiful.” He grinned as he pulled the phone closer to his face to get a better look at you, “Look so pretty today.”

“No I don’t,” You whined. He was the one that looked pretty, even after what you supposed was minimal sleep.

“You callin’ me a liar now, huh?” He laughed, moving the phone as he dumped his bag from his shoulder. The change in angle gave you a view of the grey sweats and trainers he was wearing.

“I would never,” You laughed, already feeling all your stress from the day begin to leave your body.

“Good, you better not.” He chuckled.

“But you never told me you were going away, you know.” You mumbled, disappointed you had to find out this way.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” His chin disappeared inside the neck of his hoodie as he stared down at his phone with crimson eyes, “I only booked the ticket last night.”

“Oh,” The trip had been that late notice, “So where are you going?”

Bakugou pressed the screen as he turned the direction of the camera, pinching with his fingers as he zoomed in on the departure screen at his gate. The movement blurry, but you could make out the name of the destination.

Your city.

“Wait, what?” You held your breath, your heart was doing somersaults as you waited for his confirmation.

“Yeah,” He grinned, turning the camera back to face him, “Heard there’s a pretty girl that lives in this city. So I’m gonna go and find out for myself.”

“You’re lying.”

“There you go again callin’ me a liar, sweetheart,” Bakugou scrunched his nose, “You really trying to make me cry in front of all these people?”

“What the fuck,” You couldn’t believe it, after all this time he was finally coming to see you.

Tears began to cling to your lashes, pooling in your waterline as they threatened to spill over.

“You were saying last night that no one ever shows up or makes the effort for you when it counts, that no one takes the time, remember?” Bakugou continued.

You nodded on the other side of the phone, your throat tight from the tears that were now streaming down the apples of your cheeks.

“So I’m doin’ it, I’m making the effort.” He shrugged, his eyes softening, “Don’t cry, princess. You know I fuckin’ hate when you cry.”

“I’m sorry,” You sniffed, barely managing to get it out between sobs, “Are you really coming for two weeks?”

“Yeah I am, baby,” Bakugou smiled, “If you’ll put up with me for that long.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever be able to get time off work.” You’d both tried to meet up in the past, but your schedules could never quite make it work.

“Yeah, but I think it’s about time I stop talking about how much I care, and show you instead.”

[violetsiren90]

Nothing But You | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x f!human!Reader

Genre: hybrid AU; non-idol AU, strangers to lovers; love in adversity; cozy one-shot; fluff and angst

Word Count: 1434

Summary: The world's not ready for your love, but that doesn't matter. None of it matters - nothing but him.

Part 2: Evergreen (though both can be read as stand-alone works)

Content Warnings: I'd give this a PG-13 for content, but ALL of my work is 18+ (minors, dni); cuddling; co-sleeping; bad weather (but safe indoors); shirtless Chris (Chan is called Christopher); descriptions of hybrid physical features (including some minimal body hair); depictions of prejudice towards, discrimination, and marginalization of hybrids; a character gets lost and is momentarily frightened; allusions to sexual intimacy; implied domestic violence (by an authority figure, not Chris); running away; mention of reproduction (pups); for some reason even though it is explicitly stated I feel the need to mention that Reader and Chris are both adults throughout

Author's Note: I'll tell you what I didn't have planned for this Sunday afternoon and that was a Bang Chan hybrid AU one-shot. But the image of cuddling up with Chan in the middle of a snowstorm took me hostage and now here we are. I've never written a hybrid AU before, so this was very fun! If you read this, I hope this Christopher brings you the comfort you deserve today. 💕

P.S In case no one has told you today, you're so loved and so, so worthy of love. 🧜💜

The icy wind howls, whipping swirling flurries of snow past the windows of the little cabin. You stir, not opening your eyes, heavy with slumber as your other senses remind you of the homey trappings of your shelter. A fire crackles and pops, its warmth licking over your nose and cheeks. A soft, heavy blanket fashioned of rabbit pelts lays over your body, rustling quietly as you nuzzle into the man beneath you.

    His chest rises and falls with the even breath of a deep sleep. Your cheek rests against his bare skin and the silky patch of thick, dark hair between his firm pectorals. It isn't really hair - not like yours. It's fur. Soft, dark tufts of it decorate his body everywhere hair would grow on a man; a patch on his chest, under his arms, at the dip of his Adonis belt. It smells like him. Like musk and pine and lavender. Manly and primal, floral and gentle. Christopher.

    Hybrids were still treated like dirt in so many ways. They didn't require licenses to live without owners anymore, but still, they were pushed to the margins of the community by the intolerance of common practice. You yourself had been taught to fear them. Monsters, your grandfather had told you, who would turn on their own young in a moment of morbid instinct. Even so, you always found more pity in your heart than terror.

    And then, one day, you met him.

You had been loading groceries into the bed of your grandparents' jalopy at the general store and dropped a bag of oats as you struggled to hoist it onto the tailgate. You hadn't even noticed he was beside you when he easily hefted the bag and the remaining two boxes of eggs onto the vehicle without a word. He shot you a little smile, but before you could thank him your eyes were arrested by a pair of sharp brown ears rising from his curly hair. He pulled on a cap and turned to go before you could collect your wits enough to speak.

    You had thought of nothing save his warm brown eyes and sweet smiling lips in the weeks that followed, taking any chance you could to steal away to the general store in hopes of seeing him again.

But your paths never crossed. Not until the following summer.

You had packed in to the camping grounds by the lake with a few other girls from your graduating class for a weekend getaway from the menfolk - not that you had any - and you'd joined them rather reluctantly and at the persistence of your grandmother, who insisted a little socialization would do you good.

    That first afternoon you quickly grew tired of the chatter. If the weekend was meant to be a reprieve from the men, you grumbled to yourself, then why were they the constant and sole topic of conversation? You gathered up your sketching supplies and walked down the trail a ways, finding that the more distance you put between yourself and the shrieks of laughter and gossip behind you, the better you felt. Soon, you couldn't hear them at all. You settled onto a rock at the edge of a small glen and took your pencil in hand.

    Suddenly, some hours later, it dawned on you that your eyes were straining somewhat on the page, and you looked about, startled at the waning light reflecting the late hour. Gathering your things, you hurried back to down the path, only to realize with a sickness in your gut that you were well and truly lost, and that the daylight was nearly spent.

    He had found you then, sniffling rather pathetically beside a tree. You'd been alarmed by the sudden sound of his voice, having not heard his furtive approaching steps, but when you raised your frightened eyes to his face the fear had quickly given way to wonder. You'd given up hope of seeing him again, and now here he was, once more in your hour of need.

It was too dark now to find the trail back to the campsite, so you helped divide the load of bracken he had tucked under his arm between you as he led the way back to his cabin, not far into the thick. As you walked you noticed his tail, gray and brown and full behind him. Had he hidden it, that day at the store, you wondered? Did he always when he was around people like you? You remembered how surprised you had been at the site of his pretty ears upon your first meeting and you felt ashamed. You tried to find every possible way to assure him, as you walked and talked, that he didn't frighten you. You hoped he understood.

    Before long, you arrived at a little clearing with a log cabin at its heart. Smoke rose invitingly from the chimney, and you found it was as small and homey and warm within as it seemed from the cold darkness of the wood. The stranger gave you bread and stew and hot milk, and you ate with him and told him of yourself and he shared with you in return.

He was a wolf hybrid. The sole survivor of his pack, he had traveled hundreds of miles to settle into the mountains of your home. He made a living hunting, trapping, and gathering the wares of the wild to sell in town, as did a handful of other hybrids living in the mountains - a group of traders known collectively as The Strays. He told you that his name was Christopher, but that most simply called him The Wolf. When you repeated his given name softly and asked if you could call him by it he smiled that smile again, but broader and brighter and with his eyes pressed into little moons and crow's feet in their corners. His canines glinted in the light of the fire and one beautiful dimple pressed into his left cheek.

    You were in love.

    You asked him, a little shyly before parting the following day, if you could be friends. He smiled sadly and brushed rough fingers over your cheek before telling you that you were already his friend, but that you should keep yourself safe by staying away. People were suspicious of hybrids, and if he were seen with a human woman, it could be dangerous for you both.

     At the edge of the campsite, when he turned to go, you grabbed his arm. You told him that every Saturday morning you helped wait tables at Maple's Diner, and that if he came, breakfast would be on the house. You wanted to thank him, you insisted. In truth, you just wanted to give him a chance to find you, should he wish to. Oh, you desperately hoped that he wished to.

    And he did. He showed up a few weeks later, ears tucked under a hat and shoulders looking broad in a worn flannel shirt. You gave him coffee and bacon and a pile of pancakes and sat with him when your shift was through. It became a ritual, Saturday mornings at the diner. And then you started meeting for lunch. Then dinner. Then for long walks and trips to the movies. Then he started to take you out for drives in his truck - for picnics in the mountains, to watch the stars from the bed, to never leave the cab or each other's arms as the windows fogged with your labored breaths and mingled heat.

    One night your grandparents were waiting up when you returned. Your grandfather was in a rage, your grandmother was all worry and woes. It was a sin, what you were doing, they said. In the eyes of what god, you demanded in return? Your grandmother clung to your arm, begging you to come to your senses - it was dangerous, and worse, you would be ruined for life. You told her that none of that meant anything to you. Only him, he was all that mattered. Only Christopher. To hell with everyone and everything else in that goddamned town that treated him with suspicion and shame - that could never begin to see how perfectly beautiful he was.

Your grandfather forbade you to see him.

You told him you were grown and he couldn't stop you.

He raised his hand, and your grandmother screamed.

    When Christopher pulled up in his pickup you were in front of Maple's Diner. He gasped as he crouched to cradle you in his arms and gently brush his fingers over your broken lip and the green bruise on your cheek. He gathered you up, gathered your little bags, and took you home.

Home to the woods.

To the little warm cabin.

To his arms and his heart.

    It's the third winter since you left it all behind - everything that tried to keep you from him.

Things are so different now, so simple, slow, steady and intimate in the life you share. You've started talking about pups. Maybe someday. Maybe soon. 

    You look up at his lovely, peaceful face, washed golden in the firelight, and smile, settling back down against his chest. As the wind howls your eyes slip shut, and you sleep again in the strong, gentle arms of a wolf.

-Fin-

[tkaulitzlvr]

Can I please request tom overworking a bit and distancing himself from his girlfriend (reader) and then she kind of goes to him while he's busy and has a breakdown and its comfort and fluff?

TIRED - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: tom has been more busy than usual with the band, not realising that by doing this, he has distanced himself from you. when you try talk to him, he finally breaks down.

content: fluff.

a/n: i wasn’t sure if u wanted tom or reader to have the breakdown, but i assumed tom, if u meant the reader i’m so sorry anon, but nonetheless thank you so much for the request!!

“hey my love, how was work?” i ask as tom trudges through the door, closing it with a loud thud. i don’t know why i bother asking him, i know that i’ll get minimal response, exactly as i have the past couple of weeks. yet he has acted like everything is fine, brushing me off when i ask what’s going on, so i have given up trying, slowly coming to the conclusion that it is something to do with me. perhaps he is becoming tired of me, and doesn’t want to be with me anymore - and that thought completely terrifies me. so i stay quiet, deciding that being with a distant tom who doesn’t feel the same about me is better than losing him altogether.

“fine.” he mutters, walking into the living room and seeing me sat on the couch, bending down to place a quick kiss on my forehead before leaving the room, going god knows where. this had become routine now - he would briefly let me know he was home, either giving me a quick hug or kissing me on my forehead, instead of the extreme levels of affection he would usually show. that was how my suspicions started. normally, he would come home, showering me with kisses, touching me in some way whilst letting me know how his day was, then ask how mine was, listening intently to every word that i would say. but, that all came to an end as i would be lucky to get a kiss on the lips before he would go to the kitchen or straight to bed, the most affection i receive being when he loosely wraps his arm around my waist whilst he sleeps every night.

i exit the living room, looking for tom and, staying true to that routine, i find him laid down in bed, his eyes empty and tired as he stares at the ceiling, his hoodie now off as he lays in some oversized basketball shorts.

he is aware of my presence, yet stays silent, refusing to even look at me as i stand in the door frame, watching him intently, wondering what went wrong, or, what i had done wrong to make him fall out of love with me - my mind now set on that idea as it is the only logical explanation it can come up with for his stand-offishness.

“do you still love me?” i speak into the silence, tom’s head shooting up as i say the words, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“what? of course i love you. why would you think that i don’t?” his voice is calm, laced with bewilderment, clearly wondering how i could ask such a question.

i can tell that he is sincere, meaning everything that he says, making me doubt my initial reasoning for his distance as i begin to feel a little stupid for thinking that he had fallen out of love with me. though the confirmation that i hadn’t done anything wrong only puzzled me more, making tom’s coldness towards me even more of a mystery.

i realise that i have been quiet for a little too long, tom’s eyes still looking into mine, his head raised from the pillow as he awaits my answer. i shake my head, forcing a small smile. “nothing. it’s just me being paranoid, sorry.”

he tilts his head to the side, not convinced at all.

“you sure?” he asks, this being the longest conversation we had in days, tom never wanting to engage in anything, instead offering short, one word answers. he still seems distant, but i can tell that my question clearly came as a surprise, this reassuring me a little.

i nod my head, walking to the bed and climbing in beside him, a strange tension between us as we lay in silence.

“goodnight.” he mutters, draping his arm over my stomach, still remaining a little far from me instead of his whole body being against me as it usually would be, my mind searching for answers as i am left completely confused, nothing adding up. i try to shake it off, hearing tom’s breathing slow from behind me, indicating that he has fallen asleep as i try to do the same, knowing that i am determined to get something out of him, even if it is the smallest detail that would help me piece together why he has started to act like this - now able to rule out it being my fault.

the door opens and closes, slamming a little louder than it usually does as the noise sounds throughout the house. i expect tom to show his face, come into the living room and give me a small reminder of his affection, before trudging off again. but, much to my surprise, he doesn’t even do that, marching straight up the stairs as a frustrated huff escapes his mouth, his steps loud and exaggerated, telling me that whatever is going on in his life certainly isn’t getting any easier. he had never gotten this angry, always making sure he said hey, even if it was just for a second, but i didn’t even see his face this time, letting me know that he is much more upset than usual.

although i can’t ignore the slight pang of fear from within me as i walk up the stairs to talk to him, i stay strong, just about done with his unexplained distance, wanting to get to the bottom of it. i hear the sound of his guitar from our bedroom, the door fully shut as his cursing momentarily shouts over the melody. my hand reaches for the door, hesitating a little as it hovers over the wood, before pressing my knuckles against it a few times.

my fingers clasp around the handle, turning it and pulling the door open. tom looks up for a second, seeing me standing there, before turning his attention back to the guitar, roughly strumming the strings.

“you okay?” i softly ask, slightly hurt at his ignorance, but this is about him not me, so i brush it off, accepting it as a small burst of his frustration. whilst he shouldn’t take it out on me, i know that the last thing he needs is me scolding him.

“great.” he mutters sarcastically, not looking up from the guitar that rests on his lap as he continues to fiddle with the strings, groaning with frustration as he throws his head back, his jaw clenched. he notices me still standing by the door, rolling his eyes slightly, visibly irritated by my presence.

“do you need something?” he sighs, aggravation plastered on his face as he stares at me, eyes cold and strangely foreign, no care within them as it is suddenly obvious he wants nothing more than for me to leave him alone.

i am slightly hurt at his words, the harshness of them stinging my chest as my expression softens, eyes becoming glossy. i look to the floor, not liking the idea of him to see me become so easily upset from his outburst, wanting to appear stronger, but i know that my sadness is evident.

his face softens as he puts his guitar to the side of him on the bed, finally feeling guilty for taking out his frustration on me.

“god i’m sorry- i didn’t mean it like that.” he begins, his voice much softer than before.

my sadness soon turns to anger as i am now completely tired of the way he has treated me, not able to handle his coldness any longer.

“then how did you mean it tom? ‘cause these past few weeks all you’ve done is shut me out! i’ve asked you what’s wrong so many times, and you lie to me over and over again. can you please just talk to me? i’m tired of feeling like i’m fighting just to have a conversation with you.” i pour my heart out, noticing the way his expression falters, eyes darting around the room as tears begin to form a glassy blanket over them.

he looks down into his lap, playing with the material of his hoodie, bouncing his leg up and down against the floor, this something he does whenever he is anxious.

“well? you know i’m here for you, so why are you leaving me in the dark? this isn’t fair tom, i want to help you but you won’t let me in.” i continue, yet his eyes remain fixed on the floor, his body tensed up.

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles, his voice shaky as i soon realise that he is crying. his quiet sniffles escape his mouth after he has uttered those two words, his shoulders shaking as he sobs.

my heart clenches at the sight, wishing i could somehow take away his pain and make it my own, hating to see him upset. i rush over to him, sitting beside him on the bed and quickly pulling him into me as he sobs into my shoulder. his arms wrap around my back, clutching onto me so tightly it is hard to breathe, but right now, the only thing on my mind is comforting him, and i will do anything to be there for him.

“talk to me baby. what’s going on with you?” i whisper gently, my fingers playing with the end of his cornrows as his breathing speeds up, his tears falling onto my t-shirt.

he tries to speak, but his words are masked by his sobs, completely incoherent.

“shhh, just calm down first, we’ll talk once you’re settled, mhm?” i say, moving backwards so that i am laying flat against the bed, tom wrapping both arms around my waist as he continues to cry into my shoulder. my nails run up and down his back, this something i would do when he couldn’t sleep to relax him, but right now it seems to be working as his cries begin to slow, his breathing returning to it’s normal rate.

“you ready to talk?” i ask, looking downwards at him as he removes his head from my shoulder for the first time, his eyes red and bloodshot, lips curved into a slight frown.

he nods, sitting up a little, his arms still securely around my waist.

“it’s just- work has been so stressful. tour is coming up so soon, and rehearsals are just so tiring, and i keep fucking it up!” he sighs, his voice wavering as he comes to the end of his speech, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i don’t want to let the guys down, they’ve worked so hard and i’m just ruining it all. maybe i should just quit, i’m clearly not good-”

“woah, hey, slow down a little. you know none of that’s true. you’re the most talented person i know, stop doubting yourself. you’re human, you’re going to make mistakes. but that doesn’t mean you should stop doing what you love. you know that i’ll always believe in you.” i say, looking into his eyes as his thumb begins to move in small circles on my stomach.

“you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re my girlfriend and you have to.” he sighs.

“i’m saying this because i love you and i hate it when you doubt yourself so much. it should matter more coming from me, because i know you better than all of the people that doubt you.” i remind him, a little hurt at the fact that he thinks i’m lying.

“what if i fuck up and make us lose our rhythm? it’ll ruin an entire concert, and then it’s all on me.” he says, maintaining eye contact as i sigh, in complete disbelief of how someone so talented can have so little faith in their own ability.

“has that ever happened before?” i ask, already knowing the answer, needing to hear him admit it.

he shakes his head slowly.

“exactly. so what’s overworking yourself and getting stressed out going to achieve? you’re only gonna make it worse. you need to take a break.” i reply, seeing the way that he is tearing himself apart, hating himself for making the smallest of mistakes. “besides, i think i deserve to have you to myself for a couple days. i’ve missed you a lot you know.”

a small smile tugs on his lips as he reaches upwards, planting a gentle kiss on my lips. pulling back to rest his forehead against mine, one hand cupping my cheek.

“you’re right schatz.” he begins. “i’m really sorry for how distant i’ve been. none of this is your fault, i just shut myself off and that isn’t fair on you.”

he kisses my lips again, tightening his hold on me before moving back, a soft smile on his face as he pulls me onto his lap, his arms securely around my waist.

“this weekend…” he trains off, a suggestive grin playing on his lips as he gives my waist a gentle squeeze. “just me and you. we’ll do whatever you want. how’s that sound?”

“anything?” i tease, looking into his eyes playfully as he lets out a small laugh.

“anything.” he repeats, seeing the way my face lights up in excitement. “but…i want just one thing in return.”

he says the last part slowly, and the way his eyes narrow, a playful look of lust present within them, i know exactly what he means, hitting his arm and shaking my head, glad to finally have my boyfriend back, loving every part of him - even the sex obsessed, overly horny side, not wanting to trade any of it for the world.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

[furiousgoldfish]

On effortless recovery (personal)

I've been slowly dealing with cptsd and osdd for the last 8 years, and while I've had to actively work on some stuff, other have just happened without my interference, or at least, without me knowing I did anything about it. I have not been to therapy; or rather, there's been several attempts that were not working, and I had to end them. For instance, I've had therapy with someone who showed next to no interest in my issues and kept minimizing and ignoring whatever I've been saying, and this was the only person who didn't try to institutionalize me.

I've had to actively work on osdd, and it's something I'm learning about, and understand more as I go, but I also get that osdd is making everything else much easier on me. For instance, lots of my memories and thoughts are being blocked from me, and contained in alters who are making sure that I'm not affected by it, that is a huge help. Lots of thoughts that would upset me if I thought about them, are completely out of my reach, and if I do try to think about them, my mind goes blank and I forgot what I was thinking about. That's a great help for issues like anxiety and spiraling; I used to drown in my own fears and worries; now I just can't remember any of it. It is slightly depressing that my own peace of mind requires that big amount of amnesia, but you know, having some peace is so nice I could never be anything less than grateful for it. Being able to maintain some semblance of peace feels like resiliency, it means I have a place of quiet where I can go back to, even when distressing things happen.

I'm having my chronic pain and chronic exhaustion ease away from me very slowly. I still get exhausted easily, and am tired way more often than a regular person, but I now rarely get days when I can't get out of bed, or have to sacrifice a whole week due to a flashback or a nightmare. I no longer get anxious about planning to do something a day or two ahead because I can count on having at least a basic amount of energy. I don't think I've done anything to create this, it was just happening over the years, on its own. It's also happening so slowly that I don't even feel the progress, I have to remember to look 3 or 5 years back and remember just how much time I've been spending in bed then, to realize that it's less now, that I can do multiple activities a day now. I know I'm extremely lucky to be recovering from this, because there are people who have a chronic condition that doesn't allow for recovery, and I am very grateful for every day I can move around.

Another thing that is much better is sleeping! I used to wake up feeling like I'm dying, overheated, stressed, anxious, sometimes even paralyzed in fear, and if not fear, then grief would hold me down and I would be too sad to move. Now I'm finding myself waking up thinking 'Oh I'm so well rested! I have the energy to tackle some chores' like I'm in an actual good mood. And it's like ??? what is going on, since when is this me. I've been dreaming of having mornings like this, and now I have them, and it just happened over time (8 years) I still only think about doing chores when I have energy, because I know it's the only time of day I'll have any energy, so if I wake up restful I will rush to do dishes, laundry, cleaning, cooking, and whatever else, because I know the energy will go away later and I will become a sad slob. But it's much better than waking up and having to take a few hours (or days) just to recover from sleeping. My sleeping schedule has been 8 hours all along, I somehow can't sleep over the 8 hour mark, and can't function if I sleep less than 7.

I will still sometimes have flashbacks and meltdowns if anything bad happens to me, but the recovery time from them has gone way down. It used to be weeks, months even, to recover from a single bad event. Now it's more like hours and days. It's still not very similar to what I think a regular person would have to deal with, but I love the progress very much! One thing that slips my mind is that I regularly forget how much worse things used to be. If I bounce back from something, I forget that in the past, this would ruin me for weeks, and I forget that this is progress and to take a minute to acknowledge that. I just take what I can and go. But it's good to look at it and see that life is a little easier.

Some anxiety has also withered away from me, because so much of my anxiety was due to inexperience. New problems that would appear in my life seemed unsolvable and catastrophic, because I never faced those problems before, didn't know how to solve it, didn't dare to ask for help, didn't have skills or knowledge to tackle any of them myself, and all of it felt like it would lead to my doom. After already having solved some of those problems multiple times, I'm at peace just because I know what to do now. I haven't done much asking for help to be honest, because I hate it, but in struggling to solve the problems myself (sometimes taking months and years to do so), I've gathered knowledge, skills and experience, and I now have a general idea of what to do in situations that reoccur, and also know what to expect, how long something will take, what type of action will resolve it. Just living and tackling things by myself, and succeeding, eases a lot of anxiety. There is a solution to everything, with sufficient knowledge, experience and skills.

A lot of stuff that's previously been bothering me to the level where I couldn't deal with it, can now be dealt with merely distracting myself from it. Which I think is very funny, because I used to consider all my time playing games or looking at funny videos 'procrastination', because I wasn't being productive right, I was just 'procrastinating' and delaying dealing with life. Now I value these activities specifically because they can save me from feeling miserable and sad. There's a warmth to looking at people being goofy, funny, interesting, entertaining, and taking joy in it, and reminding myself there's still a lot of good things in the world, there are good people, there is warmth, there is love, and I feel better after seeing it, regardless of how awful I felt before. Having my own thoughts redirected to something hopeful is making my days better, more stable. I think I'm just stopping myself from spiraling into hopelessness, by looking directly at hope and staying fixated on it for long enough. And it's something I didn't previously value as a real activity, because I didn't believe that making myself feel better while producing nothing, was a worthwhile pursuit.

Being safe from abuse for a long time managed to erode the feelings of guilt and shame I had in my own interests, thoughts and activities, and I've became unafraid of any failures. It is now very clear to me that failing is the only way towards learning and it's incredibly valuable. I'm shameless at starting new hobbies and activities and it does not bother me whatsoever when I do badly. Even failing at big stuff in my life, things that created actual damage to me, supplied me with knowledge I don't think I would otherwise gain, and I treasure it. I don't feel ashamed or like I've done anything wrong. I've been able to engage with my own curiosity about things and I'm now able to ask questions about anything, without feeling bad for 'not knowing already'.

I've also accepted that I'm bad at some stuff, and it doesn't mean anything much about me, we're all bad at something. Sometimes I'm bad at stuff, but enjoy doing them, so I still do them, fun gives it good value! And if I'm both bad at something and don't enjoy it, then I completely drop it, and feel okay knowing this just isn't for me. I remember when I used to believe I'm bad at everything, just because I was getting such horrid feedback on it, now it's almost funny. I like stuff I create even when I do them badly, because I remember how much fun I had doing it. If I want to do them better, I know I just need to keep practicing and it will happen. Nothing a human creates is shameful, especially if it's not causing any harm to anyone. We're made to create and it makes us happy.

I don't think I've done anything specific to create these changes, maybe some critical analysis of the past, and some willingness to consider my own happiness important and worthwhile. I think I spent so much time grieving that I've actually processed the most of it, so I'm no longer as overwhelmed by it as I was before. It's not like I'm no longer sad, I will start sobbing frequently and whenever I'm tired, I am automatically miserable. But it is no longer constant, suffocating feeling that follows me for every second of existence.

I haven't done anything to fix the sleeping or to ease the chronic pain, that was just time and being safe from abuse for a longer period. I wanted to write this specifically because I've been waking up feeling okay the last few days and that was a shock to experience, what a bliss to wake up and think 'I'm well rested'. Incredible life experience.

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Chapter 4 - Illicit Affairs

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

Previous l Next

Masterlist

Summary: Tired of heartbreak and tiptoeing on eggshells, you intend to take matters into your own hands until new things come to light. A long overdue conversation of the past and hopes for the future once you let your guard down and show Steve where your loyalty lies.

18+ Minors DNI!

CW: Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Angst. Pining. Spousal abuse (mental and physical). Nefarious deeds and scheming. Smut-ish (you'll see).

WC: 8.8K

If Nik had come home the previous night, you hadn't heard. Your body and mind were so worn down with exhaustion, sleep pulled you under for its sweet embrace without any protest. It was the first time in weeks you had a full night's rest.

With the new day, came a renewed sense of hope.

Hope floundered momentarily as you stared at yourself, a shell of the woman you used to be all because of him.

It was unfortunately unusually warm, but your husband's brutal touch left you no alternative when you woke up to fresh bruises yet again, opting for a turtleneck to cover the ugly blemishes.

You couldn't let him win. He would not take away the one thing in your life that you yearned for, willing to have no matter what the cost.

A plan was carefully laid out in the recesses of your mind that you were about to set into motion.

Lunch arrangements were made with your father almost every Sunday. You could decompress and relax in your childhood home without worry or fear of being scrutinized for your every move.

“Daddy?” Your voice carried down the hall as you closed the door behind you.

“Hey kiddo!” Shouting back, rounding the corner, meeting you halfway to pull you in for a warm hug, kissing the top of your head as you melted into his chest.

“Thought we'd do lunch in the sunroom. It's too nice to be cooped up in a stuffy dining room.” Briefly letting you go to pull you into his side.

“Sounds nice. What're we having?” You beamed up at him as he led you to the table. He'd been getting more gray hairs in the past few months, most likely from stress and the pressures of the business, something the two of you rarely talked about. It weighed on him more heavily as he aged.

“They whipped up some Bolognese pasta with a nice Greek salad and of course, wine from your Nonna's vineyard.” His smile widened, knowing it was your favorite.

“Sounds amazing!” You kissed his cheek and took your seat across from him.

The food was brought out as you chatted about mundane things, such as how the gallery was doing. You told him how the wedding went, leaving out the rendezvous with Steve but letting him know that he and Nik did have a few unsavory words.

“That man is such an arrogant hothead.” Sighing as he sipped his wine, looking as annoyed as you were at the behavior. You took it as your chance to speak up.

“Daddy, I know we don't talk about business, at all, but Nik is ruining everything you've built. You're right, he is that arrogant hothead and does nothing unless it's for himself.” You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, carefully thinking of your next words watching as your fathers' eyes drift to the table, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

This was it. Sow the seeds of doubt. Let it sprout and spread. Maybe your father would finally see the kind of man Nik had become was not at all what was needed for business or for his daughter.

“I'm not happy. I haven't been happy for a long time.” You solemnly spoke, sighing and melting further into your chair as he reached across the table taking your hand in his.

“I know.” Your head shot up at his admittance. He quickly looked away, unable to meet your narrowed gaze.

“What do you mean you know?” Raising your voice slightly, pulling your hand away, brows furrowed with confusion.

“Your dear old dad isn't blind. I know you aren't happy. And I also know about his side gigs.” Letting a sigh escape him as his shoulders slumped.

Your confusion quickly bubbles into anger. Has he known all this time and turned a blind eye? For what? An alliance with a family that brought him a little more power, treating you like nothing but a pawn in the process.

When your father first brought up the prospect all those years ago, you were hesitant. A marriage to this family would secure his hold in Chicago for the foreseeable future but he assured you then that he wouldn't pressure you into a marriage with someone you didn't know.

When you met Nik for the first time, he immediately caught your attention. Confident, charming and handsome. Not at all what the rumors had suggested.

He swept you entirely off of your feet while impressing your father, agreeing to marry him after only six months of dating. It seemed like you were finally getting your fairytale ending, even if it was with the wrong prince.

He had completely fooled you both, conducting double dealings behind your father's back before the honeymoon phase had ended.

“You know?” Shaking your head, with disbelief. “And you've stood by and done nothing?” Practically shouting at him as you swiftly stood, almost knocking your chair over in the process.

“Y/N, it's complicated. If I knew then, I would have never asked you to get involved. I'm sorry.” He replied, suddenly slamming his fists down on the table, as the fine china and glasses rattled. “Goddamnit!”

His sudden outburst made you jump and flinch away from him. Your knee jerk reaction didn’t go unnoticed, as he quickly stood, rounding the table.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He spoke softly, coming to reach out with open arms but you quickly sidestepped him putting some distance between the two of you.

“I need to go. I can't be here right now.” Quickly shooting down the hall and back out the door as your father called out your name.

Your driver was leaned up against the car, straightening up and tossing the smoke he held between his fingers to the ground when he saw you rush out.

“Miss?” He asked when he saw the burning fury etched across your face.

“Take me home.”

He nodded, opening the door without another word.

Feeling utterly alone in this, that hopelessness began to edge its way back in. You took a deep breath as the car sped off, your phone continuously vibrating in your lap; “Dad” popping up each time, until you finally turned it off.

You couldn't ignore him forever but right now some distance would do you some good.

It was quiet when you arrived back home, but Nik’s car was outside.

You didn't bother looking around for him, heading straight up to your room. A million things going through your mind at once, so lost in thought you didn't notice the door to your bedroom sat ajar. You never left it open, typically locking it before leaving for the day.

You barged in, grimacing to yourself when you spotted him sitting on your bed, stopping you dead in your tracks. He lifted a bottle of whiskey to his lips, looking out the window.

He was more than disheveled, hair unkempt, shirt unbuttoned and his tie undone, hanging haphazardly around his neck.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Asking while maintaining your distance, eyeing him warily.

He finally turned his head, eyes glassy and bloodshot, taking another sip from the bottle. Some liquid dripped down his chin as he finished, brushing it away with the back of his hand. It was then you noticed his bloody and bruised knuckles. An instance wave of worry rushed over you.

“Have a good lunch?” Falling from his lips, a little slurred, in a mocking tone.

Ignoring his question, you quickly surveyed the room. It was in complete disarray, with clothes and other belongings strewn about laying on the floor and bed. He’d shattered the mirror above your vanity, a smear of blood across the spiderwebbed reflection.

“What the hell are you doing in here, Nik? We had an agreement.” You huffed out, his presence only worsening your already perturbed mood. You knew you shouldn’t aggravate him further, but it was too late.

He swiftly stood, although stumbling just a bit, righting himself with a deep chuckle, confirming he was indeed drunk.

“Agreement?” He snarled, lip curling as his eyes trailed down your body. “I think we both know that little agreement is done.” Swaying as he took a heavy step toward you, making you take a step back.

“Oh, kitten, come on now. You can't be that stupid?” Taking two more steps, as you followed suit, your back hitting the wall behind you. No where else to go, you watched, eyes going wide, as he eased forward.

His large frame towered over you, placing one hand on the wall caging you in and leaning down into your space as he spoke. His whiskey laced breath fanned over you, making you wince at the smell.

“You're not going to make me look like a fool and get away with it.” He spat, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for anything. “You're my fucking wife. My fucking property.”

Sliding his hand down, grabbing your hip, pulling you sloppily into him leaving you no choice but to take hold of his shirt to steady yourself, opening your eyes in time to see his face lean in, his lips pressing forcefully into yours.

His tongue darted out, trying to prod your lips open but you kept your mouth clamped shut, pushing him back as you yelled “Get off of me, you fucking asshole!”

He stared at you for a moment, almost bewildered before taking another long swig on unsteady legs.

You breathed in a small sigh of relief, as he stalked away, but your reprieve was quickly dashed when he stopped short of the door, glaring back at you.

“Fucking whore!” He shouted, raising the whiskey bottle, drawing back, and throwing it with all the force he could muster directly toward you.

You screamed; ducking as it shattered above your head, the shards raining down, hitting your body and littering the floor.

“You deserve worse, you ungrateful bitch.” He laughed, walking out to leave you to deal with the aftermath.

Hurriedly, you rushed to the door slamming it shut, but it was only then you noticed the lock was broken.

It was as if Nik had been looking for something, tearing your room apart.

It dawned on you then. The dress. The closet was in shambles, much like your room. After looking around, rummaging through things on the floor you realized it wasn't there.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you walked back out into the room, looking at the destruction more closely, eyes suddenly homing in on the smoldering fireplace in the far corner.

You caught sight of a small piece of wine-colored fabric sitting within, the rest of what Nik had deemed such an offending piece of clothing had been reduced to mere ashes.

Collapsing in on yourself, your knees suddenly hit the floor.

That feeling of hope from this morning was fading fast, as you knelt there, tears spilling hot over your cheeks as your body began to tremble.

If you were going to make it out of this alive, you had to be smart.

You wiped your cheeks, with shaky fingers as you stood. No more feeling sorry for yourself. You were done crying and being told what to do. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Between cleaning up the room, along with yourself you worked late into the night.

A chair was pushed up under the handle, bracing the door in case he tried to come back in but thankfully he had slept the rest of day leaving late that night.

Still on edge, sleep eluded you until the early hours of morning. It wasn't until the sunlight streaming through your shades that you woke, reaching for your phone, gasping as you jumped out of bed, you'd slept straight through your alarm.

You had numerous missed calls from Abigail, along with your father who was just as stubborn as you. He wouldn't give up, but the wounds were still too fresh for you to speak with him.

You typed out a quick text to him, hoping it would buy you a little more time before you had to deal with him. Then it was a call to a very relieved Abigail before getting ready.

Once you finally stepped into your office, after Abigail had given you the rundown for the day, you were met with a fresh bouquet of dark red roses atop your desk, much like the color of the dress he had gifted you.

“Those arrived first thing this morning.” She commented before excusing herself.

A note was nestled among the petals just like all the ones that had come before, except this time you were hesitant, leaving it there to jump into work instead.

The day flew by, playing catch up from the late morning, as the sun finally sits low, throwing its golden hues across the city announcing its departure and closing the day.

You lean back in your chair, stretching as Abigail throws you a quick goodbye. Tossing your glasses to the side, eyes now tired from overuse, the note finally caught your attention once more.

You plucked it from its place, tearing it open with a long exhale before flipping it over to read.

I'm sorry.

Always Yours, S.H.

He had nothing to apologize for.

The thought that he must have conveyed the worry and fear from being caught as a rejection passed through your mind, but nothing could be further from the truth.

You had to get in touch with him to make your intentions known.

It came to you suddenly; you keep a log of anyone who buys from the gallery. A list of clients for important events or the occasional reminders that go out for new exhibits.

You immediately opened your laptop and pulled up those important contacts, opening the “H” section with a few clicks.

“Bingo.” You whispered out. Abigail had taken his information the day he had bought the painting. Your hand reached for your cell, but you stopped. It could be monitored too easily.

You reached for the desk phone instead, dialing the number with ease and placing it to your ear.

The seconds ticked by as it seemed to ring for an eternity before you received his voicemail. You sighed, as the brief message played, alerting you that you had reached Mr. Steve Harrington’s personal cell followed by the beep.

“Steve, hi. It's Dove. I— I just wanted to thank you for the dress, it was beautiful. And the flowers, I just read your note. I— Well, I mean you have nothing to apologize for. It's all complicated but, I think you know that. I really don't want to say this all over a voicemail, just please know that I'm sorry and I hope to see you again soon.”

You blew out a heavy breath, as you cradled the phone, sitting back in your chair hoping it wasn't too late to let him know how you truly feel.

His answer came in the form of an email to your business inbox a few hours later. He left it vague, knowing you would decipher it easily.

Ms. Alexander,

I won't be back in town until the end of the week, at which point I would love to see what you have on hand so I can get a better idea on which direction I should take.

Until then, Best Regards, S.H.

You laid in bed reading over the words, feeling those wings of hope flutter in your chest once more.

It wasn't over yet.

Unbeknownst to you he had been out of town checking Pip into a very remote rehab facility. They kept her whereabouts secret, going as far as taking her phone away, remaining that way for the duration of her stay.

He was elated to hear your voicemail, sending an email to your office immediately. He didn't want to keep you in suspense since he wouldn't get the chance to see you in person until much later in the week.

He and Eddie had a few meetings to attend, more business to discuss with some colleagues in other cities to get all of his affairs in order. He was getting the numbers and allies behind him.

Once his plane touched down back in Chicago early Friday afternoon, much to Eddie's dismay and disapproving grumbles he had them heading to see you.

He was silent most of the ride, knee bouncing the entire time, stewing in his own thoughts until he just couldn't handle it anymore.

“Steve, may I be blunt?” He asked from his seat beside him.

“Of course.” He sat his phone in his lap, giving the other man his full attention.

“I know you love her, but she's married, to a Petrov, no less. I hope you know what you're doing.” He reached for a cigarette, extending the gold case toward Steve offering him one.

He didn't immediately answer, taking one of the hand rolled cigarettes between his fingers. Sliding it between his lips, as Eddie pulled out a matching gold lighter igniting the end for him.

He inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine fill his lungs. Throwing his head back to release it as he watches the smoke rise and waft around them.

“Ed, I always know what I'm doing. Don't sweat it.” It comes out as nonchalant, making Eddie raise an eyebrow toward him.

Eddie knew Steve was always thinking at least five steps ahead but when it came to matters of the heart things could sometimes get muddled. That’s when things could go awry.

“Care to tell the rest of the class or are you just going to keep me in the dark?” He inhaled his own cigarette.

“There's a lot of moving parts with this one. I'll tell you when you need to know. And right now, you don't need to know. There's more at stake than just her right now.” He sighed, looking out the window. “But I'll protect her at any and all costs.”

Eddie knew better than to prod any further. Steve would tell him when he was ready.

The driver slowed as he pulled up to the building.

“Understood boss. Just know that I'll have your back no matter what.” Clasping Steve on the shoulder before exiting the vehicle.

The driver opened Steve's door as he quickly got out.

Both men headed around back, per usual, to gain entrance to the building.

Steve spotted Abigail asking if you were available.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Harrington, she just stepped out for lunch, shall I take a message down for her?” She asked cheerily, grabbing her pad and pen.

“That won't be necessary, but do you happen to know where she went? I'm feeling quite famished myself, my flight just got in, maybe I'll see her in passing.” His smile lit up, no woman could ever truly resist that Harrington charm once he turned his attention solely to them.

“Of course, it's just down the road. Bistro Auclair. I'm not sure if she was meeting anyone or not.”

“Thank you, Ms. Shepherd. Have a lovely day.”

-

He walked the few blocks down the sidewalk, spotting you on the terrace as his heart fluttered. You were distracted by a book in your hands, as he strode up beside you. A little pinch of concentration was etched across your brow, which he thought was adorable.

He loved to see you in the ordinary, everyday routine of your life, longing to be there with you, enjoying the quiet company of one another. Seeing you now, he almost didn't want to disturb you.

“Ti sono mancato, little dove?” He spoke, unbuttoning his jacket before taking a seat at the table next to you. “I'd kiss your cheek, but eyes are always watching.” He flashes that million-dollar smile and sends you a wink.

“Always.” You reply, an answer to both his question and observation not entirely surprised to see him, taking a sip of your coffee. You mirrored his own cheeky grin behind your cup.

“So, from now on I think it's best if you want to have a chat, meet me at the gallery instead. My so-called guards are under strict orders to stay out.”

You glance around, brief worry flashing across your face. He's trying to be discreet, but if anyone happened to be spying it would be a little too obvious. He knows your tails are parked around the corner right now, not bothering to watch you. Eddie's stationed close by keeping an eye on them.

“As you wish.” He states, flagging down the waiter. “I heard your gallery is hosting a charity event tomorrow. How would one go about finding themselves on the guest list?”

“I suppose you would have to know someone.” You shrugged. “But, since you're a paying client, your name is already on the list. I'm sure Abigail sent you an invitation earlier this week.”

“Of course, I haven't been home to check.” His smile never wavered, as he sat up a little straighter. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

You began to gather your things, leaving cash on the table for your bill as you stood.

“Those goons don't come in during events either. I make them hang in the back alley. You and Eddie can get in no problem. I'll have his name added too.” He nodded in understanding as you slipped past, his eyes trailing your curves as your hips swayed with each step that took you further away from him.

Soon. He thought to himself. It was just a matter of time.

The day of the charity gala brought its own stresses and challenges. Getting the gallery ready for events of this caliber was always a hassle but at the end of the day they were worth it.

Decorators, caterers and entertainment was brought in for the evening. All in a rush of madness, vying to get everything ready on time. The large space was filled with high top tables for guests to congregate and drink to their hearts desire all while bidding for some magnificent pieces.

One hundred percent of the profits for all of the art donated would go to charity. Something you were truly proud of.

Mood lighting in muted blues and purples was set around the space making sure that the art still remained in the spotlight. The lighting was set so it also provided a little seclusion and privacy in some corners of the room.

You directed everyone around until the very last minute. Abigail had to practically shove you away to make sure you were able to change, everything in your office already laid out.

The dress you had chosen was an elegant, but not over the top floor length, slip style silk gown with a thigh high slit. It fits your curves but not overly exaggerating them. You'd chosen black to stay on theme with the event. Thankfully the small remnants of those last bruises had faded.

You took the opportunity to make sure your makeup was just right, and every hair was in place.

As you walked out into the hall, chatter and soft music filled the air. Soon the gallery would be filled to the brim, exactly as you planned.

An hour quickly passed as you made your way around the large space, exchanging pleasantries with all the guests but you were distracted. Eyes drifting, continuously scanning the room looking for him the entire time.

Across the room, he had already made his entry, searching for you as well. He weaves his way through the outer edges of the crowd, always cautious and on high alert.

He spotted you first, your back turned speaking with an attendee he paid little attention to as his focus was solely on you.

Finishing up your conversation, you turned abruptly, as if you could feel his eyes. You caught those warm, honey hued irises looking right at you. You threw him a warm smile, nodding toward the far corner of the room, sitting your champagne down on a nearby table as you began walking.

You navigated the crowd easily, moving to a more desolate spot.

He met you there a moment later, wearing a simple and classy black tux and matching bowtie. It was then you noticed he held a single, dark red rose.

“For the beautiful host.” Extending it forward.

Your fingertips pinched the stem gingerly, as you took it from him with a shy smile, lifting it to your nose and breathing in the intoxicating aroma.

“I think we should go somewhere more private.” Sitting an electronic key card on the table to the side of you and continuing to slide past him. Being cautious to not linger too long out in the open like this. “Access to the balcony, down the corridor and to the far left. I'll meet you there in ten.”

It felt like your feet couldn't carry you fast enough. Your nerves were electrified, buzzing with anticipation as your heart rate ticked up, navigating through the crowd and finally reaching the empty corridor back to your office. You swung the door open and quickly slammed it behind you, letting out a heavy breath.

You could feel the change as if it were all around you. After tonight, there was no going back.

You reapplied your lipstick, looking over yourself once more. You weren't the same woman from eight years ago. Time and a million miles had separated you. You both had changed but you still saw that handsome boy, who wore his heart on his sleeve, hoping he still saw that foolish girl with eyes only for him.

Using the door from your office, you didn't realize he was already perched in the corner until he spoke, startling you just a bit.

“Beautiful view, tesoro.” Eyes cast toward the twinkling lights of the city instead of you. “Eddie's watching the hall. I can hear you worrying from here.”

You crossed the small space to come stand beside him, as you too looked toward the soft glow and twinkling lights, suddenly feeling his eyes lingering on you instead.

“I'm not worried about that. No one's going to come back here.” You sighed, suddenly feeling a light chill, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“But you are worried, no? Tell me, what's on your mind?” He knew you all too well.

You had a million things you wanted to say but suddenly you weren't sure where to start. Standing by him now it seems like none of it mattered, as the trepidation melted away.

“I can't live like this.” You finally spoke, voice wavering the tiniest bit, catching him a little off guard. For once he wasn't sure where you were going with this.

“Dove, just say the word and I'll stop everything. The flowers, dropping by. If it's too forward or making you uncomfortable. The situation isn't ideal but…” he cleared his throat, to bite back what he truly wanted to say. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

“No, it's not ideal.” You slowly looked over to him, his tough exterior melting away showing you the vulnerable man you loved underneath as he searched your face.

“I could never ask you to stop, but we aren't stupid kids anymore.” Your emotions were getting the better of you. Feelings welling up with nowhere else to go but out, as you were thrust back into a memory you had tried to bury.

“He's sending me away.” He spoke softly into your hair, placing a kiss there. Your head was laid on his bare chest as you let your fingertips trace patterns onto his torso.

It had been another night of you two tangled beneath his silk sheets forgetting the rest of the world for just a little while. You didn't want to think about family or what comes next, but he couldn't help himself in these moments.

Everything heavy on his mind was laid out before you in the small quiet of the night. It wasn't unusual. He trusted you. He loved you.

“When?” Your voice trembled. Afraid of the answer but it was better than the unknown.

“A couple of weeks. He doesn't want me to be in his way. He knows he's in the wrong. It's better to send the opposition away than try to see the old way doesn't always work.”

Steve had seen things changing, he brought new ideas and a fresh way of thinking that Richard didn't like, determined to do things his way.

“Steve, he can't do that. You're taking over for him eventually; can't he see how stupid that would be?” You were already mad. Knowing that Richard Harrington hates his own son enough to send him away from everything he knows.

“He can. He's sending me over there to head the small operation he has. Eddie's coming too.” As if some small comfort knowing he wouldn't be alone would make it any better.

He was leaving you. Who would be here for you?

You lay there knowing there was nothing either you or he could do.

A small tear you were holding back pushed past your lashes and hit his chest. He felt it but didn't say anything, only pulling you closer into his warmth.

“Dove, I won't be gone forever.” He held your chin, moving your face towards his. Your eyes were closed as his lips brushed yours as he spoke, “I promise.”

“You promised.” Whispering out, your gaze back out toward the city instead of him.

“What?” He asks, suddenly confused.

“You promised you wouldn't be gone forever and yet here we are. It feels like an entire lifetime has gone by.”

His mouth parted but words weren't enough. He didn't know what to say.

When he didn't say anything, you filled the silence, turning to face him.

“You were 22 Steve; you could have told him you were staying! You weren't a boy to be ordered around anymore!” Your shouts felt like knives slicing at his heart.

“Dove,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gathering his strength for a fight he wasn't ready for. “What was I supposed to do, disobey my father? Turn my back on my family? You know better than anyone that wasn't possible.”

“Yeah, we both know family duty all too well.” Scoffing slightly. “Did you think I wouldn't notice you never responded to my wedding invitation? Not even a card or text.” Your eyes began to sting and well with tears.

“Little Dove,” he lifted your chin, pinched softly between his thumb and forefinger, leaving you no choice but to turn your focus back to him. “Do you know what that did to me? What it would have done to me to watch you marry someone else?”

“What about me Steve?” You moved out of his touch. “The entire time I was hoping you would burst through those doors and take me away from all of it. I never wanted any of this.”

“Goddamnit,” he hissed. Thinking back to when he had received that invitation. It was like a death sentence, yet this was a fate worse than death. He had to live the rest of his life knowing your heart belonged to someone else.

“Oh, Steeeeeeviieeeee!” Pip’s voice rang out, as she opened the door to his small office in the back of the villa. He didn't look up, only silently cursing himself for not locking the door.

“What the hell do you want?” He asked, already fearing an impending headache his little sister would undoubtedly bring forth with whatever antics she was about to start.

She tiptoed up to his desk, hands behind her back.

“Mail for you.” Promptly dropping an envelope addressed to him on top of the stack of papers he had been going through and plopping herself down in the chair across from him.

He glared at her as he picked it up. It was an off-white envelope with roses embossed along two of the corners. Taking his letter opener and cutting into it, he finally spoke back up.

“Do you mind? When the hell do you ever bring me my mail?” Sliding what was clearly some sort of invitation out.

“Oh no, I'm not going anywhere for this.” A grin lifted the edges of her lips as she looked back at him. “Mamma already opened ours, this one is all for you.”

He sighed, holding it up as he began to scan it over.

“David Alexander requests the honor of your presence for the marriage of Y/N Y/M/N Alexander and Nikolai Dmitri Petrov…” The rest of the words went fuzzy as he focused on your name. His stomach felt like it dropped, time seemed to slow as his heart began to beat radically in his chest.

“Get out.” He spoke, eyes never leaving the invitation.

“Oh Steve, you can't possibly think she was going to wait around on you forever. You should be happy fo—”

“I said get the fuck out, Pip!” He yelled, rising from his seat pointing toward the door, closing his fist around the paper.

She rolled her eyes, huffing as she got up and crossed the room, murmuring a quick “asshole” before slamming the door behind her.

He unclenched his fist, tossing it to the side.

“Fuck!” He hisses out, moving to the small liquor cabinet in the corner of the room pouring three fingers of bourbon and downing it in one gulp immediately pouring another.

This couldn't be happening. Not like this. He picked up his phone, dialing a number he knew by heart, but he stopped.

He hadn't lurked on social media in several months, but he was suddenly on autopilot, pulling up your Instagram with a few swipes and was immediately met with weeks of smiling, happy faces from you and Nik.

His face flushed hot as his heart beat wildly, scrolling through an endless stream of photos, pausing when he caught sight of the one that took his breath.

A close up of your left hand, a big diamond engagement ring adorned your ring finger. A blurry image of you kissing Nik in the background.

His nostrils flared, releasing the breath he was holding when he suddenly slammed his phone against the nearest wall. The glass of bourbon came next, shattering as shards flew across the room.

It was the first of many, lonely nights he locked himself away and drowned himself in liquor trying to forget all about you.

For three agonizing months he hid it as best he could, until it all came to a head the day of the wedding.

Eddie knew when to speak freely and when to keep his mouth shut. He'd watched his best friend's mental and physical health decline, hiding it well from his mother and Pip but it was getting worse. The business was taking a hit, and he knew Richard would be coming for Steve's ass if he didn't straighten himself up. He'd seen him work too hard to let this be the end.

Eddie tried knocking first, but was met with silence on the other end, then trying the handle but the door was locked.

“Steve, unlock the door. We need to talk.” There was a beat of silence before he spoke up.

“Go away, Eddie.” It came out low and muffled.

“I can't do that. Either you unlock the door or I'm busting it down. Your choice but I know if Sophia has to replace a broken door, she isn't going to be happy.” A few seconds ticked by before he finally heard shuffling and the door flew open.

Steve was disheveled and swaying just a bit as he lifted a bottle of bourbon to his lips, chugging a few large gulps.

His shirt was unbuttoned, tie abandoned on his desk and hair falling in and around his face. Eddie knew he'd been drinking most of the day. He finally made a gesture with his hand, bidding him to enter with glossy, half lidded eyes barely watching as he passed, shutting the door behind them.

“Look, man you have got to pull yourself together. It isn't the end of the world.” He began, as Steve crossed the room, plopping himself at the end of the sofa. “If your dad gets hears about any of this shit he—”

“You ever been in love, Eddie?” The interruption came as a surprise as the older man looked down at Steve, the two never talked about their feelings or such frivolous topics as love. They were close but left things of this nature close to their vest.

“Wha— I mean, I—”

“No, you haven't.” Steve finally looked up, crestfallen and broken.

“Steve, man—”

“No, don't come in here and presume to know anything about how I feel and tell me it's not the end of the world when my entire world is about to marry someone else.” He stood on unsteady legs, taking a few steps to close the distance between the two of them, pressing a finger into his chest.

He closed his eyes against the stinging sensation, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, suddenly laughing out.

“Eddie, just fuck off tonight.” He took a step back, and stumbled, almost toppling over before the other man caught his arm.

“Woah there, big boy. Let's just…” He helped guide him back over to the sofa, prying the bottle from his hand as he sat down.

His breaking point came a few moments later. His phone alerted him to a new text. He immediately regretted opening the picture from Pip.

You were stunning, with a huge, beaming smile. You were positively glowing, and it made his stomach churn. Burning liquor threatened to make its escape back up.

He knew he'd made a huge mistake.

Steve broke down, laying his head in his hands letting his tears fall freely.

Eddie was taken back. In all the years they had known each other, he'd never seen him quite so vulnerable.

“It's all my fault. I should have never left.” Suddenly lifting his head, wiping those errant tears and sniffling. Eddie just stared on in disbelief letting him continue. “I did all of this shit thinking it was the right thing, for the both of us. I started pulling away instead of telling her the truth. Instead of going back to Chicago and bringing her back here, where she belongs. Now I've lost her.”

In Steve's mind, he had become much too wrapped up in the business. He had pulled away hoping you would find happiness with someone else that wasn't involved with the drama this life inevitably led to. He hoped for someone who could give you the normal life you longed for.

It's what you deserved. He wanted to give you that life but being here it seemed less and less possible with each passing day. He wasn't returning to Chicago anytime soon.

He had to let you go.

He never imagined you would marry into another family. It tore his heart into. He'd seen firsthand what it could do to a family. He had been trying to spare you from all of it, yet you had been sucked right in anyway.

“Steve, it may not feel like it, but you did the right thing.” Eddie tentatively laid a hand to the younger man's shoulder in a reassuring manner. “This line of work is hard enough. I can't imagine being tied down like that with one more piece to worry about. People like us aren't meant for happy endings.”

Steve simply nodded, sinking back further into the cushions. You'd both made your decisions. He wouldn't stand in your way. It was a decision, he feared, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

You shove past him, knocking him from the memory, heading back to your office but his hand wraps around your wrist, halting your movement.

“Dove, I swear to God if I had known it wasn't what you wanted, I would have been here. You have to believe me.”

You took a breath and slowly turned back toward him, unable to contain the tears from falling, as you let him guide you into his chest.

He tentatively rested his hand on your hip, a warm palm through the thin silk, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“I let you go so you could be free of all this so you could marry some finance guy and live a halfway normal life.” You huffed out a small laugh at the absurdity of it. As if there would have ever been anyone else but him.

His free palm came to rest on your cheek as you nuzzled into his touch, closing your eyes as the pad of his thumb wiped the tears from your eye. Craving and longing for something you'd never thought you'd feel again. You needed more.

“Steve, I would have waited a lifetime for you.” Words coming out breathy, knocking the wind from his lungs. A knife straight to the heart.

“Dove, look at me.” Those hazel pools filled with so much adoration looking back at you, also reflecting a pain that was palpable.

So much lost time and things left unsaid.

“Steve.” You grasp the back of his hand, lips meeting his palm planting a small kiss there.

“I need you to tell me what you want.” His face inches closer. Waiting for your words. He nudged his nose into yours, titling his head slightly as his top lip grazed yours sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“Kiss me, please.”

His lips envelop yours, a soft press turning eager with one taste. It was a tidal wave of relief, being pulled out to an endless sea, floating and falling all at once. It was familiar and warm, like finding your way back home after a long journey but the butterflies fluttered in your ribcage all the same.

He kissed you with a passion and fervor that was unmatched, as your lips began working in tandem, stealing your breath and making you weak in the knees.

The hold on your hip tightened as you gripped the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him further down into you.

He licked at your lower lip, yours parting for him. Tongues finally meeting in a slow rhythmic dance. You could taste a hint of the warm bourbon he had been sipping earlier but everything underneath was Steve.

His hand reached your lower back pressing you further into him, suddenly feeling an aching need growing in the pit of your stomach.

Reluctantly, you pulled back to finally catch your breath, you were both panting as your foreheads met, grinning down at each other wildly until his smile fell a little.

“I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry I wasn't there. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“I've only ever wanted you. I need you, Steve. Please.” You gave him no time to respond, taking his hand into yours, and promptly dragging him back through the door.

You turned to shut it and he was instantly behind you. His hands wound around your waist, pulling you back into his chest as his lips ghosted the shell of your ear as he spoke.

“I want nothing more than to have my way with you. Let me worship you.”

Goosebumps erupted across your skin, his words sending a shiver down your spine as you faced him.

“We don't have that kind of time, but I need you. I haven't—” You shied away from the confession you were about to vocalize, as he began kissing down your jaw.

“You haven't what?” He asks in-between kisses.

“I haven't been with anyone for a long time.” He paused, pulling back to look at you, eyes narrowed and brows meeting with confusion. “Nik and I— we haven't been intimate in years. He— he would rather fuck the whores at his club. We just stopped after a while. I didn't want him touching me anymore.”

Your confession both elated and enraged him. He knew Nik was an idiot, but to ignore you for some common whores? This beautiful, amazing woman he had no idea how to handle or take care of. It all suddenly made sense why you two never had children.

“Tesoro mio, that has nothing to do with you. He's an idiot. He doesn't deserve you.” His lips find yours once more, this time less urgent, moving languidly as his nose presses into your cheek, as pulling you further into him.

He began to walk you back, your thighs hitting your desk making you break free for a moment, frantically shoving papers out of the way as they cascaded to the floor. Something you would worry about later.

He wound his arm around you, helping to lift you up, parting your thighs as far as the restrictive fabric of your dress would allow as he came to slot himself between them. His eyes never left yours, leaning down to capture your soft, supple lips once more before he began trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

Your hands reached for his belt buckle, but he stopped you with a tsk, stilling your movements.

“Uh, uh tesoro. Let me get you ready. This is all about you right now.”

His hands trailed lower, reaching the hem of your dress, pushing it further up your thighs until your red panties came into view.

“Mmmm… my favorite color.” He growls, his fingertips trace the top of your thigh softly, bringing his other hand to the desktop beside you, palm planted firmly against the cool wood, leaning close to your ear.

“I know you taste just as sweet as I remember.” His words make you bite down against your lower lip, your body rife with anticipation, his lips peppering softly along your cheek meeting yours once more.

His fingertips trail lower, to the inside of your thigh, you gasp out releasing a breathy moan that his lips and mouth swallow. He would gladly drown in those sounds, letting you pull him under.

You further part your thighs, the damp silk of your panties were sticky, clinging to you. If you weren't so needy, you'd feel slightly embarrassed at how soaked you already were.

His finger inches closer, grazing that crease where your panties lay.

Your hips suddenly jolt forward when he presses into the wet fabric, immediately finding your puffy, aching clit applying just the right amount of pressure.

You moan obscenely at the miniscule amount of relief it provides, not finding it in yourself to care who could hear as he hooks his finger into the fabric, and ever so slowly begins to pull it to the side revealing your glistening pussy. You needed him to touch you.

“All this for me?” He hisses, looking down admiring the sight before him, ready to dip his finger into the sweet nectar. His cock already hard, stirring within its confines, aching at the thought of your warmth wrapped snugly around him.

Suddenly, a loud knock came at the door, pulling you both out of your lust fueled haze, as he quickly withdrew his hand helping you pull your dress back into place. Your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Uh… Steve?” Eddie's voice came muffled through the door.

“Fuck!” He hissed through gritted teeth. Resting his forehead to yours.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Sorry to… uh… interrupt but we've got some business to take care of.”

“Just give me a sec.” He grunted, cupping your cheeks gently, bringing his lips to your forehead placing a soft kiss there.

“I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“It's okay Steve. It's okay.” You smile, pulling back slightly. You knew what kind of things could draw him away. You'd seen it countless times with your father.

“I should get back out there before someone starts looking for me anyway.” Saying with a slight shrug, as he helped you down slowly from the desk, holding you close to his body.

Neither of you are quite yet ready to say goodbye, helping him straighten his suit and tie.

“I'll be in touch soon, I promise.” Wrapping his arms around you, as yours found their way around his neck, holding each other tightly as if it might be the last.

You weren't sure what to say, or if anything needed to be said so you stayed silent letting the stillness of the moment take over.

“I've got to go.” He reluctantly spoke, releasing his grip, only for his hand to find its way back to your cheek tilting your head gently for one more kiss. It was quick, because if he stayed any longer, he wouldn't be able to pry himself away. You both longed for so much more.

He let you go, taking a few steps to the door before he walked out of view.

You sighed, leaning back on the desk, head cloudy with thoughts of Steve. Giving him a head start, straightening your makeup and hair before heading back to the event.

Thoughts lingered on him the rest of the evening; a smile was plastered across your face as your cheeks began to ache later into the night. You were glowing after your interaction and wanted to hold onto this blissful high for as long as possible.

As the night came to an end, you were left with the cleanup crew once you had sent Abigail home. Typically, there was no reason to stay behind with them, but you were trying to avoid the inevitability of going back home.

You eventually retired to your office for a brief moment of peace before calling your driver.

Immediately you notice a small black box sitting on the top of your desk, as you shut the door behind you.

Quickly shuffling over, the fear that spiked your heart rate was swiftly dampened down when you spotted the key card you had snuck Steve earlier sitting beside it. You hadn't thought to retrieve it when you were interrupted, though you wouldn't care if he had kept it.

A small note was carefully laid out across the top. The first handwritten note he'd sent you in a long time, but you still recognized his articulate scrawl, as if every letter had been written with intent and purpose. You suppose it had.

For emergencies, or really anything. I don't like it when we can't keep in touch.

S.H.

A phone. A burner, you surmised, in the event you were caught with it no one could trace it back to him.

You held it in your palm, pulling up the contacts to a number that wasn't labeled.

You typed up a quick message and hit send. His response was almost instantaneous, as if he'd been waiting for it.

Sent 12:04 AM: Thank you.

921-987-5555 12:04 AM: You don't have to keep it on you. Just be careful if you do.

Sent 12:05 AM: Of course.

921-987-5555 12:04 AM: Have a good night, Dove. We'll chat soon.

Not soon enough. You thought to yourself, deleting the conversation before putting the phone away in the drawer and locking it. Better safe than sorry.

It was a silent ride home with a mind full of racing thoughts.

His lips, slow and passionate. Making sure you would never forget how he tastes.

His touch, yearning and possessive, sending your skin aflame; molding your pliable flesh to him.

When you were together, it didn't matter how much time had passed. There was only him. There would only ever be Steve.

You didn't bother trying to stay quiet as you entered the house, uncaring if Nik was already here. Things beyond your control were already in motion. You felt and air of change as you crossed the threshold.

Your heels clicked across the white marble flooring, as you reached out to take hold of the banister, but a guff voice drifting from the study suddenly made your blood turn cold.

You only knew him by his nickname that Nik and other Russian mob men call him, “Boogeyman.” His true identity was a secret, but Nik had called him in on occasion for unsavory propositions before.

In layman's terms, he was a hired hitman. One of the most ruthless hailing from Russia. Everyone knew of him and what he was capable of.

Stopping momentarily, you caught a bit of their conversation.

“Yes, of course old friend. This is just a precaution. Nothing set in stone, yet, as long as he stays out of my way there shouldn't be an issue.”

“No matter, young Petrov. I’ll be ready.”

They both laughed out, as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, hurrying up the stairs without a glance back.

Suddenly a whole new set of worries began to bubble up inside you as you found the safe haven of your room, thanking God for the newly installed lock.

The night full of promise and happiness was quickly turning into a nightmare. This was becoming far too much.

This journey wasn't going to be an easy one, it seemed at every turn there would be a new obstacle destined to cruelly keep you from the man you love.

This wasn't the end.

It was now up to you to move forward.

Taglist: @teen--marvel @micheledawn1975 @thecreelhouse @girlwiththerubyslippers @bunnyhargrove @taccobelle @madaboutjoe

Want to be added? Just let me know! ❤️

[theaawalker]

I Will [Finnick Odair x Reader]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Song Inspo: Meet Me At Our Spot by The Anxiety Word Count: 2,713 Series: 1 | 2 | ? Summary: it's been years since Finnick was reaped. He came out victorious, as you'd prayed he would, but then disappeared from the public eye. It wasn't long before the Capital revisited District 4 for its next competitor. Fast-forward, you're the winner of the 75th Hunger Games, and can barely sleep. When the Capitol unveils its next phase for the Games, you're thrusted back into survival as old habits return... as do old friends. Warnings: cuts, use of blades, surveillance, depression, female rage, mentions of prostitution, mentions of murder, making out, mentions of sex Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

You've been back for three weeks now. It feels like three years. You are the victor of the 75th Hunger Games. Your life is even worse than it was before your games, which was not meant to be part of the deal. Your entire family was dead. When you refused Snow's offer to make you a prostitute he killed them all. You thought he was bluffing. You thought he was bluffing. You thought he was bluffing. Now, you spend your days perched on your windowsill looking down onto the bottom floor, watching the other victors live. It provides minimal comfort knowing just because your life has taken a giant halt no one else's has. The only time you move from this spot is to go to the bathroom. Your legs are so stiff from minimal movement that you must hang onto the wall to steady yourself. You haven't showered. You've barely eaten, discounting canned foods. You're still in the clothes you wore when you arrived back. The only difference was a massive woolly blanket, providing some warmth in your cold, depressing room.

Someone comes over twice a day. You don't know who it is because you never actually look at them, eyes glued on the window. It's not because you're purposely ignoring them, but because you're lost in your own empty nothingness. And, as hard as you try, you can't fight your way back to reality. Whoever it is delivers your food.

Today was different though.

You hear them come in and remove their shoes. You hear them ramble through the kitchen for omething. After a while, their footsteps come towards you. You feel them put a hand on your slump, left shoulder. This is unusual but the difference is that you feel the urge to see who it is. You want to know who has been taking care of me. You want to know. So you find out.

"Welcome back to Earth, my dear." They say seductively with, face blurred by your unused vision.

"Finnick?" My voice all scratchy from no use.

"Wow," the blonde man said, "way to thank your mentor. But, fawn away, my dear!"

A wipe of the eyes reveals their true identity. A blonde man, indeed, but not yours. You've seen him on television during the 74th Hunger Games, often at the hip of its victors Katniss and Peeta.

"I know you."

"I'd sure hope so." Haymitch chuckles, stepping away to some stuff on your bed, his back to you.

"You... you've been helping me?"

"Of course. I couldn't let a pretty, little trainee like yourself starve, now could I?"

"Train for what?"

Haymitch paused. "You didn't see the news, did you?" You slowly shook your head, clutching your blanket. "Oh, jeez." The older man sighed. He grasped his mouth and stood silently, contemplating his next words. Having found them, he knelt in front of you as if you were a goner. "I'm sorry, kid... you're up next."

[ time skip - an hour later ]

An hour. That's how long Haymitch gave you to have a meltdown. You exploded with the pain, anger, and power of a thousand nukes. You obliterated your room - never careing for it anyways. You would've destroyed the building had physics not failed you. While you finished off your rampage with a primal scream, Haymitch waited outside the door and checked his watch.

Then he knocked. "Uh, kid. Time to go." You flung your door open and glared at him, eyes low and insides dead. "Hope you saved some of that rage for your combat."

The two of you head to the bottom floor. The elevator ride is quiet, and anyone who hops on ogles at you. Your hair sticks to your sweaty face. Your eyes are sunken and baggy. Your adrenaline is falling but you're still shivering. You look like a wild cat in captivity; tired, bitter, and vengeful. But worst of all, trapped.

You get to the ground floor and follow Haymitch to god-knows-where. Passing by training victors and their mentors doesn't faze you. You've played this game before. You won. You weren't confident you'd do it again, you just didn't care.

"Let's test out that fire on a target." Haymitch brought you to an assortment table of knives, spears, swords, and blades. He waved a finger across them. "Take your pick."

You grabbed the mezzaluna knife and peeked at your reflection. Your eyes... you'd be scared of you too.

You used to be so sweet and naive. You cared about others, maybe too much. You were selfless, self-conscious, and spineless. Killing people in an arena will take that from you. In a way, one of those victims was the old you.

'Rest in peace,' you thought.

"O-kaaay." Haymitch side-eyed you. "You ough to warm up before-" Your knife hit the bullseye with a sharp thud. "...Or not."

You threw the knife over, and over, and over until your palm sliced open. By Haymitch's advice, you took a breather and sought bandage. First aid wasn't a priority in the training hall, so you had to wander to find some proper wrappings. You didn't care if looking around made you appear clueness, or crazy, or weak.

A permanent "vacation" didn't sound so bad.

On your search, you saw Katniss Everdeen talking to someone by the rope stand. All you could see was his back and blonde hair. 'Peeta looks taller than on tv.' You thought to yourself.

Katniss looked over his shoulder, straight at you. You nodded, and she nodded back, a semblance of respect established. Her boyfriend watched her stare for a moment before turning around. By then you'd already looked away.

As you think about heading back, something within you begs you to stay. To look again, for whatever reason. Having nothing to lose or gain, you turn your head, which takes a lot of energy, and actually look and see who it is. You nearly faint as it's the person you never expected to see.

Finnick Odair.

He's squinting as if to make sure it's you. Then his eyes widen. At the same time, you both start for each other. The announcement feedback rings out, stopping you and him in your tracks. You step back and idle by, moving eye contact to the cement ground.

"Attention, victors. Let me be the first to welcome you," you didn't care to listen to the rest. All your mind could think about was Finnick. You hadn't seen him in almost 6 years, when he was torn from you and reaped. Just when he'd learned you two shared a soul mark. You pulled your sleeve down to hide it, paranoid a councilperson will see and tie you to Finnick. "but most of all, make your districts proud. Happy training! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

You try not to cry as the speaker ceases. Biting your lip, you peek back at Finnick's spot. His chest rises as he's huffing and staring at you, begging to be reunited. He looks so much older and buffer. His tan only complimented his gorgeousness. You had to have him.

But you couldn't, breaking your gaze. Not without drawing suspicion. So you bury alive your longing, conjure the numb beast born in your Hunger Game, and march over.

"Either of you know where to find wrappings?" You said, indirectly talking to Finnick but looking at Katniss. This was your way of tricking the cameras.

"I wouldn't, no." Katniss replied, scanning your body for the injury.

"I would." The man of your dreams said. Katniss looked at him, but you kept staring at her. "There's a kit cabinet, corner-east of the elevator. Should hold you down till the day's over."

You swallow the frog in your throat. It would be the first time you'd spoken to him since the day you lost him... You'd pictured that very moment countless times. The worst of circumstances had delivered. You couldn't even look into his eyes. Those beautiful, sea-foam eyes. You couldn't feel his eyes on you either. President Snow had control of you both, despite being nowhere nearby. It was no secret that man loved two things: using people as pawns and tearing people apart. You'd die before you let him do that to you and Finnick. Not again.

"And what if..." you cleared your throat, "what if I need another wrapping later on today?"

Finnick got quiet, picking up your breadcrumb. "There's a storage closet on the second floor. End of the hallway on the left. No one goes up there. Shouldn't be any eyes on you."

Eyes being cameras or guards, you understood. "Thanks."

Finnick started to say something else, but you walked away. Had you'd stayed any longer, you surely would've broken character and gotten the two of you killed.

[ time skip - later that night ]

Night fell and you were longing for Finnick's touch. Haymitch had finally fallen asleep, proved by his obnoxious snoring across the hall. You threw off your covers, revealing your blue, silk pajamas, and creaked open the door. Left, no one. Right no one. Empty hall. 'Thank God,' you sighed and tiptoed down it. The elevator button dinged and you jumped. You checked behind you, expecting your mentor or a guard. Empty hall still.

The elevator ride felt slower than usual. You lived on the 8th floor, so the 2nd floor shouldn't have taken that long. Then you remembered, making your face freeze and heart stop. There were cameras in the elevators. You curse yourself but evade looking at it. You should've taken the stairs. You hoped Finnick had.

'Finnick...'

The doors opened on the second floor. You walked out, almost robotically, and turned to the hall's end. 'End of the hallway on the left. Storage closet.' Finnick's words echoed in your head. You repeated it like a mantra as you headed that way. You finally got the storage closet door, no sign of entry. You reached for the handle when a dangerous feeling invaded you. You hadn't seen this man in nearly 6 years. You weren't the same, and perhaps so was he.

What if Finnick was deceiving you? 'No.'

What if guards are waiting behind the door?' No, he'd-'

What if Finnick was working with Snow? 'No, he'd never.'

How could you be sure? 'I'll prove it.'

You threw open the door and dove inside. Had you Finnick not caught you, you would've crashed into him. It was dark and dimly lit by a dying lightbulb. You saw illuminated Finnick's outline - his shape, really - but that was all. Not ideal circumstances, but they'd do.

"Y/N..." He was still holding you by the forearms. "Were you followed?" His voice read as serious, edging on emotionless.

"No." You said, hiding your dismay. For a moment, you regretted not bringing your knife. He had a hold of you, ambushed in a dark, small closet, in the middle of the night, and towered over you like Goliath.

Then a flashlight turned on under you. Once you saw his face, all the fear and paranoia dissolved.

"Good." He said charmingly with a sweet, gentle smile resting on his tan, god-like face. Suddenly he drops his Capitol self and you see another person not Finnick Odair but just Finnick. "I missed you s-"

You hugged him like you've never hugged anyone before. He rocked you side-to-side and you squeezed him tighter. You both chuckle as you break apart and look at each other.

"Gosh, Finn. You look so different." You gawked at his, well, everything.

"So do you, Y/NN." Finnick observed you with a sweet smile of disbelief. "Guess running for your life will do that to you." He joked, making you giggle.

Then it grew quiet as cruel reality set in.

You were both murderers. Both slaves to the Capitol. Both stuck inside a world you hate. Both surrounded by people you don't like. Even if he hadn't said it, his face told you. It had affected him too.

Your hands caress his cheeks as you mutter, "I wish things were different."

"I know what you're going through. I understand. And I felt terrible that I left without telling what," he sighed, "what you meant to me. I couldn't help you during your games because the Capitol wanted me to… take care of other business and Mags helped me a lot when I came home. So I should've looked for you, should've helped you, should've tried, because you deserve it."

You were too exhausted to cry. You contemplated aplogizing for not telling him about the soul mark. It happened so long ago that you couldn't recall if you'd said sorry then. When he was reaped and ripped away from you. So, you changed the subject. "You know why he killed my family, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I know why".

"You're a prostitute?"

"...Yes."

"To protect your family?"

"At first like you I refused then he killed my mother. The only family I had that was blood. Then he threatened to kill Mags. So I did it."

"I thought he was bluffing."

"I did too." Then Finnick's eyes fell to the ground, riddled with shame and uncertainty. "So... you don't mind? That I, uh..." his brows furrowed in angered remembrance, "that I'm... what Snow makes me do?"

You finally muster the courage to kiss him. His lips are salty and oh so plump. They mesh with yours perfectly. He grabs your face and deepens the kiss. You pull away to breath, eyes still closed and smiling. You licks your lips, relishing his citrus taste before being pulled into another kiss. Your heads move as your mouths devour each other. Your hands explore his back, sometimes tugging at his tanktop. He slides his tongue across your teeth, begging for permission. You open your mouth wide and let him slip it inside you. You suck on his long tongue and listen to his moans. As you suck and savor his slippery glossa, the idea of sex claws as you. You didn't want to soil the moment by [redacted]-ing Finnick.

Plus, you didn't have any condoms.

You let go of his tongue, which he rolled back into his smirking mouth. He dove in for another kiss but you caught his chest.

"I don't want to do it right away." You told him. You watched his face of arousal disappear, replaced by calm, and an understanding nod.

"I get it." He tucked your hair behind your ear. "We can stop here if you want."

Tears you resented stung your eyes. You bore into his chest, thoughts distant. "I don't think we can."

"Hey, hey," Finnick lifted your face, "what's wrong?"

"We're both victors, Finnick." You sniffled. "Do you really think they're gonna let two victors win again?"

It was true. Peeta and Katniss had gotten lucky. You and Finnick wouldn't be so, not if the Capitol could help it. The love you had would be destroyed, killed in the 76th Hunger Games. Not just the love between you, but one of you... one of you had to die.

"We'll find a way. Listen, listen to me. We will find a way. There's 59 days till the Games. We'll come up with a way to survive. Hide till it's over, fake our deaths, escape - whatever it takes. O-okay?" He plastered a weak yet hopeful smile. He brought your foreheads together. "I'm not losing you again. We just have to have faith. Okay?"

"We can't-"

"Promise me, Y/N. Please." Finnick begged, speaking and breathing softly. "Promise me you'll have faith in me. In us. Promise you will."

Every fiber of your being ignites. Faith didn't exist in the Hunger Games. Precision. Skill. Wit. Violence. Vigilance. Survival. That's what reigned. That's what would get you through the day. You hated doing it that way, but it had worked in the past. What Finnick was asking you was to basically abandon the protocol. To go against logic and defy the future, pretty much ensuring your demise. Could you trust what he was saying, or were your prior suspicions accurate? Could you use that against him, trick him as well? You just knew this wasn't going to end well, whatever happened. But for now, you'd play pretend.

"I will."

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

Check out my upcoming high-fantasy series

If you enjoyed this imagine :

follow me 🫂 like 👍 comment 🗨 repost 🔄

If you have an imagine request :

ask❓️AND tip 🪙

taglist: @hales-17 @melllinaa @stinkii-boii @fartinglaterxoxo @ropickle @idontknowv141 @poollover123 ♡

[cosmos-coma]

Winter Mountain Soldier Spy- Part 2

A/N: Look at me not taking a month to post a new chapter! lol. I'm happy to get this one going and get writing again. I put one of my favorite songs into this chapter that I think really suits our beloved Winter Soldier (Take Back - Odie Leigh). Enjoy!

Pairing: Winter soldier!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Words: ~2994

Bucky Masterlist | AO3

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

________

“Mmph….”

The Winter Soldier let out a quiet huff as he woke, his eyes blurry with a depth of sleep he had rarely felt before. Slowly he blinked the haze away as he sat up from the floor, the bed’s comforter folded beneath him as a makeshift mattress.

He had tried sleeping in the bed- he really did- but it was far too soft. Like sinking into a powdery snow drift, every second he tried to endure felt like another moment closer to inevitable suffocation. Even the plush blanket you had put aside was more than he was used to, but for once he allowed himself the pleasure. 

A silent wince swept across him as he sat up, his hand instantly finding one of the many bullet wounds dappling his back. His fingers came back clean- no blood- a good sign.

As he breathed a sigh of relief, the sounds of clinking and clanging finally registered in his ears. They were soft, yet still distinct as they danced through the closed door, their source- he figured- being the kitchen just below. Instinctively, his shoulders tensed in anticipation, his eyes scanning for a makeshift weapon to face the threat, until-

until a voice came.

Soft and easy, your voice sang a slow unrecognizable tune. It was only then that the prior evening came rushing back to him in a whirlwind; fleeing HYDRA, nearly getting hit by a car, and finally, being brought here- to a house in the middle of nowhere- by a persistently nice stranger who insisted on bandaging him up. 

How could he forget?

Quickly making his way to his feet and getting dressed, he silently padded down the creaky wooden stairs. Slow, practiced feet traversed each step, finding the quietest path with minimal effort as his assassin instincts refused to take a back seat.

As his feet hit the bottom of the stairs he turned toward the continuous noise, a slight frown to his expression until he saw… you. 

There you stood. The vivid orange of sunrise seemed to maneuver through the mountains and snow-covered trees just to wash over you. Your skin glowed with an alluring warmth that left his fingers twitching with the mere thought of its sensation. You hadn’t noticed him yet- your voice still soft and quiet in an attempt not to wake him. Your mind was far elsewhere, distracted by making breakfast and the melody that hung in the air around you.

He dared not speak as the song slowly faded out and a new one began, a small smile resting on your lips as you sang yet another unfamiliar tune. Though he’d never been one for music as far as he could remember, listening to you sing seemed to quell a storm he didn’t realize had occupied him. For the first time in a long time, he knew what it meant to feel at ease. Tense shoulders relaxed, letting out a soft breath as he deflated back to normal.

Yet, even amongst his newfound calm, every word in your song made his brain itch in a way he wasn't yet familiar with.

“Baby… If I can even call you that. You know I'm struggling to remember- I mean, I’m struggling to forget.

Lately, I’ve been so caught inside my head; I swear I haven’t lived in weeks- been daydreaming instead.”

Your toothy smile lit up the room effortlessly as your head nodded along to the tune. You sang as you cracked another egg into the pan and all he could do was watch and listen.

“I bet money his memory is hazed... It’s not too out of character, we paved the path that way.”

You flipped a pancake in another pan, your voice easy with practiced familiarity.

“I’m missing full night's sleep- I'm missing meals, no drinks. I miss believing words are said, words that are said to me.

And now he’s gone again, stuck on my phone again- Just waitin’ on someone-”

You grinned as you prepared two plates. 

“-I’m not waitin’ on no one…”

Your voice bubbled with a determined sort of joy as the song turned and your expression refused to fade.

And while I hope, that my pictures on your shelf when I get home. Don’t wanna see nobody else I wanna hold me accountable for things I did myself….

Don’t wanna see nobody else.

I’m gonna take back some of my time, I'm gonna take back some of my time, I'm gonna take back some of my time, I'm gonna take back…

Take back…”

As the song ended you turned, and upon seeing him, smiled with a brightness that left him feeling like he got kicked square in the chest. His breath was completely gone, his chest achingly void yet completely overfilled, and all he could do was stare. 

“You’re still here…” You said, turning down the radio a little, “I wasn’t sure if you would stay or not, but…”You grinned, “I’m glad you did. I made breakfast just in case,” You added as you handed him a large plate full of pancakes, eggs, and sausages.

Surprise could barely hide on his face as he took the plate from you. A full breakfast…? Were you sure…? As if on cue his stomach rumbled, intent on making its hunger known far and wide. 

But you just laughed and waved him on as you headed toward your regular seat at the kitchen table, your own loaded plate in tow, “Come on, let’s eat…” you said, motioning to the jams and syrup you already had out, “and there’s more than enough for seconds, so please don’t hold back.”

Slowly he slid into the seat across from you, his expression reserved as he watched you make the first few moves. That same radiant orange light still fell over you, though much more dappled now as it filtered through the layers of branches. Your actions were simple. You grabbed a jar of jam and spread it over your pancakes, then you reached for the milk, adding it to your coffee; they were all such simple actions. Such simple normal actions….

And it gave him immeasurable comfort. 

He copied your movements as he watched you go about your routine.

He tried his first set of pancakes with jam, enjoying its sharp, but sweet flavor, yet to him, the second stack reigned supreme; drizzled perfectly with syrup so that each bite was as sweet as his last. Then he tried the coffee, adding milk and sugar much like you, but recoiled immediately as an overwhelming level of sweetness flooded him. He had added far too much, but, despite your laughter, you were more than happy to get him a fresh cup and let him try again.

With HYDRA he only got what was strictly necessary. Meals were bland and lukewarm, with only the essential nutrients and nothing more. Water was about the only thing they were lenient with, but even that had its limits. 

But now hot food sat pleasantly in his belly and spices danced across his nose and tongue. He had had a feast fit for the greatest of kings and one more than worthy enough to celebrate his newfound freedom.

Yet still, the normalcy of it all buzzed in the back of his mind. The breakfast spread out across the table, the music in the background; It was a life that, weeks ago, he could only have imagined; catching nothing more than bits and pieces through the lens of his scope.

The radio mumbled on quietly, the only noise between you besides the scraping of utensils, but he liked it that way. Looking over, he noticed a small smile still lingering in your expression, perhaps a sign that you enjoyed the busy silence as well.

As the two of you finally finished you rose to your feet and gathered the dirty dishes to start washing up. 

At first, the Soldier just watched, at a loss for what you were doing, but soon stood to get a closer look, watching silently over your shoulder.

You felt the gaze of those bright blue eyes run over you and you looked back, “Did you want to help?” You asked.

At first, his brow furrowed, but then he nodded, “What can I do?” He took a step closer, the concept of personal space not seeming to exist in his mind as he slid in close beside you. 

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him where he stood, his large frame taking up space comfortably. Strong, sleeved arms brushed against yours, as he settled in, taking the drying rag you had offered. “I’ll wash and you can dry, okay?” You smiled, handing him the first dish.

He nodded and did exactly as you instructed, his expression far more serious than necessary for the simple act of drying dishes.

You couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as you glanced over, his drawn-together brows deep in concentration as he meticulously dried each and every dish before setting it aside.

He frowned, looking over at your barely stifled laughter as he finished another pan “What?”

You shook your head, a grin still plastered on your lips, “Nothing...! Nothing, you just-“ you laughed a touch, looking over at his down turned expression, “You look so serious doing this. Like the pans owe you money or something,” you grinned.

But he didn’t smile back, instead, he looked back down at the pans, not a speck of water left on their shining surfaces, “… I just wanted to be good….” He whispered.

Your heart nearly melted into your feet. His tone was so soft and earnest,  he really only wanted to do good by you and it made your heart swell and burst and melt and flutter all at the same time. You shook your head, your expression soft and warm, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. You really are doing a great job,” you held out one last plate in his direction, “Here, last one, okay?”

Warm lightly calloused fingers found yours as he went to grab the plate, sending warm pins and needles rushing through your forearm. With a short gasp, you flinched back- shocked, but not appalled, at the sudden sensation. Carelessly the plate slipped through your fingers, clattering to the floor with a violent crash that sent a wave of broken ceramic running in all directions.

“Ah!” you yelped in surprise, your instinct to move away from the noise, unfortunately, stronger than your know-how to stay put. Sharp pain gripped your foot as you stumbled back, like small teeth digging relentlessly into your flesh.

“Fuck!” You cursed and tried to step back into safety but the pain persisted, “Shit- damn it…!” you cursed again and looked down to the bottom of your foot. Blood began dripping down from your sole, a little piece of broken plate lodged firmly in the small cut.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes widened with concern as he saw red hit the floor. He had been given a dream-like start to the day and he’d already tainted it with blood. His hands reached out to help but hesitated for a moment. These hands have already hurt so many, he didn’t want to hurt you any further, “I didn’t mean to-“

“No, no, no” you interrupted him with a slight frown, carefully picking out the small shard, “No, I’m sorry… I’m the one who dropped it.” You sighed still holding your foot up as another drop of blood fell, “Fuck… Okay, would you mind- whoa!”

With surprising swiftness and little effort, he scooped you up as if you weren’t every bit of the woman you were. He held you close against his chest, his grip as gentle as he could allow as he took careful steps here and there, avoiding the needle-like shards, until you both arrived in the living room.

He set you down on the coffee table, just as you had done for him the day before, and moved his attention to your wounded foot.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine-“

“Please…” he interrupted with a surprisingly soft yet pressing voice, “Let me help…. Let me be good….” Large blue eyes looked up at you, pleading with you to let him do just this much. His hands hovered over your leg as he waited patiently for your response.

Blinking with surprise you nodded slowly. You couldn’t understand what being good had to do with it all, but with such quiet urgency, it clearly meant a lot to him, “Okay….” You agreed.  

It was impossible to ignore the delicate way he touched you, his fingers brushing your ankle tenderly as he looked over the cut on your foot. It left your chest aflutter as warm static radiated out from his touch. It was subtle at first, just a hint of a feeling, like a lover’s warm breath against your skin, but it only grew.

He nodded and with his characteristically intense and careful eyes he scanned over your wound, nodding again before stepping away to find the first aid kit, retracing your steps perfectly from yesterday.

You had to smile to yourself as he came back to you, first aid kit in tow along with another expression of determination that you weren’t sure fit the severity of the situation, but that seemed to suit him all the same.

With a tender touch, he cleaned and wrapped your foot, hiding the wound away under a layer of gauze to let it heal in peace.

“Thank you… really,” you said as you brought your foot up to poke and prod at the new bandage, “and maybe while we’re here, we can change out your bandages? I’m sure they’ve soaked up plenty enough by now”

He nodded, his voice gentle as a small smile crept upon his lips, “Okay….”

With a few ushering waves of your hand you two easily changed places, your bad leg kneeling on the sturdy table as you stood behind him. One after the other, you peeled each bandage off slowly and marveled at the state of their healing.

Each one had already healed up on its edges and was now trying to close. You were amazed, to say the least. Though it wasn’t at an otherworldly rate, each wound looked like it had already healed over a few days time, however even at this rate you were sure it would still take some time.

“So…  You really have no name..? Nothing besides ‘The Winter Soldier’….?” You finally asked over his shoulder as you pressed the fresh gauze against his muscled back, “I mean- I’m glad I can refer to you as something other than ‘the tall dark stranger’-” You jested with a small smile, but he didn’t seem to get it, “-but it feels wrong to just call you a soldier and nothing else…” 

“Hmm,” he hummed quietly, nodding a bit and pausing as if he was looking for an answer that would please you, “I was soldier number 001….” He said, obviously unknowing of the implications of his words. He gazed into the mirror across from him as you worked, watching your emotions twist as he spoke. 

You frowned harshly, locking eyes with him through your reflection, “You were numbered…?” You sighed as you continued, shaking your head, “I’m so sorry….” Your hand smoothed across his skin as you laid the last piece of tape down, your touch lingering subconsciously. 

Sparks still danced across his skin beneath your touch, radiating a comforting warmth that he had yet to grow accustomed to, but that he never wanted to be without. He wanted your hands on him always, whether it was wiping blood away from his brow or simply brushing a stray hair from his cheek. He wanted nothing more than to be held in the crackling fire of your palms and hold you in return. 

He wondered if you felt the same heat and fire he did, if you too felt the bubbling of energy beneath your skin when you touched- Or if... to you, he was just coldness. Only the cold of smooth metal and nothing more.

“Well, how about…” You continued with a hum, interrupting his swirling thoughts,  “Maybe I can call you ‘Winter’?”

Icy blue eyes softened a bit as you asked. You really wanted to give him a name..?

“It’s always been my favorite season,” you smiled as you packed up the remainder of the kit, “something about the cold, muffled silence of the snow and pine trees looming above…” you hummed as you reminisced on the recent days. “The way the moon and stars reflect off the snow at night? making it as bright as a cloudy day?” You grinned now, ducking your head to hide your expression behind his shoulder, “It always made me feel at home….”

Something cracked and shifted unknowingly in the Winter Soldier as you said that; it was small- barely noticeable- but something had already found its way in and it was here to stay.

The corners of his lips turned up, his heart beating with a little more sense of purpose now. “… I would like that…” 

“Yeah?” You lifted your head, smiling again over his shoulder at his reflection. “Well then, Winter.” You happily emphasized, your smile never faltering, “You should be all patched up now. Your wounds are looking better than I expected.” You handed his shirt back to him and took one last glance at him through the mirror. 

He nodded as he pulled his shirt back over his head, the faintest of smiles still lingering on his lips. 

You smiled back and closed up the kit, getting up to put it away,  “How does another quiet evening in sound?” You asked, “I have a couple of movies we can watch to pass the time and then, if you’re up to it, maybe you can help me with dinner…?”

He nodded, his faint yet pleasant expression still having yet to fade, “Please…” 

___________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions @yeehawbrothers

WMSS taglist:

@fanfictionreaderfan

If you wanted to be added to the general or WMSS Taglist please ask/DM and let me know!

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Six

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 4511

Warnings: 18+ Blog; mentions of food and drinks, unwanted touching, self doubt, pining, two dumb dumbs navigating fEeLiNgS, reader has a nickname but has zero descriptive features, fluff, like always please let me know if there’s anything I missed.

A/N: This chapter!! I think it’s just been a week for me, dealing with minimal sleep and a teething babe— I was near giving up on it. But, it’s done! Wrote out a good portion of it and then hated it so I rewrote it and then ending up going in a completely different direction— but I like where it ended up going. Thanks again for all the love and kind words on this series!! Only 4 more chapters to go!! Adding: Thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for beta’ing this labor of love and all her support and help as I write this!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous / Next

An endless loop of vivid thoughts frequent your weary mind— starting early in the morning and well into the evening. 

Dieter, his stupid handsome face and the way he has you falling for him, your brain in a constant flustered state. 

You keep mulling over the possibilities of allowing yourself to be vulnerable, open to the idea of something growing between you and Dieter. 

Each alternative has its advantages and risks. 

Leaning into your feelings and granting Dieter access to the thing you’ve spent years guarding, trusting that he will stand alongside you as you fully open your heart to a chance at a future together. 

But what if he doesn’t want the same things as you?? You contemplate if settling for just his friendship is enough, never pursuing the growing connection between you, accepting him in your life but always at an arm's length. 

Dieter’s impending departure has you a mess, your growing feelings for him only making it worse. 

“Are you still there sweetheart?” 

“Yeah— Sorry Mom, I’m still here.” You assured her, finishing up the rest of your makeup as you get yourself ready for the Capri Hotel’s big event. 

“You sound so far away. What’s bothering you?” 

“Ugh. I don’t even know where to begin Mom. None of it’s really all that bad, just a lot at once I guess.”

“Well, I’m here to listen if you need to get it off your chest.” 

Moments like these, you wished she lived closer, missing your kitchen conversations at the end of a long day. No matter how depleted she was after work, she made dinner with a smile and sat for as long as you needed her to, her shoulders always carrying the weight of your heart when needed. 

“Just trying to keep it together most days. School has been busy, end of year things have me drained. Then there’s the whole gallery thing, it has me stressed I won’t be ready for the showing. I’ve finally managed to get a chunk of my pieces painted and prepped— I have like 5 more to do. And I’m sad it’s closing, I only have a few classes left there.” You pause for a moment, you hadn’t intended on an emotional dump when you called your Mom, just wanted to check in and say hello. “It’s all good things though, so I don’t even know why it feels overwhelming, I guess I feel like I’m going to let someone down somewhere along the way.”

“Hmm. Well, I know how hard you are on yourself, but I also know how hard you work— especially when it involves all the things you love. You’re going to get through it all! I believe in you.”

Her voice feels like a warm embrace as it drifts through your phone, the stress already feeling like it has lifted a bit with her reassurance. 

“So, how are things with your guy? Any new things on that front?”

“Well, he’s not my guy.” Chuckling at her abruptness. “I feel like we’re in a good place now— he feels like a close friend that I’ve known my whole life. And the more time we spend together, the more I—“

“The more you what?”

“I don’t even know, Mom. Like there’s these things he does, I don’t know if he’s just being nice or what, but he does these little things that make me so happy. He brings me coffee in the mornings when he drops his niece off at school, leaves little notes for me on the cups— I save them Mom, I have a stack of these coffee cups in my kitchen.”

You hear a muffled hum, her signal that she’s already preparing her response to what you have to share, but allowing you to continue. 

“He came to one of my classes, and you know what he did? He painted a portrait of me— who does that?! And now, we text each other all the time and I can’t stop smiling when his name pops up on my phone, because I can’t stop thinking of him. Then he gave me this cute nickname that makes my insides turn to goo any time he says it and I— I…”

“You love him, don’t you?”

“Yeah— I do.”

*

The air is dry, heat waves dancing across the scorching cement, an array of popular songs blaring from the DJ booth situated on the green lawn adjacent to the hotel’s pool deck. 

The re-grand opening celebration of The Capri in full effect. 

The hotel had been drawing in plenty of guests after the renovation, rooms booked out regularly, a quintessential tourist destination for the small town. Its mid-century design of wood, natural tones and pops of color paired with the sleek modern aesthetic throughout the hotel’s property was beginning to be recognized by many publications, all looking to showcase the hotel’s unique style in upcoming pieces. 

The hotel’s name, big white block letter signage, sits atop the covered entryway. A parked yellow Chevy Deluxe adds to the ambiance of the building’s timeless look. 

Giant palm trees and tropical-esque plants in terracotta pots decorate the grounds of the hotel. Small gardens with intimate seating had been strategically placed for optimal usage. A large lawn space in the back was draped in string lighting and had the perfect view of daily sunsets. The pool itself was a perfect backdrop for a day of relaxing, vintage woven lawn chairs and oversized umbrellas lined each side of the large pool surrounded by lush greenery. 

Dieter was able to snag a chair early on, perks of knowing the hotel owner, the umbrella shade blocking enough of the sun to make the extremely warm weather bearable. 

He’s trying his best to enjoy himself, knowing he’s doing Diem a favor keeping an eye on Wren while she’s running around doing her hotel-party hostess duties, but the growing crowd of guests and invitees feel more overwhelming, reminding him of the elaborate Hollywood parties he’s attended. 

Only a few people have stopped to ask for autographs or pictures, slightly surprised there’s still a fan base that has an interest in him these days. 

“How come they don’t want me to sign their papers? I know how to write my name too!” Wren, her voice tinged with a pouty tone, says from where she’s lounging on her chair next to him. 

“I don’t know, Birdie. Next time, you can sign your name too, seems only fair.”

“Okay. I can draw a heart for them too.”

Wren, satisfied with the compromise, goes back to sipping on her iced lemonade and watching one of her shows on her iPad, zero interest in what's going on around her. 

“How’s she doing?” Diem asks as she sits on the edge of the Wren’s chair, placing another lemonade on the small accent table between the two of them. 

“She’s good, wanted to take a break from swimming for a bit. You, umm— hear from Poppy yet?” 

“Why? You finally going to tell her you’ve got it bad for her??” 

Grateful his sunglasses are dark enough to block the eye roll intended for Diem, he glances over to see Wren still absorbed into her show then back to Diem and whispering a low -fuck off- accompanied with a playful middle finger. 

“She texted me a bit ago, said she was running late, but would be here soon— Oh! Speak of the devil, look who just arrived. I’m going to go say hi and I’ll send her over so you can tell her how much you’ve missed her.” Diem’s menacing voice earns her another middle finger from Dieter, leaving him to greet you properly. 

Dieter catches sight of you weaving through the pack of bodies meandering around the pool, taking in how your face lights up the minute you see Diem welcoming you with a hug, both of you embracing each other as if you hadn'tnd just hung out days prior. 

He’s seen you in your casual clothes outside of school before. Usually a pair of favorite jeans and t-shirt, a sundress sprinkled in on warmer days, but something about seeing you in a bathing suit and shorts has his brain short-circuiting almost instantly. 

Tilting his head forward, his pointer finger pulling his sunglasses slowly down the bridge of his nose. He’s completely taken aback, mesmerized by you, noting every little detail—  your captivating features that make him absolutely weak, every delicate curve so perfectly placed, each flaw you try so hard to hide merely a perfect addition to your allurement. 

The second you and Diem turn in his direction, he’s shaken out of his trance, trying to focus on anything to make his blatant staring seem less obvious. 

“I see an open chair next to Dieter, do you think he’ll mind if I hang out with them?” You point to the open space next Dieter, who is helping Wren navigate something on her iPad. 

Unfortunately, as you say it, you notice a beautiful woman sitting in the lounger you were inquiring about. You try your best to keep the tinge of jealousy concealed, the last thing you want is to draw any sort of attention to your feelings for Dieter at this time. 

“Never mind, I’m sure I’ll find somewhere to set my stuff.” There’s a subtle hint of sadness in your eyes, avoiding watching the women openly flirt with him. 

“Babe, you good?” Diem sensing the shift in your demeanor instantly. Peering back at Dieter to see the interaction he’s having with the woman, who now has her hand on his arm, caressing it as she tilts her head and openly ogles him— her fake laugh is a dead give away that she only sees Dieter for his Star Status and nothing more. 

“Yeah— y-yeah, I’m good.” Forcing a somewhat convincing smile. 

“Hey, I’ve got to go check on catering, make sure everything is running on time and then I’m going to grab Wren for her nap— the last thing I need is a 6 year old meltdown. Don’t worry about her, she doesn’t really seem like his type anyways. We’ll catch up in a bit.” Giving you another hug, letting it linger for a minute, then Diem takes off in the direction of the catering truck. 

You’re left standing there, feeling exposed and alone among a sea of strangers. Nervously scanning anywhere but in the direction of where Dieter and the woman are clearly flirting. You contemplate what an appropriate amount of time to spend here would be, before slipping out unnoticed. 

It reminds of you showing up to a middle school dance, dressed in the new fancy dress you picked out for the special occasion in hopes of seeing the cute boy, who’s name you spent most of the school year scribbling in your notebooks. Only to walk into the dimly lit and poorly decorated gymnasium to see he is with the head cheerleader and they’re both making heart eyes at each in the middle of the dance floor. 

Part of you wants to shrink into the shadows of the crowd, ruminate over the signals you read completely wrong this whole time. Dieter was just being nice, friendly— at no fault of his. You blame yourself for thinking he might have some interest in you, reading into the little details and thinking that you were even his type— clearly far from it. 

An up tempo song blasts through the speakers, amping the tone of the party up and pulling you out of your brief moment of sulking. 

Friends. Just friends. Dieter and you are friends and that has to be enough for you. 

You head in the direction of the open bar, hoping an ice cold beverage will help unburden your angsty thoughts. 

“We should hang out sometime!” Dieter cringes at the advances this random woman keeps making towards him. 

If this wasn’t his sisters hotel, he’d probably wouldn’t feel bad in being harsh and telling this woman to fuck right off. But he doesn’t want to cause a scene, not knowing how she would react to his rejection. 

“Umm, I don’t know— I’ve got a lot going on right now.” Let her down easy. 

“Oh come on! You’re not doing anything, you just got out of rehab— and they’ve got you trapped in this boring town too. I’m sure we could find something fun to do together. I know a few parties are happening in WeHo coming up, I can make a few calls— get some treats to liven things up.” Her hand still fondling his arm. 

He winces at her crass comment, a reminder of why he chose to escape the acrimonious world of Hollywood. 

He doesn’t have a single regret about being here in Ojai either, he enjoys its simplicity and is starting to feel like he could see himself here long term. 

“Look, I’m sure you're nice and all— but I’m not interested.” 

“Okay, well we can do something else then. How about we go back to my room, I’m staying here.” Wiggling her hotel key between her fingers. 

She’s clearly not grasping at the obvious hint Dieter is giving her. 

“No, I’m not interested in your room or you.” He says politely, grabbing her hand and removing it from his arm. 

“What do you mean?!”

“He has a girlfriend, lady!” Wren piped up in Dieter’s defense. 

“Wait! You have a kid? And a girlfriend?”

“No— to both things.” 

“God, rehab made you so fucking boring.” She scoffed, offended by his sobriety and his lack of interest in her. 

“Okay, so what we’re not going to do is that, my niece is right here. You can go now.” 

She didn’t hesitate at his request, grabbing her things and walking away— pretending to be unbothered by the rejection. 

“Sorry about that Birdie. Some people are just—“

“Weird!”

“Yeah, weird. Hey, Birdie?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you think Poppy is— she’s not my girlfriend, we’re just friends. So, let’s maybe not call her that anymore okay?” Although, he likes the way the two words mix together in the same sentence. 

He worries it’s going to slip in your presence, he knows wren means no harm by it, but he would hate for you to feel uncomfortable if you ever were to hear her say it. 

“Mhmm.” Her non-committal response earns her a laugh, fully focused on her show like nothing ever happened. 

Dieter takes in the lively atmosphere around him. Laughter emanating from the party guests gathered in small groups around the pool, a carefree crowd dancing throughout the lawn area, smiles plastered on everyone’s faces— he couldn’t be more proud of Diem and all she has accomplished. 

Readjusting the collar of his colorful half buttoned shirt, Dieter settles back into the chair, letting the sun kiss every bit of his exposed skin. 

“How are things going over here?” Diem quietly asked, pulling Dieter from his ruminative thoughts. 

Diem scoots Wren’s listless legs over to allow room for her to sit down, leaning over she grabs the device from her tiny sleepy hands, Wren’s little head nodding as she struggles to keep her drowsy eyes open. 

“No complaints, looks like you had a good turnout. I’m really proud of you Diem, not just all of this,” His hand pointing around to her accomplishments on display in the form of a successfully running hotel and her well executed re-grand opening festivities. “But with Wren too. I’m glad that I got this chance to be with you both.”

“Don’t go getting all sappy on me—“ Her voice wobbly and soft as she beams at his acknowledgment of her dedication to her work and Wren. “Thank you. And I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off without your help.”

Dieter nods, mirroring her heartfelt gratitude. 

“Have you seen Poppy? I saw you both talking earlier.” He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate, wanting to know your whereabouts, if you’re okay and why you’re not here— with him. 

“She didn’t make it over?” His brows draw together, shaking his head slightly. Her nose wrinkled at the realization of why you hadn’t come over. 

“What?” 

“She saw you and your— little friend earlier, I don’t know for sure, but she seemed somewhat saddened by it. I’m surprised she didn’t come over though.” 

“Shit! I gotta go. You good with her.” He stands abruptly, an unnerving feeling creeping up from his chest, hoping you didn’t mistake what you saw for anything but an awkward fan interaction. 

“Yeah, go. I’m going to go put her down in my office.” Scooping up Wren’s sleeping frame. “Dieter?” 

He turns back to her calling his name, hands flexing at his side, a nervous tick of his, as he waits for what Diem has to add. 

“You should tell her.” 

He’s not sure why it’s so difficult to find someone in a somewhat enclosed area. His eyes scanning every ecstatic face as he sidesteps through conversations anchored in effervescent exuberance, a stark contrast from his growing collection of spiraling thoughts. 

If he could just find you, explain the situation to you in its entirety. 

Explain how he truly feels. 

How you'rer his first thought when he wakes in the morning, the giddy anticipation of seeing how beholden you are as he hands you the coffee he picks up from the bakery Wren and him stop at before school, how he takes in the way you tilt your head just enough to read the ridiculous notes he scribbles on the sides of each cup, “Have a Brewtiful Day!” “Better latte than never.”—each one extracting the most intoxicating laugh. 

How he looks forward to seeing your face light up at his stupid jokes, never once admitting how horrible you think they are. 

How you’re an added reason for him to want to be sober, never wanting to be on the receiving end of your disappointment in him. He wants that rewarding experience of seeing how proud you are of him. 

And how he wants nothing more than to have you in his arms— morning, noon and night, keeping you as close as he possibly can, terrified that you’ll disappear the moment he lets you go. 

His world seems to come to a standstill, everything he had been working up the courage to tell you, drained from his mind instantly. 

Utterly shattered by the sight of you. 

That smile of yours, paired with a full body laugh, directed at the man standing next to you. Your hand holding the top of his oversized bulging bicep as his large hand gently cups your elbow, leaning into each other as you both exchange words. 

A reality he hadn’t even considered in the time he spent looking for you— you being happy with someone who isn’t him. 

Crushed. 

Confused. 

Broken. 

It’s a dizzying sensation. A chance lost— or so he thinks. 

Rubbing his hands against his shorts, removing the evidence of his anxious response to seeing you wrapped up in what looked like an intimate conversation, his head still in a fogged state of shock. 

He manages to will his body to move from where he’s been standing. His jaw ticks anxiously, surrounded by bodies dancing around his blurry peripherals. Releasing a deep sigh, he looks back to you once more, looking for what he hopes is closure. 

Instead, he catches the moment the man you’d been friendly with, gesturing a goodbye as he retreats from the space he’d been sharing with you. 

Dieter watches the way your expression morphs from bright and bubbly to soft and muted the minute you're alone, leaning against the cocktail table with your face tucked into your shoulder, closing yourself off from everything and everyone. 

“Mind if I join you?” Dieter calmly approaches you, still holding on to the single thread of hope that he didn’t lose his chance. 

“Hey! Of course you can.” Your face instantly lights up at the sight of him, patting the open spot on the table, genuinely welcoming him to be with you. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” 

“What do you mean?” A line appears between your brows, shifting your body to fully face him with one arm still draped over the table top, your fingers casually drawing shapes onto the silky thin table cloth. 

“The guy, I saw you talking to him— looks like he works out, a lot— the man is very hot.” Words fumbling out of his mouth, as he points back in the direction he thinks he saw the muscular guy head in. “I just mean, I don’t want to interrupt if there’s something potentially happening there.”

Your lips pressed together in an attempt to fight off the urge to laugh. 

“What?”

“There was nothing happening there, like at all. That was Dan, he’s a good friend and he comes to classes at the gallery. I’d offer to introduce you two, since you think he’s so hot, but he just got back from his honeymoon— with his equally hot husband. We were just catching up.” 

Dieter winces at your explanation of who the man was, feeling like an idiot for so foolishly assuming you were falling for the guy. 

“Besides, he’s not really my type.” You state boldly with your head cocked to the side, one eye squinting to block the sun rays as you take stock of the way the sunlight tangles in his hair. 

“Where’s your friend from earlier? She was really pretty. You both really seem to be hitting it off earlier.” Keeping your tone neutral, looking down at where your fingers are now pulling at a loose thread on the tablecloth, preparing yourself for how his response is definitely going to wreck you. 

His hand settles next to yours, his fingers nervously tapping onto the hard surface. 

“Actually, I have no clue who she was— didn’t even ask for her name, didn’t want to know it either. Sure, she was pretty and maybe in different circumstances I might have been interested in her… She was pissed though when I turned her down, I actually had to tell her to leave.”

“Really— Why?” Your attention drawn back up to where he’s still studying you, his brown eyes locked with yours, now etched in a glistening golden light from the setting sun. 

He lifted his shoulders in a gentle shrug, taking a deep breath as he looked at you, “She just isn’t who I’m interested in.” 

When you think back to when you were growing up, constantly daydreaming about what it would feel like the moment you realized you were in love, and if it would feel as good to have that same feeling reciprocated back to you, by someone who wholeheartedly felt the same way. 

You decide that this is that moment, and it’s even better than you imagined it would be. 

Dieter’s eyes drift over to the table, his hand slowly inching closer to yours, the light brush of his fingers over the top of your hand is electric, your breath catching as he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

His thumb, tender as it slowly smooths over the ridges of your hand, glancing back to you to make sure that there’s no sign of discomfort in your face— you squeeze your fingers, a silent ‘I’m more than okay with this’. 

A breeze picks up, his hair tousling around as it blows through where you both are standing. You lift your free hand to swipe the hanging curls out of his face, your fingers taking liberty to rake through his downy hair, each curl bouncing back into place. 

“What’s your type then?” It’s menacing the way his husky voice cuts through the steady silence, encouraging you to share with him. 

“Hmm…Tall, funny, sweet, driven, pretty— like really fucking pretty. Also has to answer to Uncle Dude in the presence of a sweet little 6 year old. Know of anyone who might fit that description?”

He nods along as you list off each quality, his eyes lighting up at mentioning good-looking. 

“That’s quite the list.” He quips, your breathy laugh prompting a lopsided grin from him. “So— pretty, huh?”

“Yeah— really fucking pretty.” Your words are drawn out in a sincere manner, noting the way his eyes crinkle a little at the compliment. 

Dieter’s hand nestles at the base of your neck, drawing your body closer to him. His touch potent and satisfying, as he commits to memory the way your skin feels beneath his fingertips, gliding them down your bare spine leaving goosebumps in their wake— his gaze never leaving yours. 

“You’re interested in someone?” The answer seems obvious, but you want to hear it from him. 

“Poppy, you gotta know it’s you—“ He utters earnestly with both of his hands now cupping your cheeks, watching the way your lips part as he leans in closer. “I lo— like you so fucking much Poppy, you’re the only one I’m interested in.”

The way he started to say that he loves you, it feels like you might float away, anchoring your hands on his wrists. Everything tingles in your stomach, he’s so close, his breath fanning over your lips. Your lashes flutter as he slowly angles your face, his nose brushing against yours. 

It’s a whirlwind of energy drifting between both of you, building intensity with each passing second, the finality of the moment bound to be explosive. 

Tiny hairs of his mustache grazing the underside of your nose. The top of his lip begins to settle over yours, it’s pillowy weight slowly meeting your—

*RING RING RING*

“Fuck!” The word vibrates across your upper lip at the vexing sound of Dieter’s phone ringing, offensively interrupting the flow of your almost kiss and urging him to answer it. 

“I swear, if that’s Diem—“ A picture of Diem and Wren lights up the phone screen, his thumb swiping across to accept the call, he stands to his full height as he presses the device to his ear. “Hey, what’s up?… Okay… Yeah…Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute then… Love you too, bye.” Dieter ends the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket. 

The entire phone conversation, his focus remains on you. His free hand never leaves the side of your face, thumb stoking across the warmed apple of your cheek—Your hand still holding on to him, the cadence of his heart-rate is rapid against your palm. 

“Diem?” 

“Yeah, she said Wren wanted to go home. She has to stay for another hour or two, make sure things close out here before she can head home.” He explains, zero annoyance detected in his face. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m perfect.” You say  softly, an airy smile spreading across your face. “What do we do now?”

Dieter takes in your question, so many answers floating around in his mind, but none of them feel sufficient enough at this moment, wanting to properly share everything he’s been feeling without being rushed or interrupted. 

He leans back into your space, his lips pressing a chaste kiss between your brows before resting his forehead against yours. 

“We’ll figure it out as we go.”

Next