#just do yourself a favor and go watch him glide

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

I Can Go Anywhere I Want- Just Not Home | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. I've been BUSY with school and this one took fucking forever. But it means a lot to me, I hope you like it. :)

Word count: 13.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: do me a favor and pretend Bucky didn't disappear in the blip. ok thanks bye.

Warnings: talk of financial struggles, food insecurity, housing insecurity

A familiar shape stepped onto the sidewalk just ahead, freeing itself from the shadows of a rundown motel. The lines and curves of this body forced your heart into your throat. Time seemed to stop. The world round you ceased its turning. You’d know those broad shoulders anywhere, and you’d remember that sharp jaw even after your soul left this mortal coil. 

You stood there, your feet rooted in the concrete, watching him with a longing that tore through your chest. How long had it been since you last saw him? How many months had passed since you last spoke? You made yourself stop counting the days long ago; it was too depressing, too pathetic. But while you forced your brain not to continue the tally, your heart kept count. 

His sudden motion caught your attention, pulling you from your thoughts. The shape that once resembled home headed down the street, slipping through your fingers a second time. But you couldn’t let him get away- not again. 

Even after you freed your feet and increased your pace, he remained ahead. His long legs carried him away from you as he glided past people on the sidewalk. His hands rested in his pockets, concealing his trademark from the world. His head bowed forward, he kept his gaze down. He didn’t want to catch the eye of the public. But he caught yours. 

“Bucky?” your call came out a desperate plea. Blowing his cover wasn’t your goal, but he was too fast. You had to stop him before he vanished again.

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of your voice. You could’ve sworn you saw his head fall another inch or two, as though he were disappointed to know you’d found him.

But he turned. And for the first time in almost a year, he faced you. 

“Bucky.” It wasn’t a question this time, but an affirmation. A reassurance. An unstoppable smile pulled at your lips, a sigh of relief left your chest. You almost wept. “Hi…” 

The darkness that clouded your mind in his absence parted all at once, making way for a golden glow of twinkling lights. You hadn’t seen him since the battle. Since the shimmering portals. Since everyone returned home after Thanos fell. 

He simply stopped answering your calls. Your texts. He didn’t return your voicemails. 

To this day, you wondered what you did wrong. What you did that pushed him so far away. It wasn’t like him to ice you out, to cut you off without warning. He had baggage, sure, but he never shied away from you. Not like this. At one time, you were his closest friend. His most trusted confidante. And he was yours. You spent every moment together, taking shelter in each other. But not anymore. 

Each night, you recounted the last time you saw him. You analyzed every detail, scrutinizing the minutiae of the interaction. Maybe you said something that offended him. Maybe you did something hurtful. But no matter how hard you wracked your brain, not one single red flag made an appearance. And it made Bucky’s sudden disappearance from your life all the more maddening. More hurtful.

Sometimes, you liked to think that he just used you. That he got what he needed from you and moved on. It somehow softened the blow of his loss. Painting him as a manipulator took the blame off your shoulders and made him the villain. But you could never convince yourself of this narrative for long. Bucky wasn’t the type of person to use others. He gave and gave until he had nothing left. Or until he left.

With a few strides, you closed the gap between the two of you. “It’s so good to see you, Buck,” your instinctive reach for a hug left your arms hanging in the air as he took a small step back. It was then you realized just how embarrassing it was to drop your arms to your sides after an unwanted embrace.

“Hey- hi,” he cleared his throat and cut his eyes to the side, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at you. He stared at the passing cars, the flier-covered streetlight. Anything to keep his gaze from lingering on you. He wasn’t sure he had the strength. 

But he couldn’t help himself- he had to look at you. And as his eyes finally landed on yours, a familiar warmth sliced through his trepidations. He’d been aching for so long now; he’d didn’t know what a life without pain felt like. Every day, he hurt. He suffered. But the biting agony stilled as he stared at you. 

His lungs filled to capacity for the first time in months. The knots in his stomach untangled themselves. He’d forgotten how light he felt around you. You had a way of making things feel so easy, so simple. Everything in his life was complicated, and each day grew more difficult than the last. No matter how hard he tried, he never quite got his head above water. But with you standing there before him, he broke through the surface for the first time in ages.

He drank you in for a long moment, taking inventory of the ways you’d changed, and the ways you’d stayed the same. Your radiant smile still poked dimples into your cheeks. Freckles still splashed across your skin. But he noted the all too familiar braid in which your hair was twisted. The letter ‘N’ dangling from a dainty gold chain around your neck.  

Bucky knew losing Nat wasn’t easy on you. Knew that you’d been mourning her all on your own. He should’ve been there for you, should’ve been your shoulder to cry on. He hated himself every day for making you go it alone.

“It’s um,” Bucky didn’t know where to start. “It’s been a while…”

A quiet, awkward laugh rasped out of your throat at his understatement, “Yeah, you could say that.” 

A long pause forced its way between you. Things with Bucky never used to be this awkward, this tense. He was nearly a stranger now. And it killed you. Your friendship always flowed without difficulty, without pressure. It became second nature. The two of you moved together almost as though choreographed, anticipating the other’s actions instinctually.

But those instincts died and were buried, along with your hope of ever patching things up.

“Um, are you- where are you headed?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“I was just gonna- I thought I’d grab some breakfast.”

“Oh! Me too!” Finally, you had something in common. “Can I-” you quickly rephrased, fearing you may scare him off. “Do you wanna go together? Maybe we could catch up?” You knew you were throwing yourself at him, but you couldn’t stop. You were so overwhelmed, so desperate to be near him; you didn’t care how crazed you seemed. 

Bucky’s shy smile made an appearance, “Yeah, that would be nice.” He kicked himself for not appearing more excited, more overjoyed by the reunion. But he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything other than anxious. 

The walk to the diner was less awkward than you anticipated. The conversation flowed a little smoother, the words came a little easier. But it was still clunky. And though more silence than you would’ve liked hung in the air, you breathed easier knowing that he was merely a few inches away. 

Things between you simply needed to thaw. You needed to shake the rust off and find your way back into the groove you carved out for one another. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“I thought you said you were getting breakfast,” you joked, “not just coffee.” You sat across from Bucky in a beat-up booth, it’s cracked, torn vinyl dating the restaurant. When the waitress asked for your order, Bucky insisted you go first. And when you’d finished rattling off your perfect breakfast, Bucky dismissed her with a “nothing for me.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, “I’m not really hungry anymore.”

“Wow, I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on people,” you said, only half-joking. Maybe he really did hate you, after all. The months of dead silence suggested as much. 

More often than not, you tried lived in denial. You told yourself any lie you could come up with- anything to ease the pain of missing him. Even after his less than enthusiastic reaction to your reunion, you buried your head in the sand. Surely, he was just surprised to see you. He just needed some time to warm up, to come out of his shell.

But he only ordered coffee; clearly, he didn’t plan on staying long. He had an escape strategy locked and loaded. You knew he planned to fulfill your request for a catch-up session and run for the hills as soon as he emptied his mug. Upon your realization, everything came crashing down. His scant order slapped you with the cold hard facts: he’d cut off all communication, ignored you for months, and seemed to lose his appetite at the very prospect of sharing a meal with you. 

Maybe missing him was a waste of your time.

“No, it’s not like that,” very real concern coated Bucky’s words. “I’m so- I’m really happy to see you.” 

His fingers twitched as the logical side of his brain shut down his attempt to touch you. All he wanted to do was reach out and rest a hand atop yours, maybe stroke your knuckles a few times. It was something he used to do all the time, something that, at one point, reassured the both of you. But things were different these days. He didn’t have the right to be so familiar with you, not after he chose to make himself a stranger. 

He gripped his coffee mug with both hands, stemming any impulses to reach for you. “How have you been?”

There’d been a time when you would’ve told him everything. You would’ve spilled your soul and let loose every ugly detail of your life. Being honest with each other used to be easy. Neither one of you had to fear judgment or ridicule; you were safe in the other’s hands.

But those days were long gone. He clearly didn’t want to be your best friend anymore- he barely wanted to know you at all. He was, at most, an acquaintance whose soul used to be tied to yours. And so, you opted to forego the truth. You didn’t tell him that you cried yourself to sleep most nights. You didn’t tell him that you missed him so badly it caused you physical pain. You didn’t tell him that you needed him. Instead, you gave him what he wanted: an easy, canned response.

“I’ve been good,” you forced a smile to your face and shrugged. “Just been working, doing the whole SWORD thing.”

He raised his brow, “Oh, wow. You work for SWORD now? I had no idea. Good for you.” 

He feared his feigned surprise came off too fake, too forced. But you didn’t seem to clock it. You really believed that he was out of the loop, but you should’ve known better. It was ludicrous to think he’d ever be uninformed about your life. Of course, he already knew you worked for SWORD He knew that you moved into a new apartment. He even knew that you were planning on adopting a cat soon. He asked Sam about you almost daily, scrounging for any details he could get. 

He just needed to know that you were okay, that you were safe. And happy. 

“Yeah, I started a few months ago. It’s been-” You paused a moment, allowing the waitress to set down your food. The table in front of Bucky looked so empty; with no food anchoring him to the restaurant, he could leave at any moment. “It’s been alright. But how about you? What have you been up to?”

He took a moment to formulate his response. He needed to be careful. Precise. Allowing too much to slip could ruin everything. “I’ve just been working with Sam,” he shrugged. “We had to take care of that whole Flag Smashers thing.”

“I saw that!” you said, your mouth full of pancakes. “You guys did a great job.”

“Thanks, yeah,” Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink. “And I had my pardon hearing.”

You nodded, “I watched all the news coverage about it.”

He forced his eyes down to his mug; he never used to get embarrassed around you. “You did?”

“Of course.”

Bucky wanted you there that day. He wanted to rest his hand in yours and experience the peace only you could provide as he waited for the judge to call his name. And when he finally received his pardon, he wanted to turn around and see you- wide smile, eyes brimming with happy tears. He wanted to wrap his body around yours and thank you for being his rock. 

But he didn’t invite you along.

He, instead, sat alone in the hall, with no one to hold his shaking hand, until a bailiff ushered him into the courtroom. Sam wanted to be there, but his nephew begged Captain America to make an appearance for Bring Your Dad to Work Day. And who was he to say no?

When the judge awarded Bucky his pardon, no one cheered. No one ran to his side and granted him a congratulatory hug. He collected his papers and made his way out of the courthouse. Alone. 

He got a heap of texts and calls from you that day, though. He watched his phone ring with your name and picture taking up his screen. He poured over your kind texts and listened to your congratulatory voicemails. Even after he shut you out, you made sure he knew that you supported him. That you still cared. But he didn’t return your messages.

He did, however, listen to your voicemails on a loop. Hearing your voice again gave him an escape, a life preserver. You’d never know how much those messages meant, how often they saved him. He promised himself he’d tell you- one day.

 “Honestly, you shouldn’t have even needed a pardon,” you said with an eyeroll. “I mean, you didn’t do anything. None of it was your fault.”

Bucky had nearly forgotten how unabashedly supportive you were. How you were always on his side, no matter what. He wondered why you still wanted to be on his team after months of silence.

“Well, the US government feels differently,” he sighed out a soft laugh. “And it’s taken care of now, so it’s all good.”

He appeared hopeful, almost optimistic. He had Sam, he had his pardon- he seemed to be doing well. And though you wanted more than anything to be in his life, you just wanted him to be happy. Maybe your friendship didn’t serve him the way it served you. Maybe he felt like you didn’t give him what he needed. Maybe his life was better without you in it. The thought stung. It forced your throat closed, nearly sending you into a choking fit. But you swallowed your pancakes along with your pride, and vowed never to beg Bucky to come back to you. 

“Good. I’m happy for you.” You stopped yourself from reaching for his hand. “Can I ask something that might be a little invasive?”

Bucky’s heart stopped, “Um, sure.”

“I saw you coming out of that motel…” you shot him a suggestive glance. “What was that about?”

Bucky stiffened. He grew tense, anxiety flooding his system. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… was there maybe a little-” you raised a brow at him, “hook up situation going on?” 

He laughed at your overdramatic wink, the way you licked your lips. And he thanked his lucky stars you came up with a cover story for him. “Oh, yeah…” he grew bashful about his fictional sexcapades. “It’s just a- it’s casual, you know. Nothing serious.”

The confirmation of your suspicions made your jaw drop. Bucky Barnes, the old-fashioned gentleman, actually had a friend with benefits. He’d had a secretive, motel rendezvous. Hell, he probably had hickeys and nail marks hiding under his shirt. 

A pang of jealousy tore through you like the nails of his lover. Why did she get to be near him? How did she rank above you? The unsettling feeling of envy almost possessed you, but you pushed it aside.

“Woah, look at you,” you feigned appluase. “I always knew you were a ladies’ man, I just never got to see it in real time.”

He rolled his eyes, “yeah, yeah, I’m a real heartbreaker.” He regretted his word choice immediately, knowing full well he broke your heart.

You sidestepped his comment and forced the conversation forward, his comment stinging your open wound. “Seriously, Buck. I’m happy for you.” Once again, you stifled the urge to touch him. “You deserve to have some fun.”

He stared at you for a long moment, a genuine smile on his face. You were so sincere in your support of him, so unashamed of how deeply you cared. Sam was an incredible friend, of course- but you were his soulmate. He was tied to you with an unbreakable thread, unable to free himself even if he wanted to. And he wanted to. But not because he didn’t adore you; it was a simple matter of worthiness. 

But no matter how hard he tried, he still thought of you daily. Almost constantly. He missed you, pined over you, wished he could exist in your world. But he couldn’t- not yet. 

He shook the grin from his face and pulled his gaze down to his mug once again. “I’m um- I’m sorry I haven’t been around. Things have just gotten…” He cleared his throat, “I’ve been really busy.”

A scream scratched at your throat, but you forced it away with a bite of eggs and a swig of coffee. Of course, Bucky was busy. But he wasn’t the only one. It seemed that SWORD wanted to run you ragged. They were always assigning you extra operations and looking to you to solve problems. But even with the mountains of work, even in your sea of grief for Nat, you still managed to reach out to Bucky. You still called, still texted. 

But he clearly didn’t want to make the time for you.

“I totally understand,” you lied. “Shit has been crazy. Don’t worry about it.”

You worried about it every day.

Breakfast wrapped up all too soon. Bucky argued when you paid for his coffee, you hushed him with a promise to let him cover yours next time. And in the blink if an eye, you found yourself standing next to him on the sidewalk, praying he wouldn’t walk away.  

“I should really get going,” he said, taking a step away from you. “I have a meeting.”

“Cool, yeah,” you forced a smile, “this was great- I’m so glad we ran into each other.”

Bucky nodded, “yeah, me too.”

It seemed to you that Bucky couldn’t care less if he ever saw you again. He was disengaged, disinterested, inching ever farther away. He tried to be subtle about it, tried to slowly escape the interaction. But you caught his tiny steps in the opposite direction. His body remained closed off, the space between you growing with each long, awkward pause. 

But even so, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t let him walk away without knowing if this was the last time you’d see him. 

“We should do this again-” you sounded so needy, so anxious, but couldn’t find it in you to care, “but only if you want.” Never had you felt so pathetic. There you were, practically begging Bucky to signal that he gave a shit about you. 

But all he could muster was a nod. 

“Awesome,” you pulled out your phone. “Do you still have the same number?”

Again, he nodded. 

It killed you. All this time, you’d hoped that he got a new number and simply forgot to tell you. That your texts and calls went unanswered because he didn’t receive them. But he did, indeed, receive them. He just chose to ignore them.

With a swell of tears gathering behind your eyes, you sped through your goodbyes. You threw Bucky a hurried “great to see you, I’ll call soon” and quick smile before turning away and heading for a hiding spot, a concealed place to cry. The person you cared about more than anything, the person you adored, the person for whom you’d lay down your life, didn’t want you anymore. The bitter taste of rejection coated the inside of your mouth. And as you ducked into a bodega down the street, you feared you might get a second look at your breakfast.

You were gone too soon. Bucky wanted to call your name, to run after you. Even after months apart, he could still sus out when you were upset. He remembered your tells. Your dead giveaways. The way your jaw hardened against oncoming emotion. The tendency of your voice to grow thin and hollow as tears loomed on the horizon. 

He knew he hurt you. 

But he found himself stuck, his body defying the orders of his brain. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He could only stand there, helpless, watching as you disappeared. 

He knew you couldn’t possibly be happy with him after he abandoned you; he was surprised that you even acknowledged him on the street- let alone invited him to breakfast. And after the way he acted at the diner, he was shocked that you asked to see him again. 

The conversation you had replayed on a loop inside his head, and he kicked himself for being so closed off. So cold. He’d sullied your reunion so severely- it was almost aggressive. He was dismissive. Curt. And he lied to your face- multiple times. 

He was so happy to see you- he didn’t want you to think otherwise. But he didn’t expect to run into you like that. He didn’t expect to be near you for another few months, at least. He had a plan, and he was doing his best to follow it with as few setbacks as possible. If he kept his head down and pushed himself, he could get to the point where he could explain. He could tell you the truth and make you part of his life again if you even wanted anything to do with him. Though he wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

But running into you outside the motel wasn’t part of the blueprint. And he panicked.

He'd held you at arm’s length, never daring to get too close. He kept everything superficial. Surface level. It was the shallowest interaction he’d had with you to date. And it felt wrong. It didn’t fit who you were as people, who you were as friends. Your bond was never the skin deep, small talk type. No, you delved into one another’s deepest thoughts. Bared your souls. He’d never kept a secret from you- nor you him. But that was a different time.

Disappointed, Bucky unrooted his boots from the concrete and trudged off in the direction of his morning meeting. And while he did his best to focus, to participate, he could think of only you. The heartbreak in your eyes. The hurt in your voice. A wave of nausea barreled into him as he replayed the interaction again and again. You deserved better. And Bucky wished more than anything he that could be better. For you. 

But two nights later, your phone rang.

It was late- nearly midnight. You were curled up on the couch under a blanket, neck deep in your Vampire Diaries rewatch when your phone started to buzz. An unfamiliar number popped up on your screen, accompanied only by Siri’s suggestion of who might be calling.

‘Maybe: Kings County Jail’

You stared at it for three rings, wondering how someone from the jail got your number. And just as you were about to deny the call, something in your gut told you to answer it. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was divine intervention. Either way, you hit accept and held the phone up to your ear. 

“Um, hello?”

An automated message responded, “You are being contacted by a detainee at Kings County Jail. The detainee-” the recording paused, leaving space for someone to state their name.  Your favorite gruff voice followed, “Bucky-”

“-is trying to contact you. Do you accept the charges?”

A riptide coursed through your brain. Questions upon questions piled up, each one trying to escape your lips first. But you swallowed them for the time being. 

“Yeah- yes, I accept.”

The line connected, and Bucky’s soft “hey…” came through from the other end. “Thanks for picking up.”

“Buck? Is everything okay?”

He sighed, “Yeah, I’m- I’ve been better. But I’m fine. I was just wondering if,” he couldn’t believe he was doing this. “I was wondering if you could come bail me out?”

He gave no context, no reasoning, for his stint in the county jail. But you didn’t care. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Even after he ditched you and left radio silence in his wake, even after he practically ran from your reunion at the diner- you’d do anything for him. And there was no way in hell you’d ever just leave him there; you couldn’t. Bucky didn’t belong behind bars.

And so, you pulled yourself off the couch, found some shoes, and headed in his direction. 

The bail money didn’t matter to you. Sure, things were easier now that SWORD paid you the big bucks. But even if your account was running on empty, you’d sacrifice your last remaining cents to free Bucky. 

A guard led him down the hall by the arm and shoved him through the door. This wasn’t how he wanted you to see him. None of this fit into the plan he’d so carefully crafted all those months ago. But there you sat in the lobby of the police station, clad in your sweats, waiting for him. The shame nearly tore him apart from the inside out. 

But as he locked eyes with you across the room, he didn’t find the judgement or irritation that he expected. You should’ve been angry with him- why weren’t you angry with him? He’d called in a favor after abandoning you. He made you come down to the police station, made you pay his bail. You should’ve left him to rot in a jail cell. But you didn’t. Because you cared. Even after everything he did, you still cared about him. He wished you didn’t. He wished you’d scream at him in front of everyone- but you were too good for that. Too kind. 

He threw you a bashful wave, but averted his gaze when a warm smile crossed your face. He couldn’t quite stand the way your gracious expression made him feel. Why did you seem so happy to see him? Why weren’t you furious- or even a little frustrated? 

As he waited in line to gather his backpack and personal belongings from the desk, he hoped for something to prolong his time away from you. A clerical error. A massive stack of paperwork. What was he supposed to say to you? How was he supposed to explain this whole mess? He needed time to put his thoughts in order. To organize his lies. 

But, for the first time in history, a United States government agency did things efficiently and without error. And after only a few minutes, he made his way to your side. 

“Hey,” he granted you only a flash of eye contact before dragging his gaze to the floor. “Thanks for- thank you for coming to get me. And for paying my bail…”

You shrugged, “yeah, absolutely”.

“I’ll pay you back, I swear.” It was then he realized that he didn’t want you to be angry with him. Sure, you cursing him out in front of everyone would be easier. Less complicated. But he’d rather die than upset you again. 

“I know. I’m not worried about it,” you granted him another kind smile, “I trust you.”

It was a dagger to the heart. How- and why- did you still trust him? He’d excised you from his life without warning and left you in the cold; he wasn’t worthy of your trust. 

“Are you all good here?” you asked, “Should we get going?”

“Sure- yeah.”

The walk to the car was quiet; Bucky couldn’t bring himself to walk next to you. Existing in your sphere, being seen by you- it was too much for him. Too shameful. Even if he was only in your peripheral. And so, he opted to position himself a few paces behind you. In the safety of your shadow. 

He got settled in the passenger seat of your car as you turned the key in the ignition. But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull out of your parking spot. Everything in you wanted to ask how he ended up in handcuffs. He wasn’t a troublemaker. He wasn’t violent. He wasn’t the type to make waves. Something bad must’ve happened- something out of his control.

But you knew it wasn’t your business. He clearly didn’t want you around anymore, didn’t want to clue you in on the details of his life. And you never liked to pry. 

As the seconds passed, however, your resolve crumbled. No matter what happened between the two of you, you’d always care about Bucky. You’d always worry about him. And your concern finally got the best of you.

Before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling out of your mouth. “Are you okay?” you stared at him, anxiety brewing in your chest. “You don’t have to tell me what happened- I won’t force you- but I’m worried about you.”

He nodded, “I’m fine.” It wasn’t rude, but his tone didn’t invite further probing. 

With a sigh and an unconvinced “okay”, you put the car in drive and prepared to take Bucky home.

Your blinker clicked incessantly as you waited for a few cars to grant you a clear path. Bucky had ample time to give you directions, but he remained quiet. He didn’t offer up information of any kind, not even a neighborhood. It broke your heart that you didn’t know his address.

“Um, where do you live? Should I turn left or right?” 

You waited patiently for an answer that Bucky didn’t seem to have.

“Actually, do you mind if-” he flashed you an apologetic smile, “could we just drive around for a while?”

Maybe he had some residual adrenaline from being arrested. Maybe being in jail gave him flashbacks to his captivity under Hydra. Either way, you knew he wouldn’t have asked to go for a drive unless he really needed it. Part of you was surprised, though, that he’d willingly spend more time with you. That he’d choose to share a confined space with you. He was all too happy with removing you from his life, and practically sprinted through your reunion breakfast. But after so many months of missing him, you’d take whatever extra time you could get.

The drive was quiet, though it did seem to help Bucky relax some. His leg stopped bouncing; his shoulders loosened up. Being around you had that effect on him; it wasn’t something he could help. But as he mellowed out, the questions swirling around your brain only multiplied.

At a red light, you tested the waters. “Can I ask you something?”

Bucky nodded. 

“What happened tonight? How did you end up in jail?”

A litany of emotions ran across Bucky’s face. Frustration, worry, shame, and sadness tied his expression in a knot. Part of him wanted to lie. He could say it was a bar fight. He could make up an elaborate story and placate you for the rest of the ride. But you bailed him out. You answered his call and showed up for him when he needed you. You sat, clad in your pajamas, in the waiting area of a dirty police station. For him. He owed you the truth.

“I was arrested for sleeping in the park,” he said, his tone flat.

It wasn’t at all what you expected to hear. No answer formed on your lips. You couldn’t pull your eyes from his face. The words sunk in, burrowing their way through your flesh and plunging into your heart. 

“Um, it’s- the light is green,” he said, snapping you out of your trance.

You hit the gas and accelerated on autopilot. And as soon as you made it through the intersection, you pulled over. Bucky’s confession knocked the wind out of you and robbed you of your focus. And if he had more to say, you wanted to give him your undivided attention.

“Why are we stopping-”

“Buck, why were you sleeping in the park?”

Bucky let loose a deep sigh that seemed to come right from his soul. “Because I don’t have anywhere else to sleep,” he shrugged. “I ran out of money.” He was silent for a moment, wondering just how honest he should be. “I’m supposed to be getting some POW benefits from the government, but you know, bureaucracy is slow.”

“Oh, Buck…” After everything he suffered through under Hydra, after the way the US treated him upon his arrival home, the least his country could do was pay him back. Or provide him with a safe place to sleep. But, once again, they failed him.

“You know that motel you saw me at the other day? I wasn’t there for a hook up; I’ve been staying there-” He corrected himself, “Well, I’ve actually been staying at a few different motels. None of them are extended stay, so I can’t be there more than a few nights.” 

He noticed the way your eyes grew sad, the way your mouth fell open the slightest bit. Heartbreak was written all over your face. “Sorry to disappoint you, I know you hoped I was getting some strange with someone from Tinder,” he shot you a wink and flashed a smile your way. But you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

Bucky, of all people, deserved a comfortable home. Someplace warm. Permanent. Someplace he could call his own. Someplace he could feel safe. But, instead, life gave him the short end of the stick. Again. 

“Anyway, no matter how cheap those motels are, paying for them every night adds up, you know? So, now I’m broke,” a rush of heat flooded his cheeks. Admitting to his situation was so embarrassing, so shameful, he thought he might drown in it. He was a grown- overgrown- adult who didn’t even have a roof over his head. “I got a warning from the cops last night -and the night before- for sleeping in the park. But tonight was my third strike, so…” He shrugged, “they arrested me.”

“Jesus Christ, cause not having a place to live is criminal?” you scoffed, “This country is ridiculous.”

“Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying,” Bucky quickly added on. He didn’t want you to think he wasn’t working on it, that he was slacking, that we was complacent in his situation. “I tried for a long time to get an apartment, but I either didn’t have enough money for the deposit or I’d get turned away when they realized who I was. Though it’s not like I could ever make rent…” 

When he learned how much an apartment in Brooklyn cost these days, a suffocating sense of hopelessness swallowed him whole. He knew he’d never be able to afford the one place he ever really saw as home.

“And I tried a few shelters, but they wouldn’t take me, either.” He didn’t know a shelter could turn people away; experiencing it first-hand broke him. “So um, the motels were my only option.”

Sobs blocked your airway and burned the inside of your nose. Tears pooled along your inner lash line; you prayed to god Bucky wouldn’t see them. You could sense his shame, his embarrassment; the last thing he needed was you crying over his circumstances. 

“What um,” you fought to keep your voice steady. “What about Sam?”

Bucky shrugged. “Sam’s been helping me with all the stuff for my benefits and getting my record expunged- he’s been a godsend. And he’s offered to let me stay with him more times than I can count. He’s offered me money- he even snuck some cash into my jacket pocket the other day,” Bucky gave a soft laugh. “But I can’t take any more from him; he’s already done too much for me.”

“I get that…” You knew Sam would happily let Bucky crash. But Bucky wasn’t the type to impose. “Sam’s a good friend.”

“He’s the best. I’m gonna pay him- and you- back, either when my benefits come through or whenever I can get a job. Whichever comes first.” It was a promise, a verbal contract. He didn’t want you thinking he wasn’t good for it- even if he wasn’t good for it quite yet. He knew he would be someday. And as soon as he had the money, you and Sam would be his first priority. 

“I keep applying for jobs on the off chance that someone will cut me some slack, but until my record gets expunged, I’m fucked. Every place I’ve applied to has done a background check, and every time, my name is surrounded by red flags.” He let out a sigh, “I’m still a criminal.”

Your heart buckled. He wasn’t a criminal- he never should’ve been burdened with such a title. He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t choose to be the Winter Soldier. But people didn’t care about the truth.

“What about SWORD?”

He shook his head, “They don’t want me. Hiring an ex-Hydra assassin doesn’t really work for their image. They’re trying to steer clear of the whole SHIELD thing…”

The two of you sat in silence for a long moment. Bucky hadn’t originally planned on laying everything so bare, he just couldn’t help himself. Opening up to you came naturally. But in the quiet, he felt naked. Exposed. He regretted spilling the details of his pathetic existence for you to see. 

But you’d never judge him. You simply wanted better for him. And wished he’d come to you when times got tough. 

The shards of your broken heart sliced through you with every breath. Imagining Bucky in rundown, roach infested motels or sleeping on an uncomfortable park bench on a cold night made you want to vomit. Waves of utter devastation crashed into you one after another, barely giving you enough time to breathe. But you couldn’t allow yourself to fall apart. Not when Bucky needed you.

When you finally steadied your breathing, you spoke. “Buck, can I ask- and I don’t mean this in an accusatory way,” you prefaced, “but why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because I care what you think about me,” he said, almost automatically. “Your opinion of me is important.”

“Well, my opinion of you hasn’t changed now that I know what’s been going on…”

A smile fought its way to Bucky’s lips. Logically, he knew you didn’t think less of him now that you knew the truth. He knew you were too kind to look down on him. But his anxiety didn’t think logically. The smile lasted only a second, as his worries about your perception got the better of him. 

“My life is a disaster,” he said. “I have almost nothing to my name. I don’t have any money. I don’t have a place to live. It’s humiliating.” He ran his palms up and down the length of his thighs, fighting the nervous energy. “I wouldn’t have even called you to bail me out if Sam was in town; I didn’t want you to know about all this.” 

Without a word, you pulled back onto the road. 

Bucky eyed the surrounding street, “Um, where are we going?” 

“My place,” you kept your eyes on the road. “I’m taking you to my apartment.”

Panic bloomed in Bucky’s chest. “Oh, no, it’s- that’s okay. I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.” A swell of anxiety barreled into him at the thought of you taking him home like a dirty, stray dog. He didn’t want to be a charity case or your good deed of the day. And as much as he would’ve loved to spend time in your home, he wished to do so under different circumstances. Circumstances that didn’t involve pity.

“You can really just drop me off anywhere-”

His words tore through you. “Buck, it’s late,” you cut a glance at him. “And it’s cold out. I’m not just leaving you on the side of the road somewhere. I-” you cleared your throat, “I care about you” 

Part of him wanted to open the door and jump from the moving car. Surely, it would be less humiliating. But the look on your face kept him from pulling the rip cord. Concern pulled your brows together. Worry made you bite at your lip. You genuinely cared about him, genuinely wanted to help. And though he could actually feel embarrassment seeping from his pores, he chose to stay. Because you caring about him trumped any and every other feeling.

“Okay, so, this is my place,” you said as you led Bucky though the front door of your apartment. You flicked on a few lights and kicked off your shoes, “make yourself at home.”

Bucky didn’t know how to do that anymore.

He stood stone still just inside the door, too overwhelmed and unsure to move. 

“Um, so, obviously, this is the kitchen- and that’s the living room,” you said, pointing to an area with a massive suede couch. “My bedroom and the guest room are down that hall, laundry is to the left, and guest bathroom is to the right, next to the office.” 

Bucky was impressed. The apartment was beautiful. You’d decorated to match your warm personality; it made him instantly comfortable. And it was nice- fancier than anything he could ever dream of affording. He was so proud of you. He knew you’d worked hard to get here, and seeing the fruits of your labor brought a smile to his face. He only wished he could’ve been a part of your journey. 

“This is really nice,” he said, taking a few more steps inside. “Is it all yours? Or do you have a roommate?”

“Nope, no roommate. Just me.”

Bucky’s brows lifted as he drank in the space. You paid for this place all on your own, no help from a roommate. He wondered what it felt like to be that stable, that secure. He never knew where he was sleeping from one night to the next, and you practically lived in a penthouse. 

“Um, we can sit, if you like,” you gestured toward the fancy couch, “it’s more comfortable than it looks, I promise.”

But Bucky didn’t go for it. “Actually, would you mind if I took a shower? I’m just- I feel pretty grimy from the motels. And the park. And the jail,” he felt his cheeks flush at the admission. He really was the filthy mutt you brought home from the pound. “I just don’t wanna sit on your couch when I’m gross like this.”

“Oh, sure. That’s- I totally get it. I should probably change my clothes, too.” 

With a wave of your hand, you gestured for Bucky to follow you to the bathroom. As you guided him through your apartment, he admired the art on your walls and the expensive rugs covering your floors. 

With a clearing of your throat, you gestured to the guest bathroom. ���Everything you need should be in there but let me know if I can get you anything else. Can I throw your clothes in the laundry? I’ll wash whatever’s in your bag, too.”

Bucky gave you a strange look, “I appreciate it, but I don’t think you want me walking around here in a towel.”

You didn’t necessarily shy away from the idea, but this wasn’t the time for a suggestive response. “Okay, but- what are you gonna put on after you shower?”

Bucky shrugged, “I don’t know. Whatever I have in my backpack.”

You eyed the bag slung over his shoulder and imagined the heap of clothes he’d balled up and shoved inside. “Are they clean?”

Bucky thought for a moment, “Define ‘clean’.”

“Buck,” you laughed,  “just let me put your stuff in the wash.” You gave his backpack a gentle swat and motioned for him to relinquish it to you.

“So, you do want me walking around in a towel,” Bucky quirked a brow at you. “I knew it.”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, “just come with me.” 

Bucky did as he was told and followed you into your bedroom. It cloaked him in an instant warmth, a sense of home he hadn’t experienced in eighty years. The whole room seemed to glow with a cozy, welcoming aura. He wondered what it was like to fall asleep here every night, to wake here each morning. Well-loved books populated a large bookcase in the corner, an armchair sat near the window. Bucky could practically see you curled up on its large cushion, your nose buried in Pride and Prejudice. But a photo on the wall near your bed caught his eye. 

“Is that me?” He took a few steps inside your door and found his suspicion to be correct. 

It was a slightly out of focus candid shot of you and Bucky laying on the floor of the war room at the compound. Nat snapped it as the team talked through different strategies to bring everyone back from the blip. In the photo, you sported a massive smile, and had your face smushed against Bucky’s arm to stifle your laughter. Bucky’s eyes were squeezed shut, his metal hand covering his mouth. You were both exhausted, and loopy, enjoying a moment of levity amidst a sea of tragedy.

“That’s my favorite picture,” something about your words came off sad. And Bucky knew it was because of him. The joy, the closeness exhibited in the photo didn’t exist anymore. He’d stripped your friendship of everything warm and left you out in the cold. Alone. 

You made your way over to the dresser and fished around in the bottom drawer, “let’s find you something to wear.”

“Um, I don’t…” Bucky chuckled, “I’m not gonna fit into any of your clothes.”

You cut glance at him, “I know that. That’s why I’m giving you…” With a grand gesture, you unearthed a pair of sweatpants, “your clothes.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open. He stared at the pair of charcoal gray sweats he lent to you ages ago, the pair you loved, the pair he told you to keep. He didn’t say anything when you plopped them in his hands; he was too stunned to speak.

“And here’s this,” you said as you draped a faded blue ‘NYC’ t-shirt over his shoulder. He’d loaned you that shirt so many times back at the compound, you wore it more than he did. Eventually, he started putting it in your closet instead of his on laundry day.

“Now, give me your bag and I’ll throw your stuff in the wash.”

Bucky finally dragged his eyes from the pair of pants and furrowed his brow at you. “Why do you still have this stuff?”

Something in you grew nervous. Was he mad? Or did he think you were a creep for holding onto his things? Maybe it was too weird of a gesture. Maybe you should’ve let him hang around in a towel after all.

“Cause I like wearing it,” you said with trepidation in your voice. “Your clothes were always more comfortable than mine. And I-” you cut yourself off. Saying ‘I miss you’ was too much. Instead, you rerouted, “I like to wear oversized stuff.”

Bucky nodded and gave a quiet “right” before thanking you and heading for the bathroom. At your request, he left his bag in the hall. You scooped it up and dumped his clothes into the washer before doubling back to the bathroom, where Bucky had dropped his dirty jail-clothes outside the door. You changed out of your dirty clothes from the police station and threw them in the laundry with Bucky’s. It was the closest you’d been in months.

Bucky nearly teared up as the water sliced through the layer of grime coating his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a shower this hot. The motels always seemed to have faulty water heaters that only allowed for subzero temperatures. And at some of them, the water didn’t quite run clear. Sometimes, there was a brown tint. Other times, it was gray. And showers like those left only him feeling dirtier. 

But he didn’t want to think about the rust-eaten pipes of the decrepit motels in which he stayed. Instead, he basked in the nearly scalding water, the tiles that didn’t have moldy grout. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like a husk of himself, but a real person. All his time shuffling between park benches and rat-infested motels had stripped him of his personhood. And something as simple as a shower restored it. Though, deep down, he knew it wasn’t the incredible water pressure or the lavender body wash that had him feeling human again. It was you.

With the entirety of Bucky’s wardrobe in the washing machine, you paced lap after lap around the kitchen. Only a few days ago, you feared you’d never see Bucky again. And now, he was in your shower. After your chilly reunion at the diner, you couldn’t help but be mad at him, no matter how much you’d missed him. He was cool and aloof. He didn’t open up. And he didn’t seem at all interested in repairing your friendship.

But listening to him in the car laid almost every piece of the puzzle out before you. And though there were still gaps and empty spots, you nearly had the picture complete. Bucky didn’t ice you out because he hated you or didn’t want you anymore. He was simply too embarrassed to admit what he was going through. 

A sharp twinge of guilt needled at you. You shouldn’t have been mad at him after what happened at the diner. You shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions or assumed the worst. Bucky deserved better. You should’ve known in your heart that he was only pushing you away to protect himself. It was his nature; it always had been. You’d just been too hurt to see it.

“Your shower is unbelievable,” Bucky said as he padded into the kitchen, his hair still damp. “And those towels? They’re amaz-” A stack of Tupperware on the island caught his attention. “What’s all this?”

“Leftovers. I cooked dinner earlier tonight…” You shrugged, “I thought you might be hungry.”

He shifted his wide-eyed gaze from the food, forcing his eyes to land anywhere else. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m fine.”

You quirked a brow at him, “You’re not hungry?”

“No.” It was quiet but firm. 

“Really? Cause the Bucky I knew needed to eat like, six thousand calories a day.” Bucky’s insatiable hunger was a running joke between the two of you back then. He always finished your food when you couldn’t clear your plate, and snacked on anything he could get his hands on. On one occasion, he even fell asleep in your bed with his hand in bag of honey mustard pretzels. Hearing him refuse food was strange, almost alarming. “You always called yourself ‘Earth’s hungriest hero’”.

Bucky gave a small laugh, “yeah, damn super soldier serum will do that to your metabolism.”

You stared at him, “So…” 

“So?”

“So, do you want something to eat?” 

“No, really,” he shook his head, “I’m fine.” 

But you noticed the way his stare always returned to the stack of containers. Even after he’d pulled his focus from the food, his eyes found their way back. You sensed a longing in him, a deep desperation that left you gutted. Any jovial, lighthearted quality your words held fell to the wayside, making way for concern. 

“Buck, when’s the last time you ate?”

Bucky did his best to think back to his last meal but couldn’t find an answer. Part of him wanted to lie, to appease you with details of a made-up dinner from earlier that night. But he didn’t get the chance; his pause was too long for your liking. 

“Okay, if it’s taking you that long to remember, you need to eat.” It wasn’t an offer or a request, but an order. “Help yourself.”

But once again, he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to impose-”

“It’s not an imposition,” your words came out with an unexpected fierceness; it almost sounded like a scold. The idea, the mere suggestion that Bucky could impose on you was ridiculous. You took a breath and softened your tone, “I live alone, and every recipe is for more than one person. There’s plenty.”

Before Bucky could refuse again, you opened the Tupperware and allowed him a look at the fruits of your labor. “There’s roasted chicken with rosemary and thyme, garlic mashed potatoes, and maple-glazed brussels sprouts.” Bucky’s eyes lit up. You could practically see drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. 

A sense of satisfaction enveloped you, like you��d finally banished Bucky’s unnecessary fear of imposition. But just in case he wasn’t sure, just in case you hadn’t won him over, you threw one last piece of information his way. “Oh, and there’s chocolate chip cookies over there.”

Bucky was almost overwhelmed. He took in the beautiful spread and gave the cookies a long glance; it was almost too much. “Woah, you weren’t kidding…” He gave a small laugh, “this is a lot of food.”

You shrugged, “I don’t know how to cook for one.”

With that, you handed Bucky a plate and let him go to town. He filled his dish with chicken, mashed potatoes, and brussels sprouts. But the look on his face signaled more relief than joy, more solace than happiness. You wondered how long he’d been without food, how long he’d worried about where his next meal would come from. As he stood over those plastic containers, that anxiety vanished- for the most part.

A debate raged inside of Bucky’s head. He was famished, literally starving. And you’d given him full access to a massive meal. But he didn’t want to overdo it. He knew he shouldn’t empty your Tupperware and leave you with nothing; he just he didn’t know when he’d eat again. And he could practically feel his body digesting itself. 

Before he could tighten the reigns, though, you spoke up. “Seriously, Buck, don’t be shy. I can’t finish all of this- it’ll just go bad.”

He nearly broke down. For so long, he knew only wanting, only appetite, only emptiness. And you offered him a respite. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in…” Once again, his pause was too long; it crushed you. “Anyway, I really appreciate this.” He pulled his gaze from the food and gave you a long look filled with admiration. “And I’m impressed- I didn’t know you were such a culinary talent. I distinctly remember you burning ramen noodles to a blackened crisp more than once.”

The laugh that erupted from your chest filled the kitchen, “Well, I distinctly remember you eating my disgusting ramen without hesitation.”

Back when things were good between you and Bucky, you’d always volunteer to make dinner. Between strategy sessions and long, complicated meetings, the team simply forgot to eat. But you knew they needed nourishment to make defeating Thanos a realistic option. No one, however, wanted your charred ramen. Except for Bucky. He always accepted your offerings with a kind smile and a mountain of appreciation. He was grateful, no matter how awful it tasted, because it came from you.

“My therapist actually suggested I get into cooking,” you told Bucky as he popped his plate in the microwave. “I was really depressed and stopped caring about eating or taking care of myself. It felt pointless. But she told me some people find comfort in cooking. It’s almost meditative, you know? And if you focus on the recipe, you can’t think about all the um, the painful stuff.” 

Bucky knew he was ‘the painful stuff’.

“There was a bit of a learning curve, but now,” you shrugged, “I love it.”

“Oh, wow, that awesome. So you get some peace and a delicious meal? Sounds like a good deal.” He mulled it over, wishing he had a kitchen into which he could retreat. But the motels only ever had a microwave, and most of the time, it didn’t work.

“I had a therapist- well, a court appointed therapist,” he said, “she was the worst.”

You sighed. Why were things always so hard for him? Why did people treat him so terribly? 

“What was so terrible about her?”

“Honestly, I think she hated me,” defeat coated his words. “She was mean- I know that sounds childish, but I mean, the things she said were biting. They hurt. And she did it on purpose. I left every session feeling worse.” He thought back on his sessions with Dr. Raynor, on how she broke him down piece by piece until he was only a pile of ash. “She said I wasn’t a victim, and that I needed to take responsibly for the things I did and the choices I made.”

Anger surged inside your chest, “The choices you made?”

He nodded. “She was actually so terrible that I thought she worked for Hydra. I thought they were trying to get me back and that she was working undercover with them to manipulate me.” A small laugh broke free from his chest, “But she wasn’t. She’s just an asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, Buck…” You couldn’t imagine anyone being so awful, so hateful, toward Bucky. He was kind and warm. He showed people compassion and understanding. Why the world didn’t show him the same baffled you. “I hope you don’t see her anymore.”

He removed his plate from the microwave, “Oh, I don’t.” 

You sighed with relief, but it was a short-lived respite.

“I couldn’t afford to.”

He dove into his food before you could even usher him to the table. Between huge bites of potatoes and chicken, he praised your cooking. He swore on his life that this was some of the best food he’d ever had. It warmed your heart for a brief moment, but reality put a stop to the fuzzy feeling. Sure, you were a good cook. But you were certain than Bucky’s gushing compliments were the product of his empty stomach. He couldn’t even determine how long it had been since his last meal; of course, he was going to inhale his food with gusto and deem it ‘the best’.

It gnawed at you to see him like this. He laughed as you guided him to the table and settled into the seat across from him, but you didn’t match his lighthearted energy. He’d been struggling, suffering in silence without knowing where he’d get his next meal. For decades, Bucky knew nothing but pain. He was tortured, abused, treated like an animal. Hydra infected him like a parasite and devoured him from the inside out. They saddled him with PTSD and enough demons to fill even the deepest pits of hell. And after all that, life refused to give him a break. It killed you.

“I thought- correct me if I’m wrong, but- I thought court appointed therapy was paid for...” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t,” Bucky said with a mouth full of brussels sprouts. “It depends on the situation”. He threw a shrug your way and speared a piece of chicken with his fork, but a thought stopped him from shoveling it into his mouth. “Even if my appointments were supposed to be covered, I don’t think anyone wanted to give me anything for free.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Only the sound of Bucky’s fork scraping his plate interrupted the blanket of quiet. But the stillness made him squirm. Suddenly, he piped up.

“So, I did the required amount of sessions with that therapist and promised myself I’d never go back. It was tough, but I made it work. I scraped by.” His gaze took on a hollow quality, “That’s when I started staying in the really shitty places. The ones with asbestos and mold. And there was this one place where the sheets were stained with what looked like blood.” He grimaced, “I haven’t been back there.”

You forced a laugh, “Good call.”

Bucky shifted his focus back to his plate; he’d sprinted through his meal, leaving only a few bites remaining. The flicker of a frown ghosted across his face. The food was gone too soon, replaced by an empty plate. He was tired of everything in his life being empty- his bank account, his stomach, his heart. But he didn’t dare let himself wallow in self-pity with you sitting mere inches away. Instead, he overcorrected with a large smile, hoping you hadn’t noticed the look of disappointment he wore just moments earlier. He’d rather die than appear ungrateful, even if his hunger pangs had already returned.

“You can help yourself to seconds, there’s more than enough,” you took a look at the containers still sitting on the counter. Even after he’d piled his plate high, not a dent was made. “You can have thirds, fourths- I don’t care.”

Bucky shook his head as he cleaned his plate, “No, that’s alright. I’m good. Thank you, though.”

It was an egregious lie; maybe the worst you’d ever heard. 

“Buck, I can practically hear your stomach rumbling from here.” You knew him. Even after all this time apart, you knew him. You knew he was still hungry, especially after having gone so long without eating. His metabolism burned through fuel at a massively accelerated pace; he needed the calories. “Please, have some more.”

Once again, he shook his head. “I’m okay, really,” he gave you a smile. “Plus, I don’t want you to think I’m a freeloader.”

His words struck you in a strange way. Bucky never used to worry about your perception of him. And you never thought twice about how he saw you. There was a mutual respect and sense of comfort that didn’t fall victim to judgement. You accepted each other without hesitation. But Bucky couldn’t find his sense of security. He shifted in his seat and averted his eyes every so often, fearful of your inner monologue.

“Why are you so worried about what I think?”

Confusion lifted Bucky’s brow, “what do you mean?”

“You just said that you don’t want me to think you’re a freeloader. And in the car earlier, you said you didn’t reach out and ask me for help because you care about what I think.” You shrugged, “I just want to know why my opinion matters so much to you.”

“Because you’re my friend,” his tone was sure, steadfast. “I’ve always cared about your opinion.”

“Yeah,” hearing him call you his friend eased some of the tension in your neck. “And I care about what you think of me, too, but- I was never worried about it.” A sudden thought popped into your head, “I mean, I’ve been worrying about it lately, cause it kinda seemed like you hated my guts for a while there, but…” 

Bucky stared down at his empty plate. He didn’t want you pulling at this thread, didn’t want you unraveling his thought process. He prayed you’d drop the whole thing and move on. 

You didn’t.

“Sam’s your friend, too. Don’t you care what he thinks?” You feared coming on too strong, but you needed answers. “He knows about what you’ve been going through. You let him help you. You didn’t-” you stopped yourself. 

Bucky gave you an expectant look, “I didn’t what?”

“You didn’t cut him off.”

Bucky’s face fell. You never meant to hurt him, to make him feel bad about pushing you away. No matter how badly he hurt you, you’d never throw it in his face- especially after you learned why he did it.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like-”

 “No, don’t apologize,” a sad smile crossed his face. “You’re right.” He was quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. He planned on having this conversation with you someday, months from now. He didn’t have his script organized, didn’t know how to best express what he was feeling. Worry encapsulated him. What if he misspoke? What if he messed things up even worse?

“Things with Sam are different. He and I became friends because of Steve. We promised him we’d look out for each other.”

It sounded all too familiar. “You and I promised each other the same thing…” It was a pinky promise made on the living room floor of the compound. In the middle of the night, by the light of the fireplace, you swore to be there for one another come hell or high water. Never did you even consider breaking that covenant, that bond. You upheld your end of the bargain without issue. But Bucky fell short. 

He thought about that promise every night, berating himself for breaking it until he fell asleep. 

He sighed, “I know we did, but- that’s not the same thing. You and I became friends when everything fell apart. The entire universe was in chaos, everyone’s lives imploded.” He dragged his gaze downward, “You and I were on an even playing field back then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back then, we were equals,” a faint smile flickered on his lips at the thought of those days he spent with you. They were dark, sure, but he remembered them fondly. Those were the days when he never left your side, the days when we woke up and fell asleep next to you. His favorite days. “We slept on the floor at the compound. We lived off ramen and red bull and worked around the clock to try and figure out how bring everyone back. We struggled. Together. But now…” He looked around your beautiful kitchen, “everything is okay again, and everyone has gone back to their lives. You’re doing well- really well. And I’m stillstruggling. I’m in almost the exact same position as I was back then.”

Words formed a traffic jam in your throat. Each new idea of how to comfort Bucky seemed too sappy, too corny. Just as a new phrase tried to exit your lips, you swallowed it. How were you supposed to make him feel better? How were you going to make any of this okay?

Bucky knew you were at a loss. He could see your desperate attempts to come up with a fix-it phrase for his situation, a way to assuage the way he felt. All you ever wanted was to make him feel better. “You have this great apartment and you’re working for SWORD. You found your way out. Meanwhile, I’m scrounging together any cash I can find to pay for a few nights in a rat-infested motel. Or I’m sleeping in the park- and getting arrested for it.”

He was going through a hard time- a really hard time. His life was in shambles and a new hardship greeted him at every turn. But you couldn’t make sense of his departure from your life. If anything, he should’ve grown closer to you, shouldn’t he? He should’ve leaned on you, asked you for help, sought comfort in your arms. 

“I guess I’m just- does that automatically mean we can’t be friends?”

Bucky’s humiliation piled on top of itself. It grew with each breath, with each passing moment. Admitting just how destitute he was, how utterly lacking- it destroyed him. “No, but- who wants to be friends with that guy? Who wants to hang out with the guy who can’t figure his shit out?” A strange mixture of frustration and melancholy dripped from his words. “I have nothing. And I’m just not- I can’t be your friend yet.”

His words hit you like a train. “We were already friends; you were my closest friend-”

“We were rock bottom friends,” his voice was low, hollow. “We were wartime friends.” It came out almost as a recitation, as thought this was something he told himself to justify his actions. 

You swore he made up that phrase right there in your kitchen. It seemed more like an excuse than an explanation. “What does that even mean?”

“A wartime friend, it’s- it’s the person you cling to when the world implodes. The person you’d never actually be friends with in real life, but you lean on them when life falls apart because they’re just- they’re there.”

The day you two met, Bucky found you crying in a supply closet at the compound. You were at the end of your rope, heartbroken over the loss of friends and family. Never had you experienced such an earth-shattering loss. You had no one- nothing. But Bucky was there for you. For a moment, you weren’t alone. You had someone. And he quickly became your favorite someone.

“People get desperate during wartime, you know?” Bucky continued, “They’ll befriend anyone if it brings them even a sliver of peace or comfort.”

“So, you thought-”

“I thought for sure that’s what you were doing.” 

Bucky stood from his chair. Anxiety ate away at him from the inside, leaving him unable to sit any longer. “I mean, you knew who I was. You knew I was a mentally ill, train wreck of a person. I figured we’d buddy up until the clouds parted- since neither of us had any other options- and then when things when back to normal, you’d find your real friends.”

He considered himself a consolation prize, a leftover. He didn’t know that, from the very beginning, you considered him a ‘real’ friend.

“But after knowing you for a few days, I wasn’t okay with that anymore,” his words came out hurried, almost frantic. “I wanted to be friends with you for real. I wanted you to want me around after we fixed everything. But I knew there was no way you’d want me as a friend outside of the shitstorm.” 

The realization played out across his face in real time. You watched happiness turn to disappointment, to despair, to desperation. 

“So, I just resigned myself to enjoy our time while it lasted. I knew it was all the friendship I could ever hope to get from you-” A shy smile pulled at his lips, “though, I was lucky to be close to you for any measure of time.” 

The smile faded, “but then when it was all over, and things went back to normal, you kept reaching out. You kept trying to get in touch with me and I- I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t make sense of it-” 

You gave a small shake of your head, “I missed you. I needed you. I just wanted to see you…”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to react. I panicked.” The nervous energy left Bucky’s buddy all at once. He slid into his chair and let his spine rest heavy against the wood. A sense of dejection befell him like and angry, icy sleet. “I didn’t want you to see me struggle in real life. I didn’t want you to see how much my actual life resembled the disaster we’d been living in. Cause when you look at my situation in the cold light of day it’s…” he swallowed the urge to hide from his humiliation. “It’s ugly. There’s no romanticizing what I’m dealing with.”

“I know you’re going through a lot right now.” For the first time in almost a year, you reached across the table for his hand. And for the first time in almost a year, he let you. “But Buck, you are not the only person struggling. I know it feels that way, but there are still so many people trying to get their lives on track after the blip- I’m still trying to get my head right. No one has a perfect life.”

Bucky gave a gentle scoff, “I know, but yours is a lot closer to perfect than mine.”

Again, you found yourself at a loss. No pep talk, no encouraging words, could make Bucky feel better about his situation. And nothing you could say had the power to fix how he felt about the state of his life. Instead of speaking, you opted to wrap his hand in both of yours the way you used to. You only hoped it would comfort him like the old days.

After a while, Bucky spoke again, “I just wanted to get my life together before I saw you again. You know? Cause my situation right now is embarrassing. I was afraid to admit the truth of my reality.”

You nodded, “And that’s why-”

“That’s why I was so weird when we ran into each other the other day,” he confirmed. He cringed at the way he acted, the way he treated you. It was all wrong. “I knew you saw me leave the motel. I knew I couldn’t pay for a meal at that diner. I was afraid that, as we spent more time together, you’d put the puzzle pieces in place and figure out that I’m a mess.”

His sense of frantic desperation reclaimed him all at once. He leaned forward and captured your hands in his own as his gaze bore into yours. “I never wanted to cut you out of my life- you have to know that. I need you to know that.” 

Tears formed along your lash line, creating a haze around your vision. “I know.”

“I just needed time,” he said. “I needed time to prove that I’m not a loser, that I’m good enough- I just wanted to be good enough for you.”

“Buck, you didn’t have to prove anything to me. And what do you mean you needed to be good enough? I’ve only ever wanted you to be yourself...” It was the most certain, the surest you’d ever been of anything. Bucky was exactly enough. He was himself, and that was all you could ever ask.

“And hey, I bailed you out of jail tonight without having any idea what you did- I didn’t even ask. I didn’t care. I was going to be there for you, regardless. Because I care about you.”

The storm clouds in his eyes parted. He hadn’t even thought about that, about how you paid for his release without context. If ever he doubted how you felt about him, that gesture was enough to set him straight.

He bowed his head a moment, thanking his lucky stars for your gracious nature. “I know you care about me. And I’m so sorry I abandoned you like that- I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know what to do…”

“It’s okay,” you sniffled. 

Bucky freed your hands for a moment, allowing you to wipe the tears flowing down your cheeks. He recaptured them as soon as he could, even if your knuckles were still damp. 

“Well, it’s not okay- like, don’t do it again,” you joked. “But I understand now why you felt the way you felt. And you understand that I want you in my life, full stop. Right?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, I get that now.”

With the deepest sigh of relief you could muster, you banished the feeling of abandonment Bucky with which Bucky saddled you. You shed your fears, your worries. The deep pit that formed in your stomach all those months ago closed, the prickling anxiety in your chest faded away. And for the first time in long time, you breathed easy.

“Just so you know- and I don’t wanna hear any complaints or refusals on this-” you gave Bucky a look, prompting him to nod in agreement. “You have to have at least one more plate of food.”

A rebuttal brewed beneath Bucky’s surface, his fear of imposing rearing its ugly head. He’d already called in a massive favor, had you pay his bail, used your shower, and eaten your food. The anxiety of overstepping vibrated inside his skull. But he kept his promise and nodded in agreement. 

“And-”

“And?” he gave you an exasperated look. 

You gave a firm nod, “Yes, there’s an ‘and’!” 

Bucky sighed out a tired laugh, “What more could there be?” A sudden darkness eclipsed his expression. His smile fell, his laugh halted. Anxiety had him by the throat. His snaked his hands away from yours and tightened them into tight fists. “I already feel like I’m taking advantage…”

“You’re not. I promise.” All at once, you were fed up with sitting across from him. You needed to be closer, as close as possible. Bucky needed to feel your sincerity, to hear your words loud and clear. In a flash, you gave up your seat across the table for the one right next to him. “You can’t impose or take advantage- not here. Because…”

Bucky eyed you with a nervous glance, “because?”

“Because… you live here now!” A victorious laugh fluttered out of your throat, “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Shock overtook Bucky’s expression. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. His heart raced, his hand shook. All color drained from his face. “No, I can’t- that’s too nice…” He stared at you, “Are you serious?”

You nodded, “Dead serious. This is your home now, too.” Suddenly, you felt the need to clarify. “But only if you want. This isn’t like, a hostage situation or anything.”

Bucky’s head fell back in a loud laugh that nearly brought tears to your eyes. He hadn’t felt this carefree, this at peace, in a very long time. He didn’t remember the last time he laughed this way. 

“Well, that is a relief,” he said with a chuckle. “I’d love to live here with you, I’d be- I’m so…” Suddenly, his hands found yours. He squeezed your fingers until your pulse throbbed against your skin. His anxiety practically seeped into your bones. “But I swear, I’m not gonna stop looking for a job or trying to get my benefits. I promise. I’m not gonna sit around like a deadbeat and mooch off you-”

“Buck, don’t worry about that right now, okay?” 

He shook his head, “And I won’t stay here too long, I’ll-”

“Hey,” With great effort, you pulled your hands from his and places your palms against his cheeks. “There’s no move out date. There’s no ticking clock. You’re allowed to live here as long as you want- I want you here.” You shot him a smile, “Plus, I’ve missed you- a lot. So this arrangement is good for me, too.”

A swirling cloud of worry hovered above Bucky’s head. He was overwhelmed, you could tell. He tensed his jaw, his shoulders. His every muscle went rigid. “But are you sure? This is generous- it’s too generous.”

“I’m sure. Here-” You stood from your chair and gestured for him to do the same, “I thought you might need this.”

With that, you enveloped him in a tight hug. Back at the compound, a hug from you could solve any and every problem for Bucky. And his embrace did the same for you. There was something so warm, so welcoming about the arms of the other. It was salvation, it was solace. It was home. Without a place to live, Bucky could survive. But without you, without his home, he’d been lost. As he wrapped his arms around you, though, his entire world changed. And the severed soul tie you feared would never heal grew back once again, stronger than ever.

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

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality  @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony  @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl  @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie  @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine  @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather  @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

[pyschosoda]

Please, Lord

Lord!Osferth x Servant!Reader

a/n: omg!! sorry this took so long I had crazy writers block all the sudden but I hope you enjoy it!!! (o^^o) I’m going to try to write the first chapter to my OsferthxOC fic before starting my other requests so be on the lookout for that!! :3c

requested by - @slytherincursebreaker

It was no secret that Osferth was a kind lord, often treating his servants fairly and giving them generous pay. 

Some might be shocked to find out that the ex-monk had taken one of his sweet little servants to be his bed warmer.

And what a pretty thing she was. He would often wake up first just to simply admire her before she slipped away so as not to be discovered by anyone. 

“Osferth...” a quiet, wispy voice pierces through his thoughts. 

His orbs are focusing on hers as they peak through her lashes like how the sun currently peaks over the horizon. 

“I told you to wake me if I slept too long,” his eyes never leaving her frame as she sat up with a stretch, her own eyes searching the room for her clothes. 

“You were pretty tired after last night, so I thought I’d let you sleep,” he responded as his fingertips gently glide across her back.

She rolls her eyes, a smile forming on her face as she stands up. 

“stay,” 

It wasn’t a command from her lord but rather a plea from a man who felt nothing but love for the maiden who had just left his bed. 

“I cannot,” she simply says as she begins collecting her clothes. “You know this.” 

“Surely a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt?”

His sweet little secret laughs as she slips on her clothes. “See you at breakfast, my lord.”

Osferth slumps back down against the pillow, a sigh escaping his lips as she leaves the room. 

Your day was the same as the last, and the last like the day before. You had a routine that more often than not involved waking up in your lord's bed.

Wake up, help prepare breakfast, serve breakfast, clean, occasionally keep Lord osferth company, sleep, and repeat.

That was your schedule, one that you hoped would never change. 

You were often one of the first people in the kitchen; most just assumed you to be eager to please their lord, and they were right in a sense, just not in that way. 

Occasionally, you’d break your daily routine to help the new servants with their tasks, helping them get the hang of things before going back to whatever your task was.

Some thought you were a pushover, doing whatever was asked of you, but you were simply returning the favor that was given to you by one of the older serving ladies who worked there before you; her name was Olga.

You often worked with her in the kitchen, much like you were now. 

“Lord Osferth seems to have taken a liking to you,” Olga teases as she prepares one of the dishes. Olga was a kind old lady, but she was rather nosy and loved to gossip. 

“what?” You shake your head. “No, he hasn’t,” you deny. “He’s just nice." You thought for a moment that Olga was suspecting something, that perhaps you and Osferth hadn’t been as careful as you two thought. 

“He’s nice to everyone, darling, but he doesn’t undress them with his eyes." Olga points at you with the spoon in her hand, making a suggestive face.

“Olga!” You gasp with a laugh. “Lord Osferth is a kind man; he wouldn’t do that.”

“Every man does it,” the older woman shrugs. “Look, when you go out there, watch his eyes; you’ll see they never leave you, not once!”

You don’t reply to the old maid, simply taking the plate from her and making your way out of the kitchen with Olga’s words fresh on your mind. 

Surely she wasn’t right; you were just his bed warmer, not that Olga knew that...hopefully.

You pulled yourself away from your thoughts as you approached the table.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Lord,” you say softly as you place his plate down, sparing him a glance.

He had already been looking at you; had he been looking at you the whole time, like Olga said? The thought made you smile. 

His own lips curling into a smile as you retreat into the kitchen, his eyes never once leaving you. 

You woke up with an uncomfortable tension building up in your throat, your face scrunching up as you hold back a gag. 

You clumsily wrap a thin robe around yourself as you make haste to find a bucket. 

Whether it was your harsh stumbling into the bathroom or you emptying all the food you ate that day into the bucket that woke up a few of the other servants, you weren’t sure, but you were thankful as one of the girls moved your hair out of the way as you threw up. 

This happened several times over the past week; you’d throw up just before the sun came out, then get dressed and get to work. 

You feared you came down with the sickness; you prayed that wasn't the case and your prayers would be answered. 

“I fear you may be pregnant,” Olga had said.

“what?” Your eyes move away from the bowl you had been mixing, over to the older maid.

"No, I am not," I can't be pregnant, the phrase repeated in your mind like a begging tune. 

“You’re questioning a woman who's given birth to three children; I think I would know, darling." She said more, but you weren’t listening anymore. Quickly you left the kitchen, letting Olga finish breakfast herself. 

I can't be pregnant; you prayed, and your prayers would go unanswered. 

You were pregnant. Olga was right; you were sure of it. Between the morning sickness, weird cravings, and mood swings, you were sure of it. 

oh god…You barely had the money to take care of yourself...How were you going to take care of a child—let alone the child of the man you worked for? Thoughts like those circled your brain day and night until finally you began to withdraw yourself. 

That included avoiding Osferth like the sickness himself, and he began to notice after you barely spoke a word to him when he asked you to meet him in his chambers, then failed to do so twice.  

He began to think perhaps he had done something wrong, or maybe you’d grown tired of the arrangement between you too. 

He had hoped that wasn’t the case, but you never gave him the chance to ask. 

Every time he looked for his sweet maiden, you were nowhere to be found, or you’d dash away before you could be seen. 

Osferth had enough. 

He was tired of seeing her duck around corners or flat out running away when she’d spot him in the halls; each time he had tried to speak with her, she’d find a way out.

He was sick of it. 

The thoughts of how to approach this situation plagued his mind, keeping him from sleeping. 

With an aggravated sigh, he swings his feet over the side of his bed, placing them on the floor as he prepares to venture out into the cold halls of the night to clear his head. 

‘What did I do wrong?’ He questions as he walks, ‘Why was she avoiding me?’ 

He was so lost in these thoughts he had almost missed the sound coming from the kitchen. His steps pause as he listens, and again, there was the same sound.

Slowly he creeped towards the kitchen door, peeking through the crack, looking for the intruder. 

But he didn’t find one; instead, he found the girl who plagued his mind day and night; he found you. 

He stood there for only a moment longer, not wanting to waste this authority that was given to him. 

“Why are you up so late?” He spoke up from behind her; despite his voice being gentle, he still startled her in the process. 

He watched as she hesitated to meet his gaze, settling to look at the floor beneath his feet instead as she timidly placed her fork down, so that was the noise he had heard. She had gotten up in the middle of the night to...eat?

“My Lord i-“

“Have you not been eating enough?” 

She wasn’t sure how she wanted to respond. His question caught her off guard. How was she supposed to answer his question without giving too much away? 

He picked up on her hesitation to answer his question, so he asked a different one.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

Her hesitation only grows, her appetite long gone as her eyes look for something to look at that isn't him. She missed Osferth, even if she tried to deny it, but should she tell him? It's his baby; of course she should...But she was scared; she needed the money, and in truth she had hoped to keep this secret a little longer.

“We shouldn’t talk about this here, Osferth." She whispers, meeting his gaze with a pleading one.

“To my chambers then,” he urges. 

The walk to his chambers was awkward to say the least. Your head tilted down, not daring to look at Osferth.

Osferth’s eyes were straight forward, not daring to look at you. Not a word was spoken between the two. 

Neither of you wanted to be the first to speak up; both of you were stuck in your thoughts, figuring out what to say. 

You pull yourself from the sound of your shoes hitting the ground as he opens the door to his chambers. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he repeats as they enter. 

“I…I'm sorry, my lord.“

“Have I done something to upset you? offend you maybe?”

She pauses, mouth gaping like a fish. “No! No… My lord, you’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? please!  I wish to make this right…”

She shifts in her spot, battling with herself if she should tell him. He had the right to know, she concluded. 

“Lord,” she whispers, her gaze meeting his pleading one.

“Osferth,” she corrects louder this time.

“I’m… I'm with the child," she admits, her hands anxiously attacking each other. 

“Your child,” she clarifies.

Osferth was in shock.

pregnant.

with his child?

“And...and you’re certain?” he questions 

She nods, pinching at the skin around her nail.

“And it’s…it’s mine?”

She nods again, her pinching nails piercing the skin as her vision gets foggy, her lip quivering. 

How could he let this happen? 

A bastard.  That’s what was brewing in her belly.

his blood.

His bastard blood passed down onto another.

Thats what he was; all he had been at one point was nothing more than Alfred’s Bastard. There was a time when he was scared that’s all he ever would be; he swore he would never condemn his child to a fate like his, and yet he had grown careless.

No. 

He wouldn’t allow his child to face the same curséd life that was forced upon him; he wouldn’t make the same mistake his father had. 

Osferth must’ve been silent for longer than he thought because the girl before him began to weep. 

“P-Please Lord!” 

The cold ground left bruises on her knees as they collided. 

Osferth couldn’t tell if she had fallen to the ground in an attempt to beg or because her legs simply gave out.

“Please!” She cried out again. “I’ll leave without trouble once I’ve saved enough money! I won't ask you for anything more!” She let the words tumble from her mouth before her thoughts could catch them. 

“No one will know the babe is yours; just please don't cast me out! I need the money!” she babbles 

“Cast you out...?” He asks, "I wouldn't...I won’t do that.”

Her frantic begs stop as she looks up at him. “You…you wont?”

Shaking his head, he kneels in front of her. “Never,” he assures her as he places his gentle hands on her tear-soaked cheeks. 

"I won’t let you face this alone, not when I'm at fault for it,” he says, wiping her tears before continuing.

"I’ll do what my father could not,” he whispers, “this baby will not be a bastard.” One of his hands moves to cup the back of her neck.

"What are you saying..." She meets his gaze.

“Marry me…” His voice shakes as the words leave his lips.

“…What?”

“Marry me,” he said, with more confidence. "I’ll be a good father; give this baby what I never had,” he promises. 

“Please, I love you." He admits, “Please marry me.”

She wasn't sure what to say, too overwhelmed with emotions. She wasn't sure if she was going to smile or cry again, so she did both. 

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she presses her lips against his in a quick and inexperienced kiss. “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” she agrees.

He cups the back of her head, holding her against him as a smile of his own appears on his lips. He would be a good father, he promised; he’d give his child a life that wasn’t granted to him. 

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

What if he has a really long scene at work and he comes home to reader super horny but he’s too tired to help so she starts to masturbate in front of him to get him going again

OMG YES! bonus points if you watch one of his movies to do it

like imagine he comes home, and you greet him as you always do. only this time, you’re feeling pretty horny, more so than usual. he tells you he’s too tired and needs a shower, so you let him do what he has to do. you know from past experiences with him that it doesn’t take much to get him going again, but you wanna go all out for him this time. while he’s in the shower, you start browsing through his collection, trying to find a really good video with him. all of them are golden, but you select one of your favorites with him and turn it on.

he was already feeling tired, but when he comes out and sees you watching one of his films? he’s immediately going to be right on you, exhausted or not. you tell him not to, though; this show is for him, and all he has to do is sit back, relax, and just watch. he’s tired, after all, so why should he be forced to make you feel good when he isn’t feeling up to it? you’re capable of doing it yourself, and tell him as much.

“but baby, i wanna touch you,” he whines.

“I know you’re tired,” you say, running your fingers over your pussy as you moan softly. “let me help you by taking the pressure off to make me feel good. let me do it all on my own.”

he nods, lying back on the bed as you start putting on a show for him. you move your fingers back and forth, up and down, inserting a couple inside of you as you moan. you watch the screen, but he’s watching you. he isn’t interested in reliving the film; he’s got his eye on you like a starving dog, his pierced tongue running over his lips as he takes in every movement. you start to pump your fingers, curling them as you cry out. you need more, and you offer him your most suggestive look before speaking.

“do me a favor,” you say.

“god, anything,” he says, and you notice his cock straining under his boxers.

“i want you to get my dildo out of my dresser,” you say, nodding toward it. “please?”

he hops off the bed, not having to be told twice. he retrieves it, handing it to you as he continues to watch what you’re doing. you run it over your lips, licking the tip to tease him as the actress did in the video with his own cock. he groans, reaching down to palm himself as you deep throat the toy. your free hand keeps working your pussy, fingers fucking into you as you grind against your palm. eddie keeps watching, his eyes trailing from your mouth to your cunt, unsure where to look more.

“eddie..” you moan, removing the toy from your mouth to insert it into your pussy. “fuck, you’re so big…”

“please let me fuck you,” he begs. “i’m not a bit fucking tired anymore.”

“i still say you should rest,” you say, fucking yourself on the dildo as you moan hotly. “you need a break. you had a long day today, and i’m sure that giant dick of yours can’t take many erections in one day.”

“fuck that,” he says, reaching over to take the toy in his hand. you slap it away, glaring at him. “please, baby. I need to be inside of you.”

“you’ve had enough of that today,” you say, fucking yourself deep and arching your back. you play with your breasts with your free hand, and he moans beside you. “haven’t you? I mean, you spent all day having sex with some strange woman, and now you want me?”

“i always want you,” he says, tugging his cock out as he begins to jerk off. “see how hard i am, baby? could I get that hard if i was too tired?”

“maybe,” you say thoughtfully. you watch his hand gliding over his massive dick, his fingers toying with his piercing. “or maybe you’ll go soft the minute you start fucking me.”

he growls, slapping your hand away from the toy and holding it firmly inside of you. “is this how you wanna play it? huh? wanna be a little fucking tease?”

“eddie,” you say, trying to fight him. he isn’t having it, though; he pins your wrists in one of his large hands, the other fucking you hard on the toy. “oh, fuck…”

“that’s what I thought,” he says smugly, his mouth at your ear. “when i say I’m not tired anymore, I mean it. now, it’s your turn to sit back and let me have my way with you.”

well, you couldn’t say no to that.

——-

mini taglist: @littledemondani @andvys @wroteclassicaly @succubusmunson @eddieschains @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @trashmouth-richie @eiightysixbaby @reidsbtch

[heywardsdoll]

going ice skating and just seeing toxickook!pope is the worst decision you could ever make because of how wonderful he is at it. there's just a flow of intimidation with him, the way he skilfully glides across the ice. he cocks an eyebrow at you, before slandering off to talk to another guy. he's like a star the way he shines.

he’s good at everything—and that hurts more than you’ll ever admit.

it doesn’t help that he’s a D1 athlete at your college, a kook with everything handed to him—like the world bends to his will. it doesn’t help that he’s an honor student, top of the class, always knowing the right answers. it also doesn’t help the way he looks, all wrapped up in a scarf, his family’s wealth showing even in his casual clothes. that air of privilege—it practically suffocates you. and it definitely doesn’t help that he makes you look twice, that twist in your stomach reminding you how much control he has over you.

of course, he didn’t want you here. after all, he's dating you in secret. because dating you openly wouldn’t fit his “image.” no, now he’d probably tease you about it, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. but only you know what he's like behind closed doors, behind locker rooms, when no one’s watching he's got his hand shoved down your skirt, heavy lidded eyes glazed with pleasure. of course, he's got you in the restricted section of the books, low voice and soft breath hitting that corner of your neck, and of course he's your "tutor". god, it was the worst.

you’d never tell your friends, because god forbid they knew how much of a sucker you were for someone like him. you knew better—knew what the kooks were like—but he was different, right? you liked the way he acted—that air of confidence, even if it sometimes felt like arrogance. even if it meant enduring his offhand comments. he’d laugh them off, call you “too sensitive,” like it was all in good fun.

but then he'd be so sweet. that’s what kept you, wasn’t it? sugary sweet between your teeth when he apologized, "i won’t do it again," "you know me, you know i won’t," "aw—you know i could do better, but i choose you. i’m doing you a favor staying." and now here you were, trying to prove you could do without him, even though you were practically near tears as you pushed through the ice.

it was tough. your ankles wobbled from trying to find balance within yourself. your hands stung from the number of times you'd fallen flat on your face. your cheeks burned from the cold, and worse, there was this awful gash on your knee from scraping it on the way to the ice rink. you looked like a mess, but why did you care? because somewhere, you knew he was watching.

this was your fault. it was a small fight that led to this. you wanted to be public—wanted him to stop hiding you. after months of stolen kisses and eager eyes, you were tired of being his secret. but now you felt like a dirty little secret, something he didn’t want to show off. he laughed when you asked for more. said it was all fun and games, and you were reading too much into it.

you could almost hear the satisfaction in his voice when he said, “just a little experiment.” his soft eyes had a flicker of something sharper, and you realized they only softened when he wanted something. his words dripped with an undertone that made you question if you were overreacting.

you had told him to forget it. after that, you went home to cry your eyes out and realized you needed to show him that you didn’t need him. then a university flyer caught your eye. “bring a friend and skate!” it read. “free entry for single girls,” with a winky face. you could tell a college boy had scribbled that on, but somehow, it lit something in you.

that was it. that’s why you were scrambling on the ice, looking for someone, and indirectly looking for him with your untied laces, swollen eyes, and a pout on your mouth. finally, you stopped, resting your hands on your knees as you panted. still, pope skated. there was a quick smile on his face, hands shoved in his pockets. he danced around girls, that smirk on his face as if he knew you were watching.

finally, you decided it was enough. it was enough of you chasing after him, and this stupid idea to come to the rink. it was time you stepped out. as you fixed your laces, you let out a deep breath, but in an instant, your balance vanished. your arms shot up, flailing wildly as if they could grasp the air for stability. time seemed to slow as your legs slipped out from under you. then, with a loud thud, you hit the ground, the cold ice pressing against your back. you let out a cry of pain before trying to look around to see if anyone had seen you.

“you’re not too good at this, huh?”

there he was, all shiny and cocky. you scoffed and tried to push forward, only to slip again.

“goddamn it—” you groaned before letting yourself sink to the floor. the ice burned at your side, but it wasn’t as bad as the embarrassment that heated your face when you realized pope was watching, that familiar flicker of amusement in his eyes.

after what felt like years, he spoke, flicking away something on his jersey. “what are you doing here?”

you felt tears sting your eyes as you sniffled and bit your lip, looking away from him. your voice sounded like a whine. “it’s my campus too.”

pope rubbed his eyes before looking at you again, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “come on, you know I’m not gonna just leave you here.” suddenly, he was grabbing you and pulling you up. you were rested next to the edge of the rink. no longer did the ice bite, but rather you felt your heart beat faster. he was tying your skates quickly, tongue stuck out in concentration. you watched his muscles move purposefully, the way his arms flexed as he worked.

“you know how if feel about you,” pope murmured, a softer edge to his voice. you shivered hearing the annoyance there, but it quickly shifted into a teasing lilt. “do i really have to prove it?”

you felt shocked, pupils blown as you tried not to tremble. there was electricity in his gaze, but something rippled inside you. it was definitely not fear.

finally, pope got up, giving you a satisfied once-over. “yeah, you look good now.”

it was here you felt defensive. “i look good all the time!” but quickly realized it was the wrong thing to say.

pope's eyes flickered over to you again, a teasing smile on his lips. “yeah, cause i help you with that. sometimes you need a little more than usual. but that’s okay.” it was here that he seemed to soften, that hint of smugness in his demeanor, but you could tell he enjoyed the control.

“yea' cause i'm here to see to it.”

and you knew you’d never fully escape from his orbit.

taglist; @cerya @rainbowpiss34, @vi4goswrld, @th3eternalersi

[sanjisblackasswife]

Monster Trio with a Girlfriend that has an Oral Fixation Headcanons(NSFW)

@444katsuki …..u inspired this you wh/re

Black Fem Reader in Mind

Bad Summary: You like to suck their dick alot.

CW: Oral.🧍🏾‍♀️, finger sucking, tongue sucking, slightly OOC Luffy(?), pet names

Zoro

He doesn’t necessarily get why you have it, but he isn’t complaining.

He found it hot, especially whenever he lets you taste yourself on his tongue you always end up sucking on his and it drives him insane

You’ve told him you enjoy going down on him, whether he returns the favor or not you love the feeling of his heavy brown tip touching your tongue.

Zoro would be lying if he didn’t find your need to wrap your lips around his cock hot, so he allows you the freedom to do so when neither of you are busy.

“Sssshit! Y/N!”

This is the second nap today he’s woken up to your soft kisses on his brown tip, already twitching and leaking against your lips.

Sometimes you worry him, because he can be in the corner of the deck and once you catch him legs spread you look to be greeted with that pretty thick print on those sweats you got him. And then moments later you’re sitting on your knees palming the Print practically licking at the sight

You don’t know what it is either. You’re tried lolipops, candy, anything to occupy your mouth to satisfy your need, but nothing compares to the bitter taste of your man’s dick really.

You love how he uses your mouth, you love how it feels sliding in his thick vein under his shaft grazing your tongue, you can’t help but to roll your eyes and moan at how delicious he taste.

And Zoro fucking love you for that.

“You’re such a slut for my cock. Fuck—! Keep going just like that, pretty girl.”

Looking up to Zoro’s pretty tanned face colored in red now, holding up his white tank top in his mouth for a better view of you, forehead trickling in sweat not wanting to look away from the cum spilling out of the corner of your mouth.

Even when you finish you’re not really done. You want more, you need more, and Zoro knows this. So, he sucks up the pain of overstimulation and let’s you use his cock until you’re satisfied. Besides he loves knowing how easy it will be to slide inside you once you’re finished

You just can’t help yourself. You love your swordsman.

Luffy

Doesn’t care to know why you like going down on him, but it’s fascinating.

He found out after he let you do it first before he went down on you and he was amazed at how wet you were.

“You’ve never been this wet, y/n! Did you pee?”

“NO! I just…really like…sucking—…”

“My dick? You like sucking my dick? Then do it again!”

When he acknowledges and learns about you enjoying things in your mouth he improves quite alot in touching you. Meaning the kisses are more sloppy, and he even explores different ways to satisfy your ich.

He was more than happy to let you do it as much as you like, only on one condition:

You have to play with yourself as you do it.

Luffy loves. Watching your small fingers rub that cute little clit of yours for him. He is always left in a trance seeing you fuck yourself.

So here is your captain, laying on his elbows on your bed, as you are on the side of him lapping your tongue around his brown tip, and plunging your fingers inside your embarrassingly wet cunt

“You’re so—-ah! Good at this.”

You shiver feeling his hand glide against your ass, spreading it a little to get a better view. Sometimes when he sees your fingers slow down he bucks his hips into your mouth to refocus

“Ah ah!” He stretches his hand to guide your fingers to swirl on your clit faster. “Keep rubbing, mami.”

His accent change always caused you to moan, Luffy’s pelvis is a wet mess with how sloppy your sucks became. You swore he used his powers to grow his dick. Your jaw felt like it may lock.

But it’s not like you wanted to stop. Feeling his shaft drag in and out of your slutty mouth as he thrusted up into you made you rub your clit harder

“There you go! Ah!—-‘s good!”

You could cum right now to the feeling alone, Luffy finishes in your mouth, leaving you both a panting mess.

“Alright ….let’s do it on the Sunny’s head i wanna fish and I know you still wanna suck it.”

Have fun because now Luffy will have your throat busy during dinner if you’re not careful

Sanji

He wants to marry you when you tell him.

He had a hunch you had an oral fixation like he did when everytime he’d finish fingering you you were so needy to suck on them. It was such a sight to see your fucked out face cleaning up the arousal you left on his fingers riling him up again

You both are very open about your sexual desires so you explain to him you like pleasuring him, now on one side he is elated. You greet him every other morning under the sheets with a kiss to his hard cock leaving him a happy mess all day.

But we all have to remember Sanji believes his One purpose of being your man is to pleasure you. So it deems a bit of a challenge when you tell him you just wanna suck him off and nothing in return.

“But…I can’t just have you give me all the love! I have to return the favor!”

So. You come up with the best solution.

69!

“Sh-shit, darling you! Ah fuck!”

You get so caught up with his pretty cock twitching uncontrollably under your tongue when you lick his slit, he whimpers each time inside your pussy, moaning at how well you take all of him.

But it wasn’t enough, you were greedy. You wanted to really FEEL ALL of Sanji inside you.

“Ji….please…” You get off of him, he was confused seeing your tired messy face gently guide him to the wall kissing his lips to then slide your tongue inside his mouth, the remnant of his cum filling his senses made his eyes roll back.

You couldn’t word what you wanted so you held his face for a moment to watch you sit on your knees, sliding his painfully hard cock back inside you, both of you share a moan as he gripped his fists so tightly.

You grab them, guiding them to hold your head. You place your hands on his thigh, not breaking eye contact with him, Sanji’s nose bleeds a little, face so pink as his tip you kept pulling out to kiss.

“I love your cock so much Ji…”

“Y-y/n baby!—-ffffffuck!”

He was so whiney, drool threatening to leave his mouth, he softly started to move his hips not daring to go to harshly in face fucking you.

“G-good?” Sanji asks before throwing his head back on the wall. You hum. His needy cock was something you couldn’t replace to help you.

Sanji continues to watch you, taking long blinks at your messy your breast became with saliva and his semen. But you looked beautiful none the less.

Of course though once you finish Sanji doesn’t care how much you plead and try to convince him you’re okay you already came from sucking his dick. He didn’t take no for an answer. He laid you down like the princess you were to him and got to work on driving you inside with his tongue.

“You can’t forget I love licking this pussy too, my love. Relax for me. Let me take care of you.”

Sanji wouldn’t replace you for the world right now.

[choccyhearts]

(18+!!)

overstimulation with steve...

tonight he has you spread wide open as he holds a vibrator to your clit. you've already had one orgasm because of the toy and you're quickly hurdling towards your second. it feels like an eternity that steve's been holding that thing.

your breathing begins to pick up and become a jagged. he smiles and applies more pressure, assuring that the head of the toy is smushed comfortably against your pussy as it buuuuzzes on.

"come on, baby, you got it, come on..."

your back arches a little involuntarily as euphoria and ecstasy wash over your senses, body in both a tense and yet relaxed state at the same time. you don't want this feeling to ever leave you and for thirty seconds, it doesn't.

but quickly your clit sends a jolt down your body as the once favored toy begins to become a torture device. you whine but keep your hips in place, nose scrunching as you try to not focus on how senstive you are.

"goooood girl, honey. just hang on for me, okay? you're doing so well. let it hold you, baby, let yourself get lost in this feeling."

steve's thumb glides across your skin as he keeps his grip firm on the toy. you hold on to his praise like gospel as your skin grows warmer and warmer, a heat no holy water could put out. you release a breath you don't realize you're holding with a cross between a grunt and mewl escaping your throat.

"breathe for me baby, just breathe, relax."

he kisses your knee as his eyes tattoo every detail of this glorious image in front of him to his brain. he breathes in your submissive, helpless scent and exhales a warm, nurturing energy to calm you down. you're okay, and you're safe, and you're mine, steve's eyes seem to say as you look into them for a moment.

"you make me so proud, baby."

you bite your lip again and whine, the buzzing becoming far too much. your clitoris is so puffy and sore now, the vibrator irritating it more. you wiggle your hips away from steve's grasp and shake your head, an onslaught of "mm-mm"s and choked out "nooo"s leave your mouth quickly.

steve immediately turns the toy off and pulls it and himself away, watching as you catch your breath, your brain swirling around your head like a melted slushie. you can't open your eyes or move at all but you feel warm and happy.

after a moment, steve hovers a hand over your thigh and you weakly nod, letting him know it's okay for him to touch you. despite your body short circuiting, the calming touch of steve's firm, slightly rough hands and the soft breaths leaving your bodies allow you to recover quickly.

after a couple of minutes you look into his eyes. he smiles down at you and brings his hand to your face, caressing your cheek.

"you did perfect, honey. you were so good. 20 seconds, you beat last time."

"it sure felt longer than 20 seconds," you jokingly gripe.

"well, that 30 second orgasm definitely made it feel longer." you giggle and bite your bottom lip, already feeling yourself begin to grow wet again. "since you did so well, i wanna reward you."

"what do you have in mind?"

"it's up to you. we can go out, i can cook you your favorite meal, take you to the movies, whatever you want honey."

you think for a moment before saying, "i want more of you stevie."

you push your sticky, messy pussy against his jean covered crotch. he shivers and leans down, spine already trembling a bit.

"you sure, baby?"

"please, i need you now."

he kisses your face softly and slowly, a kiss here, a kiss there. he undoes his pants, knowing he doesn't need any warm up after the show you put on.

he pulls away and shimmies off his jeans before pulling his shirt off in one motion. he kisses you again as he straddles you, his big heavy cock swinging and brushing against your pussy. it turns you on even more and you feel a rush ripple down to your cunt. steve holds his cock in his hand, running it against your folds. he leans down and envelopes your lips in a kiss as he gently pushes the head of his cock against your clit, a "double kiss" as he likes to call it.

you melt and hum against his mouth, almost purring, as you move your hips softly against his. he chuckles and slowly inches inside you, stopping halfway to give you a moment.

you whine and pull him closer to you. he chuckles and kisses your shoulder.

"please, please just fuck me."

"you sure?", he pulls back to look at you. he means this both teasingly and serious, not wanting to hurt you.

"mmm, yes please. need it, stevie." you puff out your lip and he runs his thumb along it.

slowly he begins to move, sliding his hips slowly back and forth. once he knows you're okay, he places both of his arms on either side of your head, closing you in. he begins to thrust, your pussy making clicks and squelches as he moves.

"mm, baby, fuck, what a creamy pussy you're giving me. so nice and wet and warm, you know just what i need, huh, baby?"

you can't even think about what he's asking you. the second he began thrusting faster your brain began melting again. that familiar lustful fever and tightening pressure in your tummy combo overpower your body. your head slumps to the side, eyes screwing shut as your body slowly rag dolls.

"awh, already feeling brainless and ready to come?"

your voice wavers as you hum an "mhm."

"yeahh, my baby needed my cock, huh? need me to make you feel good? you don't need to answer, baby, i already know. just go limp for me baby, you don't need to move a muscle. i got you, lemme take care of you, lemme do everything. you were such a good girl for me."

the noises being fucked out of you sound pathetic and needy and it warms steve's heart. he loves getting you to let him do everything and spoil you, it's what he does best.

you let out a loud whine, grabbing onto his arms. he kisses your forehead as you let out high pitched grunts and sighs, feeling the heat fully burn in your pussy. a pleasure that feels like tiny little galaxies exploding sets in and takes the breath out of your lungs.

he's nonstop talking you through your orgasm, knowing you can't understand the words he's saying but his voice itself is what anchors you to earth. he keeps thrusting, cherishing the feeling of protection, warmth, and love your pussy gives him. he pulls back, sliding his hand under your left ass cheek to lift your body up slightly, giving him a better angle to slam into you.

your orgasm slowly fades away and yet you still enjoy steve's cock stretching and filling you. you pull him closer with your legs and he collapses over you, trapping you under his body. his breathing quickens and his thrusts lose their rhythm but harder and harder they get until he stops suddenly, stilling inside you. quick declarations of love fall from his mouth at an almost silent volume as he spills and spills and spills his semen inside you.

"you did so good today, baby," steve praises.

[beaunoor]

higuruma hiromi x f!reader

synopsis: modern au! with both of you as lawyers. you're supposed to remain professional, but it doesn't stop the both of you from feeling a certain way when you both are in your element. sort of based on a previous imagine

wrd count: 1733

warnings: mdni! i don't really go into the actual court case bc i am lazy, female reader! light tension, smut (doing it on a desk, fingering, rough sex, tie pulling, semi-public, sort of breeding idk, praise), word "wife" used, yeah they get turned on in court in an odd way ig, barely any real plot

*extra editing will be done later, very tired while posting this

"Court is in session."

Your eyes watched as his black pant clad legs glide across the room to face the stand to give the plaintiff's opening statement. His gruff voice was tantalizing in a way you could see the confidence he oozed with his unwavering speech. This wasn't the time to ogle at your competition though. You had a job to do; to defend your own client who assumed you were preparing yourself to speak on their behalf as they shifted in anxiety. Which was wrong--you knew this was an easy civil contract case, and you just happened to be saddled with a defendant who was untruthful. Though you did not work on cases together often, discussion of them was a daily occurrence you partook in when in the privacy in your own home, so you knew the outcome was not in your favor. It didn't mean you wouldn't give it your all at least. Besides, anything was worth it to see Hiromi Higuruma in his own element.

You remembered him getting ready this morning and the image had you nibbling on your lip. You narrowed your eyes at the way his suit hugged his body. The way he spoke with assurance and the way he oozed confidence really did it for you; this was him at his best after all. You also remembered his tired eyes lingering on yours when you passed ways at the office, trying your best not to spare a glance--oh right. You were supposed to be mad at him. Your legs crossed and you looked down at the papers in front of you when you felt the faint wisps of arousal arise.

After his opening statement, you stood up from your chair, smoothing out your clothes before moving to the stand. While you talked and faced the judge and jury, Higuruma's chin rested atop of his folded hands. His eyes raked along your backside and further down to the pencil skirt you worn. He remembered taking glances at you earlier that morning. Though his morning was less than pleasant when you had not spoken a word to him. A small spat was what it was last night. It was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He wished he could hear your voice in different circumstances.

As you slowly paced across the floor, his eyes watched your words and gestures. When you were done with your statement, you had a fiery look in your eyes and the upturn of your lip when you caught his gaze on you, which to his embarrassment had his pants tightening.

When a short recess was taken, he had walked up to you in hopes of getting you to talk him in a different manner.

"And how are you doing today miss?"

You just glanced up at him and turned away, "It'll be better when I win, Mr. Higuruma."

He faintly grimaced. He knew he had to end this quickly before you caught a worse attitude with him.

Back and forth the battle went, each more passionate in their witness testimonies and evidence. But Higuruma always had an ace up his sleeve to help his clients, always.

"B-but that doesn't mean--" You put your fingers on your temple and suppressed a groan at the defendant's admittance.

"Your attorney should've prepared you better, Mr. Soto." Higuruma jabbed.

"And you now just admitted to being aware of such knowledge of a contract. So, to the jury," he turned to their stand, "I hope you can agree that ignorance does not determine a good defense for such a company circumstance. Mr. Soto has shown his account of unjust will to comply and I hope you can see how the plaintiff is needed to be compensated rightfully so." With that he concludes his closing statement.

He’s got you good.

The gavel against its block boomed loudly throughout the courtroom signaling the conclusion of the session. You can't help but purse your lips in disappointment.

While the bailiff was trying to calm down your client you packed your things up and caught Higuruma's eye as he walked back to the plaintiff's side as he gathered his things and shook hands with his client. You proceeded to grab your things and walk out of the courtroom, feeling his presence following behind you, making himself known as he opens the door for you and you both walk out side by side in silence. Once a certain amount of distance away, he lets his hand rest on your lower back guiding you away from peering eyes.

His embrace feels warm when he's got his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"Are we okay now?" His question muffled.

"...Yeah, yeah we're good now." You say pulling away from him.

"Why do I always get the short end of the stick with my clients?" You huffed aloud as you both stood in the empty hallway of the office building.

"Maybe it's karma for getting angry at those who don't deserve it."

You stood in front of him, arms crossed and let out a scoff at his jest. 

“Well, I am available to help debrief in my office if you are free at the moment. I don't have another case until later.”

“Well I wouldn't want to intrude on the 'oh so great lawyer Mr. Higuruma's time” you replied.

"You know no one likes a sore loser" He leaned in close to your face, "though if you want a 'pick me up' I always have time for you, wife."

Your eyes looked into his eyes before flickering down to his lips, you tilted your head up at him, "What did you have in mind?"

As soon as his office door was closed, you turned around to see him drop his briefcase and reach for your face with both hands and fiercely kissed your lips. Your arms went up to his shoulders and chased his lips back. He walked forward and you clumsily stumbled backwards until your legs hit the front end of his desk causing you to half sit on the desk. You let go to take a breath, and half hazardly unbuttoned your dress shirt. He got his suit jacket halfway off before he felt you reach his belt loops and unbuckled his slacks. He stopped you to do it himself while you crumpled and lifted up your skirt to expose your panties to him. As soon as his boxers were lowered for his cock to spring out, you grabbed his tie to pull his lips to yours. His hand went down to slip past your underwear to insert a finger inside your pussy. When he felt how warm and wet you were he let out a groan into your mouth and inserted another finger to work you open.

“Oh baby, you’re so wet.” he groaned out against your lips.

“Haa- you were so hot out there,” you gasped out.

“Yeah? You like me arguing with you? This pussy sure loves it, can you hear it?”

He gave a few more pumps in with his fingers before pulling them out and using the same hand to jerk his dick before bringing it to your cunt and pushed in a little before pulling it back to rub it against your opening. He heard you whine at the sensation and finally pushed all the way in.

“Hah my wife is so inpatient.”

As his hips pushed into yours, his hands grabbed around your waist, wrapping your legs around his torso, back now flat against the desk.

“You did so good out there baby. Haa- you feel so good–” he moaned out, head falling back at the feeling of being inside you.

His thrusts begin slow and stroke deep. Your toes flexed inside your pointed heels at the feeling of being dicked down so good. One hand reached up to grab onto his shoulder and the other grabbed at your breast and groped in a way to make you moan out.

He looked down at you again, loving to see you enjoy yourself and let loose in your half undone shirt, “Oh baby, I'm so close–-feel so good--ah can’t believe you do this to me.”

He lifted up your left leg onto his shoulder to reach deeper which had you whining and your eyes teared up in the new sensation, he was hitting all the right spots.

“Hiroo- I’m going to-uhn-I’m going to cum baby” 

“Yeah you’re going to cum? Cum on this cock baby, you can do it baby I can feel it.” he encouraged by moving his hand down to play with your clit, rubbing it in circles to overwhelm you. 

You let out a shaky breath as you felt yourself orgasm, having it reach its peak had your legs flex and shake as it washed over you. A silent scream and the tightening of your cunt kept him going, him speeding up his thrusts to reach his end.

“Ah I’m going to cum–ahh I’m cumming in this pussy.” He groaned out, exhaling deeply as he felt his cock release into the deep crevice of your cunt. He gave a few more shallow thrusts, rubbing his hips against yours slowly before stilling his movements and letting your leg down. He held your thighs as both your breathing turned back to normal. He took one of your arms, hand sliding down to your hand before placing a kiss into your palm.

“Don’t worry baby, you'll win the next one. I can't loose, I want to look cool in front of my wife.”

You rolled your eyes at him and swat at him playfully.

"Hmm I thought that debrief surely helped your attitude, maybe not?"

You groaned and looked him in the eye to pout. He leaned down to kiss at your face and made his way down to nibble on your neck, before you giggled and pushed his face away.

"Mm Hiro stop, you have to get back to work soon." you reprimanded and he huffed through his nose before he pecked your lips one more time before pulling away from your body and tucked himself away.

After you separated and fixed yourselves you turned back to him to smooth out his suit and tie.

“Thank you for the pick me up." you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "See you at home, Mr. Higuruma. . .” you said and walked out of his office.

a/n: can't believe gege trying to take my man! it's superrr late but was inspired to get this out of the drafts, tumblr kept deleting the progress and it stressed me out so it may not be the best

likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated! thanks for reading!

[followafallingstar]

Lucifer stalks you

Summary: After encountering the devil on a midnight forest walk, you can't seem to feel like someone is watching you. Hmm, maybe you are going insane, or maybe you are not. Pairing: Lucifer/Soulmate, Lucifer/Witch Disclaimer/ Trigger Warning: soulmate au, Stalking, Mention of stalking, invasion of privacy, mention of masturbation, mention of murder, just Lucifer lol

Soulmate au: God created a soulmate for each one of his children. For angels finding their soulmate is one of the most honorable tasks they could achieve due to the amount of luck they must have since the soul of a human mate can be sent to earth at any time during the existence of humanity. But when an angel does meet their other half their loyalty to god switches to their mate, protecting them at all costs. Feelings such as love and lust are only acceptable and archivable for angels when they meet their soulmate and that only to the mate too so acts of unloyalty or cheating don’t exist in their world.

As the weeks passed you couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching you. You seemed extra paranoid, considering the almost fifty wards and protection spells you have cast around yourself and the shop. While you were busy checking left, right, behind, and in front the devil his large wings sat comfortably on a cloud right above the small building you lived in. He had watched you since the moment he saw you and the moment you left the forest. You still remember the moment, his demeanor had scared you causing you to teleport yourself away from his vessel's eyes, not his actual hundred sixty-six eyes he had in his celestial form though. He had his ways to watch you. When he was busy with hell or the Winchesters he would have demons following you, if he had time it would be himself who provided you security. What if you got attacked? What if you messed up a spell and hurt yourself? What if a creep followed you?

He didn't even think about the possibility that he was the creep himself. Why would he? He is your soulmate and that allowed him to be a hundred percent involved in your life even if it was behind your back. You shouldn't think he is a creep, you should think he is a protector.

But perhaps, if you knew that he watched you while you took a bath, wondering if you knew how beautiful you were, so bare without any fabric disturbing the view (that he was entitled to see anyways) while dipping yourself in a bath full of rose milk. If you knew that all your senseless panicking and warding spells were useless since when you were out of the house he snuck himself inside, letting the tip of his wings glide over the smooth surface of your sheets where you would lay for at least 10 hours a day and at least an hour now and then being busy letting your hands slide between your legs, letting them do the work that was supposed to be his. If you knew how many corpses he had left behind every time someone looked wrongly at you, talked to you for a second too long, or dared to flirt with you. The smile they caused on your face made him frown, his good mood destroyed and replaced by a sour expression. He was supposed to be the one that made you smile not some ugly human. The feeling of jealousy that he had felt millennia ago towards the race he despised which his father favored so much slowly crept back into his heart, maybe not the same way it was back then but certainly just as intense.

What exactly he is, is yours to decide. Is he a creep or just a loving mate?

[ellethespaceunicorn]

I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

Title: I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader

Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: Napoleon wines and dines.

Warnings: barely any 60s references so if you were looking for that I'm sorry, incorrect table manners, a little bit of Daddy kink, unprotected p-in-v because these are fictional characters

A/N: The title is taken from the song “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl” by Nina Simone. Literally the naughtiest and sweetest title at the exact same time. A very sexy song, if you have never heard it, do yourself a favor!!! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @saradika

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

“What is a lovely little rose like you doing all alone in a place like this?” 

The voice startles you as you sip your espresso at the corner cafe. Of course, being alone in a cafe had its downsides. This wasn’t the first time you were approached here. This wasn’t the first time you were approached today, even. You look up to see who the voice belongs to and you almost drop your teeny cup.

The jawline alone had your panties in a cinch. But the eyes, those are what draw you in. The blue of his eyes was like out of a painting, and you could hardly say you’d ever seen anyone with a tiny golden-brown spot in their left eye. Was that his only flaw? From here, it appeared so. The suit he wore was perfectly tailored. His shoes were shiny like a new penny. You were shaken from your ogling by his voice again.

“Have I passed inspection, Miss…?” You give your name and he tests it out on his tongue. “A beautiful name for a beautiful rose,” With a flick of his wrist, a gorgeous and very real rose appears in his hands and he hands it to you.

You sputter out a laugh as you reach for the rose. He tilts his head as he watches you lift the flower to your nose, inhaling its sweet scent. He walks around the table and sits across from you, almost daring you to tell him to get lost. But, of course, you don’t. You are delighted to see where this may lead.

“So, what is a man dressed so well doing talking to a girl like me? Surely, you must be on your way to some type of important, or at least, fancy meeting?” You sit back, eyeing the man whose name you still haven’t caught.

“I’ll let you in a little secret. I’ve seen you here before. I know you go to the local college and after class, you like to stop here for an espresso before boarding a train back to wherever it is that you live. You’ll be happy to know I have not followed you back to your home. But, sometimes you get a sweet treat. A cinnamon roll on Mondays, perhaps a cherry and cheese danish on Wednesdays, but on Fridays? You spring for something devilish.” He ends his sentence just as your slice of devil’s food cake is set in front of you by the waiter.

“You really have been watching me. A girl with a different head on her shoulders may be nervous knowing she’s being watched. But, you don’t scare me,” you smile at him and start to dig into your cake, “If anything, I’d love to know why you find me so interesting. I mean, there are girls here with shorter skirts than mine.”

“The skirt wasn’t exactly what I was after,” his eyes linger on your mouth as your fork slowly glides back out of it, “Company. That’s mostly what I’m after. Your company. Not theirs.”

“I don’t even know your name, Mr…” You eagerly wait to hear the mysterious man’s name.

“I’ll give you my name, but I’ll need a promise that I may cook you dinner. No dinner, no name. And we act like this little conversation never happened,” he licks his lips, watching you watching him, “So, what do you say, my little rose? Will I introduce myself or will I walk off, doomed to enjoy dinner alone?”

You set down your fork, suddenly uninterested in the last bite of your cake. But instead of pushing the plate to the side, you run your pointer finger through a bit of the icing left behind. Raising your hand and pushing your chair back, you saunter over to the man’s chair. Sitting in his lap, much to the chagrin of the other couples on the terrace. You wipe the icing on his bottom lip. Leaning in while keeping eye contact, you lick away the chocolate until you take his bottom lip between your teeth. His eyes close for but a second and the slightest grunt escapes between his lips and into your mouth.

“I believe I’ve made my intentions clear but I’ll make sure they are crystal. I’m not some delicate flower, I can handle myself. And as handsome and mysterious as you are, if you try anything I don’t feel comfortable with, I’ll handle you as well. We have an understanding, I presume?” 

“You presume correctly. And please, I didn’t call you a poppy or a tulip. You’re a rose. A beautiful flower, but the thorns are treacherous. I’ll make sure you keep those at bay.”

“You owe me a name, pretty boy.” You insist, adjusting your seating in his lap and feeling a hefty bulge underneath you.

“Napoleon Solo.”

“Let’s go, then, Napoleon. I’m famished and I could use something a bit more substantial than that tiny slice of cake.”

Napoleon rises, his hands on your hips as he sets you on your feet. He waits for you to pick up your belongings, walks around the table, and grabs your hand to lead you off the terrace. He walks you to his car, opening the door for you to get in. This was your last chance to change your mind, but, you were having way too much fun.

You ride to his apartment building, and a valet takes the keys to his car before he opens the door for you to exit. A swanky place where it looks like the only people who can afford to stay here must have Esquire or some kind of title attached to their name. You decide to toss caution to the wind because it isn’t like you are staying here. It’s Napoleon who is, and you are is his guest.

You take the elevator up, making out with the tall and gorgeous stranger. The elevator rises as well as his hand up your skirt. Just as his hand reaches the top of your thigh, the elevator signals your arrival on the fourth floor. Napoleon takes your hand and leads you to Apartment 412. He unlocks the door and lets you enter first.

“So, my little rose, I was thinking for dinner I will make us Beef Bourguignon. And for dessert, what say we make it up as we go along?”

“As long as you don’t expect me to do all the cooking, I’m happy to sit back and eat and be merry, Napoleon.”

“Perfect, my little rose. Feel free to make yourself a drink, and do turn on some music. I do better with a bit of background noise.” 

You busy yourself with making an Old Fashioned, finding everything at your fingertips and ready to go. You take a sip and groan inwardly as the bourbon warms your insides. You walk from the little makeshift bar into the kitchen and offer Napoleon a sip. He applauds your drink-making skills and ushers you back out to the record player as he dons an apron and begins to cook.  

You busy yourself with looking at records while soon the smells of sauteed beef reach your nostrils. You only refresh your drink once while listening to Nina Simone Sing the Blues. Her dulcet tones woo you as the bourbon in your drink loosens you up. You don’t notice that you are being watched as Napoleon walks over and fixes himself a White Russian.

He watches as you sway and sing along with Nina. It’s only a matter of time before the timer in the kitchen sounds and he leaves you to your enjoyment of the music. He makes your plates, sets the table, and lights the few candles that sit therein. He pours you both a glass of pinot noir. His last step is to come and beckon you to your dinner. He does so by sidling up behind you and placing his hands gently on your shoulders as his lips dip down to your ears.

“Dinner’s ready, my little rose.” He takes your hand and leads you to the table, pulling your chair out for you in a gesture that wasn’t necessary but is quite romantic. If you weren’t already a bit light-headed from the Old Fashioned, that would have done it!

“Napoleon, this smells amazing. Are you sure you didn’t have some minions in the kitchen helping you to prepare this?”

“I promise, it was just me. Try it, tell me if it needs anything.”

You take a bite of the aromatic beef stew and it melts in your mouth. You can’t exactly help the satisfied groan that escapes your lips, much to the enjoyment of Napoleon.

“I take it you like it then?” The smug smile looks good on him, damn that man.

“Oh, I like it, Mr. Solo. You sure know your way to this woman’s heart. And that is through her stomach.”

He raises his glass of wine, and you raise yours as well. “To my little rose, may she only leave here satisfied. In every which way she chooses to be.”

You clink your glass against his and take a sip, knowing full well that you are going to sleep with this man before the night is over. Or at least, you hope to. You’d like to see what his face looks like in the throes of passion. And there is nothing sexier than a man who knows how to engage all of your senses in one meal.

You finish dinner and wipe your mouth, feeling for all the world like a stuffed pig. You were happy and you were tipsy and you wanted Napoleon to know just how grateful you were. But weren’t you promised dessert?

“So, dessert then?” You ask. 

“You stay seated, I’ll get these out of the way before we start on dessert.” Napoleon wipes his own mouth and comes to collect your plates and take them to the kitchen. When he comes back to the table, he easily pulls your chair back and lifts you easily onto the dining room table. At your look of confusion, he smirks yet again. “Did I not tell you that I would be enjoying you as dessert, my little rose?”

“No, I don’t believe you mentioned that. But, I do believe we both will enjoy that. Do your worst,  Mr. Solo.” You position your thighs for Napoleon to remove your panties. He sits in your chair, pulling himself up to the table and setting your legs over his shoulders. 

He kisses your thighs slowly until you are whimpering for him to take you out of your misery. He obliges by pulling your ass to the very edge of the table and using the flat of his tongue to lick a strip up your sex. An inhuman sound exits your mouth and you have absolutely no fucks to give at this point. 

“You taste like Heaven, my little rose,” he kisses your swollen nub and looks up at you, “but how do you feel?” He uses a single finger to circle your button a couple of times before drawing a line to your entrance. He enters your core slowly and his finger is a perfect fit. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to start to open you up. He starts to kiss and suck at your clit until your hand finds purchase in his chestnut locks. He lets you pull him down into your pussy, savoring every little spasm of your canal. 

Before long, a second and a third finger join the first and your moans bounce off of the walls. With one curve of his fingers, he finds your inner bundle of nerves and you reward him with a squeezing of your cunt and the melody of your orgasm. He licks up every drop of your nectar off you, and as he pulls out his fingers, he sucks them dry as well.

He stands, unbuttoning his slacks and fisting his cock while looking at your sweet blissed-out little face. “Can my little rose take some more dessert?”

“Yes, Daddy, please?” You whine, wrapping your legs around Napoleon’s waist and drawing him closer.

“That’s my good little rose,” he praised, lining himself up and entering you swiftly, “Ohhhhh, you take me so well. Best dessert I’ve ever had.”

He leans down to kiss you as he pulls out slightly and slams back in, swallowing your moans. Holding your face in his hands, he begins a steady rhythm inside you and hits your spots as if you had created his dick in a lab in some odd science experiment.

Soon, he drags orgasm after orgasm out of you until all you can say is Daddy and Yes. An endless stream of nonsensical noises comes out as well, but Napoleon is all too happy to commit those to memory while not commenting on them. He just continues to pound into you mercilessly, chasing his own release now that your juices cover the front of his slacks.

“Are you ready for Daddy to fill you?” He asks, a bruising hold on your hips as he plows into you.

“Yes, Daddy, yes!” You gasp, tears falling down your cheeks as you are overstimulated.

“Fuuuuuck, such a good little rose!” He exclaims as his hips settle flush against yours. 

You can feel every twitch of his dick as he empties inside you. You watch as the sweat from his brow drips down his temple as his eyes close. You hear his breathing pick up as he tries to steady himself. The heady scent of sex in the air intoxicates you. You grab him by the tie and pull him down to kiss you. All five senses are ablaze with Napoleon Solo.

Your hand through his hair is what allows him the strength to open his eyes again. He looks at you as though you hung the moon. He remains inside you as he slots his lips against yours before resting in the crook of your neck.

“Gotta love a man that cooks. You can always stuff me twice.” You laugh, not being able to stop yourself from accidentally pushing Napoleon out of you.

“Really? A joke right now?” He laughs, standing to his full height and looking down to see his spend leaking out of you.

“I couldn’t help myself, Mr. Solo. It just…came to me.”

“I bet, my little rose.” He helps you down from the table and ushers you to the bathroom as he cleans the rest of the table up.

You clean yourself up and meet Napoleon back in the living room as he sits on the couch. You enjoy listening to some more music and having a few more drinks with him, forgetting all about your train home. 

You wanted a little sugar in your bowl, after all. And you got it and then some. This man was sweet enough to give you cavities ten times over and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

[@mayloma @littlefreya I tagged you both because of the reblogs earlier lol]

**Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list and for what plz  😁**

[luvreyn]

CUPID

MINOR GOD! Reader x Gojo Satoru

(part 2 here)

You’re so thankful you’re invisible to mortals, and the Gods and Goddesses have many things to do than to watch a minor god like you because you would’ve been such an embarrassment.

But you know Cupid is watching you, so you frowned to prove your displeasure at having been denied once again of watching over any man apart from this mortal.

And wasn’t the conversation so one-sided?

Cupid smiles when she hears your plea, glides over to you, and places her hand on your cheek. "Satoru is a special man..."

"How-"

"And you’re the only one I can trust, do you understand?" Her voice is sweet, smooth, and dangerous.

And you’re just too mesmerized to say no.

So here you are again in the mortal world. Your quiver is filled with love arrows. Again. Which you’re sure would be useless seeing as your target would’ve dodged the arrows in the nick of time, and even if your arrows do land, they seem to be defective.

Satoru is wearing tailored clothing fit for a king as he speaks to a few of his apprentices.

He’s not bad to look at. In fact, he’s even more ethereal than some gods you’ve seen ever since you were bestowed godhood.

Not that you’ve seen all the gods yet since you’ve spent every second of every day for years watching over this man. Satoru, as Cupid has affectionately called him. You were given this special task to ensure he meets the person he’s going to love in this lifetime.

"It’s been so long!"

You almost jumped when you saw him beside you, and for a second, you thought he was speaking to you.

Impossible. He can’t see you. No mortal can.

"Gojo!" the man he greeted said. "I didn’t think you’d remember me, considering you don’t know who I was yesterday."

Satoru laughed, and you sidestepped them to observe the crowd and find your prospect.

Sure, you’re a minor god destined to serve Cupid, the Goddess of Love herself, but isn’t this too much?

You’ve already exhausted all your resources and run out of options! Your goddess knows that!

You bit your lip when the red string of fate you tied to his hand—which connects him to a princess—was cut. You’re not sure why you’re surprised, considering this has happened before. It just meant that the princess and he would not be compatible.

See?! See what I mean! You hoped Cupid would see the wide-eyed look you’re giving her. Because why, why does she want you to waste your time running around the mortal world just to ensure this man falls in love? And why doesn’t he just fall in love?

Your goddess knows how many love arrows you have fired and how many red strings you’ve tried to attach just to ensure this man’s happiness.

"Shoko loves me more than she loves you!" you heard Satoru tease.

"Gross."

"Jerk!"  Utahime, a ‘friend’ of his, watches him with a dark look.

You mirror her look, but for a different reason. He’s making your job harder than it is! You know it’s not his fault, but just blaming your goddess is not enough because she’s not here, so you’re going to blame the root of your distress too.

"Yeah, jerk," you murmured.

He flinched. Hmm. Really, despite Utahime’s one-sided disgust with him, he seems to still care about her opinion. Maybe you should try setting them up again?

He has been reborn for three lifetimes now. Three of which he has never met his soulmate. You consider this your personal failure. Your mistake, as you’re the one assigned to give him his happily ever after.

So in this lifetime, you vow to give him just that, but it’s just so hard.

But you will, on your honor. Because the gods favor this man.

You have no idea why, but they do. You'd be damned before you let yourself lose face like the last time ever again.

You watched as he entertained a few guests. And you made sure to keep an eye out for a few special mortals that would be a good match for him.

This party is huge, filled with hundreds of people who lined up just to greet and catch a glimpse of the birthday boy. And you even wonder why you’re here in the first place because, in truth, you know Satoru wouldn’t even need your guidance or help to find true love. The world is already in love with him, and you can’t blame the mortals (or some minor gods, really) that fancy him.

His looks make everyone else's pale in comparison. He has power, wealth, and status that anyone would kill or die for. And most especially, he has a heart that anyone would beg to have.

Although his personality could use some work (his arrogant nature just gives you a headache sometimes), you figured it was part of his charm. After all, you’ve watched over him in silence for decades.

It’s not like he’s made of stone. He has a special bond with his friends and the people he finds worthy of his attention, so you hope he just fell in love with someone already!

Hit the mark! You sighed in disappointment when he accidentally dodged the arrow you fired. You looked over at the beautiful lady you had hit earlier (his supposed match), who fell in love at first sight with him. You shook your head when she strided toward him with a purpose.

Why can’t he just fall in love and end your suffering?

Satoru hides his smile by drinking his wine, eyes filled with mirth and affection when he sees your adorable face filled with disappointment and exasperation.

He has no idea how many arrows you have to lose and red strings he has to cut before you fall in love with him yourself, just as he’s in love with you.

[astrophileous]

Let's Put On a Show

Part 2 of 4 from The Countdown series.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: As his undercover life begins, Derek finds that the biggest enemies he has to battle are past memories and resurfaced feelings.

Word Count: 7500-ish

Warning(s): 18+ NSFW CONTENT (minors dni); penetrative sex; vaginal fingering; alcohol consumption; derek might be a little bit of an asshole in certain parts; talks and/or implications of illegal trades (narcotics, firearms, explosives), human trafficking, past trauma (child abuse), reproduction, infertility (mentioned), coercion into sex (not by Derek), attempted rape (not by Derek), degrading nicknames (cocksle*ve—not by Derek), noncon strangulation during sex (not by Derek), physical violence, physical torture, violence against a child; pls lmk if I missed anything

Author's Note: this one is..... y'know what, I'll let you judge by yourself. pls be mindful of the warnings I've listed above. DON'T READ IF YOU THINK ANY OF IT MIGHT BE TRIGGERING. another special mention to @avis-writeshq for beta and for bearing with me 🥺💞 with that said, don't forget to LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG <3

Criminal Minds Masterlist

It was a couple of weeks later when Temples called for another meeting at the factory.

"Everything's set and good to go," Temples informed almost as soon as you had stepped into the threshold. "Derek Miller will be reporting for duty in two weeks."

Temples handed you the tablet containing a digital file filled with documents about Derek Miller's life. You were instantly reminded by the memory of receiving a similar looking tablet, scrolling through the endless documents of the persona you had been living with for the past few years.

"How do you wanna initiate contact?" you asked as you handed the tablet to Derek.

"I called in some favors from Bastoni. He's gonna vouch for Miller," Temples explained. "I trust you can handle the rest?"

You confirmed with a solid nod.

"It's happening," Derek muttered.

"You ready?"

Derek's eyes flew towards yours. "As I'll ever be."

"Good." A gentle breeze blew against your face, as if preparing along for the inevitable storm ahead. "Let's put on a show, shall we?"

"Derek."

Wrapped in your breathy moan, Derek's name was a world-class symphony. The soft expanse of skin glided against his own in a dance that he had known all too well. Above him, you were a goddess reincarnated, writhing for pleasure and setting flames to every nerve-ending in Derek's body.

"Derek, fuck. I'm gonna—"

"I know. I've got you, sweetheart." Derek's arms circled your waist, pulling you close until your chest was pressed against his. "Feel so good around me. Shit."

It took less than a minute for Derek to finally feel you coming undone around him, the sensation of your pulsating walls triggering his own release. Derek kept rutting up against you even as he was emptying himself into the condom, drawing tiny circles on your bundle of nerves and holding you tighter as your body spasmed some more from overstimulation.

Derek's lips brushed a feather-light touch on your cheek, tasting salt where sweat and tears of pleasure had mixed. You got up from his lap as soon as you regained the first bit of strength in your limbs, pretending that your legs weren't on the verge of breaking like sticks as you teetered towards the bathroom.

He was just returning from the kitchen with a bottle of water when you finally re-emerged.

"Let's put on a show," you suggested, now clad in your wrinkled shirt that was buttoned merely halfway.

Derek handed you the bottle before settling back under the duvet. "What do you wanna watch?"

"I don't know. What's on?"

You found your way back easily to Derek's side. It was muscle memory by now, the way you gravitated towards him and the way he'd welcome you easily into his arms. The bedroom lit up in the presence of your giddy smile when you saw one of your favorite Law & Order episodes playing on the TV.

"Hey," Derek spoke after ten full minutes of silence. "A buddy of mine is getting married next week."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"That's great."

"I wanted to see if you'd come with me."

The offer caught you off guard. Derek knew it from the way you tossed your attention so fast from the courtroom scene on the TV and towards him.

"Come with you to the wedding? As... your date?"

"Do you want to come with me as anything else?" Derek deadpanned.

An intangible weight shifted in the atmosphere when you decreased the TV volume all the way to zero. Derek didn't like the way you were examining him at that moment, as if you were trying to find a crack in an otherwise immaculate ornament.

"I thought you were fine with our arrangement the way it is."

"We've never even discussed it. You avoid me every time I try to bring it up."

Your chest swelled around a shaky breath. Derek never thought a few inches could feel like an entire ocean until he stared at the distance between where the two of you were sitting against the headboard.

"You don't wanna do this with me."

"What the hell does that mean?"

There was no mitigating the hostility in Derek's voice. He thought it must have been an act of fortification when you opted to leave the bed and began pacing the room, stepping further and further from him until the previous ocean finally metamorphosed into a freaking planet.

"I can't be somebody's girlfriend, Derek."

He ignored the resonant snap in his chest. "Can't or won't?"

"I won't because I can't. It's complicated. You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me." Derek rose from the bed, erasing the distance that had stolen you away from him. His chest felt thirty pounds heavier as he stood in front of you. "Help me understand. I want to understand. Please."

You sank on the edge of the mattress, with Derek kneeling before you as though prepared to launch himself forward if ever you would need him to. His hand hovered above your knee, dithering and unsure, petrified over the possibility of you pushing his hand—or worse, him—away.

"I've never had anyone in my life aside from my brother. Nobody before you." Derek perched his hand on your thigh at your revelation. "I don't know how to be with someone. How to care for them. How to love. I've been alone most of my life, and I work better that way. I only know how to be alone."

"That's not true," Derek denied abruptly. "You know how to be with me."

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Because you haven't needed anything else but sex from me up until now."

Derek faltered in shock.

You didn't think you ever saw him looking so wounded.

"That's what you think? That I've only ever used you for sex?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Sounds like that's exactly what you meant to say to me." Nothing could be more fragile than the voice that roused when he next spoke, "Is it something I said? Did I do something to make you believe that sex was all I wanted from you?"

"No, Derek. Of course not. Dammit, I told you I didn't mean it like that." You ran an agitated hand over your face before continuing, "We've never spent time with each other that didn't start or end with our clothes off. That's how it's always been between us, and I'm okay with that. I'm good at sex. That's why everything has worked out so far. But a relationship?" You laughed sardonically. "I don't know how to do it. What will happen when you need me to be there for you, and I'm constantly letting you down? What will happen when you start needing more than just my body, only to realize there's nothing left inside of me to offer?"

The air thickened around your throat.

You peered up to see whether or not Derek had caught that last bit of slip-up in your extempore speech. You hadn't meant to divulge it. You hadn't meant to articulate your fear so plainly in front of him like that.

What will happen when you start needing more than just my body, only to realize there's nothing left inside of me to offer?

Slowly, as though trying not to startle an easily-spooked rabbit, Derek took a seat right beside you on the bed. The scent of sandalwood attacked your senses instantaneously.

"You have so much to offer than you realize, sweetheart," Derek murmured. "You're every good thing in my life, can't you see?"

You shook your head in rebuttal. "That's the thing. I'm not good, Derek. You can't see it now, but you will eventually."

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm gonna hurt you, you know?" You looked up at him through the pooled tears in your waterlines. Derek decided right then and there that he despised the sight of you crying in front of him. "Maybe not today. Maybe it won't be tomorrow either. But someday, somehow, I will do something—or say something stupid, because that's what I do—and you'll hate me for it."

"That's fucking impossible."

"You don't believe I'm capable of hurting you?"

"No." His hand flew to your face, dragging a comforting thumb on the anxious lines that had embellished your forehead. "I don't believe I'm capable of hating you."

You loathed being at the depot in the middle of the day, especially underneath a scorching summer like this one. It was an uncommon occurrence that you found yourself there while the sun was still out. After all, whatever business was going down in that place called for discreet logistics, and since secrecy was a nighttime affair, you rarely visited the container yard during the day.

Alas, a big package coming in from Bolivia was supposed to arrive one week ago but found itself shipped elsewhere instead. This unexpected hiccup had drowned you in a copious amount of paperwork for days, followed by a substantial scoop into The Big Boss' personal vault. The delay also meant you had to do everything in broad daylight to catch up with the tight schedule on your hands. Kreczmar wasn't happy about the whole ordeal, and frankly, neither were you.

As you stood with your back against one of the disposed wooden crates, you kept an eagle eye on the men unloading the contents of the Bolivia containers out to the yard. There were three in total: two carrying the hottest illegal substances on the market, and another one filled with smuggled explosives and weaponry.

The men were pushing off the last crate from the second container when a figure plopped next to your right.

"We need to talk," Derek announced without so much as a greeting.

"Hello to you too."

You could feel his eyes on the side of your face as he spoke, "I'm stopping by your room later tonight."

"You can't. I'm expecting Kreczmar tonight."

Derek's stare was sweltering on your cheek. Even after the two months he had spent under, Derek couldn't warm up to the idea of your arrangement with Aleksander Kreczmar. In fact, he constantly scorned it at any given chance.

"Fine. I'll stop by after you're done."

"What is this about, Derek?"

"Not now, sweetheart. Later."

You watched as Derek walked away towards the other men, leaving you yearning alone over his retreating back.

In the span of two months, Derek had managed to fit in better than you initially thought he would. Miller the Stiller, they had dubbed him. Derek told you it was because he sent any room into a standstill due to his domineering presence—to which you had rolled your eyes blatantly to his face—but chatter from the back rooms told you that the nickname came from his good looks that, apparently, never failed to render anyone speechless.

As it turned out, Kreczmar's crooks were just as vulnerable to Derek Morgan's charm as the average women were. You didn't blame them. You, too, had fallen victim to that same charm many years ago.

Derek moved with authority among the sea of men, molding into the perfect puzzle piece to slot himself in between Kreczmar's thugs. You watched every inch of his movement like a hawk, stopping only when a rugged voice slashed through your pristine reverie.

"Ghost." Jan Borowicz stood to your left with the same signature frown across his graying eyebrows. His eyes, as always, were uncharacteristically warm for a man of his repute. "Something you should see."

You followed the middle-aged man to the back of another container, where you saw a figure crouching down with a hunched head between their knees. You didn't need to see their face to know who it was.

"Paolo." The 13 year-old looked up at the sound of his name. You rushed over to his side, your hands going straight to the fresh cuts and bruises smeared on the boy's face. "What happened?"

Paolo's eyes flared with fear. The answer you searched for eventually came from Jan, "I saw him with Ralph Grader earlier."

You recognized the name almost immediately. Grader was one of the new recruits from a few weeks ago; a petty thief who worked for one of Kreczmar's smaller branches before being transferred to the headquarters. You hadn't bothered memorizing anything else about the bastard—not even his face—because you thought he would be smart enough to realize his insignificance to never cause any trouble.

Well, you definitely got that one wrong.

"Is that true? Did Grader do this to you?"

Paolo never granted you a verbal answer, but the way he recoiled at the name told you everything you needed to know.

You turned to Jan with a newfound ire in your chest. "Where's Grader now?"

"Unloading with the rest of 'em."

You helped Paolo to his feet before marching over towards where the men were working. Most of them stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw you approaching, Jan and Paolo hot on your heels.

"Grader." Your voice was ice as it traveled throughout the group. "Ralph fucking Grader."

A scuffle at the back of the crowd caught your attention. It was a few seconds later when two of the men appeared in front of you, holding up a scruffy man—whom you could only assume as Grader—between the both of them. They shoved Grader on his knees, earning a rather loud hiss from the bastard.

"Let's not waste anyone's time and get straight to the point, shall we? You know why you're here." You reached for the gun in your holster, pulling it out before aiming the barrel to Grader's forehead. "You're gonna give me the answer I need before I finish counting to three, and I may have just enough mercy to let you keep your life."

"What—"

"One."

"Wait. Wait. Wait a second—"

"Two."

"I don't—"

"Th—"

"Okay! Okay! Fine, I confess!" Grader exclaimed. "It was me. I did that to him."

"You're not fucking stupid. Tell everyone what you did."

Grader trembled like a leaf before your eyes. You could read the forgiveness he sought with his gaze—no doubt similar to the one Paolo had flashed to him before he charged at the boy—and your chest glutted with relish to see the scoundrel grovel at your feet.

"I did it. I beat up Paolo," Grader confessed.

Tension fulminated in the air. Everybody was holding their breath as they waited to see what you would do next: show compassion or assign Ralph Grader an even worse fate than death?

The moment you lowered your gun from Grader's forehead, everyone knew that you had chosen the latter.

"You know what to do," you declared towards the two men—Vin and Al—who had brought Grader to you.

The two of them each grabbed Grader's arm before dragging him away from the scene. You didn't cast a single look towards Grader's direction even when he started pleading for his life.

"You can hold down the fort on your own, yeah?" you asked Jan, to which he gave you a single agreeing nod. "Good. Everyone else, back to work."

The crowd dispersed instantly upon your command.

As you were taking the first step to your leave, your eyes caught Derek's dark ones from the distance. Without another word, you turned around and followed Ralph Grader's drag marks on the ground, shunning the weight of Derek's stare that seemed to bore a hole straight through your skull.

"You okay?" Derek murmured in your ear.

Your answer was a stern nod—one that would satisfy any other person—but Derek Morgan was never any other person to you.

The man didn't hesitate to bid a quick goodbye to the host—claiming that there was an important errand the two of you needed to take care of, despite your incessant complaints—before pulling you along to the lot where his car was parked.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" Derek questioned as soon as the car left the vicinity of Jennifer Jareau's house.

"Nothing's going on."

"You underestimate my ability to read you like an open book."

In the corner of his eye, Derek could see you staring out the window as if the city billboards were playing a non-stop rerun of your favorite movie. JJ's house shrinked in the rearview mirror with every yard the car sped through, and Derek thought he would suffocate in the silence if it continued any further.

He pulled up next to a curb as soon as he saw an empty spot he could park his car in. Confusion pranced in your eyes when Derek grabbed your hands in his.

"Talk to me."

"About what you said to JJ—" you evaded Derek's eyes, choosing to glout at your connected hands instead, "—did you mean that?"

Derek's forehead creased. He tried to pinpoint exactly which conversation with JJ you might have meant.

"About having a baby," you continued before Derek could ask you to clarify.

Understanding dawned on him in an instant.

JJ and Will had called for a merry celebration with the baby shower for their second child. All of Derek's dearest friends were in attendance, and he couldn't think of a more perfect opportunity to have you officially introduced to the team that had been his found family for the past several years. Some of them had met you in passing before, but this was the first occasion Derek could finally introduce you as his.

It was a joyous occasion, and in the midst of it all—after Derek had wished JJ a safe delivery and healthiness for both the mother and the baby—his blonde teammate had eyed the two of you cheekily and blurted out, "You guys are next, right?"

To which he replied without thinking, "Hopefully."

It was a lapse of judgment on his part, but Derek never expected the repercussions to be afflicting you this greatly.

"Hey, look at me." Derek's knuckles brushed against your cheekbone until your eyes leveled with him once more. "Don't take it to heart. I was making lighthearted conversations. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Maybe." You pushed his hand away from your face, and Derek nearly groaned at the loss of contact. "But it's still something you want to do, right? Maybe not now, but later down the road?"

"Sweetheart." Derek tried to coax you into looking at him again, sighing heavily when you refused. "Do you not want kids?"

Derek's question crashed like a sinking ship in the air; slow and painful, catastrophic and dreadful. The firm grip he had on your knee would usually suffice as a life vest, but at that moment, the touch was nothing more than a stack of stones weighing you down even further.

"It's not about what I want."

"What do you—"

"I can't have kids."

There was no concealing the shock on Derek's face.

Out of everything he expected you to say, nothing could have prepared him for that admission. He didn't know how to respond to such a vulnerable confession. The way you were sitting right then, though—pressed against the door with your knees pointed away from Derek, as if you were an impala cornered by a lion—told him that any physical gesture he could present wouldn't be responded in kind.

"How long have you known?" was what Derek ended up asking after a while had passed.

"I think I've always known. It's not that I... I don't... There's no medical reason behind it. It's just something I can't do, Derek. Do you understand?"

He did.

Derek didn't think he could understand anyone better than he understood you at that moment.

As he watched your fingers trifle with the hem of your top, the abstract doodles in his head rearranged into a much clearer picture. He knew, then, that your incapability to have children wasn't caused by any physical factor. You simply wouldn't permit yourself to believe that you were capable of doing it.

It didn't take a genius to understand that this incapability was nothing less than a fear in disguise, stemmed from the years of abuse you had to endure as a child.

Derek hated to be profiling you during times like this, but the skills he had harvested from years on the job didn't exactly come with an off button. He had seen cases like this; where constant disappointment from loved ones gradually evolved into disappointment of one's self. Where the threat of projecting that same disappointment on others often led to drastic measures being taken.

In this case, the fear of turning out like your parents led you to believe that you didn't deserve to be a mother.

And that couldn't be further from the truth.

When Derek tried telling you this, you automatically shut down his attempt.

"Please, Derek. I know what you're trying to say. And I know that technically, you're right. But I just... I can't, okay? This isn't up for debate. I'll never be able to have kids. Not now. Not ever."

The finality of your words was indisputable.

Derek appraised you in its aftermath.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Not now. Not ever," Derek emphasized, grabbing your hand to circle a soothing touch on top of it. "You're in charge here, baby. We won't do anything you don't wanna do. You should know by now that I'd follow you blindly anywhere you lead me to."

"But I thought... Don't you want kids?"

"I want you more." Derek kissed you as though he was foregrounding his promise. The residual apprehension in your body evaporated at the first taste of his lips. "You're all I need, sweetheart."

The sight of your smile awakened something in Derek's chest. As he basked in your luminance, Derek could feel the shape of three little words consolidating inside of him. They frolicked around as if waiting to be said out loud, but Derek bit his tongue before they could slip past his lips.

The three little words could wait.

After all, there would be other opportunities for him to confess his undying love to you.

There were two rapid knocks on the door, a pause, a knock, a pause, and then another knock.

Derek Morgan was at the door.

It was already the third time Derek had ever been in the comfort of your bedroom, but it was the first time he stepped in there so soon after you had just finished your appointment with Kreczmar. The evidence of your time with the crime lord was still palpable in the unkempt state of your bed. Derek never thought the sight of ruffled bed sheets could feel like hot coals being shoved forcefully down his throat, and yet here he was.

"Drink?" you suddenly asked from your place by the liquor table.

There was no chance for him to respond before you thrusted a glass of whiskey in his face.

"It's not poisoned," you quipped after seeing the reluctance in his eyes. "I just got it as a gift. Old Fitzgerald. Good stuff."

Derek's jaw hardened the moment you mentioned the word gift. He didn't need further clarification to guess from whom "the gift" had originated.

"No, thanks." He put down the glass back on the table. "If you don't mind."

"Suit yourself."

The robe you were wearing spread out the second you sat down on the ottoman bench, revealing the naked length of your legs. Derek used to memorize every inch of those limbs better than he could memorize the lines on his palm.

"You said you wanted to talk?" you questioned.

Derek watched as you leaned back against the foot of the bed. Your navel was nearly exposed to him from this new position, but you crossed one of your legs over the other before you could flash him a peek. With the golden drink in your hand, you were the definition of a sinful temptation.

Derek buried his hands in his pockets and looked away. "I'm hearing chatter about a shipment coming in a couple of weeks. It's not listed in any of the existing manifests."

"Have you checked with the ones still awaiting approval?"

"I did. None in there as well."

"Hm. Interesting." You took a sip of your drink, savoring the burn while you lost yourself in contemplation. "Is the intel legit?"

"I heard it from Lascano."

You hummed thoughtfully at the name.

Mateo Lascano was one of Kreczmar's trusted right-hand men, though you'd argue that his loyalty resembled that of a guard dog just to see the man tremble with rage. You never liked the guy, and fortunately for you, the feeling was very much reciprocated. He harbored a nasty gash on his left cheek courtesy of your pocket knife from that one time he had challenged you to a spar after questioning your competence in front of Aleksander Kreczmar himself.

The taste of victory from that day was still sweet on your tongue, even underneath the bitter note from the whiskey you were nursing.

"He's an asshole, but his words do warrant some substance." You rose from your seat and headed for the liquor table to top up your glass. "I'll see what I can find out about it from Kreczmar."

"You think that's wise?"

"Why wouldn't that be?"

"He may get suspicious."

"I have my own ways with him. Trust me."

Derek's fists clenched against his sides.

You should have known by now that Derek's objections were never a matter of trust. He might still be leery about trusting you with his heart, but there was no question whether or not he would trust you with his life. Derek knew you would dive in front of a bullet for him if given the chance; a sentiment he both shared and requited in kind.

He did, however, have a strong disapproval of your so-called ways of handling things with Kreczmar.

"What's your plan, sweetheart? Fuck the bastard until you loosen his tongue?"

The drink in your hand stopped swirling. The glass fell with a loud thump when you slammed it back on the table.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"My problem?" Derek gritted his teeth. He stalked forward as though you were a convenient prey, blocking every possible exit until the only respite you were left with was the wall against your back. "You want to know what my problem is?!"

The next thing you knew, Derek had gripped your robe in his hand, yanking on the collar until you let out a reflexive shriek.

"This—" Derek began, his voice suddenly taking on a more gentle edge, reiterated by the touch he brushed against your neck, "—is what my fucking problem is."

You didn't need to look in the mirror to know what Derek was seeing in his eyes; to know what kind of marks you would glimpse if a reflection of you were to spawn in the middle of the room at that exact same second. After all, those bruises on your neck were pretty much identical to the ones that had tarnished your skin so many times prior. They always appeared in the ugliest splotches of blue, red, and purple, encircling your throat in the shape of Aleksander Kreczmar's hand.

You flung Derek's hands away before securing the robe tightly around yourself. There was a reason you liked that robe. It covered up your dirty little secret from any prying eyes.

Except for Derek's.

"How long has it been going on?" he asked.

You couldn't answer him.

What would Derek do if he found out that Kreczmar had been hurting you that way for as long as you had known the man?

The first time it happened, you hadn't seen it coming. Kreczmar left you gasping for air in the middle of your bed as soon as he was done, paying not even the slightest attention to the fact that you had nearly lost your life in his hand.

After numerous times going through the same thing, though, you eventually managed to learn how to ensure your survival by the time Kreczmar was done having his way with you.

It was a fucked up situation in an equally fucked up life. You made your peace with it a long time ago. This was merely an occupational hazard that you needed to learn to live with.

When you told Derek as much, the man proceeded to glower.

"Occupational hazard? That's all your life amounts to you? A fucking occupational hazard?!"

"What the hell do you want me to do here, Derek?"

"To stop being stupid, that's what."

"Stupid?" That single word was a blade through your chest. Red, fiery anger filled the gaping wound it left behind with every second that ticked by. "You're calling me stupid for doing my fucking job?!"

"It's not your job to offer yourself up as a punching bag for that bastard!"

"Yes, it is! My God, Derek. Of course, it is. You and I both know that it's part of the job description. It's a sacrifice I have to make for the greater good."

"And I'm telling you right now that you don't need to make that sacrifice. Nothing is worth putting yourself up as a sacrifice." Derek's voice fizzled to a low murmur, leaking desperation where his previously intact vigor had been punctured. "There are other ways to do this, sweetheart. I can help you find another way."

"Another way? You don't think I've thought of that after more than four years in this hell hole? Do you seriously think that letting myself be used by Kreczmar, keeping my life and my body at his disposal, was my first fucking choice?!"

Derek couldn't hide the physical reaction he had at your words. He couldn't help it. The thought of what Kreczmar had done and could do to you pained him more than what any type of injury could inflict on his body.

The man saw your knees buckle, but he could only watch you fall onto the edge of the bed after you smacked his hands away when he sprung forward to help. Derek swallowed down the bile in his throat. In front of him, your shoulders drooped as if Atlas himself had bequeathed his burden for you to bear.

"Miller the Stiller. That's what they call you, right? Tell me, who came up with the name?"

Derek frowned at the unexpected question. "Why?"

"Just fucking answer me, Derek."

"It was McCloskey."

"Justin McCloskey?" The scoff that fell from your lips echoed in the heated room. McCloskey was a drunk and a pervert who constantly begged to have his mouth taped shut. It didn't surprise you to find out that he had been the one responsible for Derek's nickname. After all, assigning nicknames to other people seemed to be one of his favorite downtime activities. "Do you know the story of how he lost the tip of his pinky finger?"

Derek could hear the blood surging in his veins. "Did you do that to him?"

"I did. Right after he tried to rape me." You rose from the bed languidly, as if you didn't just drop a bomb that obliterated every piece of Derek's whole sanity, and headed back to the liquor table to snatch the drink you left behind. "He wasn't the first. Others had groped me, sneaked into my room when I wasn't looking. McCloskey just happened to pull the short end of the stick. He used to make everyone call me a cocksleeve, did you know that?"

Of course not. Derek had no way of knowing it, and you knew that. Still, you let the question hang in the air out of pure spite.

"Those same people who worship your ass now, Derek, are the same dickheads who used to treat me like garbage. What I did to McCloskey didn't even hinder them. It wasn't until Kreczmar implied his claim over me did those bastards finally leave me alone." You ambled back towards the bed, now with a much-needed drink in hand, before sitting back down on the soft mattress. "I know you think that I brought myself into this situation, and you're right, I did. But only because it was the only way for me to survive."

A temporary silence settled in the room. Derek allowed it to simmer because he didn't know what to say.

"We're stuck in the same game but in two completely different playing fields, Derek." You smiled ruefully. "I didn't have the luxury to pick my own battles as you obviously do. If being known as The Big Boss' side piece was the only way for me to get my foot in the door, then I was completely willing to do it. It took me four years to garner the same amount of respect that you've gained after being here for only two months. So don't talk to me about finding another way, because whatever it is you can think of, I've done it. Believe me."

With everything off your chest, you gulped the remaining drink in the glass, savoring the burn it ignited all the way down your throat. The pressure solidifying in your ribcage traveled to your head at an agonizing pace. You closed your eyes to brace yourself for the incoming headache.

It felt like hours later, when in reality, it must have been mere minutes when you eventually heard the first shuffle of feet. Even without opening your eyes, Derek's presence was incontestable as it circled your bedroom. Your ears followed his movements until he stopped by the bed, directly in front of where you were sitting.

Gentle fingers hooked themselves beneath your chin, tugging upward and urging your eyes to open once more.

"What are you doing?" you asked as Derek sat down next to you. In his hand was a bottle of ointment that you had previously stored on the vanity table.

"May I?" Derek asked as his other hand reached forward, skimming above the neckline of your robe without actually touching. "Please."

Two frail nods from you were the only confirmation that Derek needed.

His touches were butterfly wings against your skin. They fluttered until the left sleeve of your robe pooled around your elbow, revealing your shoulder and decolletage, dangerously close to where the curves of your breast began.

When he rubbed the fragrant ointment on the odious bruises specking your neck, your chest deflated in an exhale.

"Does it hurt?" Derek asked.

You shook your head no.

In fact, Derek's ministrations were the exact antonym of pain. He handled you as if you were porcelain, infused with fragility and in need of utmost care. You couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched you that way—so tender and loving, without an ounce of malevolent intention buried underneath—but you were willing to bet that it had also been Derek who gave you those last few soft touches before you were rammed into this belligerent life.

You were lost in the rapture, only realizing that a moment had gone by when Derek finally shook you back to reality.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Your responding sigh was music to his ears. "Don't stop."

Who was he to deny the plea of a reincarnated goddess, anyway?

Instead of withdrawing after he was done applying the ointment, Derek opted to lean in, kissing every patch of contusion and condemning the abysmal memories tied to it away. A flicker started in the pit of your stomach for each one of his kisses, but once Derek slid further down your body, those same flickers turned into fireworks that erupted in tandem with the drag of his lips.

"Derek—"

He shushed you against your collarbone. "I'm sorry for what I said, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you. Let me make you feel good, hm?"

You were barely able to nod before he lurched forward and tugged your robe further down.

You couldn't quell your moan when Derek's mouth latched onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud until you felt it standing taut. Your other breast became the object of his fingers' attention as they toyed with it, squeezing and massaging before his mouth decided to switch places between the two.

After he successfully transformed you into a panting mess, Derek pulled back and captured your lips in a desperate kiss.

It thrilled you, peculiarly, to find that Derek's lips tasted just the same as you had remembered it. Not only were his kisses the same, but the way he handled your body like a fiddle was also the same. You lost yourself deeper in the abyss of Derek Morgan, surprised to find yourself volunteering to dive deeper into him even when you knew consequences would be waiting for you once you decided to resurface.

With a heaving breath of his own, Derek murmured against your lips, "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Good." He pressed you back until you were lying on the bed. "Because I'm gonna worship you exactly like you deserve."

At the first stroke of his thumb over your clit, you couldn't do anything else but mewl.

Derek teased your bundle of nerves while keeping loyal attention to the gasps you let out and the tics in your countenance. Your hands gripped his biceps tighter with each swipe across your clit, feeling the arousal pool bigger in your belly, but also noting it from the obscene sound of your wetness on Derek's fingers.

When he started to prod around your entrance, you couldn't contain the loud moan from spilling past your lips.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart," Derek muttered once two of his fingers were sheathed inside. "So warm and wet. This all for me?"

"All for you, Derek. Please, please, I need you to—"

"Hm? What do you need, baby?"

"Move." As if emphasizing your plea, you ground yourself down against his hand. "Please, need you to move."

With a kiss on your temple, Derek pulled his fingers back out—marveling the way your wetness coated them—before plunging the digits back inside and curling them against the spot that knocked the breath straight out of your lungs.

It didn't take long for Derek to find his rhythm, pushing you further to the brink of exultation with encouraging whispers against your cheek. You clawed at his face to pull him closer—as though his whole body wasn't caging you in already—and despairingly seized his lips in a kiss. Derek welcomed you with a groan, swallowing the needy sounds you made as his sensual ministratration picked up its pace.

"So good... Derek, please—"

"I know, sweetheart." Derek's fingers inside you never relented. He angled his hand slightly without ever leaving your heat, letting the heel of his palm smother your clit until you cried out in delight. "Can feel you squeezing me. Shit. Gripping me like a vice, baby. You'd feel so good around my cock."

Derek's words triggered another loud moan from deep within your throat. The thought of him driving into you only spurred on your arousal. This newfound excitement wasn't lost on Derek. He could tell that you were close from the way your walls were drawing him deeper.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Wanna feel you cum for me."

"Oh my God, Derek—"

"I know, baby. That's it. Gonna make you feel so good. Let it go, sweetheart."

The coil in your belly finally snapped. It jostled you into the pit of pleasure where your whole body convulsed in euphoria. Derek embraced you through it all, mollifying you with his voice, touch, and kisses, never once stopping until you were finally back down on earth.

"Where are you going?" you rushed out almost forlornly, raking the hem of Derek's shirt when he started to get up from the bed.

He smiled at your clingy display. "I'll be right back. Promise."

Derek returned less than two minutes later with a small towel in grasp. He cleaned you up carefully, his touch never a breadth too wide or an inch too deep as the towel swept over the skin of your inner thighs.

You extended your palm when he was done, and Derek accepted it happily with a kiss.

"It doesn't hurt," you said once you saw him fixated on your scraped knuckles. "You should see the other guy."

Derek brushed entirely past your lame attempt at a joke. "I did. I saw Vin and Al carrying Grader to the med ward."

"I know you don't approve of my methods—"

"If anyone had it coming, it's Grader. Especially after what he did to Paolo." The mental image of the boy's blackened eye made you shudder. "You care a lot about that kid."

It was an understatement rather than anything else. Everyone within ten feet could see how you regularly doted on the boy. Derek knew it was because Paolo reminded you of yourself; shoved into a life of violence too early in his youth, stripped of the childhood he so profoundly deserved. You never even hesitated to adopt the protector mantle for the boy, because in a lot of ways, it was something you wished someone would have done for you when you were a child.

"I know you used to have reservations about kids—" Derek continued, "—but I've seen you with Paolo. You're good with him."

"Right. Because I'm such a champ when it comes to being a good influence, right?" You rolled your eyes, skittering to sit on the edge of the bed and wrapping your body with the robe still on your back. Derek followed you silently. "I threatened a man at gunpoint in front of his eyes, Derek. You can't possibly say that witnessing something like that isn't gonna fuck him up for the rest of his life."

"Maybe not. But you're making this life less grueling for him, and that's something."

"I don't like where this conversation is going."

You stood up from the bed then, walking towards the windows of your room and popping them open to let the evening breeze in. When you spun around to face Derek on the bed, you had your arms folded defensively across your chest.

You were hiding again.

Two steps forward and three steps back.

That seemed to be the only thing Derek was capable of when it came to you.

"The incoming shipment," you began nonchalantly, as though Derek hadn't just made you orgasm until you could see stars mere minutes earlier. "What's your theory?"

Derek inhaled a deep breath before answering, "Gotta be something valuable if he goes to such lengths to keep it lowkey, even to the point of hiding it from you."

"More valuable than bombs and machine guns?"

"Precisely. Something that would make him a lot more money than those two combined."

"What? Like missiles?" Your eyes widened when realization bloomed in your head. "People. That's what you're insinuating, isn't it?"

"It makes sense, and it explains why you've never caught wind of any trafficking activity even to this day."

"They can't be using the depot, then. Too many witnesses. They must have another facility where they detain those people."

"Somewhere secluded but easy to control," Derek agreed. "And most likely, you know where it is."

"Me? What are you talking about?"

"Kreczmar profiles as a classic egotistical sociopath. It's not in his nature to do things quietly. He would want to boast, and you're the person in his life he'd want to do it to the most." Derek got up from the bed once he finished his statement. His stature somehow grew more officious as he stood in the middle of your room. "Think, sweetheart. You know the answer. You've had it all these years. You just didn't know that it was right there in front of your eyes."

Derek gauged every micro-expression zipping past your face. The wrinkle on the bridge of your nose was concentration, and the frenetic darting of your pupils was your mind flipping through the pages of memories about Aleksander Kreczmar. When your earnest gaze found his, Derek knew that it must have been the light bulb appearing right above your head.

"His guesthouse."

"Kreczmar has a guesthouse?"

"Well, a guesthouse might be a bit underwhelming. It's a freaking mansion that stands in the middle of at least two acres of land. He'd host parties there. Entertain important overseas guests or clients anytime they come by. He'd take me to the woods at the back of the property sometimes, and then he'd... well—" You cleared your throat and looked away. Derek didn't need to hear the rest of that sentence to know what you meant. "Secluded but easy to control. That's what you said, right?"

"Yeah." There was no guarantee that the guesthouse would end up being the place you were looking for, but Derek still deemed it necessary to pursue the lead. "We need to check the place out asap. Think you can set something up as a cover?"

"Don't need to, 'cause it must be your lucky day, Mister." The corner of your lips slanted upward, giving Derek a front row view of your pretty smile. He had to fight off the urge to march over there and taste the smile directly on his lips. "Kreczmar's throwing an exclusive party there in three weeks."

"He is?"

You nodded. "And it looks like you just got yourself an invitation."

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More delta stuff, for more info on delta pls check out this post and this post

Pebble can’t handle what’s happened to his friend.

Warnings for angst, mentions of death, small amount of body horror

I made myself sad as usual, hope you all enjoy <3

-

Pebble has a hard time with change

He has a hard time seeing delta after his element transition. The light gone from his eyes and his cheeks more hollow and gray than usual. A sickly figure of his former self.

Even after delta and omega reassure pebble that delta will be fine, it’s not something he can stand to witness. The sight of him making pebble feel ill, something uncanny in his appearance.

It’s no longer his delta.

Even as he watches the stage from behind his drum set, deltas movements are clunky and unnatural. The way his fingers glide across his guitar seem forced in a way that isn’t voluntary like he’s fighting against himself to keep the notes correct and on time.

He sees omega spend a lot of time with him alone, their voices getting quieter when they think someone can hear them. Pebble catches bits and pieces through doorways and standing in the shadows nearby, careful to not alert them that he’s there.

“It was necessary delta”

“But there’s something wrong, omega you don’t un-“

“You’ll be fine. I know things that can heal you, we need you as my replacement there’s not many other options right now”

“please just look at my arm, this isn’t- isn’t natural” deltas voice wavers as he pulls up his sleeve, bits of flesh on his forearm missing to show the gray bone underneath. Pebble can’t help but gasp at the sight.

“Come with me back to the infirmary, pull your sleeve down” omega grabs deltas hand, briskly walking away with him in tow.

Pebble stays hidden for longer than is needed. More to process what he saw than anything else. His mouth goes dry as his stomach turns with the brief memory of his friend's skin physically decaying and pulling away from his bones. He wants to cry, run after them and demand to know what’s going on because the situation doesn’t make sense to him. He doesn’t understand why delta is even allowed to be left alone in his state let alone be on stage. He doesn’t understand why no one has helped him yet.

The confrontation with omega is more than he wanted it to be. Overcome with emotions and a strange sense of grief he can’t push back down his throat.

“Why can’t you fucking *fix him* that’s your job isn’t it? You’re going to-“

“Pebble stop-“ omega tries to reason

“No! You’re going to watch your bandmate decay in front of you and just go about your day? You can live with yourself knowing delta is practically dying and you won’t save him?” Pebble practically yells as tears stream down his cheeks. His words are harsh and cut like razor blades through omegas usually calm demeanor. The look of guilt and anger on omegas face only adds fuel to pebbles fire, he knows that omega knows something’s wrong. He wants the reaction. He wants *something* to justify how he feels.

“I’m trying I promise, it’s not as simple as we thought it would be”

“Not as simple as you thought? You’re the reason he’s like this. You let him do that to himself and you didn’t stop him” pebbles voice has a wail to it like he’s trying to reason with himself as to why his friend is a shell of who he once was.

“Pebble they wouldn’t let me! I was ordered to let him. I was ordered to keep an eye on him and not interfere because we needed a replacement, I cant-“

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Pebble there’s no way to fix him.” Omegas voice cracks. A realization they both understood but didn’t want to accept.

“What?” Pebble hiccups

“I don’t know what he did when he forced the quintessence into himself. I’ve tried to help him but we don’t have many options, his element is rejecting him”

A static numb feeling bubbles in pebbles chest as he mulls over the words in his head. His knees buckle beneath him as he favors staring at the ground instead of having to look omega in the eyes any longer. He doesn’t flinch when omega drops to embrace him, or when omega attempts to wipe the tears from his eyes that won’t stop even though he doesn’t think he can feel anything at all right now.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Pebble finally speaks after a couple minutes of silence.

“We don’t know”

[hippolotamus]

Fuck it Friday 🌻

tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 (do yourself a favor and visit their FIF posts. promise you won't regret it)

no pressure tagging @disasterbuckdiaz @ladydorian05 @wikiangela @malewifediaz @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @elvensorceress @giddyupbuck @monsterrae1 @spagheddiediaz @spotsandsocks @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @heartshapedvows @loserdiaz @your-catfish-friend @statueinthestone @buddierights @911onabc @hoodie-buck @the-likesofus @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @eowon @honestlydarkprincess @spaceprincessem @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @exhuastedpigeon @underwater-ninja-13 @messyhairdiaz @gayedmundodiaz and anyone else who wants to

so i kinda got this idea. it's more than likely going to the backburner for a while (i have got to finish the stuff i already started) anyway, i came across this post that was adorable af (some screenshots below)

brain said 'huh. what if a young Eddie wants to take young Evan on a date? and then gets shamed for it. because of course he does. and then Eddie has to work through all his crap as an adult so he can then ask Buck on a date?' so i'm dumping what i have under the cut. mwah!

Eddie sits on the end of his parent’s bed, kicking his bare feet in time with a song only he can hear. He can’t remember the name, only the basic rhythm that his music teacher, Ms. Hughes, taught them. 

Tap Tap Thump! Tap Tap Thump! 

The wooden footboard is starting to bother his heels, turning them a faint red, but he continues tap-thumping along, not ready to stop just yet. It keeps him busy while his mama gets ready for a night out with Papa.

“What do you think, Eddito?” She asks, meeting his gaze in her vanity mirror.

She holds up two different earrings. One is tiny, barely visible between her fingers except for the way it sparkles in the light. The other is bigger, in a sort of loop shape with a jade stone at the bottom that matches her green dress. He thinks she looks pretty with both of them, but he remembers his dad boasting about the tiny one being a real diamond. Eddie’s not sure what that means. It seems important though if the way Papa looked was any indication.

Papa was so proud when he gave them to her after his last business trip, practically beaming. Mama wasn’t quite as pleased. Not like she was when Eddie and Sophia gave her the jade pair for Christmas. Maybe she was just tired that day? She usually is when Papa goes away for work. 

“The sparkly ones,” he tells her confidently. If Papa knows Eddie helped choose them for tonight, maybe it’ll help him earn some extra time for catch tomorrow. 

Eddie’s been extra helpful this week, helping Mama look after Sophia, setting the table, and dusting around the house before his dad came back from Houston. Hopefully Mama will mention that, too. He might only be nine but he’s getting bigger all the time (Abuela tells him so) and can do a lot more things than his little sister.  

“Thank you, mijo.” She tucks her long hair behind her ears so she can put the earrings in. 

He rearranges himself on the bed so he’s on his belly with elbows bent, chin resting on his open palms. His feet automatically restart their rhythmic drumming. 

Mama picks a lipstick and carefully swipes the brilliant red across her lips. She pinches them together a few times before she’s satisfied, swapping the small tube for a square container and something that looks like a funny, fluffy paint brush. He watches her swirl the brush and lift it to her cheeks, tinting them a dusky pink. 

“Where are you and Papa going?” 

“Out for dinner at a nice restaurant. Maybe some dancing.”

“Why?” He asks, not particularly sure why he suddenly wants to know. Tia Pepa is babysitting tonight, which means a bowl of ice cream neither of them will ever admit to while they watch telenovelas.

“He’s been traveling and it’s a nice way to celebrate when he comes home.”

“Because, Edmundo.” Papa glides through the doorway, like he was waiting for the perfect moment, stopping to stand behind Mama. “You’ll figure this out when you’re older, but date nights are key to keeping everyone happy. Especially your mother.” 

He tilts her chin up, leaning down for a kiss. Gross. 

“Ramon,” she scolds. “Now I have to fix my lipstick.” 

Papa sighs playfully. He turns to Eddie, shrugging as if to ask what are you going to do?

“So a date is just going out to a fancy restaurant? For no reason?” Eddie muses aloud. The whole thing sounds a little boring and undeserving of a special title. 

“It can be,” Mama says. “Or it can be some other activity. People go out just because and for meaningful days, too, like an anniversary or birthday. As long as you’re with someone special, it can be whatever you decide.”

Oh. Well that changes things. 

“Like laser tag and pizza?” 

“Sure,” Papa answers with a chuckle while he digs through a dresser drawer. 

An idea begins to form in his brain. His best friend in the whole world, Evan, is moving at the end of the summer, just weeks away. Evan and his sister, Maddie, have lived next door as long as he can remember. He and Eddie do everything together. Other than his family, there’s nobody more special than Evan.

[piinnkhearteyes]

concrete hearts

tw: cigarettes, arguements

you hadn’t seen him in four years, not since you were sixteen and the summer felt endless and full of possibilities. not since his scowl had been sharper than his jawline, his words cutting like switchblade edges every time you dared to push back. you weren’t sure who started it—this rivalry between the two of you—but it stuck, like the sticky residue of soda cans on hot pavement. matt sturniolo hated you, and you made sure the feeling was mutual.

and it wasn’t just the little things—the petty jabs, the sarcastic remarks, the way he always seemed to roll his eyes a little harder when it came to you. no, matt was the kind of person who would go out of his way to make sure you knew he didn’t like you, and you’d always been more than happy to return the favor.

but that was then.

now, at twenty, you were different people—or so you liked to think. you’d traded clumsy ollies for fluid kickflips, scuffed vans for black sambas. your shitty ankles popped every time you landed a trick, a reminder that nothing stayed perfect forever. the city had changed too: neon storefronts replaced the mom-and-pop diners, and the skate park was overrun by preteens with tiktok accounts.

and matt? you didn’t know. you hadn’t wanted to know.

that was until you saw him again.

the first time you spotted him, you were skating down a half-lit alleyway off of main street, the weight of the world soothed by the familiar glide of your board on cracked asphalt. the glow of a cigarette caught your eye first—tucked behind his ear, unlit but still defiant. his back was to you, bent over, a can of spray paint hissing against the wall.

your stomach clenched in a way you didn’t expect.

he hadn’t noticed you yet, but you saw him, all of him. tattoos snaked their way up his forearms, black ink standing stark against his pale skin. his shoulders were broader now, his hair messier, a brown halo against the dim streetlight. there was a worn inhaler poking out of the pocket of his hoodie, and a song you vaguely recognized—chase atlantic—buzzed from a tinny speaker by his feet.

your board hit a crack, and he turned, the sound pulling him out of whatever trance he’d been in. his eyes were the same, that stormy gray-blue you remembered, darkened now by years and late nights and secrets you hadn’t been around to learn.

“shit,” he muttered, stepping back to assess you like you were an unexpected piece of graffiti someone else had left behind. “didn’t think i’d see you again.”

you smirked, masking the way your pulse tripped over itself. “funny, i was about to say the same thing.”

his eyes narrowed, sharp and familiar. “still skating, huh? thought you’d have wiped out for good by now.”

“and you’re still tagging like a wannabe banksy,” you shot back, kicking your board up to your hand. “thought you’d have figured out what to do with your life by now.”

the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but enough to set your teeth on edge. “what’s the fun in that?”

the air between you was heavy, buzzing with the kind of tension that used to define every conversation you’d ever had with him. you wanted to hate him still. wanted to remember why you used to glare at him across the room, why every word that came out of his mouth always felt like a challenge.

but you couldn’t.

not when he looked like this: alive and raw and entirely too comfortable standing in the middle of his chaos.

“guess not,” you said softly, stepping closer despite yourself.

he didn’t stop you, didn’t tell you to leave. you stood there in the glow of the streetlight, watching as the colors on the wall came together: a chaotic swirl of reds and oranges, a bleeding heart with cracks running through it, the words concrete hearts scrawled across the bottom.

“you always this dramatic?” you asked, leaning your shoulder against the wall, your voice teasing but softer now.

matt glanced at you, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t disdain either. “only when it comes to people like you.”

“people like me?”

“you know,” he said, tossing the empty can aside and reaching for another. “people who can’t stay away, even when they should.”

it hit you then—the weight of his words, the way they felt like an accusation and a confession all at once. you didn’t know if he meant you, if he was calling you out for skating straight into his orbit when you should’ve been skating away.

and you didn’t know why you stayed.

but you did.

[plutopitou]

◇ Crimson Comet

keigo takami | hawks x female reader

genre: nsfw smut, angstyyy

He comes and goes like a reoccurring comet in the sky that you admire. A constant game of push and pull; you’ll do anything for him to not leave you again. And Keigo just can’t say no to his pretty girl on her knees begging | 18+ MDNI

word count: 2.8k

warnings: he’s mean again haha but not really. Thigh/boot riding, smut, throat fucking, reader cries and is needy and desperate, dumbification :o angsty storyline- keigo has commitment issues

thank you guys so much for the response on my first post last week, hope you enjoy this one as well ♡

He almost makes it to the edge of the door before you pool yourself to the ground in front of him, falling like a tower of bricks. Tears are dripping faster than your heart down the sides of his boots, laminating the hard leather shoe, giving the moon an opportunity to reflect back at you from the chill of the open window. The ambiance overwhelming the room perfectly with your sorrowful fervor.

Whimpering, clutching on the thick fabric of his pants, so close you can smell the faint scent of linen and fresh air, air he glides through with ease; a comet in your sky.

You don’t want him to pass you by like the rest of them.

Past partners disappointing you to no end; consistently leaving you to the dust as if you never mattered and can’t give enough to satisfy when you gave them everything you had. Your heart pinches with the thought of him being a past memory, not wanting to let go as if he’ll immediately disappear. You will give every material item, every part of your body for his to own to just stay.

The winged hero is a very passionate person when he needs to be, when it’s short term. A type of skill that had to be learned. Feigning a type of emotion was almost easier than presenting it naturally, losing his real sense of zealousness many years ago.

However with you, he found his smiles to be something that did not come as a second thought. Finding himself feel a sense of accomplishment and joy whenever he saw the corners of your lip quirk up in laughter from his many quick-witted jokes. He knew from how quick his heart paced when he glazed his eyes down your withering body underneath him buzzing for more that you make him genuine.

He sees how much your eyes light up in excitement when he comes through the balcony, counting on him as if he was your boyfriend.

But he just loves to dangle the candle connected to your heart in front of you and tease snuffing it out just to see your face, his sadistic nature always coming to fruition. He just isn’t sure how long he can keep it up before he disappoints you, he is trying to do you a favor. The best thing is to abandon your purity before the stain can never come out.

And the truth being he is not your boyfriend. Someone that comes and goes for weeks at a time is not a partner, and it is reminded to Keigo every day. But you make it so hard for him to stay away when you beg like this.

The golden locked man doesn’t dare speak a word, eyes drooping in exhaustion watching you plead and beg for him to stay. A warzone in his soul fighting the threshold of satisfaction he gets from seeing you beg so beautifully below him with a twinge of pain in his heart that never goes unnoticed. Pushing your hair back he wants to see your face in its glory, looking up at him like a shrine, completely flushed out, tears flowing down swollen lips he would kill to fuck in this moment.

Rubbing his large, glove covered hand over your lustrous cheeks, thumb over your lips, Keigo wanted to let you down softly. “Sweet girl, you know I can’t do this anymore, we’ve been over this..” He can’t help but puff a soft sigh, not halfway finished before he watches the dam in your weary eyes spill over even more, digging your head in his hand trying to cover up your hiccups of sorrow.

You sit back on your calfs completely drained, wiping your eyes trying to stabilize your uneven breath. “K-Kei.. please don’t leave me-”

Because you weren’t sure he would come back this time.

Keigo crouches down just above eye level looking down at your weeping figure as if you’re a child, analyzing just how bad you want it with a sharp, stoic stare. He’s always had an aptitude for how heavy his gaze can be, it makes you shuffle in discomfort and want to turn away in insecurity. His large vermilion wings downturned behind him trying not to give away his next move.

You avoid the set of eyes on his handsome face, choosing to look at his sharp nose, or the light unshaven stubble on his chin. Your head pondering the possibility of him staying, what do you have to do?

Finally, you stare back at him longingly, swiftly trying to move close for a kiss but before you fill the gap, he clutches your jaw harshly with a single hand, squishing your cheeks together in the process. Not once sharing a kiss together, he was taken aback, giving you a gut reaction.

He can very clearly see your miserable, devestated face, knowing just how much you’d give up for him. The golden-eyed man revels in your submissive nature, and deep down he knows he’s a poisonous plant you have to stop eating from because you think it’s safe.

How many times did he have to remind you of that?

This is exactly what he didn’t want. He didn’t want you to give up the last ounce of respect you have for yourself in exchange for his love, for his attention. But there is no use trying to change the mind of a person who has already made it up. And if you want it so bad your only choice is to parade yourself for him, for his enjoyment.

“Show me, then.” He whispers softly.

Keigo thinks it’s so cute watching your eyes light up with hope. “Show you what?” You ask meekly, playing with your hands in your lap from the anxiety.

“Show me how bad you want it, how badly you want me to stay..” he says as he sits up and leans back, “In any way you think is necessary.. but you’re really gonna have to beg for this one, birdy.” Keigo looks down at you as he settles himself on the edge of the table.

You immediately knew he wasn’t looking for some heart to heart discussion. And to be fair you both never actually used a real conversation to fix your problems, unless the ones where you cry while he fucks you, mock asking why you’re such a bitch for him counts.

He crosses his arms, waiting to see what you’ll do when he’s not the one pushing you.

Looking down you feel the pressure of him putting you on the spot. Your old tears still a little bubble reflecting the moonlight on his black leather work boots. Secretly, Keigo knows you love when he bosses you around, telling you what to do and how to do it, silly little girl would not even let him ask twice.

It’s like he always knew what would happen, you’ll do anything for him.

Gaining a sudden rush of confidence, you softly grab and pull the leather glove off his hand, it feeling warm and slightly calloused from years of hero work, veins showing just how much power he has. Pushing your skirt up you sit your covered slit directly on his boot and hump slowly, letting your body heat up turning soft and weak for him.

Keigo looks at you with hidden lust letting you guide his thumb into your hot mouth, shooting a low curse under his breath watching you look so erotic for him. So eager you practically fuck yourself on his leg, gripping on, cheek smooshed against his knee while you suck his thumb because your mouth is so wanting.

You writhe and moan, your slick pairing with the smooth material of his boot, making it so easy for you to glide up and down, leaking even more from how good it feels. Keigo struggles to hold back, his sweet girl who is his little pillow princess finally taking what she wants for once, contaminating you once more. Gazing down your lidded eyes he thinks you’d look so much better if he just locked your head and shoved it into his clothed cock.

On a shooting star, Keigo wished you were like every other woman he’s been intimate with, if you were it would make him walking away from you so much easier than this. Wishing you were someone that was just as fucked up as him, but you never carried such a sadistic nature he does, and he knew if someone shot at his bleeding body you wouldn’t hesitate to jump in front.

But look where it has the both of you, once again mewing for him to dick you down. And it’s exactly what he’s going to do to you.

Keigo rips his hand out your mouth, immediately ripping his thick work jacket off his body. Standing over you, you can’t help but feel so helpless and wet in the process; the reciprocated attention blazing through your body like little white sparkles.

He shows off his amazing invert triange upper body that took years of hard work to maintain, you watch it flex underneath his black and gold accented compression shirt, not even bothering to remove it. The long sleeved clothing he only wears in the winter. You feel so lucky to be up close, watching his lean body ache for you as you do him.

Keigo rips his belt off, slides his pants down just enough to bring out his hard cock. Not wanting to wait any longer you immediately bring your head in just for a taste.

He grips the back of your hair by the root, grips the base and holds it close enough to kiss but not touch, looking so intimidating. “Don’t be so fucking impatient..”

Scoffing, Keigo arches your head, “Give it a nice good lick, sweetheart, then maybe i’ll think about fucking your mouth, alright?”

Without a second thought you tilt back your neck and lick from base to tip with Keigo’s hand digging in your hair, hissing with a light curse. You love watching him hold back so much, feigning to be the good guy here. Locking eyes you give a slight lick against his tip, wiping away the escaped precum with a cute smile, watching the slight shiver from his exhaled breath.

A fake laugh escapes his lips, smiling while tounging his top canine tooth in surprise. “Ok, birdy, lets play it your way.” Taking ahold of your jaw, he squeezes, pushing the grip of his cock right into your hot whore mouth. “Oh fuck-“ Keigo releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding until he finally enters your hot cavernous mouth.

It’s the way you let him do this, that is what makes him so ridiculously hard for you. The way you flower yourself open for him without being told, he can’t help but be so eager to take advantage of you; of your wanting-ness, your desperation, the way your eyes roll back and push your folds harder onto his leather shoe, trying to suck up more of his masculine essence.

It’s the way he didn’t even have to push hard on the back of your head for you to already try and gag yourself from his tip in the back of your throat. When you get like this, can you even blame him? Can you blame him when he pumps shallow thrusts into your mouth even though you weakly tap his thighs trying to let him know you can’t breathe?

Keigo really can’t help himself, can he?

He lets you gag one last time before he finally pulls out with a low groan followed by a curse. If only you could see yourself right now, trying to fumble between coughing and breathing with spit dripping down your chin, string still connecting you two.

Your scattered breathing finally rests as you catch your breath, a light glaze across the whites of your eyes. Keigo looks at you with a faux coo, mocking a pout at you like a parent to their little baby that hurt their head on accident. “Can’t take any more?”

Heaving, your dumb little head was so fucked you couldn’t think about much other than how much your lower half ached in anguish for release, how even though you can’t think your body continues to hump, leaving bruised knees.

Keigo lifts you up; your legs like jello, letting you lean on him for support. You sit confused what he wants to do next.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, “Well don’t stop, you gotta keep going till you cum, dont you?” You meekly nod resting your head on his chest gripping on his arm for leverage as you continue to please yourself on his thigh, the thick cords of muscle through his pants massages your wet cunt, soaking him immediately. “Yeah, you gotta fuckin cum on me..” he murmurs, peppering soft jelly kisses on the sides of your head, rubbing your waist and squish of your ass in encouragement.

You can’t do more than whine how it’s just too much, but Keigo can’t even understand you, your eyes are lidded just muttering jibberish. That familiar coil, it’s so hard to ignore- how if the whole world was suddenly watching you couldn’t even get yourself to stop, absolutely uncontrollable.

His hard cock presses up against your front, waiting till it can fuck your tight hole that’s leaking on his thigh. But he couldn’t be so impatient and self-serving, he wanted you to have your release first, wanting to just feel you finish your promise. And once you do he’s gonna feel you squirt all over his abdomen as he jackrabbits your overstimmed pussy, exploiting yourself to him as a desperate bitch he knew you were.

“Kei, I can’t-“ your hips hold a mind of their own. You can feel your slick spread all over, helping you glide faster to reach what is so close. Looking up you’re practically face to face with the one you wish could reciprocate a title you will always have for him, a lover.

Keigo can see it perfectly, how you still hold a hopefulness in your heart, the grip he has on you that he wants to let go of but you won’t let him- or maybe he just can’t get himself to actually do it. Because getting you to plead up at him like he’s your higher power is so much easier than him finally expressing how much you really affect his life force.

He doesn’t know if he can ever correctly communicate the great fondness he possesses to you. But no matter what, you’ll be sitting there waiting for him. That’s all you do.

He’s the first to lean into you, grasping your lips with fervor, the passion dripping out his mouth into yours. You kiss him back, exchanging a type of warmth you never expected him to give, it was warmer than the words he spews, more comforting than the small kiss he’ll give on occasion to your cheek.

It sends you over the edge, the sudden butterflies dance with the sparkles in your belly, hotly moaning into his mouth feeling yourself cum on him, the sweet passions melting together causing you to jerk from the staggering stimulation.

Yelping in his chest the coil unwraps, feeling your cum seep out onto his thigh. You slow down from the exhaustion, body slowly falling back having no strength left to hold yourself up. Keigo quickly grabs your wrist, pulling you back up to brush his lips against yours once again.

The kiss sealing the hope you still possessed, you feel you had finally done it; but Keigo holds you up rushing towards the bed, and he is long from done with you.

.

.

.

Waking from slumber your body temperature feels colder than it did when you fell asleep in Keigo’s warm embrace after he continued to push you to your limits. A leaking sunbeam pokes your eyes forcing you to look around.

Empty.

Your heart feels heavy and you almost wanted to yell at it, saying you should’ve known this was going to happen and expected it.

Glancing around the room, it’s when you see it. In a room full of color it’s still the brightest and most beautiful one, practically glowing blood red. It’s the same as the last times he’s done this. Leaving a small quill until the time passes by and he returns back to you and leaves again. That schedule has never been a consistent algorithm, just the outcome.

You can watch him on television or find him on his stupid social media he doesn’t even run. You only ever tried texting him once and never got a response during his departure, but it will all never add up to him standing over you, caressing your mind, body and soul with what comes to feel like empty promises.

And so all you can do now is wait, just like he knows you will. Because again, that is all you do. Just waiting for your bright red comet to come back around and do it all all over again to you.

This was not meant to be any longer than 1.5k words haha, but I feel as if it wrote itself and turned out how it was supposed to be. Ending was a bit more bittersweet than I imagined.

Stay tuned for Getou or Aizawa content soon!

Dont be afraid to send in any ideas or critiques, I hope you all continue to support me, and stay well.

Please like, follow and reblog, love yall ♡

[mintspice]

Pᴀɪɴ Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ Ass (Dʀᴀᴋᴇɴ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ NSFW)

After years of being too nervous to post my writings, I decided to write my first ever Draken smut fic. Tell me what you think, and I apologize if it's not the greatest lol depending on how this goes, I might write for Roronoa Zoro next since he's heavy on my mind lately. I hope I got Draken's personality down too.

_____________________

CW: Smut, hair pulling, use of "princess", cunnilingus, Draken and reader are aged up, fingering, squirting

_____________________

You had been teasing Draken all day. 

First, you pulled your tank top down to expose more cleavage and pushed your tits together, playing it off as if you were adjusting in your spot at the restaurant where you two had met up with Takemichi and Hina.

His eyes were glued to your chest as you gave him a not-so-innocent smile, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Draken ignored his heart thumping in his chest and tried to fight the blood that was threatening to rush down to his cock. He looked back at Takemichi, who thankfully didn’t notice since he was engrossed in his conversation with you and Hina. 

After splitting the bill, the four of you left the restaurant, and a devious idea came to your mind as you parted ways with them. You pressed yourself against him, causing him to inhale sharply.

“Woman, I swear,” He said in a hushed tone to you.

“What?” You smiled. “I was just trying to give you a kiss on the cheek,”

You pressed your lips to his cheek and then decided to get ice cream with him. 

He gave you an annoyed look, muttering under his breath about how much of a pain in the ass you were. You purposely picked out the jeans that would make your ass look great, and that worked in your favor since you could feel his stare behind you. After ordering, you sat down at the booth with him and maintained eye contact as you moved the ice cream close to your lips. 

Draken could feel his cheeks burning as he watched your tongue skim over the sweet treat. He was fighting off the urge to just drag you off to the bathroom to teach you a lesson and bounced his leg to keep his composure so he wouldn’t have a hard-on in public. 

“You’re going to pay if you keep doing that,” Draken warned you with a faint voice. 

His voice made your insides throb, but you had to play it off. You shrugged at him and continued to savor the dessert. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He huffed at you, still bouncing his leg impatiently as your tongue swirled around the ice cream cone. You wiped your mouth with a napkin as you finished your ice cream and stood up from the booth to throw it away. His eyes never left your figure; before you could turn around, he was already behind you. He grabbed your hand, practically dragging you out of the ice cream parlor, eager to get home so he could punish you for teasing him all morning. 

When you two had reached your apartment, his muscular arms picked you up off the ground and slung you over his shoulder like a rag-doll. Your pussy fluttered in excitement, knowing what was going to come next. 

Tossing you down onto the mattress with a dangerous look in his eyes, he was harder than he had ever been before. He would punish you first before giving you what you wanted, though. 

“Draken-”

His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking and biting at your sweet spot, shutting you up immediately. You sucked in a sharp breath and wrapped your legs around him. He took pride in how he could make you come undone just by touching you.

He pulled away, and you looked over to the body mirror next to you, seeing how dark his mark was.

“Everyone’s going to see that!” You gasped. 

“Good, payback for earlier,” He smirked. 

You didn’t have time to reply to his smart-ass comment because he pulled your tank top off of you, now swirling his tongue around your nipple. He latched onto the other nipple and then glided his tongue upwards so he could make his mark on your tits. Draken made his way down your torso, trailing his tongue downwards. He stopped above your waistband and unbuttoned your jeans. He pulled them down, causing you to shiver with anticipation. 

His eyes darkened with lust when he saw the lacy panties you chose to wear today and discarded them onto the floor, now putting his large hands on both thighs. He licked his lips and glided his tongue over your lips, making you shudder. He avoided your clit, causing you to buck your hips against his face. This was his payback. 

“P-Please don’t tease me,” You whimpered.

“I think you can wait,” He quipped. 

You threw your head back as his tongue dipped inside your dripping hole. He fucked you with his tongue and pulled it back out to make his way towards your sensitive bud. Your breathing became ragged, and you writhed beneath him as he inserted two fingers inside your poor, weeping slit. 

Your back arched as his fingers curled inside you, and your breath hitched. He swirled his tongue around your clit, and you reached down to grip a handful of his hair, incoherently whimpering his name. The knot snapped, and you spasmed around his fingers. He continued licking and thrusting his fingers, riding out your orgasm. You pushed his head away after growing too sensitive, and his face covered in your juices. He just stared at you with a lust-filled haze. 

“I’m not done with you yet,”

Draken pinned your hips down and went back to eating you out. You threw your head back against the mattress, whining and wrapping your legs around his head. You were unable to squirm around because of how he had you pinned down. 

“Nngh-fuck!”

You spasmed once again, but that didn’t stop him. 

"P-Please, Draken, I can't take anymore," You choked out, struggling to speak because he overstimulated you. 

He pulled away, giving you one last lick, causing you to squirm in your spot. Your juices dripped down his face, and he wiped some off with the palm of his hands. He was enjoying seeing you needy just for him. He picked you up and turned you over. You positioned yourself, laying flat against the mattress with your ass in the air. 

He smacked your ass and buried his cock inside of you. He sighed in relief and gripped a handful of your hair. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, princess,” He warned. 

He didn’t even give you a chance to recover from your last orgasm and pounded his cock into you, reaching spots that no one else was able to previously. You tightened around him, causing him to let out a choked grunt. He pulled your hair as he fucked you and snaked his free arm around your waist to toy with your clit. 

You cried out as he fucked you at a merciless rhythm, starting to feel a warmth in your lower half. He let go of your hair to smack your ass and left a red handprint on the cheek. Tears brimmed from your eyes as his cock hit your g-spot. Your climax was dangerously close.

Your fists gripped the bedsheets, and he continued hitting your g-spot, grunting at how your walls fluttered around his cock. You were screaming out his name, pleading for him not to stop. His skin glistened with sweat as he maintained his unrelenting tempo. You threw your face into the mattress as a high-pitched squeal left your throat, breath shaky. Your legs quivered as this was a new sensation for you. 

Your eyes rolled back, and you saw stars. 

“Fuck!” Your climax hit you hard, and you came undone around his cock. Draken watched in awe as your juices splattered onto him and on the mattress. You panted, trying to recover from your high. 

He still didn’t stop, turning you into a blubbering mess.

 "P-Please, I can't take anymore,"

“Just one more for me, princess,” He shushed you, his thrusts growing sloppier. His hands gripped your hips, and your juices gushed again, causing you to moan his name out like a lewd prayer. He let out a breathy moan as his cock twitched, and his grip on your hips became even tighter. 

He gave you one final thrust as he emptied himself inside of you, painting your insides white with his release. He pulled out, but you couldn’t move because you were completely fucked out. Draken turned you over gently and leaned down, giving you a sloppy but passionate kiss. He took off his shirt, exposing his delicious abs, and used it to clean himself up and you afterward. 

You stared at him with a lovestruck gaze, and he moved you to the other side of the mattress so you wouldn’t have to lie in the giant wet spot you had caused. He put the towel down to lay next to you and wrapped his arms around you. You placed your head on his chest. 

“Did that teach you not to pull that stunt again?” He asked and pressed a kiss on top of your head. 

Tracing your finger along his abs, you looked up at him lovingly, but with a playful glint in your eyes. “I’m still going to do it.”

He rolled his eyes at you and rubbed your back. You were his pain in the ass, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.