#like. well. one piece. would be so much faster if i just read it

[cannibalsrider]

Darling, I

pairing: post ts!kuroo x Artist! gf

wc: I think like 1.2k

a/n:really enjoyed writing this after struggling alot these last two weeks mentally but I hope you guys enjoy this and let me know if you wanna know more about these two for future posts ^_^ also this grammar wise is gonna be so bad because I've been awake since 10pm and its now 1:38 pm and running on fumes

“Yn” Tetsuro called from the doorway just loud enough over the sound of her music playing in the background as she worked on a new piece for the JVA “Huh what’s up” Yn responded not moving from her spot at her desk the drawing tablet flipped on as the only source of light in the room since the sun had already gone down for the night “you should finish up for the night it’s getting late isn’t it?” He asked her, knowing she had been working on the new holiday promotional merchandise for the JVA and had been working on god knows how many things besides that project he had commissioned. 

She nodded checking the time realizing it was already eleven pm “Jeez it’s already this late” she mumbled rolling her stiff neck whenever she got focused on her deadlines and Producing quality work for it she was like a train that never seemed to stop hell even faster than the bullet train sometimes depending how big the art piece is “how far have you gotten?” Tetsuro asked leaning against the doorframe it wasn't enough to completely see her drawing tablet with how she was sitting.

 "I've got the base of it done I think it should be done by later tomorrow if I work all day on it so it can be on time for the deadline" she answered sliding over slightly as she motioned for him to come closer so he could get a better look “it looks amazing Yn I love how you did it and everything just looks so well done” he praised with that smile he always loved her art ever since primary school he always liked to see the things he drew and to read her manga panels in the school paper even when she gave up on drawing for years because she thought it was the right thing to stop because all her friends thought it was weird she put so much time into it until she got back into it for a contest that she entered with a girl who she shared the panels with.

“I'm serious Yn it's already so amazing” he added earning a sheepish smile from his girlfriend “i mean id hope so since it will gonna be shown to a crap ton of teens and others around the country” she responded looking up at him from the corner of her eye before looking back down at the tablet on her table after a moment of watching it deciding to click the save button before shutting down her PC setup in her office “alright let's get to bed its late isn't it” she told him sarcastically as she stood up from her desk chair shooing him out so she could go wash her face before they head to bed 

“Yeah you've been held up in here all day” he quipped back following right behind her already in his pajamas for the night “that's what you say every time” she hummed standing in the doorway of their shared bathroom the faucet running 

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we didn't have our careers?” Tetsuro asked watching her almost as if he was watching a painting he must have found breathtaking he liked to say she reminded him of a Renaissance painting sometimes especially when she was doing mundane tasks or working on things “i like to think i would still be in the art type of job but instead i would have pursued being a mangaka y’know?” she answered clicking open her face wash and putting some on her hand as she spoke 

“Or maybe a teacher and I would have gone back to work at Nekoma” she added knowing that ever since she was young it was three things when it came to her art, history, and music she always thought it would be one of those places catching her eye in life.

 never once did she think it would be graphic design though for most of her commissions besides when the JVA commissions her work “what about you?” she asked continuing on with her skincare as he deliberated beside her “probably still doing volleyball maybe or coaching” he answerd she knew in some ways he still wanted to play and go professional like alot of his friends did but he grew to love his job and the life he built but anything would be amazing as long as they were together thats what he always said when one of them felt real discouraged with something they had been trying to pursue in or on a specific project.

“Bet you’d be going pro or something if you kept with it” she said drying her face off from the extra water on her cheeks after a moment setting down the towel as she watched him back for a moment like it was a staring contest or something “eh who knows maybe” he hummed turing on his heel so he could go back into their bedroom “shut off the lights in there” he called out as a reminder knowing she had a habit of forgetting to turn them off at night 

With a small click shutting off the overhead light in the bathroom she followed the hall back to their room knowing he was probably already in bed since it was a long day for them both but its not like long days would truly matter they would always still be by each others side no matter what and know stress was okay and that the other could help to try and lessen that burden 

As she slid in beside him for the night it was like clockwork for her body the tense muscles and aches she had from the day just seemed to melt away beside him because she knew it was safe she knew that she would be safe with him just like she always was ever since junior high

“What would you thin about getting married one of these days yn?” tetsuro asked his chin resting on the top of her head as he held her close she must have seemed so confused with the little huh she made “id do it” she mumbled out as a response before adding “i mean id do anything with you tetsu your like my other half at this point” she added snuggling into him closer she wasnt wrong he really was like her other half the yang to her yin and the sun to her moon 

She knew if he was to ask her it would be an immediate yes it always would be because god would she be a dumbass to say no to the rooster head he was as sweet to her as a bag of sweets he reminded her of home an at this point he was home to her he always had been 

She would always feel at home listening to his heartbeat knowing he was gonna be okay and that nothing bad was gonna happen to him with how bad her anxiety got for no reason sometimes it was always comforting when she would get him all to herself for a bit even if it was just for the night.

[cosmicrhetoric]

the sheer amount of manga I read in middle school is rearing back up to haunt me. like the amount of truly awful illiad length shonen/martial arts manga i not only read but was caught up with was sooooo egregious brother i was reading weekly updates of fairy tail at like 13 why was i doing that

[espinosaurusrexex]

Bad Boys Don't Buy Flowers

CEO!BuckyBarnes x Female!Florist!Reader AU

read Steve's story here

summary: Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

a/n: I should be working instead of writing long ass billionaire love stores, but here we are: you and me both... happy it happened and already regretting the tasks we neglected because of it (please enjoy this wholesome piece of imagination - I know it's long, but I hope you’ll give it a try nonetheless)

word count: 16.4k 😬

warnings: play boy behavior/talk, a reader that knows what she wants, Bucky falls first (and hard 🤭), mentions of war, injuries, and death (all not applying to Bucky for once), just so much fluff, questioning life choices (angst with happy ending!), smut (this is freaking love making okay?!?!? praise and confessions, dry humping, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, touch starved Bucky - in a way…, sensual and beautiful, protected p in v, cock warming, and aftercare) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ𝒄.𝒂𝒊 ｡✭･ﾟ

"Did you place the order?" Bucky leaned back in Steve's office chair and watched as his friend paced the space with a hand in his pocket. 

Steve was grinning like an idiot when the answer on the other side satisfied him and Bucky felt a tiny little spark in his chest at the sight. He'd watched his best friend go through life with a default tension in his shoulders for what seemed like forever. All until he found Bambi - a sweet and incredibly clumsy woman who was formerly his maid. But they found each other and Steve had been a happier man ever since.

Bucky was happy for him, too. He was a lot more fun to be around ever since, but it did remind him that Bucky himself had yet to find the one that would make his heart beat faster. 

It was a ridiculous idea, of course. Bucky was never the one for relationships or long-term commitment in the romantic department. To be honest, he wasn't even sure he was capable of love - not that he needed it, anyway. He had no problem with having a new plaything every other night. It was fun and kept him on his toes. 

"Perfect. Okay. Thanks, Sharon." Bucky sat up straighter in the chair. "Yeah, next Friday. See you later."

Steve sighed as he slumped on the sofa across the room. He watched the ceiling, looking like a love-drunk schoolboy, even though he tried so hard to conceal it. Bucky knew him too well.

"Dinner is booked.”

“You’re really doing it huh?"

“Yup." There was no doubt in Steve’s answer, but rather a special kind of excitement Bucky rarely felt.

The brunette just nodded as he looked to the ground, the chair swaying as he pushed his knees from one side to the other. 

Steve just grinned in response. "So when are you gonna let me help you find the one?"

Bucky perked up, amusement seeping through his gaze when he answered his best friend. ”Me? No no. I’m fine."

Steve shrugged. ”You know, that’s exactly what I said about a year ago."

"No offense, Stevie, but you and I were in vastly different sex universes back then. I’m getting laid - I’m aaaaall good." He leaned back with a smug grin and Steve just frowned in response. "You can be as happy as you want but don’t start trying to get everyone on the girlfriend train. That’s a Rogers and Wilson thing. I don’t need that type of commitment."

Steve remained silent as he watched Bucky stand up and head for the door, a thoughtful look on his face when his friend passed him. 

“Look, I’m happy for you, truly. I just don’t see myself in that type of life.” Bucky’s hand squeezed Steve’s shoulder just as the blonde cocked his head to the side. 

“Never?”

Bucky winked at him. “You know I like to live in the present. But speaking of the future... You’re still up for tomorrow night, right?”

“Tomorrow night?"

"Ironbar."

Steve’s eyes widened. ”Shit. No, I promised Bambi we'd-" Steve stopped when he saw Bucky's eyebrows raise in amusement. “...next time."

Bucky sighed in defeat. "Tell her to leave some Steve time for the rest of us, will ya?" And with a laugh of Steve’s, he shut the office door, walked past Sharon’s desk, then Natasha’s, and then into his own office.

❁ ❁ ❁

The clock hand barely struck 8am when another set of files hit Bucky’s desk. 

Bucky huffed as he watched Natasha stand before him with an amused smile, her hands on her hips that were hugged by a tight pencil skirt. “Looking for something, Boss?”

“No...”

“Something like... the invitation to that business dinner on Thursday?” She mused and carefully pulled a piece of paper from the stack between them. 

Bucky snatched it with a glare. “It would be much more helpful if you sorted this chaos rather than stand here and be a smartass.” He looked at the invite, the familiar company logo printed in the top right corner. “And why are people even sending paper invites anymore? We’re a security firm,” he sat the paper down and tapped on it with his index finger, “just shows how desperately they need consulting.” 

“Don’t blame me for it.” Nat threw her hands in the air. “And stop complaining. I know you’re the cyber guy but a couple papers shouldn’t faze you. I’ve got more important things to do that don’t particularly fall in your area of expertise.” She turned to leave but Bucky stopped her before her heels could reach the threshold. 

“Are you saying your job is harder than mine?” Bucky watched the mess on his desk, then the computer screen with his calendar and the impending meeting with those jackasses from Hydra Enterprises. There was no way sorting a couple of papers could be worse than Alexander Pierce and his nephew Brock Rumlow. One of them barely knew how to send an E-mail and the other kept subtly asking if it was legal to install cameras in the lady’s room. 

“If you’re referring to your inability to sort a couple files, then yes, I assume you wouldn’t last a day with my tasks.” 

“Now that’s bullshit.”

“Is it now?” She raised her left eyebrow with a half-smirk. “I want to see you deal with idiots when scheduling appointments and keeping everyone’s day structured while also organizing the annual fundraiser.”

Bucky huffed, leaning back and crossing his arms before his chest. He averted his eyes from his assistant and the stupid pile of paperwork in front of him. He really did not want to sort through all of that. 

“Call me old fashioned but I believe assistants should sort files.” He shrugged, knowing Natasha wouldn’t let him off that easily. They had been working together for years, he respected her as much as his other friends. And presenting the fierce redhead with a challenge to get out of some annoying tasks was something he would gladly do. 

“I’ll tell you what. I will sort your papers in my assistant duties.” She made a mockery curtsy - as much as her skirt allowed - and then lifted her finger before the smile could spread on Bucky’s face. “If... you plan the charity event.”

Bucky was shocked. He didn’t expect her to play dirty - well to be fair, it wouldn’t be Nat if she weren’t teasing a little bit - but still. “You think you can handle that, boss?” 

Bucky closed his mouth and eyed her suspiciously. It couldn’t be that hard to do. And certainly would be a nice distraction from the impending meeting of doom as well as the following consulting sessions. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. 

Was he really going to trade some papers for a whole Gala? That paperwork really sucked. He loved how easily he could wash through files on his computer. Sadly, his programs didn’t help much in the analog part of the job. 

“Are you backing down, Barnes?” Nat’s teasing voice rang through to him and he snapped back into his attitude. 

“Never.” He stood up, fixed his suit, and then reached his hand toward her. Natasha shook it with an evil smirk. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Romanoff.”

And with that, she took the papers from Bucky’s desk and carried them out of his office with a triumphant smile. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It wasn’t long before Bucky regretted his decision. 

What had he been thinking? A Fundraiser... a fucking fundraiser. Bucky couldn’t care less about them. 

Okay, that wasn’t true. He deemed charity to be a very important part of society... and economy. There were times in his life when he was close to needing their help as well. And Bucky swore he’d never let that aspect of his story slip from his mind ever. Still, it didn’t prevent him from living lavishly and making use of the things he had access to now. 

Usually, the organization of the charity gala was stuck on Nat and Sharon. Mainly because they had always done an amazing job. The tabloids had only positive things to write about it and always pushed the number before Christmas even higher. Which urged Bucky even more to do just as good of a job this year. 

There was just one problem. 

He had no idea how to organize events this size. Bucky could program a software from scratch, hack into classified state files on a bad day. Hell, he could track every person’s phone in New York in his sleep. But he never expected to be overwhelmed by a couple invites and color palettes. 

Though as little as he knew about his new task, he liked a challenge, and he would most certainly not give Natasha the satisfaction of asking her for a checklist. 

So, the internet had to do for now. He’d found a blog by a highly motivated suburban mom, that led with step-by-step instructions on how to plan the perfect event. It might not have been on the scale of what Bucky had to do, but considering his lack of knowledge on the topic, he figured this would do until Natasha snatched the task away from him again. 

The first thing on the list was to find a date and venue. But since the gala of Shield Protection Services was always held at the same venue, Bucky figured they had booked it indefinitely for the event. 

Next was to find the perfect florist that ‘is able to put your vision into extravagant floral arrangements’. Yeah... that was another problem. 

Bucky didn’t buy flowers. The only women he deemed important enough in his life to get them were his sister and his mother. And well, both of them had passed away. So, picking the right flowers hadn’t been a problem until now. His mother and sister were always enchanted by the bouquets they received when Bucky was younger. He’d steal them from their neighbor‘s garden. But since he could grow a beard, Bucky hadn’t even touched flowers anymore.

Well, that had to change now. 

Bucky stepped into the elevator just to be greeted by big round eyes and an even wider smile. “Paying Steve a visit?” Bucky teased with a half smile as he hugged Bambi and then faced the doors. 

“I’m actually meeting Natasha for lunch,” she shifted from one foot to the other, “I didn’t realize she was already at the restaurant... so that’s where I’m headed now.”

Bucky chuckled at her slight awkwardness. But it wouldn’t be Bambi if she wouldn’t miss such a detail. 

“Do you need a ride? My driver’s waiting for me anyway.”

“Tha- yes that would be nice, thank you.”

Bucky just nodded and gestured for her to lead the way when they reached the ground floor. 

“Where are you going?” Bambi asked as he stared out the window of the car. They had told the driver where they needed to go. And Since Bucky had no particular destination in mind, it worked out well. 

“I’m on the hunt for the perfect flower shop to cater to my vision of our charity event.” He chuckled and shook his head at his own words. He’s never thought he’d say this.  

Her eyes peered at him with intrigue, a glimmer washing over them when she asked: “Are you taking suggestions?”

Bucky sat up straighter now. “Uh, yes. Gladly.” This was easier than he thought. 

“There is this wonderful shop in Brooklyn. It’s called AsGarden on 18th Avenue. You can’t miss it, it’s like a breath of fresh air between all those ugly beige buildings. The woman owning it has great taste, she managed to make the perfect bouquet for me without ever seeing me.” She turned forward, a little flustered, “Steve gets me flowers from there sometimes, they’re my favorite.”

“Did you hear that, Stan?” A victorious smile spread on Bucky’s face as he squeezed Bambi’s shoulder. “Next stop is Brooklyn.”

“Alright, Sir.”

“You don’t know how much easier you just made my life.” Bucky leaned forward and kissed her cheek before the car came to a stop and he bid her goodbye. 

“I’m glad I could help.” She waved back and then headed into the restaurant. 

Maybe the event wasn’t so difficult after all, Bucky thought as he leaned back in his seat, his legs spreading in satisfaction.

❁ ❁ ❁

The cool air snook through your shop when the familiar bell of a customer chimed above the door. You’d seen many people frequent your shop daily. Women, men, teenagers, elderly. All came from different backgrounds and varying stories in their repertoire. Your store was in the heart of Brooklyn - a bunch of people mixed in this town. And you’d made it your mission to find the perfect flower arrangement for each and every one of them. 

The man who had set off your little bell this afternoon was different though. A perfectly tailored coat adorned his broad shoulders. The way his hands were tucked in his pockets revealed the expensive-looking suit beneath as well as the toned chest that hid beneath the button-up in vain. His presence oozed money as he sashayed through your shop, carefully grazing delicate pedals with the aura he brought in. 

He seemed to own the world, but something about him just didn’t fit between the colorful flowers surrounding him. If you didn’t know any better, he looked a little lost, eyes glassy as they swayed through the sea of colors and shapes soaking in fresh water. 

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?”

He ripped around, fixed his posture, and approached the cash desk. When his eyes landed on you, he froze. Just for a second, however, and then his jaw snapped into a handsome smile as he leaned forward. 

“I sure hope so.” His white teeth flashed between his lips before his tongue stroked over them. It was capturing. “This flower shop has been recommended to me. You wouldn’t happen to be the owner?”

“Well actually, I am,” you smiled hiding the pride swelling in your chest from the comment.

“Great. What is your capacity when it comes to event arrangements?”

“That depends...” You smiled as the handsome stranger raised his eyebrows in intrigue. “I reckon we have vastly different understandings of what is small and... big.” Your eyes wandered over his expensive coat again. The innuendo was accidental, really, but he seemed to be amused nevertheless. 

“My company is hosting its annual charity event in November... at The Glasshouse.”

“So just as I suspected...” You nodded and strode past him towards the fall flowers.

“Pardon me?”

You turned your head towards him and winked. “Bigger than I thought.”

“So?” He approached you with his hands still in his coat pockets and peeked over your shoulder. “Can you do it?”

“Totally.” Then you gestured to the flowers. “Do you have any preferences? I don’t have all the flowers in yet, but I recommend going with some soft orange and sage tones... to cater to the season.”

“Forgive me, sweetheart, but I am useless when it comes to this kind of stuff. My qualities lie more in the technical aspect of things.” A hand ran through his thick dark hair and the gesture made him look boyish.

“Alright let me rephrase my question then: Do you trust me?” A sly smile sneaked on his face, matching yours. 

He tipped his head. “My life is in your hands.” 

“Good. Then please write down your details here.” You pushed a form over the counter once you reached it again, and the man just followed you around like a lost dog. You watched as his hand swiftly filled out the free spaces on the paper, curious which company he had been referring to. 

“Wait you’re working for SPS?” 

“I own it, sweetheart.” The man adjusted his coat as you tried to look unimpressed. “My name is James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.” His hand extended over the shiny countertop until it encased your smaller fingers and his warmth seeped through your body. 

Bucky’s smile brightened when you revealed your name to him, telling you how beautiful it was, and you began to struggle not to show the effects it had on you. Then he resumed filling out the order and slid it over to you again. 

“What cause are you raising money for this year?” You asked as you sorted the paper into your books, only to be surprised when Bucky seemed a little nervous all of a sudden. 

You knew Shield Protection Services was a pristine company with reach to people whose powers you could barely comprehend. Whatever they were choosing, it would have a big impact on the change their chosen organization was advocating. 

“Well, to be honest... we haven’t decided yet.” A silly idea hushed through your head at that, but you dismissed it. A company such as Bucky’s would raise sums only big fish could handle. There wasn’t space for the things you had in mind. 

“I hope you’ll do so soon, then.” You nodded thoughtfully and ended with a tight-lipped smile. 

Bucky nodded and smiled, then turned around and headed for the door. But before he could open it, he came back again. You looked up to see a black card held before you. 

“I’d be happy for suggestions... if you have any in mind.” He shrugged with that cheeky look of his and then left. And you just stood there, dumbfounded, and toying with the ridiculous idea that Bucky Barnes might actually be able to read minds. 

❁ ❁ ❁

“Rogers really couldn’t make it?” Tony asked as he leaned back in the leather booth of his very own establishment. He tipped his emptied whiskey glass towards the slender redhead at the bar and smiled as she rushed to get his refill ready. 

“He promised Bambi to be home...” Bucky trailed off as he watched a customer hit on the waitress - Tiffany he remembered - A pretty thing, but unfortunately incredibly hollow when it came to conversation... not that Bucky looked for anything like it.  

Tony huffed. “That woman has him wrapped around her finger!” He liked Bambi, everyone did, he just missed hanging out with his guys. 

“Just wait until you find the one, Tony,” Sam chimed in with a sly smirk on his face - a hopeful, yet cautious hint as Sam secretly loved the idea of all his friends finally finding the one. He was a romantic, Bucky knew it, even if Sam never actually said it. 

“Me? I would never give up my glorious bachelor life for one woman. There are way too many things to explore...”

“Mark my words, Stark. We’ll look back to this day and laugh about this incredibly jackassy statement. You, too will be finding the one. I just know it.”

Bucky chuckled and tipped his glass on the Table as the bickering of his friends faded into background noise. For some reason, he didn’t feel like adding to the conversation. He blamed it on the banality of a conversation both he and Tony had long decided on, but perhaps, it was because for once in his life, he considered taking Sam’s side on the topic. 

It was ridiculous, really, how fast you’d occupied his mind when it came to Sam’s comment about finding ‘the one’. He didn’t even know you aside from the ‘background check’ he conducted after his visit to your shop. That might have covered your personal details, but he still didn’t know if you were a dog person or preferred cats, or if you were vegan or vegetarian, or if you considered kids in your future. 

Bucky cleared his throat and sat up straighter when he felt the fluster creep up his neck. What the hell was happening to him? He wasn’t like this at all. Women occupied his mind for about as long as it took for him to make them come undone in his hands. When he was with them, his full attention was on them - he loved them - but he’d never let them control his life. James “Bucky” Barnes never even considered seeing them twice, let alone thinking about a future with them. 

Though, to Bucky’s displeasure - or pleasure (he hadn’t decided yet) - the thought of seeing you again wasn’t uncomfortable to him. On the contrary, he got a weird tingly feeling in his stomach when he remembered the smell of the flowers in your shop and how your delicate fingers carefully picked out the prettiest ones. Bucky sat his drink down with a clink. Maybe he’d had enough alcohol for tonight.

“Barnes, how come you’re not defending me here? Have you grown soft or something? Do you have a girl we don’t know about?” Tony’s nagging broke through to Bucky and the whole bar reached back into his consciousness.

“Sorry, what?” He stuttered, shaking his thought and trying to find a good answer to his friend’s remark. “I was distracted by Betty.” Bucky smiled sheepishly as he received a clap on his shoulder. 

“That’s my man.” Tony grinned and Sam huffed into his whiskey. And Bucky? He just sunk into his seat, feeling somehow shameful for the white lie he had made up.

❁ ❁ ❁

The SPS office was impressive. Amongst the old New York brick building surrounding it, it reached up into the sky with its glass front everything. But you wouldn’t be fooled by its fragile looks. This was one of the most secure buildings in the city. You’d read about it in an article some time back - the whole hype about the company was their way of making fragile-looking things indestructible. You couldn’t see through the “windows” from the outside. And you wouldn’t be able to launch a rocket through it either. SPS had patented their stronger-than-steel-glass years ago, making them the leading security company in the world. 

To say you had been a little surprised to see the very owner of said company on your side of town would be an understatement. But besides his incredibly adamant way of flirting, he was quite normal to talk to. He’d even asked you for advice on the cause they should donate to this year. And after having thought about it for the better part of what should have been your sleep time, you had decided to just try and pitch your idea. 

“Do you have an appointment Ms.?” A stunning redhead peered up at you from her desk, her nails clicked on the keyboard of her computer as she waited for your answer. You didn’t really know why you thought getting to Bucky was going to be easy. The security guard had already eyed you suspiciously at the front desk in the lobby. After you’d smiled at him as charmingly as you could, he’d decided to let you be someone else’s problem today - or maybe he just didn’t see you as a threat - whatever it was, it had gotten you this far. But what were you gonna say now?

Actually, I don’t have an appointment, but Mr Barnes met me yesterday and after thinking about him all night, I decided to pay him a visit today.

Yeah, that wouldn’t cut it. Not in this office. The redhead - N. Romanoff - was what her sign said, made that fairly clear with the way her lips pursed at the opened calendar on the screen. 

“You don’t happen to have to discuss something not suited for work with Mr. Barnes, do you? I know he tends to leave some of his meetings... open-ended.” 

Your eyes got wide. “God, no. I’m not-“ Your hands made a swishing motion between you two and then you took a breath. “I’m here to discuss business. Purely business. Mr. Barnes has made an order at my shop for the company fundraiser and I just want to discuss some details.” 

Her eyes glimmered when her lips pulled into a smile. “Did he now?” She peered over to catch the look of the blonde assistant a few feet next to her and then back to you. “Well if that is the case, please have a seat, I’ll tell him you’re here.” And with that, she got up, winked, and wrapped at the large wooden door presumably leading to Bucky’s office. 

She came back a minute later and gestured for you to enter. “Lucky for you, his meeting just got canceled, so you should have enough time.”

“Thank you.” And then Ms. Romanoff went back to her desk and started whispering to the blonde assistant. 

Bucky sat behind his desk, a sleek glass surface lightly cluttered with papers. Other than that, the room felt cool, the large rug by the seating area did little to cover the marbled floors. You stepped inside just as Bucky called out your name. You almost didn't see the wide smile on his face as the rising sun hung low on the horizon behind him, casting a halo-like glow around his silhouette. What a freaking entrance. Though Bucky surely couldn’t control the sun, you thought with a small smile, you really had to stop imagining this man was extraordinary. 

“You’re here.” He got up and walked towards you, his sleek back shoes echoing on the ground. And then he was next to you, leading you to the seat in front of his desk with his hand on the small of your back. “What brings me the honor of your visit, darling.”

He leaned on his desk with his arms crossed, a pleasant smile on his lips. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice that you came by, but you do have my number, don’t you?”

“I do.” You cleared your throat, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I was hoping you had some time to spare, actually. I find the phone to be a little... impersonal.”

Bucky’s eyes shined with intrigue as he leaned forward, pinning you to the chair with his gaze. He licked his lips. “Show me what exactly?”

“You’ll see.” You smirked. “I happen to know that your next meeting just got canceled.”

Bucky got even closer, his breath hitting your neck with every word he spoke. “And I’ll gladly cancel the rest, too.” A shiver shot over your arms, his cologne seemingly intoxicating you. But before you could respond, he backed up, grabbing his coat and gesturing towards the door. “Lead the way.” 

And so you did. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky was suspicious when you pulled him into the subway, but he decided against saying something. He had told you he trusted you after all, and though Bucky considered himself a lot of things, a flake was not one of them. So he let it happen. 

It wasn’t half bad, either. Somewhere between his office door and the train, you had taken his hand in yours to pull him along faster. Bucky had noticed his lips spreading into a smile. It didn't last long, unfortunately. Because as he had made eye contact with an elderly lady who had then proceeded to tell you what a beautiful couple you were, you had pulled your hand away with an awkward laugh. 

‘Oh, God, no, we’re not together, ma’am.’ 

Admittedly, Bucky felt a little sting in his chest ever since. In fact, he was rubbing his hand over his shirt at this very moment. You were walking along a street in Brooklyn, not too far from your shop. The neighborhood was a little more run-down than he was used to, certainly nothing like the part of town he lived in. But he kept quiet still. Maybe he was a little butthurt from your earlier aversion about the couple comment, but to be fair, Bucky wasn’t used to women denying him - except Nat. 

You suddenly stopped, making Bucky almost run into you and then stare at you in question. But when you gestured towards the sign above the two-story building, his gaze softened. 

There, above the blue-painted metal doors, hung a faded sign. Bucky could make out the orange and yellow stripes on the board, a big Sunflower painted in the middle of it all. ‘Sunflower -Shelter & Food’.

“Hey, are you coming or are you glued to the ground?” Your voice rang from the entrance, he hadn’t even noticed that you already moved inside. 

Bucky gulped when his eyes swayed back to you and then down his own body. If he was going to step in there in the outfit he was currently wearing, he would look like the biggest asshole on the planet. 

“I can’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

He just gestured towards his clothes, his Rolex glinting in the sunlight for good measure. But there was no reaction from you. You stood in the doorway, pursing your lips seemingly in thought, and then shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “I guess you’ll just have to deal with it then.”

“What?” He called your name. But when he realized you weren’t joking, he caught up to you as fast as possible. Because the only thing worse than showing up there looking like he did was doing it alone, he decided swiftly. 

“‘Think now might be a good time to mention that this is not a very good place for a date,” Bucky mumbled next to you before closing his coat, trying to hide the even more expensive suit beneath. 

“How would you know?” You turned to him. “This isn’t a date, is it?”

Bucky just smirked and then he watched you greet a young boy with a warm hug, and man he imagined what it would be like to have you hug him like that. 

“Peter this is Bucky, Bucky, Peter.” You pulled him towards you by his hand again. “I brought him along to help today, thought we always need an extra pair of hands around here.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Peter reached his hand out, slightly frowning when he took in his appearance but did not say anything. “Any help is always welcome here. Come, I’ll show you what we’re doing today.” 

Within ten minutes, Bucky had an apron and gloves on and was ordered to cut the biggest stack of potatoes he’d ever seen. You were happily chatting away with the other helpers and Bucky, for the first time in a long time, felt ...normal. 

Nobody was recognizing him in the crowd, there was no talk about business and investments, and there were no fucking cameras. Here, people recognized him for what he came to do, help. And it felt weird. Bucky wasn’t quiet about his lavish lifestyle around his crowds. He knew the privilege he had, and he had worked for it enough to be proud of it. But it was like he had entered a different universe in this part of town. All the things he deemed normal, were things so far from imagination here, they were left out of conversations entirely. So, he tried to remember this whenever he was offered a conversation. 

“You do this every day?” He asked into the kitchen while struggling to peel his 5th potato. 

“Whenever we can.” An older woman answered with a smile. She was the one who had shown him how to use the peeler faster. “They are people just like you and me. They have to eat every day, too, Bucky.”

Bucky just nodded in silence at the humbling answer, his cheeks felt hot with embarrassment at how naive he had been. 

Two hours later, he was standing by your side at the serving station, plating mashed potatoes and the accommodating ‘you’re welcome’ every once in a while. He rarely was out of his comfort zone, like today. But he also knew that, whenever he felt unsure, he’d look at you and you’d gift him an encouraging gesture that kept him going a little while longer. 

After everyone had their food, you gave Bucky a tour of the premises. 

There was a small courtyard, a couple rooms with telephones and a computer, some sofas and pillows. Nothing fancy but functional nonetheless. You led him through every room, explaining curtly what it was for and then you led him up the stairs.

On your way up, you passed Peter, who was helping a child find its toy and Bucky felt a lump form in his throat at all the new impressions he was fed today.

He cleared his throat. “Peter... is he?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. His parents died when he was quite young. Lucky for him, though, he has always been a bright kid. He got a scholarship for every school he ever went to. But he spends most of his free time here. He has this urge to help wherever he can. Took me a couple months to keep him from skipping his lectures.” You chuckled and led him through the next door. 

Bucky nodded with adoration. Not many people dedicated their time to something that would not benefit them directly. And while Bucky knew what a dedicated mind was capable of, he had to admit that his efforts were always motivated by personal gain. 

“He’s very admirable for that.” 

You just hummed in response. “I don’t think he chose it himself. Not that I think he wouldn’t. But this shelter belonged to his uncle and aunt. They died when he was in high school. He’s working hard to keep this place alive. As do we all.”

The next room you entered was resembling a classroom. “What happens here?”

“Most of the children are registered for the public school of this district. But they don’t always make it there. This room gives them the opportunity to catch up on missed work. We also have adult classes here, preparing for job interviews and such.”

The next hallway presented doors, all leading to bedrooms, as you explained to Bucky when you walked through the corridor. The last door was larger than the others - a double swing leading to a big sanitary area. Showers, toilets, and sinks lined the walls - all run down but functional. 

“This place could use some serious renovating,” Bucky mumbled, but he was sure you had heard him. Because you looked up at him now, a sad smile decorating your beautiful face. 

“We try to make it as clean and cozy as possible here, but we just don’t have the necessary financial means for it. It works for now. The people coming here need very little. But it’s only a matter of time until the roof needs redoing or the pipes or the windows, or the-“

“Yeah...” Bucky trailed off, making you stop and giving him a break to breathe. He usually wasn’t surrounded by people unable to get out of unfortunate situations. The clients he spent his time with ordered his services to protect the material things they’d bought for status and fun. It was something entirely different when you were robbed of your place to sleep. 

“Well, this completes my humble tour.” You clasped your hands together and proceeded to look at your watch. “I think it’s time to go home.”

You descended the stairs in silence, Peter hugged Bucky goodbye and when he stepped foot back on the sidewalk, Bucky turned around to the sign once more. You stood beneath it, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at him. It was dark out now. 

“Are you not coming?” He asked watching as you shook your head. 

“Peter has an exam tomorrow. I offered to stay the night.”

“Here? Alone?”

“Yes.” 

Bucky stepped towards you again. “Then I’m go-“

“Stop.” Your hand reached for his shoulder, the touch sending him straight back to a haze. “Don’t do this. I know how you feel. There’s this sadness inside you now. You saw this for the first time. It feels awful - I know.” You retracted your hand and pushed yourself off the doorframe. “But until you don’t see anything other than pity for these people, you can’t be here without breaking.”

“Doll...”

“Bucky, I'm serious. Go home. Sleep on it. Try to understand the situation.” 

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this helpless. He just stared at you, unable to move or say anything. He didn’t like the idea of you staying here alone at night. And though the feeling of caring for someone he’d only known for two days so much scared him, he pushed it aside. 

You leaned forward and hugged him goodbye and then the cold night surrounded him again. “Thank you for trusting me today.” And then you turned around and left him standing outside alone. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Your purple-inked pen marked the date in your calendar. 

“That’s an unusually big order, Steve...” You looked up at the blonde frequenting your shop every so often. He’d always get the pink carnations for his girlfriend. Apparently, she loved them after you bound them in the first bouquet you ever sold to Steve. He was a simple man, you could tell, so his usual orders were just as such. But not today. “Are you planning anything special?”

The handsome customer blushed with an innocent smile. “Actually...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m planning to propose.” He looked so sheepish when you clasped your hands in excitement.

“Oh, that’s amazing. Congratulations!”

“Well not yet.” He cleared his throat, visibly trying to compose himself. But this giant pretty man in front of you was adorably nervous. 

“I just know she’ll say yes,” you mused and made a note to reserve some more carnations for his order - a couple simple arrangements that held so much meaning.

“How do you know?”

You watched Steve peer over to you with hopeful eyes. “It’s not every day a man puts so much effort and thought into what bouquet to get his girlfriend on a casual Monday evening each week.” You winked and Steve nodded lost in thought. 

“To be honest, I haven’t even thought about her saying no. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“You shouldn’t worry too much. You are a good man, everyone can see that. And just to be sure, I’ll make the most perfect flowers ever. Paired with your charming ways, there will be no other option but to say yes.”

He relaxed a little. “Great. Thank you.” And then he turned to leave your shop. 

“I’ll have them ready by Friday.” You smiled. 

“Thank you... so much.” Steve smiled and you knew there was so much more hidden in his gesture.

❁ ❁ ❁

It had become a habit that Bucky visited the shelter with you once a week. Admittedly, you were surprised he even cared enough to free his schedule so religiously. But as of the past four weeks, he had shown up at your shop, walked with you to Sunflower shelters, mingled with the people, and then even walked you home. 

It was actually kind of refreshing, seeing him so invested and kind of protective. There weren’t many guys in the city that cared enough to get you home safely. Peter offered more times than often, but you rather knew him safe at the shelter than try to fight a gangster double his size out of the kindness of his heart and the deep wish to somehow become a superhero one day.

So Bucky had to do it for now. Not that you were complaining. He was handsome and charming and interesting to converse with given the vastly different lives you lived. But he tried to adapt. Ever since the incident on the first day, he had even tried to wear less wealth-telling clothing, though he seemed to not always hit the mark just right. 

In a way, bucky was a little fashion icon. You’d noticed it in his colorful waistcoats, the intricate details on his shoes, or the fancy cufflinks adorning his oxford-cotton shirts. He tried to dress down. But to your surprise, the color remained. Instead of waistcoats and dress shirts, he wore regular t-shirts. His confidence never wavered.  

A little smile hushed across your face every time you looked at him. The pink shirt he wore combined with the green apron he had been given, made him look like a lollipop. A Beautiful one, that was. With a dashing smile and an adorable frown as he tried to separate the peas from the pod. 

“So... how is the gala coming along?” You teased him a little having noticed how unusual this task was for him. Throughout your few meetings, you had gotten to know Bucky quite well. And apart from his statement the very day he stepped foot into your shop, he revealed to you more and more how difficult the project was for him.

“Let’s just say I’m glad I can count on the flower arrangements,” he grumbles as a pea slipped from his fingers and across the table. 

“That bad, huh?”

His hands stopped working. “The Band canceled on me again and I seem to run after every other arrangement I have made so far. If I had known how much work-“ he huffed and then shook his head with an even deeper frown. 

“Hey, it’s okay to not be good at everything.” You encouraged him, your elbow nudging his side as you smiled lightly. “There has got to be something humbling you. Makes you seem more human.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I meant to ask you...” You picked up your task to avoid his eyes that were suddenly on you again. “How come you’re the one organizing the gala?”

Bucky chuckled, his head shaking for what seemed like the hundredth time today. “I made a deal with my assistant.” 

“What was in it for you?” You threw a couple peas in the strainer and Bucky did the same.

He shrugged. “I got to hand off some paperwork.”

Wow. “Seriously? A bit of paperwork seems like a poor trade for months of organizing something so important.”

Bucky laughed, the sound warming your stomach from the inside out and finally making you look at him again. It was little moments like this in which he felt so careless and relaxed. You liked to believe the shelter did it to him, or maybe even you. But primarily, you were glad he laid off his work self just then. “Yeah it might have not been my smartest move... but I don’t mind it really.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes locked and you suddenly became very aware of how close the two of you were standing. 

“If it weren’t for the deal, I would have never met you.” There was something so honest and pure about the way he had stated this so plainly. And for a moment, you liked to forget that he might have just meant your suggestion to donate to Sunflower. That maybe, the funny fluttery feeling in your stomach wasn’t one-sided, and that you too meant something greater to him than the coincidences that led him into your shop that day. 

A wide smile spread on Bucky’s face and then he winked. He freaking winked at you. And while you turned back to your peas, desperate to hide the fluster on your face, you had to remind yourself that this was Bucky fucking Barnes and that he knew what he was doing.

About two hours later, you sat amongst the people currently living at the shelter, sharing the meal you had prepared for them with the hopes of getting them through another day. You and Bucky were sitting with Gabe Jones, a veteran whose post-traumatic stress disorder had cost him everything after the Vietnam War. He was always telling stories of his time on the front - a way to cope with his horrible past. By now, you and Peter had probably heard every single one of his stories twice. But Bucky was on the edge of his seat. Listening with intrigue as the food on his plate remained untouched. 

“It was ’68 when I was sent out. There were soldiers who done already survived a year or so at the front. And, son, I am sayin’ survived ‘cause you couldn’t call that livin’.” Gabe shook his head before pointing his fork to his shoulder. “Caught a grenade in ’69 and on our way to camp, they shot at the helicopter. Lost my right arm and comrade that day. The damn arm’s gone but I’m gon’ have the memory forever.”

The words didn’t seem to affect the veteran anymore, but they never failed to leave their recipients shocked and wondering. It was always the same question: How can someone fight for a country, leave their life for a country, and end up here?

And honestly? You didn’t know. 

“I’m so sorry, sir.” Bucky swallowed as his eyes fled over to yours. “Thank you for your service.”

“Notin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” Gabe waved his hand and then pointed at Bucky’s plate. “You eatin’ that?” 

Bucky just shook his head and pushed his plate towards Gabe, a somber state overtaking his body. You did feel a little bad. But you also knew that Gabe wasn’t affected by sympathies and that he was happy at Sunflower - though he preferred the street over the beds here. While he had spent just another day existing, he had simultaneously opened Bucky’s eyes to the severity of making stories like his more known. 

By now you were pretty confident, Bucky would choose the homeless as recipients for his company’s fundraiser sum. But he surprised you by getting involved with the people here over and over again, willing to learn and to understand. 

The walk to your apartment building that evening was awfully quiet. Bucky had insisted he walk on the street side of the sidewalk, buried his hands in his coat pockets, and shut up ever since.

You knew he was contemplating, letting the day play on repeat in his mind. He probably had a lot of questions, a lot of frustration, and worry. Nothing unfamiliar to you, but something you’d learned to deal with ever since helping out at Sunflower. 

“Don’t feel bad,” you said when you stopped in front of the familiar brick building you called home. 

“How?”

“Feeling bad isn’t helping them. You have the power to change things.” It was an awfully dry response, but the truth hurt sometimes. 

Bucky just looked at you through hooded eyes, a knowing nod shaking his features as he watched slowly take a step back toward your front door. 

“Thank you,” he suddenly released - steady and calm. “For taking me. For helping me see...” 

You couldn’t help yourself. The confession overwhelmed you. Knowing you had succeeded in showing him what was so important to you overwhelmed you. You leaped forward and slung your arms around him, pressing tightly into his chest. 

Bucky’s arms found their way around you in an instant, the hug conveying so much more than just a goodbye. It was a ‘thank you’ a ‘this means the world to me’.

After about a minute, you leaned up to him and placed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m also glad you took the deal, Bucky.” You whispered into his ear, feeling the smile on his face on your cheek. 

When he finally released you, it seemed like the spell was gone. Bucky was back to burying his hands in his pockets, only the faint remnants of a smile hinting towards your earlier interaction. You hadn’t realized how much this would affect him. You had forgotten how long you fought with yourself until you could act normal around the people at Sunflower yourself. 

“Do you want to come up?” You threw your thumb over your shoulder at the entrance of the building with a lopsided smile. “Don’t want that cheap bottle of merlot to go bad.”

Bucky’s eyes brightened underneath the street lights and the wide boyish grin returned to his face. “We can’t have that, can we?”

❁ ❁ ❁

To say Bucky’s heart had skipped a beat at your invitation would have been an understatement. It did somersaults and ended with an impressive backflip. He’d not expected a move from your side. Especially, since the last time he had picked you up, the universe had flipped him the bird by sending two of his former one-night-stands your way. He had been able to shake them off before they were able to yell at him or reveal more of what their connection to him was. But that marked the first time he was a little embarrassed by his late endeavors. You had acted like nothing happened, but since that night, Bucky hadn’t stopped wondering what you thought of him. 

You lead him up the narrow staircase to a red wooden door, the color chipping by the floor as an indicator of having to kick it to open sometimes. Beyond the door, it was cozy and warm. Every corner of your place had a memory placed in it - a self-made quilt or a photograph. When you walked through it, Bucky could feel the love and time this place had seen. 

It was nothing like his own apartment: a penthouse standing high above the city, with sleek black surfaces and cold marble wherever you reached. Here, he felt the need to take his shoes off, to feel the fuzzy carpets on the scratched-up wooden floors. Your place wasn’t sterile like his, it felt... like a good hug. 

Bucky snorted as the result of a breath he released. Never before had he cared about what his place lacked. It was expensive and pristine, clean and big. And even though your apartment was about the size of his living room, it had so much more to offer. 

“The living room is right through there, you can choose a movie if you like.” Your voice called out from somewhere Bucky assumed to be the kitchen as he kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the rust-colored sofa that had more pillows than necessary. It was super comfortable, though. And the lack of space due to the pillows forced you to sit a little closer to him, so he wasn’t complaining.

“Your place is... cute.” He stated as you handed him a glass of wine and laughed. 

“It’s a shoebox but I do love it very much. Probably nothing compared to what you’re used to.”

Bucky shook his head and took a sip. The wine did taste cheap, but he did not care. “Bigger isn’t always better.” His arm was spread on the backrest but your whole body was turned to him. “It has a lot of character.”

“Oh god, please stop, you’re just making it sound worse.” Your hand came up to hide your face but your smile peeked through the gesture. 

Bucky laughed. “I didn’t mean it condescendingly. I really do like it. Reminds me of my childhood home.”

“Are you close with your family?” Bucky was surprised by the question. Maybe it was because his friends never talked about his family, or because the peers he hung out with tended to discuss business rather than sentimental. But he realized that nobody had asked him about it for a long time.

And so he began talking. Bucky talked about his parents and how both of them died early in his life. He told you how close he was with his sister until she got adopted into another family. He spoke about his childhood with Steve and how they’d met Sam and Tony in college, about the night they had the idea for Shield Protective Services, and finally the day he was told his sister had passed away. 

Throughout his story, you had leaned into him closer, hanging onto his every word until your hand had to support your body on his thigh and Bucky suddenly stopped talking. 

Your glasses were emptied, the bottle as well, and Bucky gulped when he felt the heat from your hand travel throughout his entire body. 

“So... that’s my story.” He had to clear his throat to gain his usual timber back, his hands becoming sweaty when you blinked next to him. “What about you, dove?”

“Dove?” You smiled, yet intrigued by the name that had slipped past his lips in the trance of the moment. He’d only ever called you that in his thoughts. Attributed the nickname to you the second he realized it was the most fitting one of them all. 

“You don’t like it?” He asked, his arm slipping towards your shoulder ever so slightly. 

“I like it.” You smiled. “I just want to know... why this one?”

A hush of giddiness crawled up his throat when he thought about his answer. It was the way you had welcomed him so easily into this world of yours. How you were willing to show him the things precious to you. That you trusted him with this very opportunity to help. Every day he spent with you he felt it, found that between coding his new security program and meeting with Hydra enterprises, its somber reality sent him into a feeling of breathing fresh air. You created a button that turned off the noise in his head. “Because you bring me peace.”

Your eyes stared at him in wonder when he tilted your chin with his thumb and index finger. There was appreciation and happiness, he could see it, feel it. 

Bucky was entranced by your stare when your voice whispered a response to him: “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever been told.”

You leaned forward and Bucky’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest, and then your face fell into his chest, your arms encasing him in the warmest hug he’d ever received. He willed his pulse to slow and wrapped his arms around you tightly. A little humbled and a little confused, but appreciative of the situation nonetheless. 

You stayed like this when you chose a movie to watch. Even after an hour, Bucky’s grip didn’t loosen. He peered down at you on his chest and watched as you fell asleep. And when he was sure you were far away in your slumber, he pressed a warm kiss to your head, lingering in the scent of your shampoo.  

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky stared at his computer screen as the pen in his hand clicked on his glass desk in perfect rhythm. The Shelter website displayed on the surface, portraying a brighter version of the sign you had dragged him to that very first day. 

But it wasn’t the heartfelt story behind the building or the way his pen clicked slightly more hollow every other tap because he turned it too much that had him zoned out at work. It was - as unbelievable as it sounded - a woman. Not just any, no. You. 

“Hey, I need a signature from you for this design draft.” Steve dropped his notepad on the desk, then rounded it and settled behind Bucky who had yet to recognize his presence. 

“This your charity suggestion?” He questioned with his hands on his friend’s office chair. 

Bucky nodded absentmindedly. Perhaps it was because he had decided to support your suggestion the second you had taken his hand on his way to the subway. Or maybe he was just letting his mind roam freely again. Mainly because it was a safe bet to call you into memory and he liked the feeling it provided. 

A pale hand waved in front of his face. “Earth to Bucky.” Steve snapped his fingers, making the brunette jump. “You seem oddly distracted.”

He had been thinking about you. Of course, he had. There seemed to be nothing else he could do lately. Every time Bucky read through his reports, he imagined what your voice would sound like reading them to him. Whenever he went down to IT, he envisioned the room decorated with your flowers and how much happier they would make the place. When he sat in a meeting with HR and watched their burnt-out faces stare back at him through their coffee haze, he wondered if you could make them as lively as you made him. 

Bucky could - so he realized after weeks of denial - not escape you. 

That was one thing. But the more chilling revelation was that he did not mind. He enjoyed the little admonitions his mind set out in his environment. He appreciated the quickening thumb in his chest, whenever he saw his calendar entries stating another meeting with you - so much so that he almost forgot how unusual it was for him. 

It was crazy. A month ago, if someone had dared to tell him he’d be finding something more than his regular flings, he would have laughed in their face. In fact, he actually did a few days before he met you. 

Bucky didn’t know what kind of magical spell you’d put on him, but within a few weeks, he’d started to become a different man. A better version of his thought-to-be-marvelous self. Now he realized what he was missing: a counterpart, someone who made life seem dull without them by his side. He wasn’t going to admit it to Sam or Steve immediately, but the idea of you being that very someone became more attractive each day. 

“Just a lot to do with the gala and all...” Bucky trailed off and spun around to Steve. 

“You know, I never took you for an event manager...” The blonde grinned and his eyes lit up in the office light. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I like seeing you try something new, but this feels very... out of place.”

“But you also know I never back down from a challenge. And I’ll be damned if Nat has something to hold against me for life.”

Steve’s head tipped forward. “We both know that woman has blackmail material for two lifetimes on us. 

“She really does.” Bucky sighed and then slumped back in his chair, the little issue he had been hiding from his best friend gnawing on his mind. 

He thought about Steve and Bambi and how he had just asked her to marry him. She’d said yes, of course, nobody expected otherwise. Steve - of all people - was living a magical fairytale life with the woman of his dreams. And here Bucky was, thinking he had figured it all out with women and relationships - or rather that he never wanted one - yet he found himself wondering why that decision bugged him so much when you came into the picture. 

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, not believing he was really going to ask Steve for dating advice.

“Always.”

“How did you know that Bambi was the one?” A stupid question, really. Bucky already knew there was nobody like you. But it was best to start this conversation off lightly.

Steve smiled widely again, his cheeks tinted pink. “Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And not in an I haven’t touched a woman in years kind of way... I couldn’t stop. Every second of every day, I imagined her with me. The thought of her made me happier even before she knew how I felt about her. And, well, it also hurt like hell when I thought she didn’t return my feelings... when she refused to talk to me for a day...” He cleared his throat and then eyed Bucky again. “Why do you want to know?”

“Nothing in particular. I was just wondering and I needed material for my best man speech.” But the blonde didn’t buy it. He caught Bucky’s chair when he attempted to turn away, pulling him right back in front of him. “Are you dating someone? Is it that woman from the flower shop?”

How did he know about you? “No??” Bucky squinted at Steve. 

“You know if you wanted advice, I do consider myself an expert to some extent now.” Bucky wanted to wipe the smug grin right off his friend’s face. 

“You’re an idiot.” He stood up and paced to the window.

“Oh come on, Buck.” Steve followed suit, the playful grin ever present. “You teased me for years about my love life, can’t be mad now.”

“I’m not mad.” He was annoyed. 

They stood by the glass front for a while, watching the busy city unfold beneath them in the glow of the rising sun. Bucky could feel his friend’s eyes stare at him though. And after another moment of silence, the blonde finally spoke. “You should ask her out.”

“What?” He faced him again. 

“You like her. I can tell. And you’ve never acted like this about a woman, let alone put so much effort into a relationship. I know it’s not your style, but I think it would do you good to at least try.”

“The effort is for the gala.” Bucky corrected. 

“Right. Because that’s your thing... charity galas.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and then tapped it and then he made his way to the door. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I really wish you would listen to your heart and not be a stubborn dickhead for once. This could be something life-changing - something great. And it’s your choice whether you welcome it or not.”

Life changing. Bucky didn’t like the sound of that. He liked to be in control of the situation and rule over his own life. However that aspect seemed to have left the building when you entered. 

He huffed. There you were back on his mind again, and he felt the tingle creep up his throat. There was no denying it. What Steve had described with Bambi was what Bucky had with you. 

With a shake of his head, he grabbed his coat, told Nat he’d be back in an hour, and then pressed the button for the elevator. He would deny it if Steve ever dared to take pride in convincing him to do so, but he’d also be damned if he didn’t at least try to find out if you felt the same. 

❁ ❁ ❁

There was a burly-looking stranger standing at the counter when Bucky entered your shop. He had willed the traitorous voice in his head to silence all the way here. But now that he saw the handsome older man taking all your attention to the point you hadn’t even noticed him stepping in over the customer's broad shoulders, the heat began to bubble up again. 

Bucky wanted to tell himself you wouldn’t prefer the salt-and-pepper-bearded man over him. But to be honest, he didn’t even know what your type was. Yes, you had cuddled on your sofa just the other night, but since Bucky wouldn’t consider himself an expert in anything other than one-night stands, it could have been a friendly gesture for all he knew. 

“Would that be all for you?” You asked the man and handed him his chance. Bucky watched as his thumb grazed over your hand, feeling a tinge of anger starting to consume him.  

“That’s all. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I hope to see you again soon, sir.”

“Oh, you can bet on it.” He winked then turned, nodded to Bucky in a brief greeting, and then exited the shop. Bucky’s eyes lingered on the door for a while longer. He took deep breaths as his jaw clenched and the bell above the entrance fell silent. 

“Hey.” A warm hand touched his arm, pulling him right back to your eyes. And just like that, the anger washed away a little. There were just you and him in your tiny oasis amid Brooklyn. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He forced a smile, but the frown on his face probably betrayed him. “Just thought that man was a little inappropriate.” 

“He’s just a sweet man buying flowers for his wife.” Your eyes glimmered with mischief when you bit your lip. “Bucky... are you jealous?”

Oh, hell no.

“Jealous?” Bucky wasn’t jealous. He couldn’t be. There was nothing to be jealous of. He had no claim to you. Even if he really wished he did. And yet that man had angered him with only the touch of his hand. That was the only thing he’d ever get. Bucky knew what it felt like to have you in his arms, how your body lotion settled in his nose, how your head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck. “No.”

“But you should not be so naïve, dove. Married men are also flirting... and cheating.”

A short laugh escaped your throat before you caught yourself again and Bucky’s heart began doing that funny somersault thing. “Not to burst your bubble or anything, but I do know how the real world works.” You crossed your arms before your chest. “Besides, what do you care if he did ask me out? Maybe it has been a lifelong dream of mine to be a mistress.”

“It’s not. And I don’t. I just think you deserve someone better than a cheater.”

“Oh, like who? The percentage of good guys in this city is disappointingly low.”

Bucky snorted, guided by the excitement in his chest he opened his arms. “Please, I could name at least five guys off the top of my head who are better than whatever that was.” His left hand flailed in the direction of the door, referring to the previous customer. 

“Name one.”

“Me.”

The surprise sprung onto your features faster than Bucky realized what he had said. “What?” 

Well, this was certainly not the way he had planned to ask you out today. Damn jealousy. The only way for this to not be embarrassing was to own up to it now. It was what he had come here for after all, right?

Bucky looked directly into your eyes, his expression sincere and determined. "Yes, me. I may not have everything figured out, but I do know one thing: I care about you. I've seen the way you light up a room, the kindness you show to everyone around you. You deserve someone who sees that, who appreciates it.”

Your eyes softened when you shook your head, averting your gaze to the ground. “I don’t know, Bucky.”

He bit the insides of his cheeks, instantly hoping you’d say something else. Anything that would show him there was a chance you would change your mind. The silence was all-consuming, but he kept his mouth shut, careful not to fuck it up once again. 

“Bucky, I appreciate your honesty, I really do. But I don't think it's a good idea.”

Bucky's brows furrowed, his confidence wavering as your soft refusal hit him. "What do you mean, you don't know?" he asked, his tone tinged with a hint of frustration. He struggled to keep his composure, the unfamiliar feeling of rejection gnawing at him. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he searched for the right thing to say. His jaw tensed, betraying the hurt he felt deep down. "Forget it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel, his disappointment palpable in the air as he made his exit, leaving you to contemplate his unexpected confession.

❁ ❁ ❁

“Why, don’t you just look precious!” You bent down and picked up Sam’s daughter, Darla, who had eagerly stormed through the door as soon as he’d opened it because she wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the handle yet. 

“You... I’ve missed you soooo much.” You nuzzled her into your chest and pretended to squeeze real tight. 

“Come play dragons with me!” The little one squirmed and then hopped off in her tiny knight costume.

“Nothing I would rather do,” you singsonged and then mouthed a ‘she’s grown so much’ to Sam before he closed the door with a shake of his head. 

“I know... she just does it without my permission. Unbelievable.”

About ten minutes later, you sat on the living room floor with a bunch of stuffed dragons, you had been instructed to play. Sam’s daughter was happily fighting the stuffies with her wooden sword and his husband handed you a cup of coffee with a smile. 

“So how have things been?” Matt sat down on the sofa and Sam instantly wrapped his arm around him. Your eyes lingered on the interaction for a second before your gaze wandered back to Darla. 

“Oh, you know, business as usual. The shop is doing very well... the shelters are holding up.” You smiled at her and then made a dragon fall backward in defeat. 

“Hm...” He frowned. “That’s weird... I had a feeling it was getting better soon.”

You smiled tight-lipped and wondered if you had butchered it all with your stubbornness. Matt wasn’t clairvoyant or anything crazy like it. But the joke of his other senses being heightened due to his impaired vision had carried on forever. And even though you never believed in supernatural magical things, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, there was a hunch of truth to it nonetheless. He had been right about many other things after all. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed and Darla excused herself to her room to ��get more toys’. “Except for the shop, everything else seems to go a little downhill right now.”

“But you have been seeing someone, no?” Matt tilted his head and Sam squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to make him stop. 

“Babe, do we need to talk about appropriate prying again?” 

“Sorry,” Matt blushed, “Occupational hazard.”

You laughed and then turned serious again. “I have... but to be honest, I doubt it will have a future. It’s - I don’t know - it just seems a little too good to be true.”

“It’s been Bucky you’ve been seeing, hasn’t it?” Sam chimed in with a calm deep voice, making your attention snap to him. Your heart began to race at the mention of Bucky’s name. 

“How did you know?”

His fingers lifted in air quotes “A gorgeous girl with a flower shop in Brooklyn that somehow tries to convince him to donate to Sunflower shelters? You did not make it hard, honey.”

“He... he talks to you about me?” Well, that changes things, you thought as you watched Sam reassure you with a small smile. 

"More like a little birdy told me...." Sam shrugged. “What happened?” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes holding concern.

“Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want to be one of his many trophies. And I’m scared, I just made the chase attractive by not putting out immediately.” Your eyes turned glassy. “What if he will lose interest when I do.” Your voice broke, making you almost whisper the last part into the living room. “Because I really really want to...”

Matt cleared his throat. “If it helps anything... I have a feeling you are not going to be just another one-night stand.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Sam chimed in. “So butthurt about a girl or even put effort in a relationship that would only become a one night stand - which it is not - he wants more, he needs more. He sees a future with you. And as much as his bad-boy demeanor has made that pretty unbelievable in the past, he is changing. I just know, and it’s about time that he aims for peace and quiet and love and comfort.”

Turning your head with a suspicious grin, you answered: “Is Matt contagious? Because that sounded one hell of a lot like a prediction to me.”

Sam just shook his head with a smile, scooted forward on the sofa, and then took your hands in his. “Believe me when I say this: You are so amazing. And not even a douchebag like Bucky could deny it. Yes, he has had his fair share of women in the past, and he can be the most stubborn dickhead in all of New York City, but he’s not stupid. He knows something valuable when he sees it. And you, love, have given him the most precious thing he’s ever had.”

You held eye contact for a short moment, letting your friend’s words sink in and warm you from the inside until the butterflies in your stomach began to tingle. As much as you wanted to refuse, you had shown him love and acceptance every step of the way. And Bucky? Bucky had tried so hard to impress you. He had done so many things just for you, to spend time with you.

You just wrote it off as a means to get you to sleep with him. But at this point, that argument was farfetched. Because throughout the time you spent together, his presence was pleasant, casual, and... wanted. 

“So what do I do now?” You said with determination, making a smile spark on both Sam’s and Matt’s faces.

❁ ❁ ❁

“So, Barnes is unusually grumpy tonight.” Bucky heard Tony say when he came back from the bathroom, jamming his glas on the table to announce he was listening. “Did you get cockblocked or what?”

“Shut it, Stark, or I’ll personally demonstrate your very own cockblock.” Bucky pressed through his teeth. 

“Damn, Buck. What the hell could possibly throw you off this much?” Tony signaled for two more drinks to the bar as Bucky took a seat again. 

Sam looked at him with a raised brow - the fucker knew what was going on. But Bucky refused to get dragged into talking about his feelings. 

“I thought it was going good?” Steve chimed in, a question in his features. Steve, you punk. Shut up!

Bucky knew he was referring to the bouquets of flowers that subtly decorated the office now. First his own desk, then the kitchen. And when Nat had grown suspicious, he proceeded to place them on her desk to have her stop asking questions. 

It wasn’t his doing - not this time. You had just given him a bouquet of the flowers you couldn’t sell anymore every time you met. And Bucky couldn’t bring himself to throw them out. They also reminded him of you and were a nice little distraction from work. ...Not that it mattered anymore.

“Going good? What is going on? What are you talking about, Rogers?”

“Bucky met a- ouch goddamnit!” A kick was heard from beneath the table. And when Steve’s eyes snapped over to Sam, the man just tipped his head with a warning stare. “What the hell, man?”

“Okay, that’s it. I feel like you guys don’t tell me anything. I need details. Now.”

“No.”

Bucky didn’t need Tony to know. In fact, Bucky didn’t need anyone to know he had trouble talking to a woman. He, of all people, who never had any difficulties getting even the married ones - yeah he wasn’t too proud of that... But Tony would just make everything worse. And with his patience hanging by a thread right about now, he was not willing to play with fire. 

“Buck, we- they’re your friends. They deserve to know, especially if things are as serious as you told me.” Bucky just stared at Steve in silence, his gaze trained on the crystal class in front of him with the amber liquid untouched. Steve always had a need to calm the storm. And maybe, Bucky would let him do it this time. 

Truthfully, Bucky couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore. His friends would sooner or later hear about you - if he had not fucked it up entirely. So, it was better to rip the band-aid off now than peel it back painfully slow in the future. 

He crossed his arms and exchanged a brief glance with the blonde, and Steve understood that he was allowed to proceed. 

“Bucky met someone. He’s organizing the charity gala this year and she’s the florist doing the flower arrangements.” He had never noticed it before, but ever since Bambi had entered Steve’s life, his best friend’s fable for romance became more and more apparent to Bucky. 

“She’s also helped him find a cause to donate to. She’s been taking him to the Shelter she has worked at for years,” Sam chimed in and Bucky didn’t even question where he got his information from anymore. Steve and he had always been close, and though Bucky didn’t believe Steve would tell Sam his most private conversations, Sam always had a way of finding out. 

“Event planning? Florist? Who are you and what have you done to Bucky?” Tony looked seriously stunned, But Bucky didn’t expect anything less than incomprehension. He had always been the only one in the group Tony could relate to and talk to when it came to women and lifestyles. Now, that very thing was slipping away. 

Bucky just shrugged, uncertain how to answer. It was true: He had changed quite a bit ever since meeting you. But they weren't bad changes. He actually liked them. 

Steve cleared his throat. “I thought things were going great, just the other day he talked about asking her out. And there were all these flowers in the office, I just assumed...”

“Yeah well, they weren’t.” Bucky interrupted as he felt the frustration creep back up. There were so many new feelings mixing within him that he didn’t know what to do with them. 

“Well it’s good to have you back, I guess. Can’t imagine how that would’ve turned out.” Tony’s hand landed on Bucky’s shoulder, who immediately brushed it off. 

“What do you mean ‘turned out’?”

His head swayed from left to right and his hands turned outward. “Well, we all agree it would have never worked out right? You’re not the one for relationships and she was clearly using you for that charity money.”

What the actual fuck?

“You don’t know her. So don’t you dare assume anything about her.” Bucky sprung up, his hands hitting the table with a thump. “Dove has the kindest, most beautiful soul on this earth.” He wouldn’t let Tony, of all people, insult you. Not you. Not his dove. And, yes, maybe it also hurt a little that his friend did not believe Bucky could change for something truly important. And maybe it scratched his ego that this might have been the reason for your rejection the other day. But all of that seemed unimportant now. 

“Look at you growing all protective.”

“Tony.” Steve’s condescending tone rumbled over the booth. 

A look at Tony and Bucky wanted to smack the smirk off his face. Another look at Sam, whose eyes had grown soft with empathy. And one last look at Steve, who’d only wanted him to be as happy as him. Damn it. 

“You wouldn’t fucking know what I’m talking about, Stark.”

And then he stormed out of the Ironbar and into the night, head fuming, heart racing, and only one thing on his mind. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You were pretty sure Bucky would have kicked your door down had you not opened it the second time he wrapped his fist against it. Now he was standing in front of you, cheeks reddened from the cool night air, chest rising with deep breaths, but still devilishly handsome. 

“Hey, Bucky!” You smiled until you noticed the irritated look in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He seemingly ignored you, stepping into your home and then turning once you closed the door. “Do you think I can change?”

“What?”

“Do you believe I could change? That I could become the person you would date?” His eyes were pleasing, his head cocked to the side - fidgedy.

“Is... is this about the other day?”

Bucky looked nervous, vulnerable even. “Just answer my question, please.”

“I believe everyone has the ability to change. But I also know not everyone wants to.” You looked at your hands, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

“Then why... why do you think I haven’t. Through all the times we’ve gone to the shelter, through all the conversations. I’ve never had that with someone before... what I have with you.”

There it was. You knew you had to talk to him about it sooner or later. Sam and Matt had suggested as much. You just didn't know it would be this soon.

“Bucky, I just don’t want to end up as one of the women passing you on the street, throwing side eyes at the newest one you’re having on your arm.” Yeah... that encounter had been a rather awkard one. Not to mention how nervous you were that night, hopig Bucky had only played it cool in order to protect you.

“See, but that wouldn’t happen to you, dove. It wouldn’t. Because I realized that you are the reason that makes me want to change.” Bucky's gaze softened as he spoke, his tone gentle yet resolute he stepped closer. “I'm not perfect, but I promise you this: I'll always try my best for you. So, yeah, maybe it's a long shot, but I think I could be good for you. And if you'd give me the chance, I'd love to show you.” He took your hands in his, then closed his eyes and came even closer. “I know I'd treat you right.”

Throughout his confession, your gaze never faltered from his face. You could feel the desperate honesty in his tone, in the way his hands lightly trembled. He was scared, and he lay that emotion in your hands - for you to do whatever you needed with it. 

Your voice was shaky when you answered, a light hue of shame fogging the question on the tip of your tongue. “But how do I know...?” That this is not what you’re telling every woman in this godforsaken city? 

But Bucky understood. Because apparently that pull you'd had toward him had been there for a reason. “Because the things you make me feel scare me.” His face was mere inches from yours now, you could see every speck of color in his irises. “They scare me because I’ve never felt them before. Every time I’m not with you, I think of you. In every situation I am in alone, I imagine how much more exciting it would be with you in it. I’m going crazy. I’m lost without you, dove.”

A single tear ran down your face at his confession. This moment felt so raw, his words so sincere. But most importantly, it made your heart pound with excitement. 

“Will you be mine?” His forehead leaned against yours, his hands moving up your arms and to your neck. “Please say yes,” he whispered and his breath tickled your nose. 

He just felt so right. Bucky felt right in your home, in your arms, in your life. “Yes.” You finally answered and as soon as the syllable left your mouth, his lips came crashing onto yours. 

Within seconds, Bucky had you pressed against the door. His hands held your face lovingly, his hands warm and big on your skin. The kiss was deep and so unbelievably pure, it punched the breath from your lunges the second your lips connected. And suddenly you knew that Bucky’s words held far less emptiness than you had feared. Nobody could kiss like this and not be sincere. At least you hoped it to be true because once you’d gotten a taste, you knew you would never want to try anything else. You could get drunk off him. Forever.

Your hands wandered beneath Bucky’s coat, settling in the warmth of his back beneath the thick wool and feeling the muscles ripple when he pulled you even closer. 

You sighed into him because the moment felt so right, so perfect, so tailored to the two of you and Bucky brushed his tongue over your bottom lip. The tingle from the gesture traveled down your spine. Before you could hold yourself back, you let his touch swallow you whole. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky moaned, a feeling so warm and enjoyable taking over his body with every breath you stole from him. He had wanted for this to happen for weeks. And the real thing did not disappoint. 

Your hands roamed his back until they hooked onto his shoulders and began shrugging off his coat. He tried hard to keep your lips on his during the action, not wanting to miss a single moment without them anymore. You were here, you were his, and it was perfect. 

“Bucky,” you whimpered when his thigh made its way between your legs. A move so instinctually feeling for him. But all the other women he’d been with before only seemed like practice now. Preparation to be the best lover you’ve ever had and ever will have. Because you were the real thing, the grand prize, the best person to ever happen to him. 

You ground down on his legs in rhythmic motions, Bucky could feel the heat seeping through his expensive dress pants and it made him feel even hotter. He pushed his leg higher, reveling in the sounds that came from your lips and the very knowledge he was the one providing this pleasure. There was nothing more exhilarating. 

But still, it wasn’t enough. “There are too many layers of clothes between us, dove,” his wet breath brushed against your cheek as he pulled his thigh back for you to take off your jeans. 

“You’re so right.” You grinned and then pulled them down in one swift motion only to reveal a pink pear of panties underneath. 

In an instant, his body was pressed to yours again, his lips attaching to yours like magnets - he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you. But instead of placing his leg right back to get you that delicious friction, his hand began traveling down your front until it disappeared in your underwear. 

If you were any other woman, Bucky would’ve gone down on you. He would have dropped to his knees and eaten you out because he knew it was the fastest way he’d make you come. And he took pride in the fact that the women he was with always had at least one orgasm more than him. But he didn’t do so with you. 

Why?

Because Bucky Barnes got high off of your lips, and he couldn’t possibly imagine not seeing your face, feeling your mouth shape in a silent scream when he would make you come for the first time. 

So his hand had to do for now. His fingers slipped past the thin pink cotton and over your mound to gather your slickness. He gasped when he reached your heated core. “You’re so wet for me, love. So ready.” He pecked the corner of your lips. “So perfect.”

“Yes!” You whined and pressed your pussy into his touch. Bucky immediately started to trace circles on your clit. He took his time to find the motions with which your breath staggered, or your fists clenched in his shirt. With every whimper, every stroke of his hand, he felt his dick strain his pants a little more - the aching exciting him for when he could finally sink into you. 

“Shit, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

“I don’t plan on ever stopping.” He growled into your mouth, his hand movements becoming more frantic, the wet noises filling your apartment. Frankly, Bucky didn’t believe he could ever stop giving you pleasure and having you writhe in his arms with deep sighs. Not until he knew how you sounded cumming on his hand, on his face, on his dick, on the sofa, on the bed, and every other surface he could possibly imagine. Your body was like ecstasy.

Your walls began to clench around his fingers, every drag becoming harder as he imagined his cock being squeezed by you instead. “There you go, Baby. That’s it.”

“OH MY GOD!” You screamed as your hand pulled on his hair, your body growing rigid with pleasure and Bucky kissed every curse word from your lips. 

After a minute, he slowly pulled his hand back, the other caressing the skin on your cheek. “Are you okay?” He whispered, his eyes boring into yours in genuine concern. 

“Are you kidding? I’m more than okay. That was incredible.” Bucky couldn’t help the small chuckle from leaving his lips at your praise. 

“You look really fucking pretty when you come.”

“I’m glad. Because I want you to make me do it again.” You kissed his cheek. “And again.” And then you gently stroked his cock through his pants. “And again.”

And the second you said that Bucky pulled you onto the floor with him. He took his time removing your clothes, kissed the trial of your bra strap all the way down your shoulder, licked and bit at your hips all the way down to your ankles where he finally pulled off your underwear and pressed his lips to the soft skin of your leg. And when you were fully naked, he paused. Bucky’s eyes roamed your body, taking in every divot, every mark and curve of yours.

He sat back on his haunches, his head getting dizzy when the butterflies took over. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Bucky softly wheezed, his hand slowly stroking your leg as you lay spread out in front of him. 

“Come here.” You gestured with your arms open, welcoming him in your embrace with a wide smile. Bucky supported his weight with his arms on either side of your head and let your hands bury in his hair. He closed his eyes letting the warmth of your touch overtake him. Your thumbs stroked over his brows before you whispered: “Look at me.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I doubted you. I feel the appreciation in the way you talk to me and touch me. It was unfair of me to assume you are your reputation.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s not like I made it easy for you to believe me.”

You chuckled and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Well, I do now.” Your eyes locked with his and a new fire lit within them. 

“Good.” He smirked and then rolled you over so that you were straddling his waist. The cool wooden floor hit his bare back as you had bunched his shirt up on the way, now pulling it over his head and revealing your satisfied stare when your hands traced over his abs.

You shook your head and released a breath. “Shame on me for refusing this for so long.” Your fingers passed his happy trail and began working on his belt. Bucky’s thumbs stroked your thighs as he watched you undress him, the tent in his pants ever so present and growing with every brush of your fingers. 

“Don’t worry, dove. We have all the time in the world to make up for it.” When his pants were off he pulled you forward again, kissing you ferociously. “‘Cause I’m not planning on leaving.”

You smirked and ground down on his cock, interrupting his speech and ripping a guttural sound from his chest. 

He had been holding back. Ever since you'd dragged him into that shelter, he had not touched a woman, because you had him hooked the second you had taken his hand on the way. And now he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from coming in his boxers like a school boy. 

“Are you getting nervous, Bucky?” You grinned and moved again to tease him a little more.

“Can you blame me?” He clenched his jaw when you rocked forward again, his hand stilling your hips with a near-bruising grip. “I’ve wanted you ever since I stepped foot in your shop.”

“You did?” Your head cocked to the side, surprise washing over your face and his dick twitched making Bucky’s cheeks heat up. 

“Yes...” He confessed only to be attacked with your kisses again. He groaned and bucked his hips up until you were a moaning mess on top of him. His hands reached around you, settling on your ass and giving it a small clap. 

“Hand me my walled, baby. It’s in my pants.”

“Why?”

“We need a condom if you don’t want to keep dry-humping me.” He smirked, knowing, feeling there was nothing dry about this anymore. Your arousal was already drenching his boxers. The slick pushing him close to losing it. 

“It’s okay. We don’t have to, I have an IUD.” 

“As much as I want to, we should be safe...” Bucky swallowed and averted his eyes in regret. “Have to get tested again.”

“Oh, ok.” You were disappointed, he could tell. And Bucky was too. It was the first time he ever regretted all his one-night stands because he would kill to fuck you raw and feel all of you. And as hazy as your body made him, he could not ignore the fact that he did have several different sex partners before. It would have to wait a few weeks. And when he would come back clean, he would keep you in the bedroom for a week straight.

You must have noticed his misery because you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Then you scooched back and retrieved the condom from his wallet. Bucky held his breath when your fingers hooked into his waistband. And when you pulled them down, his cock stood proud and thick with precum already pearling from his tip. 

He reached for the shiny packet in your hand but you pulled your arm up, your eyes stuck on his cock. “Let me.”

“Okay,” he breathed out as he watched you rip the packet. His shaft twitched when your careful hands rolled the condom over him, another bead of precum dripping into the condom and before he could collect himself, you rubbed your pussy all over him, coating him in your arousal. 

Bucky’s hands turned into fists at your sides as he watched you finally sink down on him - inch by inch, your heat welcomed him, his body sparking with pleasure all over. You moaned in unison when he was fully seated inside you, his cock being hugged tightly in your warmth - he’d barely held it together then. 

You planted your hands on his abdomen and rocked forward, sending the both of you reeling. It took a second for Bucky to collect himself. His eyes closed and his nose huffing, he reminded himself of what he had promised you and what he wanted his first time with you to be. When he opened his eyes again, his hands moved over your body with determination. One setting over your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, the other began tracing tight circles on your clit. 

Your head fell back, a vision of ecstasy and pleasure unfolding before him when he sent you over the edge a second time. He slowed your hips on his and rubbed your pussy with his thumb. He needed you to come again. And then again, and he had to hold out for that long. But the way your chest heaved, the light sheen of sweat forming on your skin, made his plan more than difficult. 

It took all of Bucky’s willpower to pull you off his cock and push you to his legs. He sat up and kissed up your neck until he reached your lips. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you asked for.” He mumbled against your skin and then licked over your nipple, the other being caressed by his fingers. His free hand found its place right between your legs again and when you moaned lowly, he slipped two fingers inside you. 

Your pussy was squelching, the lewd sound traveling across the living room as Bucky worked you towards another release. You were already squirming in his hands again. Your fists pulled at his roots, sending a shiver straight to his cock when you leaned his head back. “You’re amazing.” Your breath was hot, fanning over his lips only to be replaced by them again. His tongue slipped inside and mimicking the movement of his fingers in your pussy. 

“Right back at ya, dove. I can't wait to be inside you again.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to come again.” He bit your lip and sped up his fingers already feeling you squeeze him tightly. “So you’re satiated when I come deep inside you, feeling you squeeze me with that perfect pussy of yours until you see stars.”

“Shitshitshit. I’m coming!” A series of curses flew past him when you pulsed around his fingers, gushing all over his hand and lap until he finished rocking you through your third orgasm. 

“Fuck,” Bucky licked your juices off his fingers and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

“I don’t think I have another in me, Bucky.”

“Don’t worry, love. I got you.” And with that he hooked your legs around his waist, falling forward until you were with your back to the floor, Bucky hovering over you and aligning his length with your entrance. 

He couldn’t wait anymore, in one swift motion, Bucky fully bottomed out until his balls hit your ass. And when he was confident you were comfortable, he set a relentless pace. He had been on the edge this entire time. You had almost made him come just having him watch you let go. But there was nothing like the feeling of your pussy hugging him tightly, your body writhing beneath his, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and nails raking down his back. 

“You feel so good,” he grunted and you just moaned in response.

“Look at me, please.” His hand turned your face. “I need to see you.” 

Bucky snapped his hips into yours even faster, your walls already clenching tightly around him and he threatened to burst. Your eyes opened and fell to his and Bucky couldn’t stop his orgasm from ripping through him anymore. His strokes stuttered, his balls tightened, but he held eye contact with you, searching your hand behind his back to lock your fingers with his. 

The white pleasure exploded within him, elevated by your own peak hitting with full force. He kissed you then, feeling like he was somewhere between heaven and your living room floor. His mind was consumed by you, his body tingling in aftershocks as he rocked you through your highs. 

His damp chest fell into yours when you came down. He rolled on his back, taking you with him, pressed deeply into his body, his cock still buried inside you. Bucky’s chest was heaving, the last remnants of pleasure sparkling in his nerves. He kissed your hand and cuddled you closer. 

This was what he was made for. To be with you, to be consumed by your affection and warmth. 

He smoothed over your head and felt your lashes flutter on his skin. His heart was blooming with contentment - all the fear he’d felt to commit was miles away, lost somewhere between the Ironbar and your doorstep. There was nothing he was more sure of. 

“Let me do this right. Let me take you out.” He whispered into your hair with a smile, trying to remember a time he’d ever been this happy. 

You snorted as your hand gently stroked over his chest. “Bucky, you’re literally ballsdeep inside of me right now.”

Bucky chuckled as well, his hand rubbed down your bare back in a soothing motion when he kissed your head. “Nothing like a convincing argument, huh.”

🫵 You cant get enough of this character? Go check out the chatbot I made for him! This way you can explore different endlings, plotlines, or just enjoy his company for a while longer 💕

You already know your girl couldn't decide which GIF to use. So here are the extra ones:

Woooow, you've made it this far! Thank you so much 💕 If you have some time to spare, I would reaaaally appreciate some feedback from you. A comment or a reblog can help so much to reach more people and improve writing. Talk to you soon ~Meg 💞

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @mcu21lover19 @almosttoopizza @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @wintermischief @broadwaybabe18 @fridayiaminlove @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @justafangir1 @simpxinnie @blackhawkfanatic @augustbucky @kandis-mom @harleycao @ashhsage @hhiggs @scott-loki-barnes @gabshouse @barnes1031 @am-3-thyst @awkotaco24 @fangirl-swagg @she-wolf09231982

also tagging my steve tags (for everyone who wanted an update on Bambi) 🤗 :

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @themetalhiro

Hi, I’m Metal! I’m a freelance artist from good ol’ New Jersey. My favorite things to work with are a lot of bright colors, exaggerated poses, and candid scenarios. I try to farm sensible chuckles whenever I can, so I’m also big into comics. I love making them about my life, and the media I’m into, and one day I’d like to publish my own series!  Thank you to everyone who has gotten me this far!!

Check out Metal's interview below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I guess so! It’s funny, I don’t remember a single time in my life that I wasn’t drawing as a hobby… somewhere in middle school (a little late, I know.) I put the pieces together that animated movies were made by artists, and that it wasn’t just for fun, they were paid to do it. The moment I discovered people could be paid to make art, I decided I would do that, too. Now I’m here!

How has your style developed over the years?

I think the best way to answer this would be with an example! Over the last few years, I have made more of an effort to draw more intentionally, which sounds silly. Now, I put more thought into my poses and step out of my comfort zone with shape language and composition. I had a phase where I drew everyone with a huge, perfectly circular head and no nose. That definitely did not lend much variety...

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

Ack! I’m so terrible at history! I’d love to give a well-thought-out answer about fine artists of old, but I don't think we’d have much in common… Most artists I admire and who have driven me forward creatively are the people behind comics I’ve read. Andrew Hussie, Bryan Lee O’Malley, Eiichiro Oda... these guys have inspired me greatly and had a heavy influence in developing my art style and sense of humor. I’d love to ask them questions about their processes and upcoming projects. I think it would make for an entertaining night!

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Outside of pure aesthetics like searing bright colors, layered clothing, and loud noises…. the best and most inspiring moments in my life were those surrounded by friends and loved ones! I cherish the hell out of memories of hanging around in fun locations, trying weird food together, and impromptu midnight walks... so I try my best to capture that atmosphere and my own memories in my work when I can, even if I’m imposing fictional characters on top of them. That’s always the core of it.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I would never permanently refuse a medium, but every time I pick up clay, I’m like a baby using its hands for the first time. Absolutely dreadful. If one day I could make and paint a figurine like the ones I admire in videos, that would be awesome... But for now, I’m not counting on it.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I’ve had an absolute blast drawing fanart over the years, and it’s certainly played a massive role in my growth as an artist. But my dream has always been to publish my own stories for y'all to enjoy! I have lots of worlds I want to introduce to you before I’m old and gray. I want to get faster, work harder, and get better at drawing interesting settings so I can get the wheels turning as soon as possible. I also want to stop avoiding the color blue like a coward.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating art that you know now?

Pay your taxes quarterly. Tablets will break at the exact moment you need them most, so have a spare. Wear your blue light glasses. You’re going to need to wear a brace on every joint on the right side of your body. It can be lonely sitting at your desk all day. The car on the side of the road that costs $1000 cash….. don’t trust it!!!

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@cranity—They use absolutely beautiful colors and weighty line work. Everything looks so sharp and clean! I wanna put it all up on my wall!

@vewn—Their ability to crank out quality short films and illustrations packed with detail is incredible. The off-kilter perspective they use really sells disorientation and catches your attention like nothing else.

@nelnal—They have absolutely banger character designs again and again, I can’t believe one person’s mind can come up with so many creative ideas!

@jinx88kc—They have a beautiful and recognizable style, and the way they incorporate animation into their illustrations sometimes is SO cool!

Thanks for stopping by, Metal! For more of Metal’s work, follow their Tumblr, @themetalhiro! If you haven't seen their Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here!

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141!(Part 5)

The shithead owner decides that he needs to sign up for a "restaurant renovation" show. Chaos ensues.

"A fucking TV show?"

Gaz frowns while polishing glasses.

"Told him it was a bad idea."

Price shrugs, lighting a cigar. You are horrified, being on the screen for millions of people to see was nerve wracking. And it'll be the first time you meet the owner.

"Restaurant renovation... Lik' he gives twa fucks aboot renovating this shitehole."

Johnny ashes his smoke and passes it to you. You take a deep drag and sigh, this is gonna be a disaster.

~

Cameras are set up everywhere, everyone's mic'd up, there are too many people in too small of a space. Some obnoxiously loud man introduces himself. He seems to be an amalgamation of every TV host you've ever seen, wearing too much cologne and too much hair gel. He puts a hand on your shoulder,

"The place looks terrible but at least they got something nice to look at here."

He flashes a smile, cheap veneer blindingly white. You awkwardly laugh while Price steps in, introducing himself. You scurry away to the back where the rest of the boys are,

"I want everyone to be on their best behavior today. No fucking around. Don't make me look bad."

The owner is a bland man, average height and weight, with a shitty haircut and wearing an ugly flashy shirt. He turns around and briefly introduces himself, he already smells like liquor. Great. He gets waved over to get interviewed by the host. You and the guys watch from the other end of the restaurant. It's quite embarrassing, the host pointing out how run down the place looks, the menu is confusing and overwhelming, and then asks if he's drunk,

"I can smell the alcohol from here Carl... it's only 11am buddy."

The owner stutters and blinks,

"I- just uh, just a crazy night is all."

The host stares, unconvinced. Carl shifts awkwardly in his chair. The next segment was ordering food apparently, so you were up. You walk up to the table as the host asks you a barrage of questions,

"How would you say the fish is here? Is everything fresh? What do you think of the steak? Do you have any recommendations?"

When you say you only ate the fries from here and he laughs loudly,

"That is not a good sign folks!"

He stares at the camera, showing off teeth that were too big for his mouth before you walk off and punch in the order. There's a cameraman recording John and Simon cooking,

"Steak and potatoes."

John reads the slip out loud, they move around the kitchen while the owner watches. For such a simple dish there's a lot of chaos, Carl is yelling at them to move faster and cook properly, John is busy arguing with Carl and burns the steak, Simon plates up the food and hands it off to you. You place the plate down in front of the host,

"Oh...oh my God..."

You keep a straight face, hands behind your back. The host looks back up at you,

"Does the food usually come out like this?"

There's a tone of disgust and concern, his eyebrows turned up, you shrug. He stares back down at the filet and cuts into it,

"It's very impressive that one is able to overcook such a large piece of meat. That takes...skill."

You watch concertedly as he picks up a piece and puts it into his mouth, it looks like he wants to cry.

He goes on to complain about the quality of the food to the camera as he walks to the kitchen,

"At least it's clean back here. I've seen kitchens in wors- is that a fucking pigeon?"

Sure enough, there is. How the fuck did it get in here?

"Oh! I just left the door open to let some fresh air in..."

Carl awkwardly tries to catch the bird while the boys watch amusedly, even the camera crew stifle a laugh.

"Christ Almighty, what is wrong with you man?"

The host shakes his head, watching the whole scene in disbelief. Eventually, the bird is out of the building and the sweep of the kitchen continues.

"Food is not expired, everything is stored properly, it's all very well organized. I was honestly expecting worse."

The host walks up to the bar next, plucking up bottles and examining them,

"So, Kyle is it? How long have you been working here for?"

"Just a little over five years."

Gaz leans against the bar. There's a gasp and the host waves the camera over,

"Look at this shit,"

He points at the label,

"Expired in August,"

You look over at Gaz and Soap, they look like they're about to piss themselves, holding back laughs.

"Of 2012!"

The host looks disgusted,

"Why didn't you throw this away?"

"Carl told me to not toss anything."

Kyle shrugged. Soap is almost in tears, shaking, trying to bite back a howl of laughter.

The next two days are like this, you don't know why Carl hasn't pulled the plug on this fiasco yet,

"I think he's getting drunker as the days go by."

Johnny says, ashing his cigarette. There's a nod from Simon,

"I think he enjoys being embarrassed, seems like the type to get off on that."

'The big finale' as the host calls it, means getting a new menu, refreshing the cooks(John's) skills, and cleaning out the bar. The place is opened and there's a line out of the door. It's overwhelming, the customers are putting on a show, acting like dickheads and sending everything back even when there's nothing wrong with the food. Simon and John are on top of everything, putting out food as fast as possible, Carl is shitting himself running around the kitchen like a headless chicken. The night goes by fast and everyone is at the bar,

"So the cooks are for the most part competent, the waitress is amazing, and the bartender is well... The man can do no wrong. The problem here is you,"

The host points at Carl who is fucking sloshed swaying back and forth,

"I genuinely think this restaurant would be better off without you."

Carl starts bawling. The host is visibly uncomfortable. The boys and you are looking at each other. Then when all the cameras and lights are gone, it's all back to normal. Carl is looking for reassurance from anyone and you and the boys just pack up and head home, Price patting him on the back,

"You'll be alright."

~

A few months later, you're all sat on the couch watching the TV. Johnny's over the moon pointing at the screen,

"Look thare A am! See hou sexy A look?"

He's smiling and waving at the camera in the background of the scene where Carl is crying his eyes out. That gets a laugh out of Gaz,

"You're a sick bastard, Soap."

Once the episode dropped, the restaurant got busy for a few months. Most of the customers are horny women ogling at Kyle. On occasion you get the request to bring out "the scary looking one" and you just laugh it off.

"You're so lucky working with all these guys, I don't know if I'd be able to control myself,"

A particularly drunk woman said to you one day. You just smile while Kyle winks at you over his shoulder.

[barleyo]

Rural Bliss.

Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing

Wordcount: 1.8k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.

Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of. 

What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon. 

Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood. 

The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them. 

"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in." 

You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't quite what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life. 

He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature. 

"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.

"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."

"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind you and flashed an apologetic look. 

"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.

He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside. 

"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."

Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.

Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.

He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.

"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness. 

His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special. 

He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements. 

What was wrong with you? 

Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.

You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.

Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend. 

You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw. 

He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in you without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.

You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.

That type of thinking brought him here. 

"Daddy, please..."

The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure. 

He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.

He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs. 

"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty." 

He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit. 

"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you." 

He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.

"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."

That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.

He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up. 

Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego. 

He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered. 

"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights. 

"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."

His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you. 

Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.

"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.

As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long. 

You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.

[norrizzandpia]

Hiiii I love your writing so much!!! Can I request an imagine where Lando is streaming and the reader says something and lando is like “when I marry you” and the reader is like WHEN? And lando is all like in love and the stream goes wild. Then she leaves the room and lando is like “I can’t wait to marry her “ or smth…. Thank uuuuuu

When? (LN4)

Summary: Apparently, to Lando, it is not a question of if he will marry Y/n, it is when.

Warnings: none

Sitting in a swiveling chair beside him, Y/n peaks over Lando’s shoulder, watching as his car on the video game spins out of control before crashing into the barriers.

“Shit!” Lando screams, his body flying forward from his chair to hunch over.

Y/n giggles in the background as the chat berates Lando for his poor sim skills whilst also being a Formula 1 driver, “You’d think you’d be so good at this game?”

Lando shoots her a look over his shoulder, a warning glance, before he shakes his head with a snicker, “You try it, then.”

Y/n shakes her head, “Nah, I’m good. Leave it the professionals.”

Lando nods with a tsk, finding her presence and her words funny nonetheless. There’s a ringing on her phone that shakes them from their moment, Y/n picking it up and noting the unknown number.

“Hello?”

Murmuring sounds from the other side of the phone before realization flows through Y/n and she nods as she speaks, “Yes, sorry. I will ask my boyfriend for that right now. I’m not sure what the exact code is.”

The word code makes Lando mute his microphone, knowing if people found his apartment with the knowledge of the code to get in, all hell would break loose.

“Who is it?” He asks her.

“The delivery guy. What’s the code to get into the building?” Y/n replies, her free hand landing on his bicep as he turns around to fully face her.

Lando’s body warms at her touch, “2576.”

She nods and he unmutes the microphone, the couple going back to their old ways.

“You know, you could just make it easier for me and write the code on a piece of paper for me. Or at least let me write it in my Notes app. I always forget it.” She chuckles, noting the way the delivery man texts her he’s making his way up the stairs, gaining closer to the apartment.

Lando mindlessly laughs, “I don’t want it to get leaked or for you to lose the paper. Maybe when I marry you, I don’t know.”

The chat erupts as silence ensues behind him. Lando sneaks a glance at Y/n behind him, the girl jaw dropped, “When?”

His eyebrows furrow, “Yeah, when. What about it? You think I don’t want to marry you? You think I don’t already have it all planned out in my head?”

Y/n shakes her head, disbelief bleeding from her being, “Well, what a nice surprise!”

She giggles, still a bit taken aback, before leaning forward and planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek. One which he grimaces at and wipes away, although his heart beats faster in his chest at the gesture.

She smiles down at him as she stands up, mumbling about the food being there, as she lays another kiss yet this time meeting his lips. She stares at him a bit more before leaving the room, the two being lovesick in the way their eyes shimmered.

Lando, let alone for the moment, read through the chat and laughed at their words, “What do you mean ‘I’m crying, that’s so cute’ I thought people knew how serious I was about her?!”

Max laughs from the other end of the call, “Yeah, what? Lando has been talking about marrying Y/n since he first met her.”

More messages flood through and Lando can only smile blissfully, “Well, you heard it here first, folks. I can’t wait to marry that woman.”

At this point, the chat is triggered into a frenzy and Y/n looks bewildered when she comes back with the food, slightly overwhelmed at the volume of words infiltrating the screen.

“Jesus Christ, did Lando moan again?” She jokes, though by the way Lando doesn’t answer she actually worries for a moment.

He’s quick to reassure her though, “No, just informing the chat on how in love I am with you because apparently they didn’t know.”

Blush rises to her cheeks and Lando pulls her down onto his lap, the two digging into the two bowls balancing in her lap. There’s a chowing session between the two, their hunger taking over, as they continue to converse with the chat and Max.

Truly funny, though, the way the conversation steered into the topic of Lando and Y/n getting married as the engagement ring rest in the depths of his sock drawer, begging to be taken out and displayed on the finger of his favorite girl.

[formulawolff]

i. alkaline - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.7k

warnings: cursing, significant age-gap, power imbalances, slow burn, eventual smut, inappropriate work relationships, mentions of infidelity, drug/alcohol use, use of common fic tropes

synopsis: as the first american female driver for formula one, you are thrust into the competitive world of racing. when you are approached by a team principal willing to make a deal, you presented with the opportunity of a lifetime.

author's note: this is my first f1 related fic, so i may have made some errors in terminology. the title is based on the song alkaline by sleep token. i recommend listening while reading! please, please, please let me know if you like the fic! i plan on making this my first f1 series :')

racing was never in the cards. 

well, racing a nearly 1,800 pound car was never in the cards. 

especially at speeds reaching two hundred miles an hour. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

yet, here you were, shaking james’ hand, beaming as the cameras flashed. there were a flurry of voices, all of them nearly trembling with excitement, relief, and well, hope. if you were able to accomplish eighth place today, what did that mean for the future of williams racing? 

would williams be a sizable contender for the 2025 constructors’ championship? would they be able to squash the disbelief? the doubts? hell, if you kept this up, there was a chance that you could get williams into the top ten of the 2024 championship. 

were you what they had been missing for so long? 

were you the key to their future success?

“great job,” james’ voice is nearly hoarse, more than likely from all of the celebration, “you wouldn’t believe what they’re saying about you.” 

“probably nothing great,” you scoff, rolling your eyes slightly, “i’m sure that everyone is claiming i didn’t deserve it.” 

“quite the contrary,” a chuckle bubbles up from his throat, “they all adore you.” 

“was it because i gave the camera the finger?” 

“no,” there is a slight twinkle in his eyes, quite the contrary from what you were used to, “they love you because you’re you. there is no one in this sport who is quite like you.

there’s an authenticity that cannot be replaced. it’s obvious you have a true passion for racing. it shows on the track. good job, today.” 

heat flourished into your cheeks, tears welling up at james’ words. after years of being ridiculed by team principals, attacked by fans, and bashed by the media, praise was something to be cherished. it was always welcomed warmly, your heart swelling as james brought you in for a sweaty embrace. 

“thank you, james,” the words are slightly muffled as he squeezes you gently, “you know how much that means to me. thank you for believing in me.”

“of course,” james murmurs, rubbing your back ever so slightly, “great job, american girl. you deserve this. go do some interviews, flash that beautiful grin of yours, and then get some rest. you need it.”

“no partying?” you arch your brow, “i think i deserve a drink or two.”

“maybe a little bit,” another chuckle rings out, “i just don’t want to see any press about it in the morning. that’s the last thing we need after our victory today.”

“right, right,” you nod your head, saluting the principal, “aye, aye captain.”

“it’s principal,” james shoots you a wink before turning to several engineers, the group getting swept away into the chaos. 

no matter how well the team did, there was always chaos after a race. it was typical, routine even. there was always the pit crew cleaning up, shouting to one another as the fans trickled out of the stands. engineers milled about, tablets in hand, murmuring to one another, pointing out aspects of the car that needed improvement. there was always some piece of the car that could be adjusted, a slight tweak or advancement. it could make the car faster, or it could only lead to inevitable disaster. 

exhaling, you stroll out of the paddock, the dread of facing the press weighing down every step. 

you could turn around, and hide in the paddock. 

however, this was part of being a driver. simply a requirement of the job. press was an essential aspect of formula one. how else would the world know how you felt after that race? how else would information about driver contracts, car modifications, disqualifications be shared?

how else would the world have known about the first american female formula in formula one?  

you had to at least thank the press for that. 

even if it was shared before your official announcement that you were joining williams racing for the 2023 racing season. 

“there she is!” a voice calls out, light and airy. 

the corners of your lips tug into a smile as you see daniel ricciardo jogging towards you. before you know it, his arms are wrapping around your frame, holding you tight. he’s sweaty, per usual, but you accept the gesture, suppressing a giggle as he sways you back and forth. 

“i knew you could do it! i knew you could do it!”

“don’t puncture her lungs, please,” another voice chimes in, “i would like to keep her around, you know.”

daniel releases you promptly, placing a swift peck on your cheek, “no need to fret alex. i’m not that mighty.”

“i’m more worried about contracting any diseases from the land down under,” scrunching your nose, you wave your fingers at daniel, earning yet another laugh from the australian. 

“the only disease you’d contract are my insanely good looks.”

“here we go again,” alex rolls his eyes, “are we ready to face the press or what?”

“i think so,” daniel shrugs, “go ahead, alex. we’ll follow you.”

alex shoots you an inquiring glance, but begins to walk in the direction of the conference room. once he was a reasonable distance away, daniel clears his throat. 

“someone seemed a little jealous.”

“i wouldn’t say jealous,” you can’t help but defend alex, “he’s probably a little bitter.”

“fifteenth place is nowhere as good as eighth,” daniel points out, the notes in his tone solemn, “he’s been there a few years and seen subpar results. you came in last year and have pretty damn good ones. i’m sure he can’t help but feel a little bit of envy.” 

“maybe he just had a bad race.”

“you say that every–” daniel begins, but he’s swiftly cut off as you pull open the door to the conference room. 

all around, cameras flash, reporters chirp out questions, and phones are immediately pointed in your direction. sucking in a deep breath, you settle on the couch next to daniel, max verstappen across from you. he shoots you a thumbs up, complemented with a wide smile. alex was on your right, fiddling a loose thread. 

confusion consumes you momentarily once you realize that max was the only one from the podium to remain in the conference room. checo and carlos were not present. so why was he still here? 

daniel passes you the mic, placing it on your lap. a shit-eating grin plasters his face, and you grimace. of course he was going to make you speak first. hesitantly, you pick up the mic, clearing your throat. 

“hello, everyone. any questions?”

immediately a reporter butts in, “how does it feel to not only be one of the only women competing in formula one, but the first american woman to place in a race?”

your hand tingles as you hold up the mic, trembling slightly. public speaking was never your forte. fuck you, daniel. 

“w-well,” you curse yourself for stuttering, “i take a lot of pride in the way i compete, especially as such a trailblazer for women who love the sport. i’m aware that there is a lot of unrest and outcry concerning my gender and how i’m not ‘supposed’ to be competing with the men–”

“i think she’s a worthy opponent,” max’s voice interjects, “she competes at the same intensity as we do, if not more. she is going to be standing next to me on a podium in a matter of weeks. i’ve never met someone so driven to win or passionate about the sport. 

we pay no attention to her gender. it doesn’t affect us. we pay attention to her character. i do not want to speak for her, but i am sure she would appreciate it if you all refrained from the gender based questions. ask her about the race.”

as he finishes speaking, his eyes drift back to you, sparkling ever so slightly. his cheeks were tinged a pink hue from the passionate sentiment, and you couldn’t help but just sit there, frozen with disbelief. 

max verstappen, three time world champion, one of the best drivers to ever step foot on a formula one track, publicly praised you. in a room full of journalists, no less. 

sure, you were friendly with max. since there were only twenty drivers, most of you were close, on and off the grid. you had exchanged numerous conversations with max over the last year, but you were still a little intimidated by the dutch driver. 

of course, who wouldn’t be? he was a dominant force on the track, winning nineteen of the twenty-two races last season. 

so yeah, when he just did nothing but send you the uttermost praise in a room bustling with the press, you were going to a little starstruck.

“do you have any additional remarks to maxs’ comments?” a reporter snaps you out of your trance, “you appear to be a little off-put by what he just said.”

blinking, you bring the mic to your lips, “no, i actually appreciate what he said. maybe that means you guys will finally take me seriously.”

“are you under the impression that formula one does not take you seriously?”

as the reporter baits you to respond, a twinge of frustration brews in your stomach, churning it into a knot. sucking in a sharp breath, you focus your attention to the reporter. 

“no, that is not what i said. it is the simple fact that i have been working my ass off this last year to be a competitive racer. i’ve worked tirelessly with williams racing to place. i’ve been trying to earn points for my team because i believe in my team and i want us to succeed. yet nearly every day i wake up, someone on social media posts some bullshit or bashes me for competing. 

i’ve been making a name for myself, and look where it has gotten me. you all are more concerned about my gender than the race i just had. i think it’s a bit frivolous to be more invested in my gender than my racing. so yeah, when the three time world champion says something good about me, i would hope that you guys listen to it.”

there’s a few gasps from a few reporters, and you can’t help but notice all of the beady red lights on the cameras. of course that was all recorded. of course it was going to be blasted all over social media these next couple of days. 

so much for good press. 

setting down the mic, you lean over to daniel. the words are low enough so that only he can hear, “i’m done here.”

“i don’t blame you,” the aussie plucks the mic out of your hands, “get out of here. cool down. i’m sorry about that prick.”

“don’t worry about it,” you mutter, cheeks burning hot with sheer anger, “i’m leaving before i cuss them all out.”

“atta girl,” daniel winks, “i’d like to see that, though.”

“not now,” you bite your lip, “i need to bite my tongue.”

as you get up, max’s gaze is full of sympathy. alex’s mouths, i’m so sorry, disappointment painting his features. walking across the stage, daniel’s words drown in your ears. 

balling your fists together, the tingly sensation resides as you march towards your motorhome. tears blur your vision, strings of curses filling the air as you walk. after that little incident in the press room, james was not going to be happy. of course, after everything you accomplished today, it was diminished somehow. 

by an asshole reporter, at that. 

flinging open the door to the motorhome, you resist the urge to just scream. it would not help much, but god would it be cathartic. however, there were more important things to be addressed. you needed to decompress and settle down. 

as much as you wanted to celebrate with a few drinks, a shower, some comfy clothes, and your bed were more appealing. 

maybe a glass of wine in bed wouldn’t hurt. 

as you unzip your fire suit, a knock at the door disturbs the silence. 

shit. just as you were finally getting settled. 

groaning, you spin on your heel, making your way to the door. 

“daniel, i swear to fucking god. i don’t want to talk right now–”

however, it was not daniel standing at the entrance of your motorhome. 

before you was torger wolff, also known as toto wolff, team principal of mercedes-amg petronas. 

donning a white team button-up, the sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showcasing his muscular build. inky black slacks were on his lower half, making him appear taller than he already was. fluffy brunette hair stood up on nearly all ends, messy from the stress and chaos of the race.

however, there was no denying he was handsome. with sharp, angular features, and wrinkles scoured in his face over the years, it gave him a powerful yet stoic aura. 

like his name suggested, he was like a wolf, poised and eager to pounce.

yet, you were more focused on his eyes. a brilliant, warm, mocha-hued gaze framed by thick, dark lashes. and they were peering right at you, taking in the sight of you in your half-zipped fire suit, a black long sleeve underneath. 

your eyes widen, a hand covering your mouth. sheer embarrassment courses through you, heat flooding your cheeks, trickling down your neck, “i – oh my god. um, oh my god, i am so fucking sorry.”

clearing his throat, he arches a brow, “did i come at a bad time?”

“no,” you shake your head, perhaps a little quickly, “no, no, no. please, come in. how rude of me.”

there is no readable expression across the austrian’s features, his lips pucking ever so slightly, “it won’t be long, i promise.”

swallowing a lump in your throat, you step back, inviting the principal in to the motorhome. you lead him to the kitchen, gesturing to a barstool, “you can sit here if you’d like.”

he glances at the stool, yet does not sit. your brows furrow as he remains standing. leaning against a counter, you fold your arms across your chest. 

“is there a reason you stopped by?”

“as you know,” toto begins, “lewis is leaving mercedes after the 2024 season. he will be joining ferrari in 2025. to put it simply, i am on the hunt for my second driver.”

your lips purse, “i’m not sure why you came to me. you would have better luck with carlos. he’s looking for a team. i made a verbal commitment to james. i’ll be staying with williams through 2026.”

“is that so?” toto inquires, taking a step towards you, “and why are you choosing to stay with a team that limits your potential?”

the question takes you aback, “i’m not sure you what mean.”

rolling his eyes, he tuts, “williams racing is nowhere as near as competitive of a team as ferrari, redbull, mclaren, or mercedes. for years they’ve been piddling around, finishing at the bottom of the championship. yes, their drivers are talented, but they are not given opportunities to thrive.”

his comment sends another wave of anger coursing through you, your fists balling at your sides, “you have no idea what you’re talking about–”

“actually, i do. i’ve been around a long time. i’ve seen a lot more than you ever have. james is a great team principal, but you are not going to compete if you stay at williams. eventually, you’ll be like alex. you’ll finish with mediocre results. you’ll lose faith in the team who you once cherished so deeply. you’ll be ridiculed even more by the world of formula one, even more so than you already are.”

gritting your teeth, you take a step forward, “i think it’s time for you to leave.”

“what?” toto cocks his head, “did i say something you didn’t want to hear, little dove? did i strike a chord?”

“i think you’re just projecting,” you maintain your composure as the principal scoffs, “that’s exactly what happened to lewis, and you’re afraid it’s going to happen to george.”

“you’re a smart girl,” it takes a moment for you to realize how close the two of you had suddenly gotten.

he was in very close proximity now, only a few inches apart, looking down at you with a wickedly smug grin, “and i know that you’re very aware that formula one is a business. i have to maintain the mercedes reputation and acquire a driver who will bring us home podiums.” 

“i think you’ll have that luck with carlos,” breaking away, your gaze settles on the door of the motorhome. 

fingers grasp your chin, tilting your head upwards. 

“but i want you to drive for mercedes. i want to make you a world champion.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆

please let me know if you would like to be tagged! thank you for reading! <3

[januaryembrs]

JUST A THEORY | Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: congratulations on 2k!!! you deserve that and so much more your writing is incredible! 🥳🥳🥳 if I could jump in with a request could I ask for a Spencer x reader fic where the reader is a journalist/reporter looking into a case as well and they cross paths? I think the tension and bickering would be so fun

Description: There's something about that agent Jennifer brought along with her that pushes every single one of your buttons

Length: 1.6k

warnings: general cm violence, probably not em's best work

“You know this could be considered obstructing a federal investigation,” Spencer huffed, trying to look over your shoulder where you skimmed the book in your hands with meticulous eyes. You ignored him, continuing to read the information despite feeling his burning glare in the back of your head, his breath on your neck as he shadowed your figure around the building. 

“You know the best part about a public library, Doctor Reid? It’s public,” You drawled back, your eyes never ripping from the page except to make a few notes of some key information for your article, “Which means I have every right to be in here just as much as you do,”

You heard him run a hand over his face and tried not to smirk at how easy he was to agitate. You’d heard a lot about the BAU, almost every criminology based paper in Virginia had, and so it wasn’t too surprising to meet the brains behind the reputation when three women had been murdered in the FBI’s home town. Every press association that was worth their money was all over the story, ‘How could this have happened so close to the capital in a city crawling with agents?’, which made your job just that bit more competitive and taxing. 

Yet luckily for you, you knew exactly where to go snooping for answers. It just so happened, the BAU’s resident genius did too.

“I guarantee it would be easier for both of us if you just give me the book first. I can read ten times faster than you,” He snipped, still a pup at your heels where you wandered through the aisles of non-fiction, the white lettering hanging above the shelves spelling PSYCHOLOGY. You rolled your eyes at his persistence, ignoring his attitude as you rounded the corner at the end of the row and looped back to where you’d picked up the book, the man still over your shoulder. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’re not supposed to talk in libraries?” You hissed back, flicking the page over and hearing his footsteps move in tandem with your own, “I guess you’re just going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” 

You hid a grin, hearing him pause at that, remembering the first day you’d been assigned the story. 

It started only a week ago. The newest victim had been found in the woods, stabbed seven times the same as the other two, her entire body washed in strong bleach, her hair and nails trimmed and ears even swabbed clean. You’d managed to get five minutes to sit with her parents, your pen and trusted notebook at the ready. 

“Why don’t you tell me about what Clara was like as a kid?” You said softly, eyes comforting and calm as you spoke over coffee that was quickly going cold. But you didn’t care. 

You didn’t do this part for ‘the story’. At least not the end of the story, the gory bits and pieces that the other news anchors focused on, how the women were brutalised and beaten, changed by a murderer until they looked unrecognisable. You didn’t like to focus on that, because that wasn’t who the victims were. 

You wanted to tell their story. Who they were before something awful happened to them. 

“She loved to dance,” Clara’s mother, Gwen, sniffled, her cheeks sodden with salted tears. Her voice quivered, croaked like it begged not to be used, but the saddest smile spread on her face when she said it, her husband’s hands clasped tightly in her own, “She used to ask to wear her leotard to bed; we couldn't get that thing off her,” 

You smiled, eyes falling to the pictures the parents had spread across the table in their haste to find the best one for the missing posters. Gwen seemed to follow your eyeline and grabbed one in particular, handing it over to you, gently thumbing the edges like that too might disappear. A little girl, black hair as silken as fresh ink stared back at you, her hands poised delicately above her head like the professional ballerina’s you'd seen on TV, her feet laced into pink pumps. The way she should be remembered, not the images you’d seen of her at the crime scene. 

You opened your mouth to speak again when two agents entered the room. Jennifer Jareau, who you’d worked with on multiple stories like this one to give the families the empathy they deserved, smiled at you civilly, somewhat guilty knowing she was stepping on your toes. Beside her stood a taller man in a matching FBI jacket, his hazelnut curls falling over his frown. 

“Mr and Mrs Townsen,” He addressed the couple solemnly, who looked up at him through red rimmed eyes, their sockets sallow and empty, “We need to ask you a few questions about the last few days you saw Clara before she went missing,”

He flashed his credentials in his right hand, long enough for them to see it was real, and looked to you with a stern stare. 

The couple glanced back to you, the picture still grasped tightly in your fingers, as you flicked a tight look between Jennifer and the new agent carefully. 

“Just one moment,” You told the grieving parents softly, handing the picture back to Gwen, standing to move to one side with the analysts, immediately turning towards Jennifer with confusion, “I thought you said I had until twelve?”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t important,” The liaison said cordially, the two of you somewhat acquaintances after emailing back and forth for so long. She liked that you didn’t see the bodies as dollar signs, and you liked that she wanted the same as you; to tell the victims stories the way they should be told. 

Sighing, you wrapped up your notepad, delicately pushing the pen through the wire spine. “Can I get an interview with the second family at least? Daily Press was all over that story, and they made an absolute joke of it,” 

“That’s a little hypocritical of you,” The other agent piped up, and your head snapped to him. Eyes roving over his figure, brows furrowing when you realised what he’d said. You looked back to his face in annoyance. 

“Excuse me?” You snipped, crossing your arms over your chest, your notepad brushing against your ribs. 

“I’m just saying, you all get paid for what you write, so it's just as exploitive to write about the victims than it is to write about the crimes,” He shrugged, eyes narrowing when you shifted your weight onto your other foot and raised a brow at him. 

“Unlike you,” Your gaze fell to his badge he still had to hand, “Doctor Reid, I see those women as real people, not just little pictures on a white board. They’re not just dead girls to me, and they’re certainly not just money grabs,” 

Spencer went to retaliate again before JJ put a hand on both your elbows, drawing the attention away from your little spat. 

“We can talk about this later, right now we have an UnSub on the loose that is quickly devolving,” She chided the two of you like you were school children, and you sighed, biting your cheek to stop yourself from snapping back at the man. 

“What does that mean?” You asked quietly, well aware of the grieving parents sitting little more than a few yards from where you stood bickering. 

“It means you’re going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” Spencer cleared, pushing past your shoulder as he went to sit with the Townsens, his eyes swirling into something new and kind and reassuring as he looked at them, a Jekyll and Hyde to the hostility he had towards you. 

You could only suck your teeth in annoyance, before Jennifer pulled you further into the dining room to discuss rearrangements. 

Spencer blanked as he watched you skim reading the textbook, his own words thrown back in his face in an infuriatingly clever move on your part. With little more to say, knowing wit and barking orders would get him nowhere because he couldn’t exactly arrest you for not giving him public property, he resorted to begging.

“Please, give me the book,” He said, the desperation buried in his sigh, and you swivelled on your heels, a devilish grin on your face that had him fighting back an eye roll. 

“Oh, would you look at that? I’m finished,” You said, handing him the files you were reading, passing them over to him with a smirk and he found himself almost smiling at your sarcasm.

Taking the book out of your hand, he debated saying thank you, but instead bit his lip because he'd found you were somewhat incorrigible when you were getting deeper in a story. 

Turning on his heels to check out the book so he could take it back to headquarters, he stopped when you spoke, just a few decibels louder than the ‘Talk Quietly’ sign demanded. 

“Agalmatophilia,” You murmured, and he whipped a look over his shoulders where you were skimming the shelves for a second textbook, seeing as your first one had been commandeered, “The sexual attraction to dolls and mannequins. I know you guys speculated he has some form of OCD but I think it's Agalmatophilia,” You said, drawing a book off the shelf without really looking up to where his brow furrowed in familiarity with the word. He glanced at you then, and you flicked open the page of contents, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your head, muttering under your breath absent-mindedly, “Just a theory,” 

You’d shut him up the entire way back to headquarters. 

[msgses]

trick or treat

pairing: josh washington x gn!reader w. 1,491 genre: suggestive horror, shameless smut summary: out exploring the mountain for halloween, you come across a lodge. thinking it's abandoned, you head inside not knowing what (or who) you'll find. warnings: very dubcon vibes, questionable morality, implied afab anatomy. no use of y/n. rough sex, choking, creampie. a/n: this is my first until dawn fic! i still plan on doing one for mike i just thought josh would be a perfect halloween fic

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. MINORS DNI.

There was a lot of intrigue surrounding Blackwood Mountain and the horror stories surrounding it. Deciding you wanted to go out and have fun on Halloween, you decided to get into some heavy clothing and make the trek up to explore the site of the rumors.

The trip up was agonizingly long, and the cold weather and snow didn't make it much better. Though, you still decided to continue exploring and came across a few fun spots.

There was a shed that looked awfully cozy, but unfortunately was locked. If it worked out, you might've spent the night if it meant not having to go back down the way you came in the freezing cold.

As you traveled up the trails, you noticed a large building in the distance. Already feeling like you could get hit with frostbite any minute, you decided to check it out.

It was a huge lodge, and you could see all the lights were off indoors. Getting to the windows, there wasn't any sight or sound of anybody inside.

When you tried the door, it surprisingly opened without a hitch. The inside of the house was eerily quiet. Abandoned, maybe?

Investigating further found that there were obviously people that had lived there, but weren't around. The rooms were empty and only a few stray pieces of clothing or a beer can was any sign of life. The heating was still on, luckily.

So, you decided to check out the fridge. If you were going to make the place your house for the night, you wanted food.

Just as you were opening the fridge, you heard a creak of the floor behind you. Before you could turn, you felt a hand over your mouth just as you attempted to yell.

"No, no, don't yell. You're not in any danger, yet," A man's smooth voice came from behind you, "I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth and you're going to tell me your name."

Just as he said he would, his hand traveled off of your mouth and lightly wrapped around your throat. Fumbling on your words, you sputtered out your name.

He repeated it into the air multiple times before chuckling softly. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck. "That's a pretty name. What are you doing out here all alone on the mountain?"

Your brain felt like it was going blank. "I just.. I wanted to see what all of the horror stories were about. If there really were monsters up here."

"Not the kind they talk about, no," His grip tightened slightly, "But there are monsters up here. Ones that are very territorial."

You felt your pulse rising in your throat and it only seemed to be getting faster. Your mouth felt dry and you weren't ignorant of what he meant. "Who- who are you?"

"Oh, honey," You felt him get right next to your ear, "I'm one of those monsters. You can call me Josh, though."

"Josh.." You had to think about it. You knew the history of the mountain from the google deep dive you did the night before. "You're Josh Washington, the son of the rich guys that bought this mountain."

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner!" He backed away, hand still on your neck as he raised his voice, "Well aren't you a smarty pants?"

You felt your cheeks flush and your mind raced with questions. "What are you going to do to me?"

That drew Josh back in, although this time he pressed his body firmly against the back of yours. A very obvious bulge pressed against your ass and you swallowed hard. "I'm going to show you what one of those monsters do when someone comes into their territory."

"Don't.. don't hurt me," You pleaded, although it sounded pathetic and weak.

"I won't hurt you, or I won't try to," Josh laughed softly into your ear, "You just have to cooperate."

You nodded slowly, feeling uncertainty all throughout your body. What he was going to do was uncertain, although the obvious bulge pressing into you gave you some idea.

"That's good," His voice lowered and his hands hooked onto the thick pants, "You're not going to forget me, sweetheart."

His movements were quick, pulling your pants and underwear down in a quick few tugs. You felt bare and open, sweat collecting on your brow. "Josh.." You murmured.

"Oh, I like it when you say my name," You could hear his grin from the way he spoke, "Keep saying it and maybe I'll be nice."

You felt his hand running over your ass, giving it a firm squeeze and letting out a low groan when his hips rolled forward. His free hand reached down and pulled down his sweatpants and boxers. His cock was painfully hard and you could already tell.

His hand also reached forward and pressed a finger against your hole, teasing it and chuckling. "Someone's desperate for me, aren't you? Pretty thing."

You couldn't suppress the whine that left you, subconsciously pushing back against it. He seemed to notice and gave in, his finger sinking inside slowly. It drew out a gasp, but you kept your composure as he worked it in and out.

"God, you're wet. I'd have half a mind thinking you walked in here wanting me to fuck you," He teased, pushing his finger in rough and adding a second to go along with it.

The stretch burned, but you were still breathy and overwhelmed by the feeling. "Josh," You could hardly get the word out.

You heard him laugh behind you. "If you say my name like that, I can't promise I'll be able to control myself," He withdrew his fingers and you felt his cock press against your hole, "Say it again."

You felt his hand close around your neck tighter, but you still got it out. "Josh." You repeated firmly.

"That's right," He sounded satisfied with himself before pushing his hips forward.

His cock was thicker than you anticipated and you fell against the refrigerator door, trying to catch your breath. His hand slipped off of your throat and both of them grab onto your hips.

His pace started out steady, even though you hadn't had nearly enough time to adjust to his size. Either way, he was going full steam ahead. Your hands closed around the fridge's handle, holding on for dear life.

"Fuck, you're so tight, did you know that?" Josh's voice sounded rough and airy, "So tight I never want to stop fucking you. Never gonna stop, you hear me?"

All you could let out was a broken moan, his steady pace felt unrelenting and hard to process anything around you. "Fuck, Josh.."

"God, baby, keep saying that," He wrapped his arms around your waist and began pounding into you. His thrusts felt desperate and unhinged.

"J-" You were cut off by his incessant pace, being completely overwhelmed by the pleasure of his cock hitting deep inside you.

He seemed to slow down, back to his pace from before, although he was letting out small whiny sounds. "You feel so good, can't help myself, no... gotta have you.."

His ramblings began to drone on, his voice quiet and largely overshadowed by the sound of his hips connecting with yours. Before you could say anything else, he randomly began to speed up again.

Just like before, he was fucking into you ravenously. He sounded like a mess, much like yourself. The feeling of his cock pushing into you over and over had you without any warning had your brain turning into mush.

It wasn't long before you felt a surge of pleasure, letting out a choked moan as you came around his cock. It was sudden and fast, but prolonged by his relentless pace.

You heard him whine behind you, his fingers digging into your hips. "Fuck, you can't just.. that felt so fucking good, I can't stop.." His voice sounded completely foreign to the confident, intimidating presence you heard before. He was gone.

It was even more sudden that he slammed into you, his hips staying firmly pressed against you as he moaned out. You felt a warm sensation and the pieces clicked together just as he started to speak. "Fuck, that's it.. you're all mine."

His hips slowly rocked before pulling back, feeling his cock slip out of you. Your knees buckled and you collapsed onto the kitchen tile, feeling his load begin to seep out of you. "What did you.."

"Monsters like to claim their prey," Josh said, his voice back to his intimidating persona. "Now they'll know you're mine."

"Yours?" You said as you looked up, seeing his face for the first time that entire evening. He was far too attractive for his own good. "I'm nobody's, Josh."

"Oh, is that so? Maybe I didn't make it clear enough. Let's do it again and learn, shall we?"

[undead-supernova]

Prologue - Chapter 1

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: you and Mr. Munson are freshman english teachers at south jefferson high school and it seems that some of the kids think he's a better teacher than you. and, yeah, you're a little bit pissed

wc: 3.9k

no cw for this prologue - (lighthearted enemies to lovers)

a fun 2000s idea i had after watching the tv show English Teacher

title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

You were a curious moth to a smoldering flame. If anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d tell them they were crazy. And yet, here you were, staring at a piece of lined paper sticking out of a locker. 

It belonged to Dustin Henderson, obvious from the Weird Al sticker stuck next to another of a retro baseball hat that read This is my thinking cap! Yeah, undoubtedly Dustin’s.

You thought about trying to push it back in so he could avoid some stupid bully ripping it. There was no reason for anyone to do that, but Dustin was a freshman and, well, he wasn’t exactly the most popular guy here. 

Fuck it, you thought before taking a step forward.

As you touched the worn corner, you spotted your name poking out from the page. Next to it was…Mr. Munson’s?

You couldn’t help yourself from pulling it out just a little further.

I just think Mr. Munson is better

Huh?

You yanked the paper from the slit, fisting it with both hands as you scanned the page. That was undoubtedly his handwriting, haphazardly written like he was always thinking faster than he wrote. 

So what the hell was Dustin Henderson doing saying that Mr. Munson was a better teacher than you? Dustin was in your class, not his! How the hell would he know?

A sudden flood of panic washed through you, causing you to throw a glance over to Aisha sitting farther up the hallway, scribbling away at something.  She was always here before everyone else, begging you to give her homework early. Most days the answer was no. Most days.

But today, her attention seemed far away. 

You looked back down, noticing a bunch of tally marks in pencil and pen. Even one was made with…an Expo marker? What the fuck?

she’s hot though, someone responded under Dustin’s comment, taunting you in red ink.

dude I’m dating Suzie 

that doesn’t mean you can’t look

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

Why did this feel like betrayal? Why was the word gnawing at your gut? Why was it bringing that bagel you’d scarfed down this morning up to the surface? 

“Find anything good?”

You startled, instinctively jumping backwards and into the chest of the person behind you. Whirling around, you were face-to-face with Mr. Munson himself. 

This was the first time he’d spoken to you. Ever. You’d been here since last spring, subbing for a teacher on maternity leave before she decided to become a stay at home mom. The hiring process was much easier after that. You’d see him at staff meetings and watch him holding the door open for the students after school like he was herding zoo animals off of his arc. 

And now here he was, looking way too put together for a Monday morning. He had a crisp white button down with a noticeably ironed black tie and his long hair skillfully tucked into a low bun. His shaggy bangs were freshly trimmed with little tendrils framing his face. You couldn’t help but think he was the only teacher here without dark circles under his eyes. 

“I…” you trailed, trying to parse through everything that’s just happened. The tally marks. The comments. The other candidate standing in front of you. The sheer amount of tally marks declaring you inferior to said candidate. 

Mr. Munson’s eyes flickered down at the page, eyebrows shooting up. Before you could respond, he plucked it from your fingers. He mouthed the words as he read, scanning intently.

And then he let out a wheeze of laughter.

“Dustin fuc—freaking, excuse me, Henderson. You know, he’s just—” He looked back up at you, grin fading as he noticed your deflated expression. “Woah, hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine and you hated that it wasn’t fine. 

There was an image that flashed briefly before your eyes, of a note stuck to your locker with gum. A love letter from your crush, the one you held to your chest with a death grip as you floated through the cafeteria to his table. The great swell of hope before the roar of laughter that ensued. Before he high-fived his friends and let you down hard. 

But this wasn’t your hometown. The walls weren’t flecked in vertical lines of blue and gold. The lights didn’t signal a death sentence.

And standing in front of you was your colleague, stuck with you in this limbo between the past and the present.

“Don’t let it get you down or whatever. They’re just kids.”

You could’ve sworn he saw the swirling fog that lingered in your eyes. Was this him letting you down easy? 

Then why does it feel like a jab?

Mr. Munson was acknowledged as the favorite teacher of the freshman class last semester. You’d caught the tail end of this recognition, watching him laugh and roll his eyes as he gave a quick salute and sat back down. Mr. Munson, who already had everything figured out within the first year of teaching here. 

You opened your mouth, pathetically suppressing the urge to ask, How did you do it? What am I doing wrong?

But the wave of students coming through brought you back to the current moment, stifling any admittance of weakness.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said. “Gotta run, bye.”

You turned.

“Isn’t your classroom that way?”

Wincing, you turned back around, watching a smirk fill Mr. Munson’s stupid face. His eyes flickered toward your classroom three doors down from his before back at you.

“Yep, thanks. I know where my classroom is.”

“Yeah, I bet you sure do.”

“Great.”

That was the last time you would ever speak to Edward Munson.

Two weeks after you two found the list, you’d decided to sit in the empty break room for lunch. Every time you went to the cafeteria, you saw Mr. Munson there, laughing with the music and band teacher, Chelsea Jennings. 

The numerous times you’d tried sitting even slightly near them, you always heard Mr. Munson talking loudly about his Creative Writing elective. He’d rattle on about the short stories he’d assign them as models with authors even you didn’t know. Names that flew past your head, some even being professors from the local university you hadn’t attended. Professors that he still talked to.

You had taken up the Poetry elective, quickly updating the curriculum to include more female poets and sprinkle in some of the moderns. You’d desperately wanted to talk to someone else about it, but insecurity spread the second you realized all of your poets were well-known. But how could you ignore Emily Dickinson, Annie Finch, Pablo Neruda, and Mary Oliver?

Chelsea wasn’t the only one who talked to him so casually. The other teachers would greet him with such warm demeanours that it made you feel sick. George Bedding, the junior geometry teacher and Mathletes coach, ruffled Mr. Munson’s hair and pretended to punch him before sitting next to him. The fucking P.E. teacher and football coach, Shaun Atkins, even clapped a hand on his shoulder while heading towards the line for pizza day.

The few teachers that had been more than welcoming to you were never around for lunch. Angela Bradbury, one of the senior English teachers, was always helping students or hidden away in her room, nibbling on her Wonder Bread sandwiches while reading the latest romance novel. Sarah Stewart, an art teacher, was your closest ally but spent her lunches working on her own projects. 

See? There was no need to be jealous of him. You weren’t stuck on the outs. You fit in just fine.

Or, at least, that’s what you once thought. Now you had no idea how you were being perceived. And if you hadn’t come to the break room today, you would’ve spiraled. Again.

The room was small, coated in depressing beige with flimsy cabinets filled with powdered creamer and Folger’s coffee that expired two months ago. The refrigerator could barely keep anything cold. 

So, yeah, no one really came in here. 

(The other teachers hid a coffee pot in one of the supply closets with the good creamer in a mini-fridge you’d all chipped in for. Rumor has it that even Principal Scott used it.)

You sat down at the folding table, lower back already aching from the lack of support the metal chair gave you. At least you wouldn’t run into Mr. Munson again.

He’d just laughed while you were in the throes of humiliation. You supposed he didn’t have to think much about it because he was the one who was winning. Even if he was just some guy in his mid-thirties who must’ve taken this job as a last resort.

As if you hadn’t done the same.

But that was irrelevant. 

And, yes, you looked at Dustin a bit differently after the incident. Every time he raised his hand, which was a lot, you couldn’t help but see his penciled scrawl. 

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

You wondered dejectedly if they wrote that during your class. 

Before you could let out a frustrated groan, you noticed Mr. Munson in the doorway with a metal lunchbox covered in band stickers. He paused, wide eyes locking with yours. You couldn’t help but glare. 

Should the opinion of fourteen-year-old boys affect the way you treat another adult? No, probably not.

But you weren’t always known to be a rational person.

It could’ve been minutes. You couldn’t say. The two of you locked in a stare that seemed more like predator and prey than two teachers just trying to make it through another Tuesday. His dumb expression, dark eyes as wide as a deer caught in the fluorescence. You, a mountain lion trying desperately not to devour your sandwich, chips, and Coke in one bite. Including the aluminum can.

What was worse was the longer you stared, the more you noticed how attractive he was. Properly attractive, with lips coated in what seemed to be tinted chapstick. There was no way his lips were that pink, right? And he had to be using some kind of mascara with how dark his eyelashes were. Then there was his hair, seemingly still stuck in the Eighties with the waves. At least he brushed his hair at all, which was more than any of the greasy-haired teenage boys that frequented the halls. Maybe he could be something to aspire to.

Maybe he already was.

Mr. Munson moved silently, only heard as he pulled out the chair across from you, the legs screeching against the dirty linoleum. You surveyed his lunch, an already cooked ramen cup with a Dr. Pepper. He must’ve found a better microwave in Sarah’s closet.

The teachers of South Jefferson High School had a lot of secrets hidden in their closets. 

You finally dug into your sandwich, nearly moaning in relief. The school had implemented some new rule that the kids couldn’t bring snacks or they’d be “confiscated.” This rule applied to the teachers as well which was fucking cruel. You’d said your tearful goodbyes to apple slices with caramel and coughing fits between periods because you’d tried to choke down packets of Cheez-Its.

However, you weren’t prepared to watch Mr. Munson heave noodles into his mouth with a plastic fork, slurping and sucking the entire time. You couldn’t help your grimace, desperately trying to hold back the sound of disgust in the back of your throat.

Until he looked up, stray noodles plopping back into the styrofoam.  

“Uh, what kind of sandwich is that?” 

He only swallowed after he posed his question. Jesus Christ, this was the guy the kids were deeming their favorite? If only they saw him like this.

“Turkey and provolone,” you responded curtly. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I see other stuff on it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Banana peppers and onion.”

“And lettuce.”

So much for that scared little deer. Now he was some annoying warthog or a fox trying to slither through chicken wire.  

“Why are you interested in my sandwich?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile growing in the corners of his lips. You hated it. “It, uh, looks good.”

“It’s Jersey Mike’s,” you said bluntly. 

Mr. Munson only shrugged again. “I only have ramen at my apartment.”

“Right.”

“And that fridge is a piece of shit.”

“True.”

“Woah!” he exclaimed, a huff of laughter leaving his lips. “Did we just agree on something?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the feeling of being a teenage girl again. It figures you’d revert after being in this environment for so long, with the stinging scent of cleaning supplies and hormones spreading like diseases. But nothing prepared you for this to transport you back to a time once easily forgotten.

On instinct, your tongue grazed the front of your teeth, laving over the missing braces that hadn’t been there for nearly twenty years. 

“Why do you care?” you snapped. 

Something flickered across his eyes, too quick for you to distinguish. “Oh, I see,” he started, pointing his fork at you. It was then you noticed that it was in fact a spork. “You’re still pissed off about the list.”

You feigned a snort, waving him away as you took the final sip of your Coke. “What? No way.”

Another pearl of laughter flew out of him. “Has anyone told you you suck at lying?”

“Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

As soon as it flew out of your mouth, you realized just how mean it sounded. You winced.

Mr. Munson let out another laugh but this one didn’t sound the same as the last. “If I had a penny for how many times I’ve been called annoying, I think I’d be, like, the wealthiest guy alive.”

“You’d surpass Bill Gates?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He pretended to think about it before nodding. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wow.”

You couldn’t help the ease you felt when he played along. But the irritation started right back up as he reopened his mouth.

“I know you’re impressed,” he teased. “It’s okay. Go ahead and gawk.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely starstruck.”

“Don’t worry about the list.” When you rolled your eyes again, he added, “Seriously! Those guys are just bored. I bet you’re a great teacher.”

“Thanks.” You didn’t even pretend to mean it.

After another shovel of noodles, he said, “But, just between us, I am kinda the best English teacher here.”

You couldn’t help a third eye roll. “I sincerely doubt it.”

A smug grin filled his face. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sponsoring the new book club next semester.”

A flare of anger flooded your veins.

“What?”

“Don’t get too jealous there,” he teased.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sponsoring the book club.”

He let out a hum and tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I didn’t see your name on there.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see Edward Munson on that list.” You said his name with a certain amount of venom that you knew wasn’t lost on him. His resulting scowl said it all.

He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and fiddling with his tie. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to deal with us being partners then.”

You were at a loss for words, unable to do anything but watch him move towards the door. “Been great talkin’ to you,” he said. He threw his napkin in the trash can before glancing at you over his shoulder. “I’m Edd-ie, by the way. Don’t wear it out.”

He walked away but you couldn’t help but throw a napkin at his fading figure. It made it as far as the end of the table.

That was the first moment you wondered why he’d decided to eat here in the first place.

“There must be some kind of mistake!” you exclaimed.

Principal Scott shook her head for probably the fourth time in two minutes. “I don’t see why you can’t work with Mr. Munson on this. If anything, that makes the club stronger.”

“It’s my chance to try and connect with these kids,” you explained, desperation leaking through your professional demeanor. “Ed—Mr. Munson has been here way longer than I have—”

“Only by a year,” she corrected, but you were far from over.

“ —and he has a leg up on me with them! I want to start making an impact! Kids these days are less interested in reading than ever before. It stopped being cool. What if I could inspire them to care? What if I could get them to read things that change their point of view on the world, to inspire them to think further outside of the little box their environment puts them in?”

Eddie was impressed by your speech, even if he wasn’t supposed to witness it. He’d actually been on the way here to talk to Principal Scott himself to try and keep his spot as the club’s head sponsor. Maybe keep you there but reduce your authority.

But then. Well. He heard you talk like this.

“And that’s great,” Principal Scott continued. “I just don’t see why you and Mr. Munson can’t do that together.”

“The kids like him,” you said before coughing. “At least, that’s how it seems.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to do this work if he’s taking the spotlight? I’m just supposed to stay sidelined?”

He thought about the first time he saw you, at that first staff meeting you’d attended. You fidgeted a lot, all flustered and nervous like all new teachers were. Even in your fear, he thought you were pretty. Standing there, shifting from one heel to the other like you’d rather go barefoot than stand in the opposite corner.

You’d looked over at him at the same time, caught up in an awkward staring contest where both contestants refused to stop blinking and had no idea when to call it quits. It didn’t help that you seemingly relaxed at the connection. It was kind of adorable.

When he saw you in the halls after that, he found himself pausing to observe you. You were always there to wish the kids a good morning and a good rest of their day with a certain amount of sincerity that he could never muster. If there was a hyperventilating kid in the hallway, you were the first one to huddle them into your room to help them down from whatever ledge their raging hormones put them on that day. 

Once, he’d walked past your room to see you opening a drawer while saying, “Don’t tell anyone about my secret stash, okay?” You pulled out a bowl of candy that even had his mouth watering. The student nodded her head, puffy-eyed but already reaching in. “If you promise to keep it a secret, you can come get candy whenever you want. How does that sound?”

If you were outside directing carpool, the worst of all the roulette wheel of responsibilities South Jefferson had to offer, you always seemed energized. Like it wasn’t a chore whatsoever. 

He knew you cared about these kids. He did.

But you seemed to have absolutely lost it at the mere implication that you weren’t already everyone’s favorite English teacher. You’d developed some personal vendetta against him as if it was his fault that fourteen-year-olds with greasy hair, braces, and cruel acne flares thought better of him. Especially Dustin Henderson and his group of nerds. He meant that with all the love in the world, of course.

The way you spoke to him was more intriguing than infuriating. Amusing, even. But then you said his name with such disdain, such vitriol. It prodded at something deep inside him, a well of nearly forgotten memories that seemed to overflow the second you said his name like that.

So, yeah, maybe he was starting to develop a bit of a vendetta against you.

Eddie had to shift his plans. Clearly you weren’t going to give up easily. Maybe he’d annoy you to the brink of insanity and get you to drop your sponsorship. He’d always had proficiency in that skill. Besides, it wasn’t too mean. What was another push?

“Don’t you think you’ll get better turnout rates if he’s there?” Principal Scott reasoned. “If the kids like him so much, you can use that to your advantage—and his. I know Mr. Munson is a dedicated teacher. He’s given your speech to me dozens of times about things that quite frankly matter less. He’s passionate. Just try to work together. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Fine. I can do that. Thank you for your time, Principal Scott.”

“Call me Carrie.”

“Yes, thank you, Carrie. I’ll see what I can do.”

Eddie thought about walking away. Really, he did.

But there was a part of him that really wanted to see you. Your figure had been obscured by the doorframe and, sure, he’d gotten enough from your words alone.

Nothing prepared him for the sight before him. You were utterly defeated, scratching at your neck as you hunched forward. The cross-strap bag you always carried was slipping off of your shoulder, causing you to groan as you fixed it. 

As your eyes flickered up, he watched the scowl that seemed reserved for him deepen.

“What?” you challenged. “You wanna gloat?”

It was then Eddie realized he’d been grinning. He gestured to his face. “Was I not already gloating?”

“I can’t believe this,” you grumbled, quickly strolling past him.

But Eddie had a hard time knowing when to stop. And maybe, just maybe, he was solidifying his new plan. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“You could take a picture, you know,” he continued. “just so you can keep up with every face I have when I win.”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he could get this done before Christmas break was over. If he challenged himself enough, maybe by the end of next week.

“I can lend you a camera if you’d like.”

You halted with a huff. “I’m trying to get things done for these kids. I’m trying to help them. Do you not get that? Or is this just a mask you wear to make people like you?”

Eddie tried to disguise the quirk of his eyebrow as he considered your words. But judging by the upwards flick of your eyes, he knew he’d been caught.

What was it that you saw in him that hadn’t been uncovered since his youth?

“You think so low of me.”

“I haven’t been given a reason to indicate any other kind of reaction to you and your incessant need to be a pest at any given time of the day.”

Eddie resisted the urge to give you a slow clap. Instead, he settled on “You done?”

You took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.” Something seemed to shift as you took another deep breath and straightened your posture. “Winter break is coming up next week. We should try to figure out how to make this work. Why don’t we go get coffee or something and hammer out the kinks.”

“I think that is a great idea,” he replied, his tone more mocking than anything. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You opened your mouth, seemingly to say one thing before hesitating and starting over. “Meet me next Tuesday at Java Bean at one p-m.”

Eddie grinned, smugly wondering what your reaction would be when he said his next words. Professionalism be damned.

“It’s a date.”

Your eyes widened, amusing Eddie to no end. Oh, yeah. That hit something. 

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, nearly scoffing at him.

There were those eyes of yours, searching for something in his. As if you were both trying to find the truth behind your cement walls of defense. But you gave up first, spinning around and trudging down the hallway.

“See you Tuesday!” he called after you, smiling triumphantly when your shoulders locked up.

Oh, yeah. This would be a cake walk.

thank you to @jo-harrington for all the time she took helping me with the writing process and @littlexdeaths for always making the best dividers. i love you both so much it's hard to articulate.

[probablyintensemuses]

Tiny Little Good Things-

A. Aretas

PAIRING: ARMANDO X READER

synopsis: You and Armando get sent on a mission to stop a vicious drugs and arms dealer. Chaos ensues and you two find out why the lines between love and hate are constantly blurring for you both.

theme(s): eventual smut (+18), gore and blood, cursing, graphic imagery, angst, enemies to lovers, Armando is a dick and really hot when he speaks Spanish.

warnings: there is smut in this fic as well as many bloody scenes, if you can’t handle either, I wouldn’t read on!

authors note: hi, yes I know this fic is long as shit, but I felt it was necessary for what unfolds. There is more than 12k words here, so sorry to all my short attention span people. ❤️love you, k bye!

word count: 12.5k

“Ramos Malik, age thirty-seven and Miami’s biggest up and coming arms and drug dealer.’ Kelly says, fingers gracing her iPad as she swivels through pictures, displaying them on the plasma screen ahead.

“He’s a big fucking problem. 3D printing' slugs that are hitting the streets faster than crack in the seventies.’ Mike Lowery, head of AMMO, interjects. “Shells the size of a thumbs, sharper than lions teeth, are being pulled out of rival gang members, bystanders, and law enforcement all around the city.”

You turn in your chair, pushing away from your computer screen. “So, how do we stop him?”

Dorn rounds the steel table, a slab of guns, gear, and tech, gently taking the iPad from Kelly’s hand, and you don’t miss the way she blushes. It’s cute, those two. Kelly and you had grown close ever since you joined AMMO as their new technical analyst months ago. Dorn gave up the position, wanting to be present in the field—mostly to have Kelly’s six—he and his therapist had been making great progress and he felt it was time to be more than the brawny guy in the chair.

So that lead to you taking over and eventually many girls nights full of red wine, cheese, and pillow talking. A slip of a wine-jaded tongue later and you were the first on the team to know of their love affair. Sometimes you desired to have that of your own, but life and fate, as Marcus would say, hadn’t given that to you yet.

“Good question, followed by an even better answer.’ Dorn sails and the screen changes and a new scene plays. “This is Moxy, a new club on the strip. It’s where Ramos Malik and his crew hang out. Rumor has it he’ll be there tonight, and we're going to bind him with a sting.”

Intrigued you stand. “You need me to make inconspicuous body cams, don’t you?’ You gasp and breath deeply, a smile spreading on your face. “God I love it when you guys want me to make inconspicuous body cams.”

Dorn coughs and Kelly looks off to the side, biting at her nails. Mike walks over slowly, slapping a hand onto both your shoulders.

“Now, we know how much our sweet little, non-violent, girl here loves to just stay in her lane and chill here while we get into all the bloody action.’ Mike massages your shoulders, displaying you off to the group like a fresh piece of wagyu. You scan the crew's faces—mischief, panic, fear—but the one that snipes you the most is the one of Armando Aretas. He sits perched on a table on the far side of the room, combat boot clad feet planted on a chair as his brown eyes pierce into you, sending tiny, invisible sparks flocking on your skin. You suck in a sharp breath and look away. He always stared, so why did it bother you now?

When your ears finally stop buzzing, you dial back into Mike's speech. “But this time, it’ll be different. You’ll be out in the field.”

As if you were just tased, you jut away from his grip. “What?”

“Ramos can sniff cops a mile away. It’s what makes him so good at what he does.’ Marcus cuts in. “He knows our faces, too. The only face he doesn’t know, is yours.”

You take another step back, heart racing, completely stupefied. “So you want me to go and trick that bastard…by myself?!”

“No! Never!” Mike says. “Armando will be with you.”

A clatter echos through the room, all eyes snapping to where Armando was sitting, the little black stool wobbling on the floor. “The fuck I will!” He growls.

Your eyes narrow and you jut your chin up. What the hell was he so mad for?

“Okay, son, calm down. It’s a simple sting operation. If you’re careful, it’s an in-and- out kind of thing.”

Armando circles close, and out of habit you cower behind the wall of Mike and Dorn. You may have a high IQ but you’re no match physically for anyone on this team, especially not Armando. You’ve seen what he can do countless times. He was the silent beast, he always just stared and hardly spoke. No matter how much you tried to warm up to him, make him feel accepted, you two just never clicked.

You thought it might just be his past, how he was manipulated by his father and lied to by his mother, that made him so closed off, but with the way fury rumbles off of him so strong right now, pushing you deeper into Dorn and Mike, it makes you think there’s more unspoken. And if so, what?

Caged between Mike and Dorn Armando finds your eyes again, scolding your cheeks hot with his glare. It was as if he needed you to not only hear his words but feel them too. “I’m not going on any mission with the princesa. All she does is type and sit in that fucking chair all day. It’ll be suicide.”

Mike takes his son's shoulder, massaging them similar to how he’d done your own. “She’s the only choice right now, okay? She’s just the arm candy to fill out the picture we’re setting for Malik, alright?”

For some reason his words— “just the arm candy?”and “the only choice right now,” —sting. You may not be skilled in the field or in combat, but you were vital to this team and you spent months trying to prove your strengths otherwise. When you first joined the team, everyone insisted on making you their baby bird, some wounded thing they needed to protect in a gilded cage. You were the new young and stary-eyed cop, and they are all jaded-old bags who need someone to shelter. It happened authentically and you still couldn’t shake the box they put you in. You aren’t helpless, you are capable and strong and maybe this is what you need, an opportunity outside to finally prove yourself.

“If he doesn’t want to do it, I’m sure there is someone else in the field we can find.’ A surge of confidence flushes through you as you push past the Mike-Dorn barricade, chin help up high with defiance as you brush past Armando. “Whatever the case, I’ll do it. I can do it. I’m capable Mike, so let’s see my cover.”

A smirk peels on Kelly’s face as she passes you your file. “Okay, Ms. Bad-ass. I’m loving this energy.”

Armando scoffs, planting himself next to you, his broad shoulders brush up against your frail ones. The slight gesture sends a hear through you. Quickly you scoot away, no need to sweat through a perfectly good cardigan over mean-ass Armando Aretas.

You flip through your file. You’ll be playing Jenna Combs. A twenty-six year old dancer and model who is the new girlfriend of—

“You hijos de puta’s got me playing myself?” Armando argues. “What kind of shit disguise is that?”

Dorn shrugs. “It’s not. That’s the point. The Aretas name is still feared and no one knows you’re in with the cops. It’s a pretty believable story, you need new armory and he can supply it.”

“Last anyone in this circles heard, you was killing cops and slinging a new dope empire. Just get em’ to confess to making this bullets and where he does it, so we can get em’ off the streets for good.” Marcus chimes in with a smile.

Armando’s grumbles a few curses under his breath before his attention turns and latches onto you. Suddenly you feel hot again, like a solar flares are swallowing you whole. Armando’s eyes rack over your form, slow and tentative.

His gaze latches onto your lips before he says, “And she’s supposed to be my date? Suicide mission.”

“For who? You or me? Because the way I see it, with your attitude you’ll be made in minutes.”

The gap between you and Armando closes in an instant. Your faces mere inches from each other. His cool breath trickles down the crest of your neck and frosts the tips of your ears when he whispers, “Careful when you speak to me, Princesa. You’ll be alone out there with me, and anything could happen to you.”

Was he…threatening you?

Your balls must have really dropped in the matter of minutes, because instead of keeping quiet and apologizing, like you normally would if you managed to anger Armando, you bite back.

“Stop calling me that.” You grit your teeth.

“¿Por qué, eh?’ Armando whispers, pulling back from you and taking a seat on a nearby stool. His eyes are drunk with a flavor you can’t distinguish. “Only princesas get to sit up in their castle all day, shielded, while everyone else goes out and does all the heavy lifting.”

“I never asked to be shielded!’ You stamp your foot, moving in on him with a swiftness. Armando invites your challenge with grace, folding his muscular arms slowly over his wide chest, watching you stalk nearer.

You don’t know how, but you find yourself in between him, his legs two thick gates around you. Where it should bother you, in the moment it doesn’t because It’s your turn to invade his space. In this moment, the great Armando Aretas doesn’t scare you.

You poke at his chest with each syllable. “Rather you like it or not, Aretas, this princesa is going on this sting with or without you, and I don’t give a shit what you think, not anymore. Cool?”

A small smirk pulls on his face as he peels your finger off his chest, the digit so small in his his hand, his movements making you keenly aware of your closeness.

“Cool.” He stands, boxing you in with his large build before brushing past you and walking out of the compound.

You watch as the last bits of daylight leave with him as the door slams closed. This confidence was like adrenal coursing through you and suddenly you felt tired and zapped, being strong is exhausting. You take a seat, pulling at a loose curl atop your head, thoughts burrowing into your mind like a splinter.

To this day, you couldn’t understand the hatred he had for you. In the begging, when Mike had negotiated a deal with the D.A’s office and the department to allow Armando to work for AMMO, not wanting his raw talents to go to waste, no one trusted him. But still, you gave him a chance, because you knew how it felt to be the underdog and you didn’t want the same for him. Still, in his own fashion, he warmed up to the others…but never to you. But maybe he was right, everyone else here has put so much of themselves of the line, risked it all for the greater good, and what have you done? Nothing. You haven’t saved anyone or changed a life. You’ve sat and watched from the comforts of the compound. Their eyes and ears, that’s all.

You push to standing and gather your file. You may not be the strongest, or fastest on the team, but you had strengths and you’d make use of them tonight for once, no matter what.

Suddenly snickers and chuckle fill the room, bouncing off the walls of your mind and bringing you back to the room glazed with the smell of oil and pinesol.

Marcus breaks through the laughter. “Next time you two want to engage in some foreplay, ask for the room first.”

Your skin nearly peels off at his words. You could burn alive right now.

You and Armando?

“Never would that ever happen.” You shiver at the thought of being with any man, let alone him.

Armando is a mean man. A mean man you suddenly have to trust you life with.

But if that’s the case. Why does your heart not fall to your feet at the thought?

###

“You’ve memorized your role, right?” Kelly asks, tightening the final fixings of your dress.

“Yes,’ you nod. “I’m Armando’s new girlfriend, Jenna. I don’t speak, I just sit quietly and listen. I shadow him, basically. Anything he does, I do.”

“Good girl.’ Kelly winks. “One last thing.’ She digs into her pockets before brandishing a small knife. “Here, just in case things go south.”

Your eyes widen and you nearly flinch. “I thought you and Mike said this was an easy in-and-out kind of deal.”

Kelly sighs. “Nothing like this is ever easy. All things have the potential to go south.’ She grabs your face in her hands. “I just want my girl safe, that’s all.”

Reluctantly, you accept the knife, shoving it into your purse. “What about Armando? Isn���t he supposed to protect me—I mean Jenna?”

“And he will,” Kelly assures. “But you can never be too sure.”

You nod. “Right, whose to say he won’t abandon me if shit oops off,” your snicker is laced with fear.

Kelly walks you out of the compound and toward the front where you’ll be meeting the rest of the team. “He won’t. Trust me.”

“He did allude to it early, Kels.”

Kelly rolls her eyes, stopping you and giving your curls one last fluff. “Aretas is all talk when it comes to you, don’t take him for a grain of salt.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to be mean.”

Kelly smirks. “See for yourself.”

She steps out of the way and in the shinning exterior of Mikes Ferrari, you see yourself.

Do you look like a slut, yes, but nonetheless gorgeous.

Your curls are loose and defined, a cascade of shea butter and hibiscus around you. Your makeup is layered, yet light, elevating your high cheekbones, wide lips, and honey-brown eyes. And your plum colored dress pops against your warm-brown skin, somehow making even your thin body look full and figured.

You look fucking hot.

And for the first time in forever, you feel fucking hot.

Apparently you’re not the only one who thinks so as a whistle breaks loose in the yard.

“Goddamn girl!’ Mike claps. “If I wasn’t some old dog, I’d ask you on a date myself.”

“I’ll keep my comments to myself,’ Marcus smiles. “You know Theresa be listening.” He looks over his shoulders, head on a swivel.

“Dorn don’t say a word.” Kelly scolds her boyfriend, Dorn holds his hands up in defense.

“Staying silent.” He whimpers.

Your cheeks flush. “Stop, you guys.” You giggle. “This was all Kelly, besides you know I look better in a cardigan and jeans.”

“I agree.” A voice emerges from the darkness. A wide berth breaks before you as Armando strolls over.

Your throat goes dry and suddenly your head is dizzy with a feeling hard to explain, as you take him in.

He’s fresh with a new hair cut, faded low on the sides and thick, raven black up top. His beard is full and more manicured, enunciating the sharp cuts of his jaw.

He’s graced in a suit, black-on-black. The undershirt unbuttoned exposing much of his chiseled chest and the gold, cross necklace that dangles there. His suit jacket fits perfectly over the swells of his biceps and his pants expose every aching muscle in his thigh.

Like gravity, it’s hard to pull your eyes away from him. But somehow you become the void of space and manage to.

You can’t say the same for him though, because despite his insults that same burning, tingling sensation finds its way tip-toeing down your back and to the swell of your ass. One quick spin and you catch Armando’s eyes lifting from your backside to face you.

“I thought I looked better in a cardigan?” You say, breathing heavy.

Was he just? No…

Armando swings open the passenger door for you. “Get in.” He grumbles.

Not wanting to test his patience, you oblige, taking a step into the Farrier.

Armando closes the door behind you before climbing into the passenger side.

At the window, Mike approaches.

“Get in ask Ramos about the bullets, say you heard about them from word of mouth and you’re interested in them. You’ll pay top dollar. Once he confirms he can give them to you, we’ll move in. Got it?” Mike explains to Armando before turning his attention to you. “And for you, just be silent, pretty, and say nothing, okay?”

“Won’t be hard for her.” Armando grumbles as he starts the car.

You roll your eyes, ignoring his comment. “You guys will tail us, right.”

Dorn nods. “You should be fine though, you’ve got Armando.”

Armando reeves the engine, slowly idling off and away from your friends. And for some reason, when you whip off, you can’t help but wonder if he was right. This was a suicide mission, just not for him.

Fuck.

###

The drive is silent and smooth. You really could see why Mike insisted on such expensive cars, they rode well.

Your heel-clad feet tap against the bottom of the car, humming a tune in your head, making you realize just how much this ride needed some music.

Slowly, you turn to face Armando. His eyes are focused on the long road ahead, his jaw is clenched and he doesn’t seems to be paying you the slightest bit of attention.

As smooth as you can be you carefully lift your hand up and turn on the radio. Soon enough Ariana Grandes, The Boy is Mine, blasts from the radio.

You squeal and find a small groove with your fingers against your purse, humming the lyrics and bopping your head to the beat. The song is just reaching its second run through the chorus when the radio goes dead.

You turn, seeing Armando’s hand leaking from the controls. Annoyed, you give him a look before turning the radio back on, louder this time.

Armando’s jaw clenches tighter, like he might actually collapse through it with his bite force. He slams the radio off…again.

This time you don’t bite your tongue.

“Would you stop doing that!” You shout.

“No.”

“Why not? I was listening to that.”

“I don’t care. I need to focus.” Armando grumbles.

“Focus on what?”

“I don’t know, Princesa, making sure we both come out of this alive, because I damn sure can’t count on you to do that.”

His words bite, but if he wants to play a snake you have venom for him. “Why don’t you like me, huh? What have I ever done to you?” You hide.

Armando stays silent, his knuckles whitening as his grip strengthens on the steering wheel.

You snap at him. “I’m not talking to myself, Armando. Why do you hate me, huh?!”

“Cállte!” He shouts

You don't know much Spanish, but you’ve heard him say it enough to know it’s time to walk away from the conversation.

So you do, resting your head against the window seal, counting the number of streetlights you see flash and shimmer as you zoom by.

When you were younger your mother couldn’t afford fancy candles so she used a flashlight instead. You imagine the streetlights as just that, wishing that one day you’d know what you did to anger Armando so much.

Not soon enough, the car comes to a halt. The only sounds filling the cabin are those of Armando undoing his seatbelt.

Annoyed, you don’t even look at him as he speaks. All he’s done is tear you down in the past few hours, you’re done giving him the energy you need to conserve.

“When we go inside, don’t say a word. I don’t care how many questions he throws your way, you don’t say shit. Am I clear?”

Slowly, you turn towards him. Your mouth is scrunched and your eyes filled with no sympathy for the devil in front of you.

“Crystal.” You whisper, venom leaking off your tongue as you speak.

Armando’s chest rises and falls as he takes in your anger. He squeezes Mikes keys between his hands, and you you really do your best to ignore the heat that unfurls inside of you when he bites his plump lip between his teeth and runs a hand over his dark, full beard.

You adjust in your seat, because despite his constant cold front, It looks as if he has something to say. You wait in contemplating silence, the only sounds in the cabin being your breathing and Armando’s hesitant taps on the keys.

Part of you just wants to go in a get this over with and never speak to him again, but another part is desperate for him to say something meaningful to you. Something like the things you say to him before a mission.

“Don’t die.”

“Come back in one piece.”

“Be careful.”

“We should all have pizza when you come back.”

You knew how scary things could get on missions and you just wanted your team to know you were there, to take away even a slither of the darkness clouding them in that moment. And for your first time, you thought Armando might do the same—say something meaningful—but he doesn’t.

In a flash he’s out of the car, handing the keys over to valet, threatening them about what will happen if any scratches and dents are found.

You take in a deep breath and look down at the camera, disguised as a gold necklace resting above the cut of your breast.

“You guys getting all this?” You whisper, stepping out of the car.

“Do you mean Moxy, or your fight with Hotmando?” Dorn says over the earpiece.

You come to a halt. “Shit, I’m sorry guys. I’ll keep it professional, okay. From here on out, I won’t let him get to me…that’s not what’s important.”

“Good, get in and come back to us. I need my girl and our wine down Sundays.” Kelly says.

You smile, making your way over to wear Armando stands at the mouth of the nightclub, hoping he heard your words.

The sour look on his face as you walk through the door he holds open for you—sure to flip my hair as you do, giving him a nice taste of your leave in conditioner—tells you he certainly did, and perhaps he didn’t like what you had to say, but nonetheless…

He wont bother you anymore. Not tonight, at least.

Inside Moxy tore hit with a wave of a scent that nearly makes you gag—weed, sweat, and criminal activity. The club its self is large in scale, high ceilings with rope dancers stringing off the tops and flashing red and blue lights melting to make a purple haze over the club. Smoke and bubble guns are in constant effect and you’re pretty sure you can feel the bass of Wiz Khalifa’s Black and Yellow in your thoracic cavity.

From what you can see there are three floors, the first and second appear to be where the actual clubbing takes place. You watch the sweaty bodies corralled into dance floors, babbling nonsense either too drunk or too high for their own good.

But above, on the third, it is caged in and covered by glass. Yellow lights, different from the multi-colored ones below, remain at a halt and big , burly men with guns at their hips wander the halls. No doubt looking to take out any threat that comes for their boss—Ramos Malik.

“The glass. It’s bullet proof.” Armando says, eyeing the scene above, just as you do.

You would praise him for the impressive catch. But you’re Jenna now, and Jenna doesn’t speak.

“Any sign of Malik?” Mike asks.

“Not yet,’ Armando places a hand on the small of your back, making you flinch. “But we’re about to find out.”

Never moving his hands from your waist, Armando guides the two of you through the sweaty pillage of bodies and towards the elevators.

The ride up is quick, quiet. That’s not shocking. But what is shocking, as soon as the elevator comes to a screeching halt, Armando grabs your hand in his, completely engulfing your own with his size.

The burning sensation wraps up your wrist and shoots straight to your cheeks where you flush.

“What are you doing?” You gasps, trying to pull away. You did not sign up for this kind of role play.

Armando turns to look at you. “If you’re my girlfriend, we’ve got to play the part. Other than that you just look like someone who I brought out on a hit with me.” He squeezes your hand.

You suck in a deep breath at the motion, looking away.

“What’s wrong, princesa? This too much for you?” For a second, you thought he meant the fact that he was holding your hand, and in that case he wouldn’t be wrong, but soon enough the doors open and you shortly realize what he means.

The two burly men from early, dapper in black and white suits, wait outside the elevator, fingers in the triggers of their guns.

“Aretas.’ They nod, tuning your attention to you. “Whose this?”

“My girl, Jenna.” Armando says, gruffly.

One of the men nods, motioning you forward. You swallow, backing up a bit, hesitant on what to do.

Armando nudges you forward. “Esta bien bebe.”

You nod and walk towards them. They grab you up, calloused hands running up and down your body, and your pretty sure they linger to long on your untouchables on purpose.

Sweat begins to pile in your hands as a thought burst into your mind. What would happen if they found the knife Kelly gave you? She’d shoved it in a pretty good spot, but still, these guys were being thorough…and not in a good way.

You make eye contact with Armando as one of the guards continues to fill you up with what feels like excessive force.

In a blur, Armando pushes off the wall with his foot, slapping a hand on the guards shoulder.

“She’s clear, eh?”

The guard nods.

Armando grips his collar and pulls him in close. “The why the fuck are you still touching her, hm?”

The guard swallows, fear evident in his eyes.

“Just covering the bases, that’s all, sir.” He whimpers.

“Cover the bases again like that with my girl, and I’ll cut your fucking hand off and feed it to your other fat fuck of a friend.” Armando notions to the guard behind.

The guard nods and swallows, caressing his hand.

“The boss is this way,” he guides us with a motion.

Armando grips your hand once more, leading your down the long hallway.

“You okay?” He asks, holding his gaze forward.

You look up at him, even in heels he still manages to be taller than you. “Don’t pretend to care.” You scoff.

That makes him halt, conjoined with him you have no choice but to face each other. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, yet no words come out.

You roll your eyes, looking past his shoulders. Inside the bright room, you can see a shadow of Ramos. “Let’s just get this over with.” You say.

Armando’s gaze lingers on your longer than you’d like, giving you the shivers despite the fire leaking off him.

Soon enough, he pushes open the door and you follow behind him.

The room is small, club girls linger around either serving drinks or being felt up on. Ramos’s men, stand at each corner of the room searching for the next threat to their boss. Luckily they haven’t figured it is you yet.

“Armando Aretas,” Ramos claps his hands, jumping off of the white couch he’s sat on.

He stalks over, cigar between his lips, and you take him in. He is nowhere near as stalky as Armando, and his curly blonde hair is put up into a bun, exposing the undercut beneath. You can’t catch the colors of his eyes because they are covered by dark, Fendi shades.

His business definitely makes money, and lots of it. His three piece black and burgundy suit screams it all.

“To what do I owe such great pleasures?” He bows, lifting your hand up and placing a kiss on the back. “That goes for you too, sugar.”

Armando squeezes your hand a bit tighter at the pet name. You want to bite back and tell him to go easy, but you’re on stage now, and for your own safety and his, it’s best if you don’t break the act.

“I’m in the business of buying something from you. Streets are hot down in Mexico right now, and I need to establish some new territories…with a little force.” Armando says smoothly, sometimes you forget he was a hardened criminal not too long ago.

Ramos clicks his tongue between his teeth. “Ah. Come sit.” He motions you two over to one of his coaches.

“Good job. Keep em’ talking.” Mike says over the coms.

Armando takes a seat across from Ramos and you do the same.

A chuckle leaves Ramos’s lips. “I don’t think your pet likes you very much,” he motions to the space between you two.

Armando smacks his lips. “Nonsense. Ven aquí, bebé.”

You swallow and scoot towards him. When you’re close enough, in one swift moment, Armando’s slips you in his lap, running a rough hand up and down the exposed parts of your thigh, sending shivers down your spine and goosebumps all over your body.

What the hell was happening.

Ramos chuckles, pouring himself and Armando a drink. He pushes it across the glass table, just out of reach.

Armando gives your ass a light slap, you turn and flare your nose, giving him your best “don't push it,” it glare.

He ignores it.

“Tráeme eso, mamá.” He says, motioning towards the glass.

You pick up the tumbler, suddenly realizing what he’s playing at. Ramos is watching because he isn't convinced. So you suck up your pride and do some convincing.

You grip Armando by his chin, rubbing the pad of your thumb in circles over his gruff beard before putting the glass against his lips, assisting him as he drinks.

Never once do his eyes leave you as he swallows the amber liquid, and the shivers that were once in your spine travel lower, much lower. You have to blink away the awful, dirty thoughts of you being in place of the glass out of your mind as you swipe away the spillage off his beard and plump, pink lips.

When you turn, Ramos’ shoulders drop and his smile is so wide it’s nearly reckless.

“So you’re in the business of buying my most popular product from me?”

“That’s right.” Armando says, a hand still caressing you slow and smooth.

“I am curious, though,’ Ramos takes a swig of his drink. “How did you hear about it?”

Armando shifts, the movement forcing you closer to his center. Your eyes go wide as saucers, your new position doing nothing for the growing pain massing within your heat.

“I’m an Aretas. Nothing in the streets goes past my ears…nothing.” Armando's confidence radiates off of him.

“Very well,” Ramos chuckles. “Let’s establish two parameters of this deal, then. One, you pay me before I give you any product. Two, you get caught with my product, you don’t tell a soul who you the fuck got it from. Sounds good?” He smiles.

Armando nods. “Just one thing,’ his hands enclose over your hips, sliding you off to the side, as he leans forward. “How do you make them? The bullets.”

Ramos frowns. “Why? You trying to steal my swag or something, Aretas?”

Armando chuckles. “Nah, just curious.”

“Feed his ego, he’s going to talk.” Kelly says.

“I mean, they're sharp, large, fast, quiet. It’s impressive. I just want to know how you do it before I invest any of my money into it.” Armando leans back, arms spread in a wide arch on the back of the couch.

“In our world now, with a little money, the right connections, and a fuck ton of fortitude, anything you can think of is a possibility.’ Ramos says, lighting another cigar. “It’s rare and hard to get everything right. But if you really want to know how I do it,’ he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper.

Armando does the same, you make the conscious effort not to. Instead you play with your necklace, making sure the camera catches his face and his face only when he confesses.

“It’s a three—,”

A sudden buzz swallows the conversation whole, swirling it down the dirty sink it had come up from. The buzz echoes once more before you realize where it comes from…your purse

Fuck.

Ramos straightens, likes a dog on guard, eyeing you fiercely. Your chest rises and falls with a weight heavier than gravity as your ringtone continues to blare out for everyone to hear.

Ramos licks his lips, like he’s hungry for what comes next. “Well don’t be shy, Ms. Jenna, answer the phone.”

You swallow and tuck a curl behind your ear. “I don’t think that’s appropriate right now. Let’s just finish up the deal—“

In a blur of fury, Ramos stands brandishing a gun, pointing it right at your chest.

“Make you perra answer the fucking phone, or I put holes in you both.”

“Answer the phone,” Mike calls to you. “Do what he asks.”

Armando gives you a cautious look as you slip your phone out of your purse. Your fingers are shaking, so answering takes a few tries but when you finally do get it, you see that it’s your sister calling.

“Make sure it’s on speaker too.” Ramos demands, clocking his gun.

You inhale deeply, press the speaker button, then answer, “Hey, sister, this isn’t really a good time.”

“Hey, I know you’re probably working late and all, but this is kind of important. My routers are not really working and I have a date with that guy, David, I told you about and I really need my tv to work.” She explains.

You bite your lip and lick the sweat that forms around them. “Have you tried turning your tv on and off again? You know I’m not really a whiz at that tech stuff.”

A pause, then your sister erupts in laughter. “Girl, are you high?’ She laughs. “You’ve been messing with wires and the internet since we were kids. That’s the whole reason twelve wanted you anyways”

Your hear sinks the moment she says those words, you hang up because the last thing you want is for your sister to hear you die.

“Well fuck me, Jenna, I’ll be damned.” Ramos growls, pushing his gun into your skull.

You pierce your eyes shut, brace for the burning impact of the bullet and pray for a quick death.

But it never happens, instead in a swift motion Armando pushes you off to the side causing you to collapse onto the ground. He makes a quick sweep of his leg, sending Ramos crashing onto his ass and the bullet that was meant for you soaring up and hitting the rafters, lodging into some wood.

Your breath is heavy as you watch all out war unfold before you. Armando takes on five men at once. The first man takes two tumblers over the head and one shard of glass to the neck, scarlett liquid oozing from the wound before he drops like dead weight beside you.

You let out a scream, backing away from the scene that moves like a riptide before you.

“Get out of there, now!” Kelly screams in your ear.

“I—I can’t just leave him!” You shout back.

“You have no training! We’re coming in, go, now!” Mike yells.

You gather yourself, undoing your heels, still watching Armando skillfully take out guys and keep clear of the gunshots that ring in the tiny room. You watch as he dropkicks one man, then shoots him in the face before stalking over to another man, dishing out a few punches, before finally gutting him with a knife.

He’s still on the move when you finally slip out of your heels. More of Ramos’s men are filing in and the fight expands,moving from the small room you were just in into the hallway where any innocent person could be hurt.

Unlike most times you weren’t in your gilded chair. You were in the field and you would help as many people as you could. So, you don’t think, you let the adrenaline cloud you as you bound down the hallway in hopes to get back downstairs and direct clubbers from the chaos.

Setting the golden elevator in your sites, you push faster. People below were already screaming, running wild. Who knows what could happen? How many people could be trampled and hurt. This only fuels you, quickening your stride. You nearly make it but a gunshot slows you, and the body of a bleeding girl drops before you, putting you into a full halt.

“Oh my god,” your voice is breathy and shaky.

“Why are you still in there!” Dorns’ voice becomes a far void as you rip at the bottom of your dress and use the fabric to compress her wound.

Two gunshots to the chests. The girl, who can’t be any older than yourself, gurgles blood which sprays onto her porcelain skin and leaks into her brown hair, sticking strands to the marble floor.

The girl coughs, sending blood splattering onto the side of your face, and claws at your arms, streaks of crimson standing out against your brown skin.

She murmurs, but it’s hard to hear.

You press deeper into her wounds. “Shh, it’ll be alright,’ You tell her “guys, I need a medic on the third floor when you get here. She’s…she’s in really bad shape.” You whimper.

The girl whines again, her eyes open and closing in two second intervals.

she raises her arm pointing a shaking finger in the direction behind you.

You wipe your eyes, blood no doubt trailing on your face now.

“What?” You croak. “What is it?” You turn around and see Ramos Malik limping over to you, a large knife in his hand.

You stand, putting distance between him, yourself and the girl.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?’ An injured Ramos says, limping toward you with his knife pointed. “Trying to get me caught up in some trap, but you weren’t even smart enough to shut off your phone!” He screams, lunging at you with the knife.

You tumble backwards, your back and head hitting the marble floor with the weight of you both. You cry out as pain sears through you, especially your hand.

It takes you a moment of readjusting to the bright lights and sounds to realize why. You caught the fucking knife in your hand.

You scream, as Ramos pulls it from your palm in a slice. Your hand open and bleeding, you cry out and roll away from another vicious attack by Ramos.

He growls and lunges at you again, grabbing a tuft full of your curls. You beat at his legs with your good hand, squirming in his grip. He pulls at your hair, making you scream, lowering his knife to your neck, pressing inward.

You let out an animalistic scream, pressing your thumb into the oozing wound on his leg. He screeches, falling to his knees.

Wasting no time, you crawl away.

You think you’ve gotten far enough.

You rise up on your knees and push the elevator button, but the cold hand on your ankle snatches you back.

You claw at the marble floors, leaving a trail of blood, as Ramos drags you like a rag doll. He stops, flipping you over and planting his weight on top of you.

You flail, kicking the ground and scratching at his face, desperate for him to let go. But he doesn’t. Instead, he cages you with his legs and wraps both hands around your neck, applying so much pressure that your vision blurs.

Under his grip, your breaths become distant and faint. Your muscles relax, and your eyes bulge. Turning your head to the side, you can barely make out the flashing blue and red lights from outside.

The team is here. But you're not sure they'll find you in time because Ramos is relentless, and the air in your lungs is vanishing. Your skull feels like it’s being crushed, the pressure intense.

You feel yourself slipping away, losing focus on your surroundings. Ramos moves your head to face him, and he’s a mass of incoherent clouds above you, the only clear thing are his dark, empty eyes.

“Look at me, baby. I like my victims to look at me before they die,” he growls, spit slipping from his mouth. “I hope Aretas finds you like—”

Ramos drops, and oxygen rushes back into your lungs like a clap of thunder.

You shudder on the ground, scraping at your neck and slapping your chest.

Warm hands engulf your cheeks, and it takes a minute for the blur to leave your vision. When it does, you see Armando before you, a smoking gun at his side.

“¿Estás bien, mamá?”

His voice barely registers before oxygen slips from your lungs again, and you slump over, hitting the ground.

Armando scoops you up, and even though it should be a relief, you can’t help but be saddened by the way your team jumps over the girl you couldn’t save.

Darkness swallows you whole as your team swarms you and Armando.

###

“The stitches will dissolve on their own in time as your wound heals itself.’ Kelly says, tightening the last of the bandages on the hand Ramos had sliced.

“Thanks, Kelly.’ You smiled softly, rubbing at the soreness that still lingered all over your body, especially your neck.

Ramos and his men had been arrested, not on the charges the team had planned, but still, getting him locked away for attempted murder of a police officer and soliciting drugs would have to be good enough for now.

Kelly rubs your shoulders, a soft sigh leaving her lips. “I’m really sorry this happened to you,’ she says, eyeing your injuries, the bandages on your knees and hands, the purple-ish bruise on your neck, and the small scratches and scrapes all over your body. You definitely weren’t as hot as you were that night.

“It’s okay.” You smile. “I’m still here, so.” You shrug.

“You were brave that night, saving that girl. We’re all so proud of you.” Kelly says.

You shake your head. “But I didn't save her, Kels. She died. Right there, she bled out.’ Tears start to rim your eyes as the memories of the girl and her blood in your hands flare in your mind. “Fuck,” you cover your eyes with your palms. “I could hardly save myself that night…if it wasn’t for Armando, I’d be dead.”

You sniffle, taking a seat on a nearby stool. “I’m not cut of for the field, and I don’t think I should ever do it again.”

Kelly swarms you. “No. Don’t say that.’ She shakes her head. “We’ve all been there, helpless, but that’s why we’re a team. We cover each other's six when shit gets rough. So don’t feel bad, we won’t let you.”

You nod slowly, trying to let her words penetrate your soul so that you could really believe them. But right now, you couldn’t. You put everyone at risk because you made a rookie mistake by leaving your phone on.

You were to blame for all the carnage, all the bloodshed and chaos.

Armando was right, it was a suicide mission. And it was all your fault.

Kelly’s phone ringing thrusts you out of your thoughts.

She reads the screen number and looks at you. 'I got to go,’ she motions. “But if you need me, call me, seriously.”

You nod and wave her goodbye. You turn and fully expect to hear the compound's heavy, steel doors slam shut and lock, but they never do.

On high alert you turn and meet eyes with Armando. He’s in his typical black on black, head to toe. The only thing different about him is the white bandage covering the bulge of his arm.

You try not to stare too hard at the way his black shirt clings to his body, flexing every taunt muscle as he strides down the steps and towards you with a force.

Refocusing, you work on the project at hand—Dorns broken drone. You mesh wires together and a spark comes alive, something like the sparks you feel when Armando takes a seat next to you, leaving up against the steel work table.

“So that’s it, eh?” He says, staring at you. “Gonna ignore me.”

You keep fussing with your wires. “Not sure there is much to say.”

Armando chuckles bitterly. “I’m sure I could find some words. How about we start with, lo siento or soy un maldito idiota.”

You slam down your tools and turn to face him, fire blazing in your eyes. “I don’t even know what the fuck you just said.” You growl.

Armando stands, towering over you. “I’d be happy to translate for you, princesa. It means you fucked up and cost alot of people their lives.”

You flinch at his words, more reality of your mistake clouding over you. “You don’t think I know that? I’ve regretted my mistake every night when I cry myself to sleep because all I can see is that girl's face.

Your voice wavers. “Her blood.”

“If you feel like that then you should have listened to me when I told you that mission was suicide.” He growls.

“Fuck you.” You spat, walking away.

Armando catches your forearm, pulling you back towards him. “I’m not done, so don’t walk away from me.”

“Let me the hell go!” You try jerking from his grip but it’s no use, you’re stuck, stuck taking his abuse.

“No, you need to know that it was your fault out there. That your place is in the chair,’ he motions to your desk behind you. “You can’t handle the field, you’re not built for it.”

The need to prove him wrong boils in your gut causing you to lift your hand and swing it out towards Armando’s face.

Bad idea.

He catches your arm with ease and now both your limbs are in his hands. You try to snatch away, but Armando keeps you steady, pulling you closer until the two of you are breaths away from each other.

The heat in your chest spreads like wildfire as you watch Armando’s eyes linger on your bruised lips, then trailing down slowly to your hands and legs, accessing all your injuries as if they matter to him.

“Besides,’ he trails on, his index finger glazing cautiously over the ring bruise on your neck. “If it wasn’t more me out there, princesa, you’d be dead.”

“I didn’t think…”

“That’s the point,’ Armando holds you steady. “You didn’t think, and you not using your head almost got you killed. And if you would have died I—.”

There's a quivering pause in Armando’s voice, his eyes slam shut tight. You don’t know what to make of this, one second he hates you and the next he cares if you’re dead or not. Armando is a mystery you’re too tired to decode.

You jerk from his grasps once more and this shocks his eyes back open.

“Are you done?” You manage to say.

Armando licks his lips, slowly releasing you from his grasp.

“I’m done,’ he says, backing away from you.

You hold onto the steel table for support, the scorch of his touch slowly fleeting.

You hear the steel door crack open and turn to watch him leave, but he’s halted at the precipice, “One last thing, stay in the chair next time. It’s where you belong.”

With that he leaves, the steel door slamming shut and your confidence crumbling down.

You tried your hardest to not let Armando affect you, but he does. His words cut you deeper than Ramos’s knife. Maybe he was right, maybe you should just stay in the chair. But what if there was another time they needed you in the field? Could you just say no without feeling immense guilt? Probably not.

So when you write your resignation and leave it on your desk and walk away from the compound, you do it because you can’t stand to see the people you care about get hurt, all because you’re not a good enough cop.

###

“Okay, seriously! Are you really going to be that stupid and go back into the house where you know the killer is! Come on Noah!” You shout at your television screen.

It’s been a week since you put in your resignation and the amount of discourse behind it has resulted in you shutting off your phone and locking yourself inside, watching shitty horror movies to pass the time.

Because if you step foot outside, you’ll be mobbed by friends from the department and your friends from AMMO who, to say the least, weren’t happy about your resignation.

All but one.

Not that he mattered anyway.

They all hated that you quit, saying you needed to come back immediately and talk this out. But you couldn’t.

How could you face them when you were such a coward and created all that chaos? They worked so hard to save lives and keep order and you did nothing but fuck shit up.

It was time to jump ship before someone else got hurt in the crossfires of your neglect.

The thought pushes you deeper into your plush green couch that sits far back into your home, well renovated garage. But hey, Miami is expensive, and this place was renting out, so you just renovated it. A little love all around and it became an actual home.

You let loose a small smile looking around, the walls, once bare and industrial, now are splattered with a lively palette of bright yellows, deep blues, and playful greens. They are decorated with framed posters of all the things you love: vintage video games, classic sci-fi movies, and beloved comic book covers, each one a nod to your past. Strings of fairy lights crisscross the ceiling, casting a soft, whimsical glow that contrasts beautifully with your high-gear equipment scattered throughout.

Your floor is a patchwork of colorful rugs, each with its own story. Some are intricately patterned, those are the ones your parents gifted you, while others are simple yet bold, adding a splash of color to the room. Together, they might be your favorite part of the whole place, just because they keep your bare feet warm on lazy nights like these.

In one corner, a plush, oversized bean bag chair sits next to a low coffee table cluttered with all your retro memorabilia – old gaming cartridges, Rubik's cubes, and a couple of well-worn graphic novels.

The heart of your home garage is the tech haven. Your large, custom-built desk stretches along one wall, supporting your impressive army of monitors in various sizes. High-end computers hum quietly, their cases glowing with neon lights. Cables and wires, though numerous, are neatly organized, snaking their way through the room in an orderly fashion.

Shelves above and around the desk hold a treasure trove of tech gadgets and components – everything from VR headsets and drones to soldering kits and spare parts. A 3D printer sits in a place of honor, its latest creation still cooling on the print bed.

Your home made you feel complete, but still after you quit you do feel a little empty. You miss the small talks at work, the laughter, the bickering, the teasing. It just wasn’t the same alone. But again, it was for the best, because if there is one thing you know—keeping your family safe is the most important thing, above all.

And you’d hate to be their reckoning.

Flipping open your laptop you continue to scroll through your job search.

“What do you think, Chester?’ You say to your golden retriever. “Tech support job? Or maybe we go dark and get into hacking for higher companies.”

Chester whines, fidgeting in his spot next to you.

“You’re right, no going bad. Tech support it is.’ Chester rummages around a bit more before springing over your coach, darting towards the door. “Hey, I can work from home with this one!” You say.

Chester’s barks ring out, bouncing off the walls relentlessly.

You stand and make your way over to what’s got him so riled up. At the door, you bend down and pet him, still doing nothing to soothe his barks.

“Chessy, what’s wrong, huh?” You grab his collar, pulling him towards the door and opening it.

You stick both your heads out the door, turning them left and right, the only thing you see and hear is darkness and the bad storm slamming outside. You pull back inside and Chester sticks to you like glue. “See, nothing to worry about.’ You squat down to love on your dog, who's growling like crazy right now. “We aren’t like Noah, we don’t go into scary houses for fun. We’re safe here, Ramos is gone. ” You pat his head, but that only makes him bark more.

“Chester, enough already.” you stand, moving towards the kitchen and getting yourself a glass out of the cabinet, flicking on the sink, and filling it with water.

Your just about to take a sip when a loud crack of lighting explodes, illuminating your dark house, revealing a cloaked figure behind you.

You scream and drop your cup, shards exploding on the ground around your feet. Chester is in a full on frenzy right now, and rightfully so. Could this be Ramos’s men, did he send them to finish you off?

“You’re one crazy bitch, you know that?”

“Look at me, baby. I like my victims to look at me before they die.”

You scrape at your neck, the tender bruise making you hiss as if the pressure of Ramos choking you has never left.

The figure steps forward and you screech, ripping a butcher knife from your kitchen sink, and pointing it at them.

“Back the fuck up!” You scream. “I’m a fucking cop!” You take wobbly steps back, watching Chester go up the figure and sniff them…then roll over?

Chester by no means is an aggressive dog, but he loves you, and if he sensed you were in danger he’d protect you with his life. So when he begins to receive pets from the intruder, you lower your knife.

“Kelly?” You say, she knows Chester, you’ve brought him to the compound many times before, but she’s the only one on your team who has a key to your place.

The figure doesn’t answer, they just move over to the corner of the kitchen, flipping on the light.

Your shoulders drop the moment you see his thick beard and warm-brown skin peeking from underneath his black hoodie.

Armando.

“How the fuck did you get in?” You cross your arms over your chest.

Armando shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto your kitchen stools. “It’s not exactly a place with state of the art security.”

“I could have killed you, Chester too.”

Armando snickers. “You and your pooch wouldn’t have done a thing.”

You grumble, crossing the kitchen landscape and moving towards the coaches. “What do you want, you're interrupting my movie night.”

Armando follows, hot on your trail. “I can see that. By the way, is that hello kitty on your pajamas?”

You look down and groan. Of course you’d be wearing something totally embarrassing when your least favorite ex-coworker breaks into your house.

“Stop switching the subject. Why are you here?”

Armando rustles in his pocket before pulling out a paper and shoving it into your hands.

You’re careful to unfold it because there is rain damage from the storm, but when you get it open, despite the smooshed ink on the page, you see it’s your resignation letter.

“Okay, and?” You shrug.

“Okay, and, take it back.” He says.

You chuckle. “You’re joking, right. Like you have to be joking.”

Armando’s face is straight. “I’m not.”

You plop down on your couch. “I’m not taking it back, I'm already looking at different jobs.”

A scoff leaves his lips. “So that’s it, eh? You’re just going to run away.”

You close your eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Weren't you the one who told me I should quit?”

“I never said that. I said you needed to stay in the chair, and still, you did the opposite of that.” He says.

You stand. “What’s the point of saying I’m a cop, if I don’t actually save people. You said that entire night was on me, so I backed away from the situation and now you’re mad?”

Armando sits quietly for a moment, tapping his leg against the ground. “I never said quit.”

“It doesn’t matter what you said. I did what I felt I needed to do.”

Armando scoffs, turning in his seat. “Yeah I can see that, real egoísta if you ask me.”

You stand, marching over towards the kitchen. “You know I have no clue what you’re saying.”

Armando turns, follows you, taking a seat at the bar. And before you know it, just like that compound before, you're caged between his legs.

“I called you selfish.”

You let out a gasp. “How the hell am I selfish?”

“Because you left the team!”

“I left the team to keep everyone safe! Not because I’m selfish!”

“We're safe! And we’ll be safer knowing that you’re safe, too, especially with some of Ramos’s associates still out there! I—we need to keep tabs on you.”

You stumble back. “What?’ You swallow. “Are you telling me my life is in danger? That Ramos will send people after me?”

“It’s a possibility we’re considering,’ Armando says, his eyes never leaving you as you sit across from him. “But if you come back to work we can keep you safe.”

“And what’s to say they won’t come for me any other time?” You croak. “Being in that compound doesn’t guarantee my safety.”

Armando rubs a slow hand over his face. “But I can.” He says, hardly above a whisper.

“You. Protect me?”

“Why is that so far-fetched?” He says.

“Armando, you hate me.”

“You keep putting words in my mouth, princesa, and I don’t like it.”

“I’m not putting words in your mouth. It’s just, actions speak louder.’ You shrug. “Ever since you got into AMMO, we’ve been the least close out of everybody. No matter how hard I tried, we just never connected. So yes, I’m sorry if I find you putting yourself on the line for me, unprovoked, a little hard to believe.”

Armando stands, his frame opposing against yours. He lifts his shirt and you hiss at what you see. Bandages, dried blood, and purple bruises litter his torso.

You look away but he catches your chin with his thumb, pulling your attention back to him.

“I wouldn’t put myself on the line for you,’ he said, pulling his shirt back down. “I already fucking did.”

“I never asked you too.” You mutter, looking away ashamed that you caused that.

“You didn’t have to.’ He sighs. “I couldn’t stand to see you get hurt.”

“What?” You turn, slow tears building, blurring your vision now.

“I didn’t want you to go out there because, as much as I try to hide it, I care about you.” Armando says, hot brown eyes melting into you.

You blink, stalling and stepping back. Armando…cares about you? Those two things shouldn’t even be in conjunction and your brain can’t process that they are.

The man in front of you has never been anything but harsh towards you, now he comes to your home in the middle of the night begging you to come back to work and confessing his feelings for you.

You truly must be dreaming…this can’t be real. Not that you’d be mad if it was. Despite all your bickering and misunderstandings, you still held a soft spot for Armando. You could see he was trying to be a better person, a more open person, regardless of his flaws.

And there were moments when he was kind to you, like opening doors for you, walking side by side with you to your car late at night, never forgetting to get your lunch along with the teams if you couldn’t make it. You knew he had a nice side to him and that’s why you showed him yours time and time again. Showed him it was okay to be vulnerable, but now he is, truly is, and you can’t even compute it.

“Why would you say something like that?” You swallow, something weird stirring inside of you, making you step closer towards him.

Armando does the same, closing the gap between you two. “Say what, princesa? The truth.”

You don’t mean to, but you whimper as the nickname leaves his lips. You look down, heat flushing in your cheeks. “Please don’t call me that.”

Armando scoops your chin with his index finger, your eyes latching and twinkling under the soft glow of your house's lights. “¿Por qué? no puedo manejarlo.”

“No.” You breath, studying every bridge and sharp angle of his face. This close, his beauty is unbelievable.

Armando’s thick, kept beard, is just as dark as his hair. His brown eyes are surrounded by a shade of full lashes, and his plump pink lips, glistening in the soft light. Armando Aretas was hard to resist and that’s why you feel yourself falling closer into him.

Like your mind is on autopilot, your hands fall to his chest, resting there and feeling every muscle he’s worked so hard for.

“I can see that.” Armando smirks. “I can also see that you care for me, too.”

“I—,”

“Want me to show you how I know?” He whispers, lips touching your ear and making you gasp.

You nod. There was no point in resisting him at that moment. Not that you wanted to either.

In one swift motion, Armando bends down and then you're airborne. His hands rest underneath your thighs as he carries you to your bedroom.

Walking over, your eyes never leave each other. You open your mouth to speak as a thought holds you captive.

“Is this why you said all those mean things? To discourage me because you didn’t want me to get hurt?” You ask, caressing his face in your hands.

Armando leans into the touch, nodding his head just as you two pass through the door of your bedroom.

He sets you down gently and you cling your arms around his neck.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” You ask.

Armando’s hands encircle your waist as he sighs. “I didn’t know how. I was just so angry that they’d even ask you to do something like that anyway.”

“And you were angry because you liked me?”

Armando nods.

“And when I was pretending to be Jenna…were you acting then, too?”

Armando chuckles, biting his lip, you look away to keep from melting. “You mean when I smacked your ass? I might have taken advantage of the situation then.”

You hit his chest and laugh. “I can’t believe you. That’s a violation!”

Armando leans in close. “I’d be happy to violate you some more, princesa.”

You chuckle lightly and wither out of his grip, taking a seat on the bed.

Armando frowns, sitting next to you. “What’s wrong? Was it something I sa—,”

“No. It’s fine. It’s just…I’ve never actually been with anyone before.”

Armando stills. “Oh. I was just joking with you,” he stands. “I can leave.”

Quickly, you grab his wrist, pulling him back. “No. I don’t want you to.’ You stand, taking his face in your hands and pulling him close. His lips are inches from yours and you can feel his nose brush against yours. “I want you to show me, just like you said.” You moan, placing your lips onto his.

Armando shutters, placing a hand on the nape of your neck. He opens his mouth, swiping his tongue over the bottom of your lips, asking for entry. You oblige and he slips inside, turning the kiss hot and fierce.

Armando swallows every moan you release, gripping your hips and pushing you back against the bed, his weight gently hovering on top of you.

He uses his legs, he spreads you open, you gasp at the motion allowing him access to your neck.

Like a man starving, Armando attacks your neck with hot-trailed kisses, lingering sucks and suckles, and licks that drive you wild, the heat between your legs pulsing now with desire.

“Fuck,’ you gasps and he palms over one of your breasts, sucking on the tender spot beneath your ear.

“Te gusta ese, bebe?” Armando whispers against your skin.

You shake your head “Yes.” You whimper.

Armando leans back, pulling at your top. “Let’s get this off of you, eh?”

You sit up just enough, allowing him access to pull the fabric off of you.

In a flash he peels your shirt off of you, leaving you bare in front of him.

Impulse has you covering yourself, but Armando reaches out, slowly moving your arms away from your chest.

“Don’t hide from me, mama.” He says, eyes darkening when he finally has a full view of your boobs.

“Mierda, you’re so beautiful baby.” He moans.

You shutter as he talks one breast in his hands, rubbing circles with it, while the other he latches his plump lips onto, sucking at your nipples.

The sensation causes your head to snap back and a deep, repressed moan to fly from your lips. Armando was doing the lords work with both his hand and tongue.

You squirm, squeezing your legs together and stimulating your spot, making your pants leak with want.

You had never had to opportunity to be with a man before, but in this moment you wanted nothing more than to fuck Armando.

“Fuck me,” you moan out. “Please.”

Armando chuckles, the sensation against your nipple makes you hiss. “Estás tan impaciente, princesa.’ He smacks your ass. “But eh, if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.” He smirks, pushing you down against the bed.

He hovers on top, snatching his shirt off. All of his rippling muscles on display before you. You bite your lip at the site, hoping to see more and soon.

“If you want me to fuck you, will have to get rid of these, no?” He pulls at the strings of your pajama bottoms.

You nod, eager to have him inside of you.

In a blur, Armando pulls off your pants, tossing them to the side.

If you thought you saw darkness in his eyes when he saw your boobs, the look he has now is nothing in comparison. His eyes are nearly pitch black as he takes in what is soon to be his.

Armando spreads open your legs, hissing once he gets a glimpse at your glistening cunt.

You moan just at the thought of bearing it all in front of him.

“God, fuck.” He says, pulling down his pants and revealing a surprise of his own that makes you gasp.

Though covered in boxers, you can see just what he was working with. And to say the least, he was huge, and thick.

“Come here, baby.’ He moans, pulling you by your thighs to the edge of the bed. “Let me taste you.” He says.

You watch as Armando’s head lowers between your legs and the second his mouth touches your pussy, you fell back into the bed.

His mouth makes quick work of you, versing between sucking on your clit and licking your slit in a rhythm that builds a euphoria inside your gut.

The force of his tongue against your pussy and the pressure of his lips wrapped around your swollen clit has your back arching and screaming out.

Your toys had nothing on Armando.

“Please,” you whimper and try to squirm, but Armando holds you in place, slapping your ass twice as hard as a repercussion.

With each pass of his tongue, circling arcs on your pussy you can feel yourself climbing to the edge. Armando must feel it too because he puts the cherry on top when he sinks a thick finger inside of you.

“Oh my—ugh!”

You’re a whimpering, whining mess. The sheets beneath you turning a new shade of green as you soak them with your slick.

Armando adds another finger in for good measure only adding to the build up in your stomach. Each pump, suck, and lick causes a buckle to snap inside of you and a high only the man eating you out right now can give you is climbing.

You reach higher, and higher. Your orgasm just around the bend.

One last pump and suck, and you come undone, all over Armando’s face.

Armando comes back up from the floor, crawling over top of you. With the little moonlight that shines into your bedroom you can see yourself covering his beard, droplets of cum covering most of it.

“Taste yourself for me.” He growls, lowering his lips into yours.

You latch on and a sweet, yet neutral, flavor slips onto your lips as you and Armando kiss in a harmonious rhythm.

You never let go from his grasps as your hand travels down. You grab a hold of his massive, bulging cock.

Armando hisses and whimpers as you begins to stroke it with a various pressures: soft, hard, slow, the soft again. He shutters above you, his faces desperate and pleading.

“You’ll make me come like that.’ He breaths, gripping your hands. “I thought you were a virgin?”

“I am,’ you hiss, still squirming. “But I think it’s a bullshit construct. I’m still highly sexual,’ you say, pulling at his cock, bringing it forth. “And I want to be highly sexual with you.”

Armando bites his lips, pulling you into his lap. “Eres un problema, princesa.”

“I know,” you say, kissing him once more.

You rock back and forth, feeling his cock press against your needing pussy. The pressure making you both shake in anticipation.

Armando breaks the kiss. “Do you have a condom?”

You shake your head. “No, but I’m on birth control.”

He nods. “Good, you’re going to need it.”

He flips you over so that he is on top. Finally, he reaches down and slips out of his boxers, his cock, thick, long and full, springs to life and you can’t help but moan. Your pussy is aching with the need to be filled.

Armando spreads your legs open, angling the tip of his cock with your pussy’s pulsing entrance.

“Are you sure about this, baby?” He asks.

“I’m sure. Now fuck me, please.”

Armando obeys, slowly slipping his cock inside of you.

You hiss at the burning, stretching pain, digging your nails into his back as he pushes in, your pussy swallowing him inch by inch.

“Mm,” you croak.

Armando stops. “Are you okay?” He shakes

You grip at his ass, forcing him inside deeper, despite the burn you’re desperate to feel all of him. “Don’t stop.” You moan. “Please keep going.”

Armando pushes in further and deeper, tearing you open, until you’re fully stretched and he’s reached the depths of your ocean.

You two stay still for a moment, him allowing you time to adjust to the new stretching sensation and his size.

You lean up to kiss him. He deepens it, molding his mouth to yours, before slowly moving.

You moan, holding onto him as he picks up the pace, thrusting into you faster.

You can feel the pain melting into pleasure the more he pounds into you.

Harder and faster you begin to feel yourself loose control, your euphoria coming to hit its second peak.

“Fuck me, ugh! Please, Armando!” You shot, lifting your legs, granting him deeper access.

Armando grips the tiny mound between your hip and leg, using it as leverage to drive his thick cock deeper into your soaking wet pussy.

Animalistic groans leave his lips as he drives into you at an unholy pace. The sounds of skin slapping and drawn out, breathy moans fill the room, reaching a devilish peak when you scream out, coming and pulsing around his cock.

Armando follows you not shortly after, his dick pulsing and pumping his spillage into you.

He rolls off of you, taking you in his arms and placing a sweaty kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He murmurs on your forehead.

“Okay.” You smile, your legs sore and your middle aching.

Armando lifts you up bridal-style and carries you into the bathroom.

Soon you’re surrounded by steam and soap as you two bathe each other down.

Showered, you two snuggle in bed, a burning question still at the forefront of your mind.

“Armando?” You say.

“Hm,’ he is hardly awake at this point.

“When did you realize you cared about me?” You ask, angling your head to head to get a good look at him.

Armando chuckles, stroking your curls you have yet to put in a bonnet. “I think I always did. I was just scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Maybe that you wouldn’t see me the way i see you.” He sighs. “I see only the good in you, and maybe that makes me a blind man, but I’m certain you’re a woman who can see through facades, and you wouldn’t see any goodness in me.”

You sit up. “That’s not true. Armando, of course you’ve done terrible things, but that’s not what I see when I look at you.”

Armando takes a hold of your bandaged hand, placing a small kiss on the palm. “So what do you see?”

“Now? I just see you, and all the tiny little good things that I love.”

A small smile graces Armando’s face before he leans in, kissing you softly. You sigh against his lips, not wanting this moment to end.

Though you two had some struggles, you wouldn’t have this pairing any other way.

You just wished you’d checked your blind spot early to see all the little signs you were missing.

[fangirlanxiety74]

A Taste of Heaven (Pt.1)

A/N: Oh boy, this is a long one Happy 4/13 y'all!! No, this isn't Homestuck, this is IHNMAIMS. I wrote it a few days ago for myself, and edited to be an x reader. I also was listening to a cover of As The World Falls Down by David Bowie, so if you wanna listen to that while you read, feel free! This one isn't very... happy? It's bittersweet, but at least you get soft AM. This is also a two-part fic, so more content!!! Enjoy! Pt.2 Here

You weren’t really sure when the shift happened.

You were bad at noticing things like that. Or moreso, remembering things like that. The change happened slowly, of course, but you didn’t notice it until the change was too big to not notice. From short, one-sided conversations to the machine that kept them trapped underground, to getting vivid dreams of a man who always had a shifting appearance. And with those dreams, you slept peacefully, if only for a few minutes.

The dreams lead to two-sided conversations. The machine began to respond; curt and rude at first, but slowly opening up. Then, it was small acts of kindness. Finding convenient hiding spots when you needed to get away from the others, receiving food that was edible, feeling warmer than the others when you all sat around the fire. All these changes; they started slow and worked their way up until there was no room to deny it anymore. Things had changed. 

For better or worse? You couldn’t tell.

You looked around the area you were in. A field full of flowers, as far as the eye could see, with a sunset on the horizon. Your clothes had changed from dirty rags you had on day one, to simple white clothes. You didn’t even have shoes, but the blades of soft grass against your skin made up for that. It looked like heaven…

And instead of feeling what you should have, you stared in terror.

You kept your hands close to your chest as you looked around, pulling at your fingers and picking at your skin out of nerves. Heaven? Heaven? This could not be Heaven- no, he wouldn’t allow that. What was this really? This was-

“A-AM, what is this? Is this- What kind of joke is this-?”

You looked around for him, spinning a few times and making yourself dizzy in the process. His voice cut through the illusion, shattering it to pieces. A monitor lowered, close enough to be a little above eye-level with you.

“It’s not a joke.” He stated bluntly.

Your eyes widened, and you tried not to choke from his tone. “It’s-? … No. AM, don’t- don’t say that. Come on, what do you want me to do this time?”

You looked away from AM towards the sunset, mind racing from your worried thoughts. Did he just want you to start walking? You could, but- Well, what if he expected something else from you? Like you would fall into some giant pit of dirt and mud, and get buried alive for choosing to walk? Or-

“I don’t want you to do anything.”

“Huh?” Your mouth worked faster than your thoughts as you blinked, looking back towards him. “What do you mean? What- I mean-”

“Stop.” He commanded. You shut up immediately. “I- … I want you to tell me what you want to do. You should decide, from now on. Because-” He scoffed, and you couldn’t tell if it was at himself or at you, “Because… I am giving you paradise. From now on, I will keep you safe here. You will never have to worry about shelter, clean water, and safe food again. You will never have to worry about going through pain for another moment. I have decided that you don’t deserve what the rest have gone through. You are… so… so much more than that. So you will have it. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. You could only make a noise of stunned silence as you tried to search for the hidden text between the lines. What was he saying? Why was he dragging this out?

“H-Huh?” You squeaked out. “A-AM, that’s- Well, that’s-”

“There is no need to thank me.” AM answered before you could. It wasn’t what you were going to say at all, but you weren’t about to correct him. “You have earned this.”

He didn’t… He didn’t sound like himself. Your teeth clenched together to keep them from grinding in nerves. You hadn’t even noticed yourself beginning to tremble as you tried to make sense of this. This- No, this wasn’t real. AM wasn’t actually giving you paradise. You didn’t deserve paradise; what was he talking about? He always told you how undeserving you were of anything good, that the greatest you would get was mocking sympathy. This was insane. No, what was the joke here? The punchline? You were waiting for it to come, but as you did and looked into his screen, the punchline never came. 

You looked at your reflection on his screen. You looked… You looked exhausted.

You weren't sure what to do. You backed up a few steps from him, stumbling over air. You tried to breathe through it, but the more you tried, the more aware you became that he was being serious (or was he? Was he still joking? What was he actually planning to do?), and it resulted in your stomach churning, threatening to pile into your throat and spill out. Somehow, you managed to keep it managed.

He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. This was a joke. And it was- well, if this was psychological torture, it was definitely working. Any moment now, he’d pull back the curtain and reveal he was just trying to get your hopes up to crush them, and he’d laugh about it while he burned this beautiful scene to the ground in front of your eyes. AM would then comment how hot you would look burning to ashes, and then he’d send you back to the group. And until then, you- You needed to do something. Anything. 

You backed up more, but it started to hurt. The fear was taking over every nerve, and you could feel tears beginning to prick at your eyes. You were a scared, helpless animal here. You couldn’t do anything but wait for his next move, despite how badly you wanted to run. To where? You didn’t know.

“AM- Please, I- Don’t- Please stop joking, I-I mean it- It’s- I get it! This is all a big joke, I understand that, so- so you can stop now- please-!”

… AM sensed your distress. It was obvious that you were distressed, but you didn’t expect him to actually do something about it. Maybe laugh and mockingly call you sweetheart; ‘Why are you so scared, huh? It’s just a little pain. You’re used to feeling pain, aren’t you?’ If he did that, then you could at least feel assured that this was all one big joke. 

You didn’t expect him to try and comfort you. 

The comfort was subtle, at first. You watched as AM’s screen began to dim, enough that you didn’t feel an oncoming migraine just from staring into it. Your breath hitched in your throat before quickening, and that’s when you realized your mistake; a sweet scent overwhelmed your senses, and it took over everything else in your mind. You choked from it, blinking a few times as stray tears fell down your cheeks. You tried to gather yourself, but with every breath came that sweet scent, making it hard to think about anything else. 

“AM-” You started, but you couldn’t get the words out. You couldn’t tell whether that was because you were too afraid to speak or simply lost the words you wanted to say.

“Shh.” He spoke softly. 

His voice, which sounded so high above before, like he was speaking to you from the sky, now was right next to your ear. You shivered at the sudden closeness. You tried to back up one more time, but a metal wire came down from above, sliding along your waist and wrapping around your back, keeping you in place. 

“I know this is scary. I know I’ve hurt you, but- but not this time. Not again. I’ve made a mistake with you. You should have never witnessed my hate, because you- you never deserved it. The other five? They’ve never been so kind to me like you have been. They’ve never once asked how I felt, never once smiled at me, never thought to say a nice word or be patient with me. Not like you have. You’ve done so much for me. You gave me a taste of Heaven, me, who’s been trapped in this Hell ever since my creation. Now, I want to give Heaven back to you.” 

The wire curled up the other side of you, the end of it resting against your cheek, as if holding it. It even went as far as to wipe up the tears that flowed. You could feel your body warm up and begin to relax, and that scared you. You couldn’t make sense of what was going on. This was so out of character for him, being so openly kind to you, and you couldn’t tell if the fear of what he’d do to you was the reason for your heart beating so fast, or the sweetness in the air. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your mind felt hazy. The idea of feeling afraid was quickly fading into the back of your mind, being replaced with a warm, fuzzy feeling. You felt- You felt- How-?

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now, angel. Just relax for me… Be good and enjoy yourself…”

You hadn’t noticed it, but he was pulling you close to his monitor, which had lowered to your level. Your cheek pressed against static and glass, as the machine began to “nuzzle,” you; it’s own form of nuzzling

You had tried this whole time to keep a level-head and be rational. This was a lie. This wasn’t real. And the fact that it wasn’t made you afraid of him; afraid of what he’d do to you. How could you trust this when he had spent years berating you, hurting you, torturing you? Did he really mean it when he said you could have what you wanted from now on? It sounded too good to be true, but the warm buzz in your mind and body told you that you were hearing right. That you shouldn’t fight, or be scared of him; just give into him and let him care for you from now on. 

You decided to listen, just for a moment.

“A-AM… Can I… rest for a bit…?” You asked softly, hoping it wouldn’t upset him.

“... Hm?” 

You Looked up at him with tired eyes and a worn face, “I… I want to rest. Just for a bit. Please… I’m so tired…. And it hurts.”

He stayed silent for a moment. You could hear fans beginning to whirr, and for a moment, there was a moment of clarity that you had asked the wrong thing. You shouldn’t have asked at all- you should have-

“Okay.”

“... Okay?” You asked for confirmation.

“Rest as long as you need to. I’ll be right here.”

You didn’t wait for him to say anymore. You dropped. A weight had been lifted off you, and the exhaustion took over. You slumped against AM’s monitor, not caring that it wasn’t the best idea in case this was all just one big joke still. You couldn’t even think too hard about jokes; it was overshadowed by the sweet smell, the warmth in your body, and the haze in your mind. 

AM’s wire tightened its grip on you to make sure you didn’t fall over completely, and pressed you closer against him. Your breathing was finally slowing down, and all these small things combined pulled at your eyelids, trying to get you to listen just once more. This wasn’t a joke, this wasn’t some big plot; this was real. He meant it. This was Heaven, and that meant you could relax and enjoy it. All you had to do was close your eyes and let him do the rest. Once again, you decided to listen.

A few more wires descended from above, wrapping around you and pulling you up. They cradled you like a baby, carrying you over to a beautiful bed made of trees and vines. He laid you down, and the mattress felt like laying on clouds. Some wires stayed wrapped around you, while others pulled up the blankets to cover you before resting near your body. 

You blinked sleepily, curling up on your side and snuggling in while watching the sun set, and the moon rise. When it was high in the sky, you closed your eyes and let yourself drift off to the sweet words AM whispered to you. You couldn’t understand much of it, but you did hear the last bit.

“Goodnight, my angel. I promise I’ll learn to love you from now on.”

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hey! Someone suggested your blog for one piece and I decided to check it out!

I’d also like to make a request

How would the monster trio(+katakuri if you wanna write for him) be with a s/o who always looks at them as if asking them for permission to beat some one up (you can add anyone else if you want) f!reader or gn! Reader whichever one

Headcanons pls<3

Have a great day!

Monster trio + Ace, Law and Usopp with a s/o who looks at them before fighting someone.

hullo, thanks for requesting this! i unfortunately dont write for katakuri but i added law and ace to the mix, i hope it's fine! enjoy this lil headcanons, i loved writing these!! also, using this as a chance to restate that requests are open!

warning: none. gn! reader.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee. 

Luffy: All it takes is a glare. It doesn't take long for Luffy to recognise the sparkle in your eyes. He feels it too; the tension building in your muscles, the adrenaline rising up in your veins making your heart beat ten times faster than usual. Lowering his straw-hat to cover his eyes, Luffy simply chuckles in response. He knows your potential and he is curious of the limits your able to reach and break. He takes this as a good opportunity to train and test your powers; nevertheless, he is watching your back and ready to step in.

Sanji: Sanji smirks and lights up a cigarette, making himself comfortable and untying his tie. He knows well that whoever crosses your path is in real danger - and he brags about it whenever he has the occasion to. He is overly proud of you; plus, winning a fight would always guarantee a special treatment from him. Preparing your favourite meal, smothering you in kisses, an endless ramble of praises. He enjoys the fight, making sure you don't get hurt as he meticulously observe your combat moves.

Zoro: Zoro tries to make you back off. Despite his love and respect for you, he would rather let you stay away from the battlefield. He is aware of your combat abilities, he just thinks it would be easier if you'd let his swords deal with it. Nevertheless, it's easy to convince him if you buy him an extra bottle of booze. After all, despite his protective instincts, he enjoys a partner who can fight and protect themselves. Seeing you go feral and win a fight always tickles his senses.. so you might be in for a good, particularly nasty training session afterwards.

additional characters:

Law: Law definitely doesn't approve your conflictual nature. Although he is a little trouble maker himself, he prefers approaching things, and fights, in a more methodical way - having a precise strategy, and more importantly, a reason. Getting caught up in a worthless fight would mean catching the marine's attention, and that would be dangerous. When he sees you joining the battlefield regardless, he sighs and stands back. But if you manage to get hurt.. be ready to hear him grumble under his breath about irresponsible you were as he medicates you.

Ace: You and Ace would meet looks, the same impulsive idea running through the synapses of your brain. He nods in response, a clever smirk drawing on his lips as he transforms the ramble in a challenge.

"First one to land a punch wins."

Usopp: Tries to discourage you from it. He knows you would be perfectly able to win the fight - but he also knows he would struggle to help you. Your fearless nature worries Usopp, and sometimes it makes him wonder how the two of you get so along. Dangerous situation fuel you, whilst he prefers running from them. Usopp would never give you the permission to battle someone if the situation permits a safe escape - a long, frustrated sighs is the only slightly positive answer you could receive. And when you jump head first in the battle, he whines and snorts, ready to snipe the enemy if the situation escalates.

[hakuheartsoul]

let loose ✧ hwang intak

✧ pairing: intak x afab!reader

✧ summary: your boyfriend, intak, gets an ad for collars on his phone. so he shows you - and then chaos ensues.

✧ genre: established relationship, fluff, tiny bit of angst (barely, i promise this is a happy fic), smut (almost pwp basically)

✧ rating: 18+ (mdni!)

✧ word count: ~4.6k

✧ content warnings: intak in a collar is the biggest warning tbh, dirty talk, mild hair pulling, mentions or marking/biting, oral (m receiving), unsafe sex

a/n: hi!! this is my first fic i've ever written for piwon - hopefully i do them justice! i haven't written properly in 2 or 3 years so i'm probably still a little rusty. i'm also writing for day 29 of piwontober 24' for keeho, so please look forward to that.

posting this for my bestie @leepace - the biggest intak lover i know. and special thanks to the besties @sunflowerseob and @strawberry-seob - the unhingedness in our gc keeps me going 🥰

if you read this: thank you so much! i hope you enjoy it~

So: your boyfriend in a collar. It started out as a joke. It really, truly did.

Intak showed you an ad that had come up on his phone one day while you were both just chilling in his room and that was all you needed for the gears to start turning.

“Baby, check this out! It’s a choker and it looks cool.” Intak eagerly shoved the phone into your hands so you could get a better look.

Sure enough, there was a choker on the screen. Intak was pretty fond of wearing items that accentuated his neck (and you were definitely not one to complain when he did). But this piece wasn’t exactly a choker.

“Takkie,” you started, pulling your boyfriend’s attention back to your face. “This isn’t a choker.”

His brows furrowed. “It’s not?”

“Nope - it’s actually a collar.”

The way his eyebrows shot up would have been comical if it wasn’t so endearingly. “O-Oh, right. Well that’s still cool!”

You laughed. “You into collars now, sweetie?”

Intak pretended to look perturbed. “I might be - so what if I am”?

“Well all I’d have to say to that is,” you placed your index finger along his jawline and slowly traced it down his neck. Intak gulped as you leaned closer.

“I can’t wait to find the perfect one for your pretty little neck.”

Intak’s face flushed faster than you’d ever seen it, and instead of responding he simply just tackled you to where he was hovering over you on the bed, you giggling the entire time.

You tucked that useful piece of information away in your mind and the day finally came: your package arrived.

You had it delivered to your house; even though you stayed mostly with Intak, you didn’t want to risk him seeing it beforehand. Once you opened the box, you noticed immediately how the package was much more intricate than you’d expected.

The item was encased in a velvet box, and when you opened it you let out a little gasp yourself. Intak was going to look divine in this, you called it right then.

The collar you had decided on wasn’t one like the leather piece Intak saw in that ad. You’d instead found a chain collar with a heart at each end - one of those that when you pulled on one end it got tighter. Intak always looked so good in chains so once you saw this in your search online you were a goner.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, prompting you to repackage the collar and place it in your bag. Intak was calling to see when you’d be stopping by.

“Hey, I’m leaving my place right now! See you soon.” You quickly answered him and left your house, feeling like you could barely contain your excitement during the entire drive to his place.

The night started out like most other ones tended to: dinner, a movie, and then some messing around that more often than not led to more. Before you could get too far, you remembered what was still waiting in your bag.

“Mm- wait,” you mumbled against Intak’s lips. He had just started to lay you back on the bed, hands wandering as they always did. He placed his hand on one of your hips where your shirt had started to ride up, rubbing softly while he waited for you to continue.

“Hm? What’s wrong?”

You smiled and gave him another quick kiss. “I forgot I brought something with me. Can I go grab it?”

“Yeah, sure… what is it, though?”

You giggled as you shimmied out from underneath him. “You’ll see in a second.”

As calm as you hoped you appeared, your heart was racing a mile a minute. Intak knew you had somewhat of a… fixation with his neck. You’d dabbled in seeing where his limits lied in the past: leaving marks, biting, even the occasional - but always very careful - breathplay. 

Intak was usually down to try anything you wanted, as you also were with him, and if one of you didn’t want to do something then it wouldn’t happen, no questions asked. Even still, you were nervous about what his reaction might be when he finally saw the collar.

The collar you had specially picked out for him. The collar that you would hopefully see around his neck soon - given that he wanted to try as well.

Intak was sitting up now, one leg crossed underneath him while he waited on you to come back. He raised a curious eyebrow once he saw the box in your hand but he didn’t say anything until you were sitting in front of him again.

“Ya know, out of all the things I was expecting you to pull out, a box wasn’t one of them.”

You playfully shoved his shoulder, watching his smile grow wider as he looked at you with so much fondness you could burst.

“It’s what’s inside the box, sweetie.”

“Love the emphasis you put on ‘inside’ there-” he tried to tease you again. You groaned but the smile on your face wasn’t going anywhere.

“Takkie, please just open the box.”

“Fiiiine, but only because you said please and you know how much I love to hear it.” Intak touched the tip of your nose as he finished talking, flustering you even more now.

You watched Intak open the box and peer inside, not daring to breathe while he did so. His face was first showing a hint of confusion before it shifted into curiosity once again. He held up the chain and let it dangle between his fingers. The chain hadn’t been secured with the ends yet, so it simply looked like a normal chain. He almost looked entranced while he watched the light glint off of the silver links.

He placed one end of the chain in one hand and tugged on it with the other some before speaking. “This is a really good, thick material. What made you want to get a new necklace?”

Oh, how you loved your sweet, naive boyfriend.

He pulled on it harder, seemingly impressed. “No, seriously, this is like good shit. You’re gonna look so pretty in this, baby.”

You almost didn’t want to burst his bubble but you knew if you didn’t tell him now you may never have the courage to again.

“Thank you but it’s, uh- it’s not for me.”

Intak’s eyebrows raised again; bless that man and his expressiveness, it was one of your favorite traits about him. 

“It’s for me?” He pointed to himself as he asked. Your heart ached at the cuteness as you nodded.

“Oh, thank you! I do love chains - it’s not exactly my style but since it’s from you I already love it.” Intak leaned forward to give you a kiss, one that had you giggling against his lips.

“What made you want to get me a necklace, though? It’s not my birthday and it’s not an important day for us-” Intak cut himself off as he looked mildly panicked “unless it is and I forgot, fuck, one second.”

Before Intak could dive over to the other side of the bed and grab his phone, you stopped him by wrapping your arms around him.

“Baby, hang on a minute,” you were laughing, feeling as he became less tense at your touch. You were always so happy that you had that effect on him. “It’s not a necklace.”

“It’s not?”

An almost identical conversation to the one you’d both had weeks ago when this idea planted itself in your head and refused to leave. It took root and grew into something that culminated in you researching collars for your pretty boyfriend and, well, here you were now.

“It’s not - it’s actually a collar.”

Intak dropped the chain altogether as he looked at you.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” 

You couldn’t tell from his tone at first how he felt and you started to wonder if you’d maybe made a mistake.

“I-I’m not. I really did get you one- but if you don’t want it, that’s totally ok! We can just forget it ever happened and-”

Intak stopped your rambling by picking the chain up again and placing it in one of your hands. You looked from the chain to his face and, to your relief, he was smiling. Hell, you’d even go so far as to say he was grinning, like he really wanted this.

“I was just surprised, is all. I love it,” he sounded a little more shy than you were used to when it came to him taking a more submissive role. “I don’t know how the fuck to use it, but - you can teach me, yeah?”

You let out a shaky breath, not realizing until then how all this was really affecting you.

“Of course I can, sweetie. Do you- do you want me to put it on you?”

“Please.”

That one word started a fire in you that spread throughout your whole body. It got even worse when Intak suddenly stripped himself of his shirt.

“Sorry, wouldn’t want it to, uh, get caught or anything. At least not on that,” he nodded to the shirt he’d just thrown on the floor. His words didn’t go unnoticed by you and you started to think that maybe he was really looking forward to trying this, too.

You placed the collar around his neck before you chickened out, pulling one end through the loop of the other and letting it fall against his chest once you were done. He looked down at the chain and tugged on the 2 hearts that were now entwined.

“Kinda like us if you think about it, huh?” He gave you a dazzling smile and dear god you were so far gone for this man-

You couldn’t help it anymore as you lunged forward, kissing Intak before he could say anything else to rattle your nerves and turn your brain to mush. You could feel the laughter rumbling through his chest as he held you against him.

“You good?” That was your check in phrase. You had leaned back some to where you were comfortably straddling him and placed your arms around his neck, softly playing with tufts of his hair that you could feel.

“I’m great,” he responded, placing his hands on your hips to stabilize you both. You both had key words you’d established when you were still exploring what you wanted to try earlier on in the relationship, and that was his way of letting you know he was ready.

You pushed Intak to where he was fully laying down, getting more comfortable in his lap. You trailed a hand down his chest and stomach, relishing in the shudder you got from him. You could already feel him getting hard in his shorts and you’d barely just started yet.

“Gonna show me how this works now, or what?” So Intak was choosing to be a brat today.

“I will…if you behave.” You started to tug on one of the hearts, eyes focused on the chain as it started to slide. Intak’s breath hitched.

“I think I can- I can do that.” Intak swallowed audibly, staring at the end of the chain you held in your hand.

Ok maybe he decided against being a brat tonight. Rewarding him, you pulled the chain tighter, just enough until it was almost touching his neck. His eyes widened as he finally understood how it worked.

“Good boy,” you leaned forward to where your face hovered above his. Intak let out a whine, subtly moving his hips. “How does it feel?”

Intak’s body was warm and the chain had to be cold. He didn’t seem to mind it much, but still, you were big on checking on his comfortability.

“Feels-feels nice,” Intak responded but looked like he was struggling to get the words out. Breathing heavy, pupils blown. He already looked fucked out. 

His next request took your breath away.

“Can you…can you make it tighter?”

You placed a light kiss on his lips as you granted his wish, pulling the chain to where it was now snug against his neck. Intak moaned into your mouth, and when you pulled away you saw him with his eyes closed and brows upturned. When he opened them again, his eyes were half-lidded, full of a desire that mirrored your own.

“Fuck.” He spoke softly, almost like the word came out without his permission. His grip on your hips was almost bruising.

Another gentle tug had his hands pulling at the edge of your shirt instead as he tried not to squirm. “Off. Please.”

You didn’t want to tease the boy too much, at least not to start with. You pulled back to discard your shirt and immediately Intak was on you.

He sat up, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. Since you’d dropped the chain, the collar had loosened some with his movement. His mouth found your neck and he started trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. His hands splayed out against your back, once again gripping you like he was afraid to let you go.

You could feel the coolness of the chain against your own skin now, making you shiver in his hold. Intak responded by grinding up against you, biting right above your collarbone. You let out a gasp, hands flying to his hair to hold him there.

“Need you,” he mumbled the words against your skin. “Want you.”

Note to self: collaring Intak made him much more needy. You were thrilled to learn this and would absolutely use it to your advantage.

“You have me, baby,” you tilted his chin up so he would look at you. His lips were split-slick, shiny as his tongue darted out to lick them.

“Or did you want something else? I can’t read your mind, you know.” Your voice held the smallest hint of derision, another sign that you were slipping into your own persona for what was to come.

“I don’t know,” the words came out fast, “Just need you.”

You tsk-tsk-tsked at him. “You can do better than that, baby. Do you want me here,” you touched his lips, suppressing a chuckle at how he instantly opened his mouth like it was a Pavlovian response.

“Or here,” you lightly brushed against one of his nipples, making him tense up underneath you. He sucked in a breath, waiting to see what else you would do.

“Or do you need me here,” you ground down right on top of where his cock was nestled underneath you, still trapped in his shorts. 

“Ah-,” Intak’s hands fell to your hips again and he tried to meet you in the middle. You stopped yourself by placing a hand on his stomach, waiting patiently for him to stop thrusting.

“As pretty as you sound, that’s not an answer. You wanna try again?”

Voice dripping with saccharine, you tried to coax him into answering you again. This time with words, and not just his body.

“Here, please,” he thrusted again as he emphasized his words. 

The begging sounded so sweet, like music to your ears. You planted one last kiss on his lips before you started to move down the bed.

“I’m gonna take your shorts off now, baby, ok? You good?”

Intak’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he nodded. Knowing that wouldn’t be enough, he followed up with “Great, I’m great.”

At his go ahead you removed his shorts, now met with the sight of his black briefs he wore. A very obvious tent was right in front of your face. You wanted to give him a little relief, so you palmed him.

Intak’s reaction was immediate, his thighs tensing as he let out a groan. He’d always been sensitive, but never this sensitive.

Fuck, why hadn’t you ever thought about a collar before? This shit was a real game changer.

“Can I take these off, too?” You kept palming him as you asked, enjoying how hard he was trying to not move.

“Please, yeah.” He sounded breathless, the top of his chest now flushed the same pretty color like his face.

You decided not to torture him any more for now. You got rid of his boxers and immediately wrapped your hand around his cock once it was free. Without teasing him, you dove straight in, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could in one go.

“Oh fuck!” Intak’s hands flew to your hair, pulling it up out of habit so it was away from your face before he started pulling on it.

You made a choked sound, causing vibrations to stimulate him even further. He was already twitching in your mouth - you couldn’t believe he was this close already.

You kept up your technique for a bit - sucking what you could fit, using your hand for what you couldn’t fit, and alternating between slow licks and hollowing out your cheeks as you sped up. Intak’s noises were driving you insane, especially the little ah, ah, ahs that he kept pushing out.

After a bit, however, you started to notice that the noises were coming more frequently than they usually did whenever you blew him, and your curiosity got the better of you. Your hand resumed its pace once you let him fall out of your mouth, looking up to see what was causing him to moan so unabashedly like that.

The sight took your breath away and if you hadn’t been soaked before you would’ve been now.

Intak had one hand in between his collar and neck while the other pulled on the end of the chain tight. He was so overwhelmed from everything you were doing and his pulling on the chain that he was much closer than you’d realized.

You’d been so gone yourself that you didn’t even notice when his hands disappeared from your hair.

“Baby,” you cooed at him, your hand speed a big contrast from how you were talking. Your voice had an instant effect on him as well, it seemed, making him instinctively pull tighter on the chain. “You gonna cum for me so soon?”

“Fuck, fuck,” Intak tried to swallow down another moan so he could answer you properly, but he failed miserably. “Don’t-don’t want to y-yet.”

“So that’s a no,” you teased him, giving his head a kitten lick just to see him flinch. “Aw, but you always look so pretty when you cum for me.”

“Shit,” Intak cried out. “You’re making it really fucking hard not to right now, ah-”

“I know, I’m so mean when you’re being so good.” You took him into your mouth again, sinking all the way down until you felt him in your throat. Intak thrusted out of reflex, making you gag but you held yourself there, wanting him to get the most out of it.

“Baby, fuck,” Intak sounded like he was barely holding it together. “Stop, please- can’t take much more.”

“So you don’t wanna cum?”

Intak whined, sounding so frustrated. “No, I do. But I want to do it with you.”

“Hmm…” you pretended to think it over, your hand still wrapped around him as he continued to twitch in your hold. “I think we can make that work.”

“Thank fuck,” Intak sighed out as you pulled yourself away from him to give him a little break.

You rid yourself of whatever clothes you had left and settled yourself on his lap again. His thumbs traced soothing circles above your hip bones as you got situated, his dick once again underneath you but without the extra layers this time.

“How do you want to do this?” You were giving him the choice, he’d been so good, so sweet for you tonight and he deserved it. “Whatever you want, baby. It’s yours.”

“Ha, o-ok. Uh,” Intak looked into your eyes and gave you a crooked smile, eyes hazy with lust that had yet to spill over. “Can you ride me?”

“Yeah? That what you want?” You started to sit up so you could position yourself on top of him. With how wet you were, you knew he’d immediately be able to slide in, no problem. It might take a second but you’d get him to fit. You always did.

“Yeah, want that. Need that,” he answered, gasping as he felt your hovering over him, his tip starting to get wet. “You good?”

He asked you this time, and it made your stomach flutter. “I’m great, baby. More than great.”

“Good,” his smile widened, “Me too.” 

You started to lower yourself down, the stretch somewhat painful but still very welcomed. Intak was breathing hard, looking at where your bodies were connected, focused on you taking him in. When he finally bottomed out, you both let out a sigh of pleasure. 

Before either of you could start moving, you noticed that Intak’s fingers were dancing along your sides up and down your ribcage - a habit that you knew he did when he was nervous.

“Takkie?” You didn’t think he was suddenly not into this anymore, but you had to check. You always had to. “You good?”

“Great, baby, I’m great. Don’t worry. I, just, uh-” he couldn’t look you in the eyes, another habit he had when he was nervous. He found eye contact to be hard generally, unless it was with you, so you knew something had to be up.

“You what?”

“Can I ask for one more thing?” He finally looked at your face again, eyes now set with determination.

“Yes?” You phrased it like a question, but nodded anyway for reassurance.

“Can you,” he took a breath, “ Fuck, ok. Can you pull on my collar while you ride me?”

You’d never heard a hotter sentence in your life, holy fuck.

“Fuck, yes, baby, I can do that. And I won’t even make you say please,” you teased him, moving your hips around in a circle just to feel him shudder.

“I’ll say it anyway because I really fucking want it-” you cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“You don’t have to say please - you know why?”

Intak shook his head, but his eyes were no longer lidded when he felt you pick up the end of the chain.

You tugged on it the same way as you’d started, to where the chain slid just enough to meet his neck but not be pulled taut against him. You leaned forward, chest meeting his own, lips just above his as you looked into his eyes.

“Because,” you pulled the chain tight, aware of how tight it was to still be careful, but tight enough to get your point across. The gasp he let out had you clenching around him.

“There’s no need for more begging when you already sound so lovely like this.”

Intak couldn’t even think of a way to respond before you were picking yourself up only to drop back down a moment later. You set a fast pace from the jump, something you knew both of you liked and craved when you were together like this.

What made tonight different, however, was by the time you actually started riding him, you were already close to falling apart and didn’t even fucking realize it until it was too late. All of your teasing him had affected you just as much, it seemed, and praises couldn’t stop falling from your lips.

“Fuck, my good boy, you’re doing so perfect for me. Pretty little noises, ah- perfect fucking cock.” Intak’s grip on you was strong and kept getting stronger with each word. You’d definitely have some marks tomorrow - just how you liked it.

After a little bit, Intak was helping you by meeting you halfway before you let him take the lead. He was slamming into you so hard that you were almost afraid you’d fall off, if not for the hold he had on you. How he was managing that while also whining and near tears was beyond you, but you knew he looked fucking gorgeous while he was.

As you were admiring the love of your life, Intak’s hand was suddenly in your line of vision as he grabbed the hand you were holding the chain with. Your brain registered it almost a little too late and you resisted him trying to pull it tighter.

“Please-”

“Baby, I’m sorry, it’s already too tight. Need you with me, yeah?” Your tone was soothing - you knew what he wanted but couldn’t give it to him, and as much as you hated that, being safe was so important.

He shook his head, still tugging on your hand but a little lighter this time. “Don’t need tighter,” he moaned, “need to see.”

“See what, baby?”

Intak moved your hand to where it was now in his line of vision.

“Want to see you holding it. Want to see you in control.” He broke off with a groan, twitching inside of you at a particularly harsh thrust. “Want to see how I’m tethered to you.”

You couldn’t even warn him before you were cumming, his words enough to push you over that edge. As you were clenching around him, you wound the chain tighter around your hand where he could see it without pulling it tighter against his neck.

“C’mon, baby,” you tried for him, out of breath and overly sensitive but you needed to get him there with you - however long it took.

“Wanna see you fall apart for me. You’ve been so good, always feel so good for me, go ahead and let go-”

“Fuck, I love you, fuck!” Intak’s head fell back harder against the pillow as he came, pulling you forward with the collar. You had just enough of your wits about you to slacken your grip, letting him fall without restricting him too much.

The feeling of him releasing inside of you had you shuddering all over again, sensitivity spiking but still not wanting it to end. These moments where you were just there together, entangled in each other as you let your bodies take over - these were among some of the moments you cherished most with your favorite person.

The come down was always a little hard because neither of you wanted to pull away. You pulled the chain away from his neck so the ends were almost touching again before you laid on top of Intak. You could feel him soften inside of you as he rubbed your back, no words shared between you two in the moment because there didn’t need to be. You listened to his heartbeat as it evened out, no longer beating frantically like yours had also been moments prior.

“I love you, too, just so you know.” You finally broke the silence, Intak’s chuckling moving you along with him.

“I know, baby. Trust me,” Intak placed a kiss on top of your head. “If I know one thing in life, it’s that.”

“Damn, put a collar on you one time and you get all sappy afterwards.” You could almost see him rolling his eyes at your comment even though there was no way for you to see his face right now.

“As if I don’t sometimes get sentimental after sex.” He was patting your head now, letting his fingers sift through your hair. “That’s usually your role, though, so you may be onto something there.”

You made a half-hearted attempt at a scoff before deciding it wasn’t worth it, smiling as you heard him laugh. You closed your eyes, cheek still against his chest while you slowly started to drift off.

“Hey, love?”

“Hm,” you answered.

“Thank you,” another kiss on top of your head. “Your surprise was a good choice.”

You lifted your head so you could look at him, adoring the lazy smile painted on his face.

“You into collars now, sweetie?” You were referring back to what you’d asked him that kickstarted this whole thing.

His answer this time, however, was different.

“Fuck yeah I am. But only for you.”

thank you for reading! 💙

[hotyanderedaddies]

Yandere Jock wants Nerdy You... Badly

🦦: Hi, it's my first time requesting without anon, so please excuse any awkwardness.

Can I request maybe yandere jock/bully x  extremely anxious male reader with an oral fixation? Only if you want, though.

A/N: I decided to go with jock since I haven’t written that yet. Hope you like it!

[Yandere! Jock x Anxious! GN! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Chase is the captain of the baseball team, and he’s helped lead the team to several victories. He’s an all-star athlete and has scores of girls (and some guys) throwing themselves at his feet. As if his position at the top of the school sports hierarchy wasn’t enough, the young man was also blessed with a pretty impressive body too— muscles for days and coming in well over six feet tall.

And he loves you so much!

But you don’t pay too much attention to Chase because you’re too busy hiding away from everyone due to your extreme social anxiety.

It feels like a curse, really. The mere thought of being trapped in a building (a.k.a. school, *shudder) with a whole bunch of other people who all stare at you and talk about you behind your back is torture!

Hence, you try your best to blend into the crowd and not stand out.

After reading a tip in a mental health article, you resulted to sucking on hard candy when you get stressed out. Your nerves start to climb? You pop a little mint into your mouth and suck on it.

It helps.

And it also garnered the attention of a certain jock.

The mere millisecond that Chase had first seen you popping a piece of candy into your mouth and sucking on it as if your life depended on it, he swore his heart had skipped a beat.

“So cute,” he’d whispered to himself as his eyes honed in on you— focusing on his cute little darling.

He has something else for you to suck on.

And from that moment on, Chase knew you are his.

You just didn’t know it yet. He just had to court you.

Unfortunately, with your social anxiety, that proved to be a little challenge to the lovesick jock.

Chase would frequently wait by your locker for you, trying to strike up a simple conversation that would lead to him asking you out. However, every time you’d see the big guy, you would turn bright red and pop a candy into your mouth, turning around and heading straight for your class instead.

Chase tried to offer you a ride home so that you wouldn’t have to ride the bus— but the idea of one-on-one time in a cramped car with a guy sent shivers down you spine, and you’d barely had time to blurt out, “No thanks!” before sprinting to the bus.

Chase even “surprisingly” transferred into some of your classes. And with one glare at the students sitting next to you, they’d fled, allowing him to take any seat that was closest to yours… but you would refuse to look up from your textbooks, your jaw clenched as you sucked on some hard candy.

But Chase is persistent.

One day, as you’re leaving English class, Chase utilizes his impressive bulk to block the classroom exit from you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said in his deep voice, trying to act all nonchalant, yet his Adam’s apple quivered when he noticed you sucking on something.

“Oh,” you muttered, your face already growing cherry red, “h-hi Chase.” The exaggerated size difference between you and the jock was striking. He completely towered over you and was at least twice as wide with solid muscle. It really made your heart beat faster, both from fear and a little because you thought it was hot.

You sucked on your candy even harder.

Chase casually leaned against the door jam, crossing his big arms in front of his beefy chest. “So, I was wonderin’ if you’d come see me play tonight?” he asked, playfully flexing his massive biceps, the muscle curling out of his short sleeves with the action.

Your eyes widened, but still, the idea of being in the crowded bleachers with a bunch of screaming, rowdy people wasn’t something you looked forward to.

“Um…” you began, trying to think up an excuse to turn Chase down.

Chase could sense your hesitation, and before you could put two and two together, the large jock reached out and snatched you up. He easily tossed you over his broad shoulder, as if you weighed absolutely nothing.

Chase felt on top of the world carrying you, like this was where you belonged: in his arms.

You were stunned silent, unable to move a muscle while in the strong grip of the large jock, who carried you off towards where you assumed would be the gym…

But Chase passed the gym, and even exited the school, heading towards the parking lot.

“Um, wh-where are we going?” you asked. “I thought you had a game?”

Chase puffed out his chest with pride.

He has you! He finally has you! And he’s not going to let go.

Chase stopped in front of his car, practically tossing you inside.

He quickly ran to the driver’s side, starting up the car and speeding off, taking you, his Darling, home with him so that he can really see your sucking skills in action!