#lucy had to put up with this man for a year. a year.

[breckstonevailskier]

In the show, we see this best in how Lucy looks to the Vault Boy for guidance.

Episode 1: Lucy looks up at a poster of the Vault Boy as she commits to leaving for the surface.

Episode 2: After CX404 is stabbed, Lucy hears Wilzig's cries for help. She takes notice of the Vault Boy bobblehead in the general store, and commits to going outside to try and de-escalate the Ghoul with diplomacy.

Episode 3: As Lucy is marched across the desert by the Ghoul, she looks to this old Vault Boy billboard as if she wants him to give her a sign...which is cut short by the Ghoul blasting his head off.

The horrified look on Lucy's face, and the icy look the Ghoul gives her, shows that the Vault Boy represents different things to them.

Lucy looks to the Vault Boy for guidance, so to her the Ghoul just desecrated a religious figure for her.

For Cooper, well, immediately after this moment, the scene segues into a pre-War flashback revealing that he was the inspiration for the Vault Boy. He was the one who came up with the Vault Boy's thumbs-up gesture on a whim...

...and as we'll learn from flashbacks in subsequent episodes, he knows all about what Vault-Tec has been complicit in. So he hates these reminders of that, along with reminders of the principled man he used to be that was used by Vault-Tec as a pitchman to market this apocalypse. (And he likely feels responsible for the deaths of those who signed up for vault spots because of his endorsements, and ended up becoming test subjects.)

Episode 8: This one's here mostly because we know things that Lucy doesn't. Lucy has already made up her mind about pursuing her dad to make him pay for his crimes, but Cooper decides to extend an olive branch, as a way of paying her back for the Super Duper Mart. He suspects that much like him, Lucy wants answers, and she wants to see her father pay for his crimes. He might even suspect that Moldaver had something to do with Lucy ending up here, since that's what happened to him 219 years ago. And Cooper's choice of words incidentally are more or less what the Vault Boy in Lucy's head would be saying to her.

Cooper: You want to know how I know your daddy, don't you? Let's just say that everything about your whole little world was decided over 200 years ago. Now, you can stay here with [Maximus], but when his tin can soldier friends take this place, and they're gonna take this place, they will kill you and everybody here. Or you could come meet your makers.

Lucy's inner Vault Boy tells her that she should listen to him, and go with him to get answers and justice, once she's first put her mother out of her misery.

I've posited that Lucy will probably be very saddened in Season 2 by the realization that the Ghoul is Cooper, as she idolized him as a kid due to growing up watching his movies. But I imagine it'll also devastate her to learn about his connection to the Vault Boy. The Vault Boy was her deity, but she's now meeting the real deal, and the real deal right now isn't exactly someone she should be looking up to; he's more like one of the villains from Cooper's movies at this point.

was asked one of the questions from the fallout oc prompt list in a discord, and it prompted a whole new line of thought in me-

the question was: what do they think about religion, and do they follow any?

now, at first, i was like. elodie would think religion is silly. why would there be some deity in the sky that controls everything, if he let the world turn to this? there's no way this was a god's doing, there's too much death and chaos. if there was a god that allowed this, elodie reckoned, she didn't want to give them any attention. they didn't deserve it.

and then i thought a bit deeper, and realized that the people of vaults 32 and 33 treat vault boy as their god. and so, by extension, vault-tec itself is their god.

oo did i hook you to hit read more. sorry. i wanted to dramatically lead to this.

anyways! so! we do have the basics of vault-tec religion shown in the show. for one, we have the literal priest in vault-tec inspired vestiments. bro is literally in a vault-tec stole. he doesn't have the full priest drip, but in the interest of one dweller not being too different from the others, he's still got a stole. for two, we have the multiple times lucy looks to vault-boy for guidance, in a way that reminds me of people looking to their god for guidance.

now, from here, a lot of it is my headcanon/interpretation. as someone who was raised roman catholic, a lot of that slips in. and a lot of this is also how my oc experiences it, since that's how i frame a lot of stuff. so. yes. sorry about the elodie.

elodie herself is fairly entrenched in this whole vault-boy worship. i'd imagine it's taught from a young age, something that's instilled in them via random quips from older dwellers. make sure you follow the rules, vault boy is always watching. he knows what's best, y'know!

then it seeps into their sex-ed, entwined with the beliefs of the vault itself. don't have a kid outside of marriage, that'll ruin reclamation day. ah, yes, reclamation day, don't you want your children and the other dwellers to be happy? make sure you marry someone nice, and have kids for us, okay? definitely not subliminally pushing the message of "you have one person you can marry" either, given the whole breeding experiment thing in 33. sorry that's just the best way to call it. the 33 dwellers are being selectively bred.

in the same vein, i think they'd also push the 'don't be gay' part. because like, how would that reach the goal of reclamation day? that does not support the next generation. if you must, do it in private and keep it secret.

i think the religious aspect also bolsters the meritocracy. meritocracies often conflict with religion, at least in the traditional sense. but to me they play very hand-in-hand. you get to heaven by doing good deeds.

to me, meritocracy is already 100% in this religious codex. do the best you can for others around you! be a good citizen! or else you'll be judged just a little bit, we'll treat you as a black sheep because you dared push a little too hard on the boundaries. we see it with norm. even though he's liked, he's clearly not fitting in. he doesn't seem to be in consideration for the repopulation of the surface, unlike his sister.

essentially, you get to play a role in reclamation day by doing good deeds. you follow a set of rules, you do them well, and you're rewarded. vault-tec thanks you. you saved humanity by doing everything we said, just right.

i think that vault boy is held up as this pseudo-religious figure, and the main 'icon' of the whole thing. the vault-tec logo works perfectly as a cross. it adorns the vault door. it protects them from everything, the rads, the outside world. the gear is similar. but no, vault-boy has a face, and that provides an emotional power. no one will literally call him god, but they'll say things like "vault-tec gave us this home." and no one is chanting prayers to vault-tec, nor are they actively realizing this is a god-and-follower-like relationship. in a way, though, it'd shift the blame from leadership, and onto this ruleset that vault-tec set.

because, like, if you really think about it... what is a priest if not a middle manager?

wish that was the ending. it sounds kinda sick. anyways, to end it off, i really don't see it as an actual religion. its more cult-like reverence instead, and a way that elodie interprets the rules and carries them out. she must do her tasks, for reclamation day. for vault-tec. just like how people did the crusades, for god.

it makes sense, then, for elodie to cling to vault-tec on the surface. she was meant to bring the light of hope to the surface. instead, elodie carries around her vault-boy bobblehead, the science version. she won it for her excelled science grades in class, and she treats it as a sacred object. it reminds her of her potential, what she's capable of. it reminds her of home. and it reminds her that she has a purpose. she can look to the bobblehead, like lucy, and ask what to do. what would vault boy do?

if only she knew that her god caused this destruction.

[quietwingsinthesky]

MASTER: This country has been sick. This country needs healing. This country needs medicine. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that what this country really needs right now, is a Doctor.

this is complete nonsense. this is nothing. he's saying nothing here. i wanna assume all his speeches have been like that. he's up and down the campaign trail saying absolutely nothing because he's gonna hypnotize everyone anyway, and instead he spends all his nights writing down silly little ways he can reference the doctor. just in case his crush ENEMY is listening

[fingertipsmp3]

Feeling absolutely baked today. Never taking nytol again, it sends me to the shadow realm

[pedroscurls]

love at last (one-shot)

summary: harry’s never been in love before… until he meets you, which awakens a part of him that he never thought he was capable of.

pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader content warning(s): minor spoilers so please beware!, love at first sight trope, harry is charming and completely smitten, mainly harry POV, harry + reader go on dates!, no use of y/n. word count: 4.6k a/n: i just finished watching materialists and i'm OBSESSED with harry so obviously the next best thing is to write for him. please heed the warnings, there will be a few spoilers mentioned in this story!!! hope you enjoy nonetheless bc i'm gonna be dreaming about harry for a long time (look at those CURLS in that second pic tho jfc 🥵)

Harry had given up on the idea of love. He hadn’t felt it before and he felt like life was just passing him by. Was something wrong with him? Was he just not capable of falling in love—being in love? 

Lucy was a good match for him, but it felt forced. There was a mutual attraction, but something had been missing and he wasn’t sure what it was. 

Not until she said that she didn’t love him. Harry realized at that moment that he didn’t love her either. Lucy said it was supposed to be easy, but he wasn’t sure anymore. He tried Adore’s services, but the matches didn’t feel real, didn’t feel authentic. These women just wanted him for his money, his height, his job. He checked a lot of the women’s boxes—he was a unicorn, which Lucy liked to put it. 

But it never felt easy. He looked at each woman from a business standpoint, something transactional, but Harry yearned for something more. 

Something deep. 

Something real.

So, he canceled his membership and decided that maybe love was just never going to be in the cards for him. 

And maybe that he didn’t need it anyway. 

The dating scene in New York was horrific. To you, it felt like every nice man in the world didn’t exist. All the dates you had been on ended terribly—with some even ending early. 

The men were either too judgmental or too self-centered, or worse—just wanted one thing and one thing only. Was it this hard to find someone nice? You thought maybe you had been too picky, so you lessened your expectations—that didn’t work either. 

So, you decided to stop dating altogether and instead put your focus into work. If the universe wanted you to be in love, then maybe you should just be patient and let life do its own work. 

Harry had felt instant attraction before, but the first time he laid eyes on you it felt like time stood still. You were laughing at something someone said and he felt a flutter at the pit of his stomach. He’s never seen you at any of his family’s parties before, he would have remembered you. 

He ordered a drink at the bar as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Your smile was so warm, so kind, so genuine. He normally has this natural confidence in him, but when he saw you walking towards the bar, he straightened up and felt his heart race faster. 

Maybe you were a friend of his sister-in-law, he wasn’t sure. His family’s parties were usually so big that he doesn’t remember who’s who. But he knew that he was definitely going to remember you. 

The party was for his brother and his wife—a baby shower and gender reveal. A year after their wedding and they’re already expecting. 

He felt you stand next to him and then he heard your voice, which only made him even more nervous because you sounded so sweet, so nice. Harry had taken a deep breath and then finally turned his body to face yours, but when your eyes met his own, he felt his stomach do flips. 

“Hi,” you said with a small smile. 

“Hi,” he replied with one of his own. 

“Friend of the family?” you asked. 

Harry shook his head. “Older brother.” 

You widened your eyes and reached out to rest a hand over his forearm—a natural reaction from you. “Oh my god, you’re Harry.” 

Harry looked down at your hand briefly and smiled, nodding in your direction. “That’d be me. Are you friends with my brother or…” 

“I’m friends with Charlotte,” you answered, dropping your hand from his forearm. “I was teaching English abroad so I couldn’t make it to her wedding. I’m just glad I could make it for this event.” 

“Where did you teach?” Harry asked. 

“Philippines,” you smiled brightly. “It was amazing. I loved it there.” 

Harry couldn’t help but smile too. You made him feel comfortable, despite the nerves he was feeling before you walked over. “And now? Are you going back there to teach?” 

You shook your head. “It was only a two year contract. I have my certification now to teach English to non-native English speakers here in the States, so New York is home for now.” 

Harry could hear the passion for your work in your voice and the way your entire face lit up. It was refreshing—talking to someone who actually enjoyed what they did for a living. “So you’re teaching at a school? Elementary?” 

You let out a quiet laugh and shook your head again. “As much as I loved teaching younger kids when I was in the Philippines, my focus now is teaching adult learners. I work at a local community college.” 

Harry smiled to himself. He heard the bartender set your glass of wine next to you and you turned away from him to thank the other man from behind the counter. The same genuine and kind smile lining your lips. 

“You sound like you love your job,” he said. 

“Oh, I do. It’s a lot of work, but it’s so rewarding. I try to tell my students that learning English shouldn’t ever replace their native tongue,” you continued. “That their native language is something to be proud of and that just because they’re learning English doesn’t mean it replaces the language they know and grew up with.” 

“You must be an amazing teacher,” he grinned. 

“I try to be,” you laughed quietly. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you took note of just how handsome he is. You had heard about Harry from your dinners with Charlotte, but she didn’t say how extremely handsome he was or how deep his brown eyes were. 

“And I’m just in private equity,” he sighed teasingly. 

“Well, at least you’re rich,” you laughed quietly. “I bet that’s nice.” 

Harry shrugged. He wondered if this is where the conversation will shift, if the genuine authenticity he felt from you will disappear. “It’s a family business.” 

“Oh, so it’s not what you would have wanted to do?” You asked, taking a sip from your glass. You lean against the counter of the bar and stare up at him. “If it isn’t, what would you have wanted to pursue?” 

Harry tilted his head as he brought his own glass to his lips. He stared at you from the rim of his glass and then dropped his eyes momentarily to look down at his feet. “Not sure. I haven’t really had the chance to even think of what I would want to do if I wasn’t in the family business.” 

“Hm,” you said, eyes looking up at him from top to bottom. “Maybe a model?” 

He grinned. “Are you hitting on me?” 

“And if I am?” you smiled, eyes staring deeply into his own. 

Harry’s brows slightly raised at your forwardness and he glanced off to the side when he heard his name being called. Then, he looked at you and shot you an apologetic look. “Could I get your name?” 

You smiled and shrugged. “Find me later if you really want to find out, Harry.” You turned on your heel and left him at the counter of the bar when the other guests approached Harry. You glanced over your shoulder to see his eyes staring directly at you as he nodded at whatever the other person is saying. 

You and Harry kept stealing glances at each other from across the room. You could see the way his eyes lingered along your frame and you’re already three drinks in and feeling very brave. 

When Charlotte and Peter found out they’re having a boy, the music only became louder and everyone began dancing. Harry’s eyes stayed focused on you as he walked through the crowd straight to you. He sat next to you and smiled to himself, tilting his head in your direction. 

“Will you tell me your name now?” Harry asked.

You smiled and nodded, telling him your name as you turned your body to face his. You drape one of your legs over the other as you set aside your finished glass of wine. 

Harry smiled. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he nodded.  “Now, would you like to dance?” 

“Oh, I don’t—” 

Harry interrupted you by standing up. He extended a hand out for you and maintained that charming smile. “If I say please, will you reconsider?” 

You bit your lower lip and shook your head, slipping your hand into his own. He helped you to your feet and then led you onto the dance floor. One of his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he kept a tight hold on your hand. You bit your lower lip and moved your free hand to rest on his shoulder. 

Being this close to him was intoxicating—feeling his broad chest remain flush against your own, his deep brown eyes staring directly at you as if you were the only person in the room, and god he smelled so good. You inhaled quietly and let your eyes fall shut, allowing him to lead you through the slow dance. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” he whispered into your ear. 

You pulled back and opened your eyes to look at him. He’s still fucking smiling. 

“Are you asking me out, Harry?” 

“Would that be a bad thing?” 

You stared into his eyes as you both sway side to side to the song. You had sworn off dating after so many failed dates, but Harry… Well, there was something about him that piqued your interest from the moment you laid eyes on him today. 

“Well, no, but—”

His smile dropped and his eyes softened. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were seeing anyone.” 

You could feel his hold around you loosen, but you tightened your grip around his hand and pulled him back flush against you. “I’m not seeing anyone.” 

“Oh,” he nodded slowly. “Okay, great. That’s—That’s great for me,” he chuckles quietly. 

“But I kind of sworn off dating… at least for a while,” you admitted. “Lots of bad dates and I just—”

Harry spun you around and pulled you back into his chest, holding you tighter now. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he whispered. “Do whatever you want to do… and if after that date you decide you want to officially swear off dating, then I’ll go my own way and you’ll go yours.” 

“You’re charming, you know that?” You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Harry shrugged, though a large grin lined his lips. “So, is that a yes?” 

“Okay, one date.” 

“One date is all I need,” he smiled, kissing your cheek and holding you firmly against him as he continued to dance with you. 

On your first date with Harry, he had taken you to one the finest restaurants in New York. It had taken you by surprise and you felt very out of your element. You weren’t used to dates like this. He was very chivalrous—he showed up with flowers, opened doors for you, pulled out your seat, and even offered his coat when he noticed you were getting cold. 

And the conversation came easy. He made you laugh and you made him blush. How could someone like him be single? When he reached for your hand during the walk around the park, you looked up at him and found him smiling in your direction. 

He didn’t kiss you on the lips when he brought you back home. Harry had just cupped your cheek, whispered that he had a great time, and kissed your forehead. It was the simplest gesture, nothing too grand or over the top, but you felt your stomach flutter with butterflies. 

Then, you asked him out for a second date. He was grinning—dimples deep in his cheek as his hand dropped from your cheek to wrap around your waist. His strong embrace filled you with so much warmth, so much anticipation because for some strange reason, it felt like you belonged there. In his arms. 

He insisted that he take you out to one of his favorite restaurants and you agreed with a smile. Harry kissed your cheek that same night before walking back to his car. He waited until you were inside before driving away. 

On the second date, Harry wanted to surprise you. He took you to a sushi restaurant—something more casual, but still romantic nonetheless. He rented out the entire small restaurant just for the both of you. The look of surprise on his face made him feel proud, more confident that maybe you wanted to date him more exclusively. 

Harry enjoyed spending time with you and how you had always given him your sole attention and focus. It even brought a smile to his face at just how kind you were to everyone you encountered. During the date, you were intrigued and interested in how the head sushi chefs were making the food. 

It was such an intimate setting and it felt easy. Harry had to wonder if this was what Lucy said a year ago—love should be easy. With the right person, love can be the easiest thing in the world. 

Throughout the date, you were becoming more touchy. A hand on his forearm or leaning against him as you let out a laugh that wracked your entire body. Even after the date when you both were walking around the same park again, he had taken your hand and you laced your fingers with his. Then, he felt your head rest against his shoulder and it made the flutter in his stomach more noticeable. 

When he dropped you off at your front door, you had stared up at him with your big eyes and he wanted nothing more than to pull you into him and press his lips against yours. 

But Harry didn’t. He wanted to respect you and your boundaries. You were playing with the lapel of his jacket before gripping it and pulling him against you. Harry’s hands had darted out to rest on your hips—to steady you, to ground himself. 

“Are you gonna ask to kiss me, Harry?” you had whispered. 

Harry’s lips parted as he stared into your eyes. The grip on the hips tightened and he gave you a single nod. He had taken a step forward, eyes completely dark and filled with desire. “Just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.” 

You smiled and moved your hands to play with the hair at his nape, the curls at the back of his head. You leaned in—just enough for the tip of your nose to brush against his. Harry inhaled sharply. 

“If you don’t kiss me now, Harry, I’m gonna think you don’t like me.” 

Harry tilted his head and leaned forward, nudging your nose with his own. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He moved one of his hands to your cheek and leaned in to press his lips firmly against your own. He remembered how soft and warm your lips were, the sound of a quiet whimper escaping you, and the way his heart was racing. Harry hadn’t felt like this before—how even when he wasn’t around you, all he could do was think about you, or how the butterflies in the pit of his stomach fluttered whenever he saw your name flash across his phone. 

It also made him feel special whenever you were together. You were kind and generous to strangers, but he always felt like the luckiest person whenever your attention was shifted to him. This was only the second date and Harry found himself wanting this to be more exclusive as the date continued. 

The kiss lasted only a few more seconds—the both of you getting carried away before you pulled away from him. Harry remembered the look on your face. The small smile that lined your lips, the way your arms had loosely wrapped around his shoulders, your eyes gazing repeatedly down to his lips like you wanted more. Needed more. 

“Where do you want to go for our third date?” he asked, whispering quietly as he brushed his lips with yours.

“How about I plan it?” you replied, pursing your lips to capture his own in a gentle kiss. 

“Yeah?” Harry asked, dropping his hand from your cheek to join his other at your lower back. He laced his fingers and pulled you flush against him, the feeling of your body heat radiating against his own awakening something deep inside of him. Yearning. Desire. Need. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Let me take you out this time.” 

Harry smiled. He had always been the one to plan the dates, to cater to the other person that he was slightly taken aback at your offer. It made him feel giddy, excited at the possibility of what you would plan. “Okay,” he answered. “I’ll let you take me out this time.” 

“Good,” you smiled and pecked his lips. “I’ll see you then?”

Harry nodded, but pulled you back into a deep kiss. This time—it was intense, more intimate, urgent. His lips moved with your own and his hands drifted lower until the tips of his fingers rested just above your ass. He wanted to reach down and squeeze, but he didn’t. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet. 

“I’ll see you then, baby.”

On the third date, you had told him to dress casually. He called you just before he was about to pick you up, asking just how casual he was supposed to dress. You had smiled to yourself and told him casual enough to the point where he wouldn’t care if his clothes would get wrinkled. 

So, when he picked you up—dressed in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with sneakers, you practically wanted to pull him back into your apartment. The date could wait a little longer. You loved seeing him in a suit—had gotten used to seeing him dressed so formally—but seeing him like this, so relaxed and casual just made him sexier. 

“This casual enough?” he asked, presenting you with another bouquet of flowers. 

“You look hot,” you complimented and leaned in to peck his lips. He smiled when you pulled away and then took your hand to lead you outside of your apartment. 

“So…” you told him. “We’re having a picnic.”

Harry grinned and pulled you close to him. You hadn’t yet closed the door to your apartment, but he leaned in and pressed his lips eagerly against your own. Without hesitation, he had moved his lips with yours, hand moving to rest on your hip. “A picnic sounds nice.”

He didn’t know what to expect, but he certainly didn’t expect to be lying on a large blanket with you next to him. You both were looking up at the clear, blue sky talking about something so random. He felt his heart skip a beat when he heard you laugh—it filled his senses until all he could hear was you and how happy you looked. He wondered if this was what other couples felt like, if this is what they would normally do—have a picnic in the park, eat some food, then lie down in each other’s arms just embracing each other’s company. 

When your laughter died down, Harry had moved to rest his hand on your cheek. You stared up at him, the smile still remaining on your lips. He felt like he could sense what you were thinking about, communicating with you through his eyes. 

His thumb had brushed against your lower lip and he leans in, pecking your lips lightly. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry whispered. He felt the nerves begin to build and looked away from you for a moment. It wasn’t until you replied with a soft and quiet yes that he looked back at you.

“Would you want to date more exclusively? More seriously?” he asked in a rush. Harry’s eyes softened and the smile on your lips never faltered. 

“I’d like that,” you answered instantly. “I’d like that a lot actually.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” you repeated. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief and leaned in to press his lips against yours again. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you lay on your back with him propping himself on his side to kiss you. He felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders—he couldn’t help but feel extremely overjoyed and happy that the feeling was mutual. 

Almost six months later and now in a fully committed relationship with you, Harry finally understands what Lucy meant—love was supposed to be easy… and loving you felt like second nature to him.

You had been spending most days at his penthouse. There’s already a space in his closet for you and extra counter space in the bathroom. You manage to make this place a home—he’d come home and you’d be there in the kitchen, making dinner. Or on some nights, he’d catch you grading some papers. This felt easy. Being with you was easy. 

Harry knew that he loved you the moment he laid eyes on you. It’s cliche—he knows—but every time he’s around you, his heart races. When he sees you smile or hears you laugh, it makes his stomach do flips. And when he’s holding you in his arms, his life feels complete—like the one thing that had been missing in his life is now here with him. 

He hadn’t yet said he loved you because he wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be perfect. Harry had an entire date planned—he was going to take you out to the same restaurant from your first date. Take you for a walk around the park afterwards and then, he’d tell you how much he loves you. It was going to be romantic—something to remember for the rest of his days, but that morning… His entire plan was thrown out the window. 

You were in his kitchen, dressed in one of his shirts, making breakfast. Harry had gotten used to this, but for some reason, that morning, he felt his breath catch in his throat. The sun shone through his large windows, illuminating you in a warm glow. He was dressed in a pair of sleep pants and a worn t-shirt as he stared at you, a smile slowly lining his lips. 

He walked over to you and watched as your eyes moved from the pan and over to him. Harry bit his lower lip at the sight of your broad smile. You dropped the spatula and walked over to him, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders as you pecked his lips lightly.

“I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed,” you said. “Since you always like to surprise me, I figured I could return the favor this time.”

Harry chuckled and allowed his arms to wrap loosely around your waist. He held your body firmly against his own as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Why are you so good to me?” he asked quietly, hand coming up to rest on your cheek. 

“Hmm,” you answered. “Maybe because I really like you.” 

Harry grinned and pulled back to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed against your cheek as he tilted his head. “Yeah?” 

You nodded, leaning against his touch. “Yeah,” you answered. “Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Castillo.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he reached behind you to turn off the stove. He lifted you off your feet to set you on top of the kitchen counter, moving his hands to rest at either side of you. He moved to stand between your legs as he felt your hands move to card through his hair. 

“I am,” he whispered quietly. “Very lucky.” His eyes stared deeply into your own. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest—the nerves slowly beginning to build as those three words settled on the tip of his tongue. There was a tense silence that filled the air and it was almost like you could anticipate what Harry was about to say next. 

Your hands moved to his cheeks, feeling the bristles of hair underneath your fingertips. You leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose as his hands moved from the edges of the counter to his rest on your hips. 

“Baby,” he said softly. 

“Harry,” you replied. 

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I thought I’d never be capable of love. It just always seemed so difficult for me, but you—loving you is easy.” Harry couldn’t help the tears that build in his deep brown eyes. The way you were looking at him now eased so much of the nerves and worry that he felt. “You make me feel—baby,” he sighed—his breath catching in his throat as he brought a hand up to wipe the fallen tear that trickled down his cheek once he blinked.

“Hey…” you whispered, kissing his cheek lightly. “I’m in love with you too, Harry.” 

He pulled back. Eyes wide, features etched with shock. “You make me feel good,” Harry continued. “Valuable. Seen. Heard. Special. Every moment spent with you is always better than the last, and when I’m apart from you, I’m always counting the minutes until I can see you again.” He let out a shaky breath as he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours as he whispered, “I love you. I think I loved you the first time I saw you.” 

“God, I forgot how charming you are,” you teased, hands moving to his shoulders as you slowly wrapped your arms around him. “You made me believe in love again, Harry. I’m so glad I said yes when you asked me out… and to think, I could have missed out on this, on you.” Leaning in, you pecked his lips lightly. “And loving you is easy too. You make me feel safe and I’ve never felt that before… with anyone.”

Harry smiled and gently pulled you off the counter, your legs easily sliding around his waist as he walked you both to the large couch. He sat down with you on his lap as he brought a hand up to your cheek. “Move in with me?” 

“Didn’t you know?” You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips with his. “I was slowly beginning to move my things in anyway,” you grinned. 

Harry chuckled, firmly pressing his lips against your own. “I love you, baby,” he mumbled. “So much.” 

“Mmm,” you smiled, pulling away briefly. “Gonna show me how much?” 

His eyes darkened instantly and he wrapped his arms around your waist to swiftly lie you on your back against the couch. Harry settled himself between your legs as he leaned back in—eagerly pressing his lips along your jawline down to the side of your neck. 

“Oh, baby, you know I will,” he grinned against you, peppering light kisses against your neck. 

The feeling of his stubble tickled your skin, causing a fit of giggles to escape your lips. He smiled to himself and pulled away from you briefly to look into eyes. 

“I love you,” he whispered, a content smile lining his lips. 

“I love you too, Harry. Now get back here and kiss me,” you giggled, linking your hands together at the nape of his neck and pulling him back down to press your lips with his. 

Harry smiled against your lips—contentment, relief, and happiness filling his entire soul. 

Lucy forgot to mention that loving was only easy if it was with the right person. 

And you—you were the right person for him. 

[phantomrose96]

God's Favorite

Lucy wakes to the soft tapping of rain against her window, and she is God’s favorite. She knows this in the absent sound of her alarm, and she knows this in the yawning rumbles of thunder, and she knows this before she touches her phone alight to the notification screen.

8:43 am. Far from the 4:30 am alarm she’d needed to heed to make it to her flight. Her screen is awash with airline notifications.

She scrambles from bed. Her urgency is an apology. Lucy skips the shower and skips the hair washing and paints on deodorant before stowing it back in her carryon and calling her uber.

“Crazy weather,” her driver with the big mustache remarks. His windshield wipers swish through a river of rain.

“Yeah,” Lucy answers. She glances at her rumbling phone. She glances at the rumbling clouds. The road is clear. It shouldn’t be, not this route and not at this hour. A gas main broke somewhere up the highway that feeds this street. A freak accident. 2 injuries. It’s kept this road clear for just the locals since it happened. Lucy encounters no traffic enroute to the airport.

There are pockets of planes grounded across the runways, barely visible behind the sheets of downpour. They look like herding animals, herbivores, standing stock-still in brace against the weather. Lucy stares at them only a moment while the driver pulls her carryon out of the trunk. She grabs her jacket closed against the wind, and grabs her carryon handle, and thanks her driver. The rain does not reach her here, though the wind does.

Inside Lucy drags her bag past the help desks swarming with the orderly filings of people in disarray. Parents leaning too hard on help counters with kids pulling on bag handles. Hurried conversations and requests and arguments. The electronic boards are awash with deeply red DELAYED and CANCELED. The airport is choking. Lucy, who God loves, glides through security unimpeded.

At gate-side, Lucy finally looks to the large red board of DELAYED and CANCELED etchings to confirm what she knew without even checking her phone notifications. Gate A14. Her carryon wheels pitter and patter across tile as she walks, striding quickly, with apology.

When Gate A14 comes into view it is smothered with the weight of two or possibly three flights worth of people. There are people asleep clutching backpacks and curled on the floor. There is a four-year-old girl with her face buried in an iPad and a mother having a phone call whose clipped urgency infects Lucy. There is a man leaning over the counter to talk to the gate agent, and his hands pulse with each tensing of his fingers. “…to the hospital before she…” Lucy makes out, or thinks she makes out. She doesn’t hear the gate agent’s response, but she can read the defeated shake of her head.

Lucy’s carryon wheels clunk where the smooth tile of the terminal shifts to carpeting. She doesn’t think to grab a seat because there are no open seats. So she positions herself in a way to unmistakably say she is at the gate, threading between stagnant suitcases and kids splayed on the floor. Lucy approaches the rain-splattered windows, and like a conversation shy upon being overheard, the thunder recedes from her advance. The rain draws to a polite close. The clouds split along a seam and pull away, as if they were only ever a wave that had transiently crashed to shore. The sky is beautifully blue.

There is a stirring hopefulness in the air. Other passengers have pushed past Lucy to stand closer to the window and peer outside, as if their confirmation of the changing weather can convince the airline of what to do next.

The gate agent puts down the phone receiver of a one-sided call. She pulls the microphone close and with grainy clarity she announces, “Boarding for Flight A1874 to Detroit will begin in 10 minutes.”

On the walkway, through the gap between the throughway and plane, Lucy sees the puddles rising with steam. They throw the iridescent spectrum of a rainbow up into the sky.

In a backlog of hundreds of flights, Lucy’s is the first out across the runway. This is because God loves her. She only wishes It loved her in a way to fix her broken phone alarm.

…

In childhood Lucy had heard “God loves you” and “Jesus loves you” in the placative ways that Sunday School teaches its children. With jingles and crayon-drawings of sheep and shepherds and a decorated ornament, crafted each Christmas Eve.

Lucy had long since fallen out of it and had thought very little of her parents’ tepid god for the last 10 or 15 years.

It was last spring, 27-years-old, that Lucy had found her way out into the marsh. Mud sucking her boots and gnats plicking in swarm against her skin. Where she sat her tailbone in the muck and folded her arms over her knees and buried her face in her legs to cry. And cry. And cry. And there with the mugginess sopping her skin and the humidity coiling her hair, God decided It loved her.

It loved her with a parting of canopy for the robin-blue sky. It loved her with the chirp of cicadas. It loved her in the way a dog circles its owner and nudges a wet snout to palm, because It was here, and It would make her feel better.

Lucy’s seat is the window seat beside the man with the tensing fingers. He fiddles with a phone in his clutch until he locks it in airplane mode and stows it, to look at no more. Lucy wonders who this man knows in the hospital, and she wonders why God doesn’t love him more than It loves her.

…

In March, Marco breaks up with her over a plate of fish that is too dry. In the moment, Lucy wonders if it’s her fault, because of the fish. But that’s not it. The signs were there, in all the subtle and stuttering moments Marco had pulled away. Each little moment like a slightly missed step, on a staircase growing ricketier each month.

Marco leaves and everything is so quiet, to the point that Lucy thinks her own sounds are pretty stupid, and pretty embarrassing while she’s coiled snail-like and snottily-sobbing into her pillowcase. She thinks absently of how she has to wash the pillowcase now, and that’s fine, because she was going to wash her linens this weekend anyway. She sobs so hard she’s almost screaming. Oh, and kitchen towels. She’ll wash the kitchen towels too.

She’s alive enough the next morning to throw all her linens and her kitchen towels on the floor of the laundry room. And maybe Marco breaking up with her is fine, because his birthday is December 25th and who wants a husband whose birthday is the same day as Christmas?

Her doorbell rings. And somehow it’s Marco again. She opens it to him, and he smells like a wildfire.

“Sorry, Lucy, this is awkward,” and Lucy believes he means it. He’s clutching a jacket around himself for what looks like security more than warmth. His apartment burned down last night. A resident fell asleep with a cigarette lit and dangling from her fingertips. Unit right below him. All his stuff burned, or filled with smoke, or is now logged up with water. He’s been sitting outside on the cobblestone for the last few hours, watching the blaze, on the phone with insurance. His landlord hasn’t responded to him yet. He’s cold, and he’s smokey, and can he shower here maybe? Can he stay for just a day or two, maybe? Sorry. This is awkward. He has no family on this coast. He really has nowhere else to go.

“Sure.” Lucy lets in Marco who smells like a wildfire. She adds the towels to her laundry list because they will smell like a wildfire too once Marco has used them. When he is clean, Lucy asks him nice questions. He asks her nice questions back. She helps him figure out something strange on the insurance form. He starts cooking dinner before Lucy realizes he’d entered the kitchen, because she was busy with the linens and the towels.

Marco takes the couch and clean linens. “Thanks, again, really. I can pay you a few days rent, when I get the insurance payout.” It’s no problem. Lucy goes to her room and shuts the door. It’s warmer here with Marco again. She wonders how long he’ll stay. She wonders if it will be for as long as she thinks the sound of him breathing in the other room is a comfort.

Something twists in Lucy’s chest. She wonders why God loves her more than It loves Marco. Lucy wonders why God didn’t love the woman with the lit cigarette who did not make it out of the building.

…

In June Lucy is desperately throwing together the haphazard makings of a financial report. She meant to stay up late to finish it, and get up early to make it beautiful, but she’s had a cold for a whole week now and the new bottle of decongestant she grabbed wasn’t “non-drowsy” like she thought.

Her heart is beating, and she nearly twists her ankle with a misstep in high heels, and she almost loses her grip on the shoddy makings of a too-light financial report still warm from the printer. She can spin it, maybe, that it’s intentionally light and she’d simply wanted the esteemed and respected input from the executives in the room before she produces the truly polished report this evening. And when the eyebrows are raised and she is told the report is due now, maybe they will refrain from firing her on the spot since she is still the only one who can produce the report they need.

She pulls open the meeting room door as if she is not out of breath, as if her nose isn’t red from a thousand tissues. She takes her seat so hastily that she does not notice, until she looks up properly, and sees the CEO’s seat is empty.

No one speaks. No one acknowledges her entrance. Lucy hugs the warm binder to her chest.

The door latch clicks open, but Lucy knows it will not be the CEO. She heard the click of heels before the doorknob turned.

It’s his assistant with the lovely auburn hair that curls around her shoulders. Her suit is red and her eyes are red and she stands just behind the CEO’s chair. Everyone notices her in the way they did not notice Lucy.

She speaks. The CEO’s wife and daughter were in a head-on collision with a drunk driver 42 minutes ago. They’re in critical condition, and the CEO has gone to be with them. He asks everyone’s forgiveness and grace in this time. The meeting is rescheduled for tomorrow, same time, and he humbly requests if everyone in attendance can adjust their calendar to accommodate this. This is a big ask, he knows. The board will have questions, he knows. But these are extenuating circumstances. The assistant will help with any necessary reworking of everyone’s calendars. And Lucy, can you please deliver the report tomorrow? The assistant has a sympathy card, which she lays on the table along with a black pen, and she asks if anyone would care to sign it.

Lucy signs it. The card paper is so cold, compared to the warmth of the half-finished report squeezed tight against her chest. The half-finished report should have cooled by now, but God must know she’s cold and ashen-faced, and God loves her so much.

…

In July, Lucy is a perfectionist. Her mother swears she wasn’t always like this. Her high school best friend is surprised, when in town for a weekend and meeting up for coffee, by the way Lucy triple-confirms the time, and the place, and the way she wears two watches. Why two watches? he asks. Because the alarm on one watch might fail. What about your phone? The watches are the backup, if the phone dies.

There’s something off-putting in the way she talks, and the way she asks questions of him, and the way she exclaims in joy at every piece of good news he shares. Josiah glances behind himself, more and more, and it’s because Lucy stares back there like she knows someone else at the next table.

It’s all weird, and Josiah can’t help but pull away. But Lucy pulls away first, retroactively. She can always pull away retroactively, and declare to her four walls of her room how much she didn’t need that friend, like she doesn’t need Marco, or anyone else who God may drop at her doorstep like the dead bird bounty of a cat, happy to share with the person It loves.

Lucy finishes her reports early. She wiles away the sun at her office even in the summer finishing reports far before anyone could need them. She double-checks, every time. She triple-checks. Her boss pulls her into a meeting room and with hands folded on the desk, he asks if maybe she needs to take some time off. And instantly she declares to the four walls that no-one at the company is doing this to her. “I wasn’t implying that…” but she’s not looking at him when he answers.

In July Lucy returns to the marsh. She returns with stones she’s horded up and gathered in the trunk of her car. She walks through the boot-suckling mud and she weighs stones in her arms while she hurls them, and throws, and screams, and hopes one of them might strike God in Its snout.

“I HATE YOU!” she screams. She throws all her weight into a stone whose sharp edge nicks bark. She hurls one through the bushes and another into the leafy canopy above. She is sopping wet and the cicadas chirp at her. “I HATE YOU!! GO AWAY!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” She chucks a stone which lands in the sucking muck, capsizing like a ship beneath the algae.

She throws, and her gravity heaves forward, and her boots stay stuck in the mud. So she topples elbow-deep in the mud, spattered, soaking into her chin and her shirt and her jeans and her hair. She parts her lips and tastes the earthy wetness on her skin, coppery blood, split lip. The stones are all under her. She laughs. Lucy tilts her head to the sky screaming with laughter. Joyous to tears, with the wetness drawing rivulets down the mud on her cheeks. She laughs because sopping-in-mud-and-muck is NOT the state of something God loves. This wouldn’t happen to something God loves.

Lucy goes home. Lucy showers. Lucy does her laundry. And It crawls back into bed with her. Perhaps like a scolded animal, but perhaps It did not even know It was being scolded. Lucy cannot tell.

The wine stains came out of her linens today because God loves her.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Merry Christmas, Baby

Summary: You're not sure what to get Javi for Christmas, until he gives you an idea for a gift you can't put under the tree

Word Count: 3.3K (I wrote this in two hours, the thots do be thotin)

Paring: Husband!Javi x Wife!reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+) unprotected p in v sex (whoops), breeding kink (I'll say it once and I'll say it again, you KNOW this man deserves 17 kids) vaginal fingering, creampie (big time), family planning, Javi gets so excited about the idea of another baby he literally can't control himself, terrible, sexual Christmas puns, cute and sweet Christmas fluff bc I love this family more than life and you know they give their kids the most magical Christmases 🥺

A/N: I'll take Javier Peña with a big fat breeding kink for a thousand, please!!! I was feeling in a writing rut, until I read @notjustjavierpena Husband Javi Christmas fic last night, and lord have MERCY, consider me inspired 🫡 I'll never shut up about the fact that this man wants a football team, and every Christmas will ask to put another baby in you as his only Christmas gift BYEEEEEEE I need to be institutionalized at this point sorry this is poorly beta'd, it's me, I'm allergic to editing!!!

Forever and Always Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“Javier Peña, there has to be something you want for Christmas.” 

“As long as all my girls are happy, that’s all I want.” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t wrap your sappy sentiment, Javi.” 

There was nothing more that you enjoyed than showering Javi with gifts for the holidays. There were few people on earth you could imagine being more deserving than your husband- you’d find a way to wrap the moon and top it with a bow, if that’s what he wanted. Unfortunately for you, Javi was so sweet, it made buying gifts for him nearly impossible, considering there was rarely ever a tangible item on his wishlist. 

“I don’t need anything, baby.” Javi smiled, reaching for the roll of bright pink and sparkly wrapping paper in front of him to start covering the new Barbie Dream House Lucy had been begging for all year long. “Toss me the tape.” 

“Well obviously I have things for you, but I always wanna make sure I’m getting you things that you want.” You sighed, gently throwing the roll of Scotch tape you had been using over the pile of gifts between you and Javi you were working on wrapping while your daughters were asleep. 

After six Christmases under your belts, you and Javi had learned from the one grave mistake of waiting until Christmas Eve to wrap all your daughter’s presents, now taking a few nights before the big day to wrap and assemble any gifts being left under the tree for your own sanity. 

Now that your girls, Lucy, Elliot and Harper, were six, four and two, it made Christmas even more magical, knowing that they were beginning to understand the concept of what the holiday meant, and all the joyous anticipation that led up to the 25th of December. 

It also meant that there were a lot more presents to wrap- 1, because Lucy and Elliot knew that they could ask for gifts they wanted, and 2, because Javi would say he’d be done buying presents and then show up the next day after work with another toy for his girls. 

“Honey, you get great gifts, for me, but especially for the girls, too. Fuck, I forgot this needs batteries…” Javi mumbled to himself, carefully undoing the wrapping paper he had started working on, “You make a very good Santa.” 

“I think the girls like your version of Santa better, since that’s how they end up with double the gifts under the tree.” You giggled, playfully rolling your eyes at Javi before reaching for the next toy in the pile, “I’m being serious, Javi. I love spoiling those girls just as much as you, but you also deserve to be spoiled too, ya know.” 

“You’re my wife, gave me three beautiful daughters, and tolerate me on a daily basis. Baby, that’s plenty fucking spoiled, if you ask me.” Javi grinned, giving you a reassuring nod and little shrug of his shoulders. 

“You’re much more than tolerable, you goof.” You laughed, cheeks pink at the warmth of your husband’s words, never failing to make you melt a little more each day. “Will you please just tell me one thing you want? Then I’ll let it go, I promise.” 

Javi sat quietly for a moment, fiddling with the edges of the wrapping paper he was working on before a boyish smile began to creep into the corners of his cheeks. 

“Uh oh.” You laughed to yourself, immediately recognizing the goofy grin Javi was trying to contain, “What is it, Peña?” 

“You’re not gonna like it.” Javi snickered to himself, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Jav, if it’s another dog, I told you, when the girls are older and-” 

“No, it’s not another dog.” He smirked, still softly laughing to himself as you tilted your head at him in confusion, trying to piece together what kind of gift Javi would want that would take any convincing from you, crossing your arms over your chest as you attempted to decipher the devious splayed across his face. 

It only took about two seconds and that look to figure out what Javi was in the market for.  

“Javi…” You sighed, your tone jokingly stern. 

“Osita?” He responded back, trying to downplay his giddiness now that you had figured out his gift suggestion. 

“Javi, four kids is a lot of kids. One more, and they’re doubling us in ranks.” 

You had always been on the fence about having a fourth baby. Not because you didn’t love having kids, or that you didn’t think you couldn’t handle it, mentally or financially, but because your brain worked in logistics- adding one more member to your family was getting you to the point where you’d have so many kids, you wouldn’t even all fit in Javi’s truck anymore, unless someone got demoted to the trunk, which, in all honesty, you were sure Elliot wouldn’t mind. 

For Javi, on the other hand, there was no need to worry about logistics- the two of you would figure it out sooner or later. The only logistics he was worried about was instigating the baby making process.  

“You asked what I wanted!” Javi replied, chuckling as he held his hands up in defense, “I think I’ve been a very good boy all year, if you ask me.” 

“What you’re asking for is definitely putting you on the naughty list.” You huffed, trying to distract yourself with finishing wrapping the present you were working on to hide the fact you were genuinely considering Javi’s present suggestion. “You really think we can handle four kids, Jav?” 

It took everything in you not to laugh at the way Javi instantly perked up when your first response to his gift idea wasn’t rejection, eyeing you up and down and gently biting down on his lower lip. 

“Mhmmm.” He nodded, slowly making his way around the pile of presents to scooch closer to you, “I’ll take care of everything, mi amor. You, the girls, the baby, I can ask for less hours at work so I can help around here, whatever you want, you know I’ll give it to you.” 

“You really want this baby, huh?” You giggled, smirking at Javi as he crawled next to you, hungry look in his eyes while he began to cage his body over yours, carefully laying you down on the floor beneath him. 

“Fuck, I wanna knock you up again so bad. You’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant.” Javi groaned, planking overtop you, his hot breath dancing across your skin in between his soft nips at your pulse point. “Let me fuck another baby into you, Osita. Please.” 

Any inhibitions you would have had in protest had completely flown out the window, arousal soaking the fabric of your underwear as Javi kissed up your neck and across your collarbone, softly palming at your breasts under one of his old sweatshirts you had thrown on. 

Truth be told, you and Javi had talked about baby number four enough that you were already leaning towards saying 'yes' anyways, but that wouldn’t stop you from having a little fun in seeing how badly Javi really wanted the Christmas gift he was asking you for. 

“Tell me how badly you want it, Javi. Tell me how much you wanna fuck another baby into me.” You devilishly whispered into his ear, smiling to yourself at the pathetic groan that rumbled from his chest in response. 

“Fuck me-” Javi moaned, hands feverishly groping your body, “Fuck, I want it so bad, quierda. Wanna fill you up ‘till it has no choice but to fucking take, fuck this pussy so full of me, let everyone know who it belongs to, watching you carry our baby. Please, Osita.” 

It was a good thing you were already prepared to be easily swayed, because even if you weren’t, listening to the way Javi was begging to put another baby in you would have easily been enough. 

“Okay. Merry Christmas, Papí.” 

Your green light was all Javi needed to spark something completely feral in him, practically ripping your clothes off you in the middle of the living room, sprawled out on the carpet. 

“Javi, we can go upstairs and-” 

“No. Fuck, I need to fuck you right now, just like this.” He grunted, shedding his clothes before his hand was cupping over your underwear, jaw going slack at how absolutely soaked the fabric was under the pads of his fingers. “Apparently you do too, huh, Momma? She’s so wet for me, isn’t she? Pretty pussy wants me to fill her up so bad.” 

Your stomach churned in arousal as Javi ripped your panties down your legs, revealing the puffy, glistening mess beneath. Javi had barely touched you, and you could already feel the way you’re dripping, admittedly just as turned on as him at the idea of letting him add another addition to your family. 

“Christ, baby.” Javi muttered, settling between your legs. Letting his hands run up the insides of your thighs, he took his thumbs and slid them between your folds, spreading you open to get a full view of the way your slick was coating your cunt. “Making a fucking mess for me already.” 

“I think I’m ovulating soon.” You sigh, doing some quick math in your head, trying to account for just how worked up you were, Javi’s eyes so going wide at the realization, you were worried they may just pop out of his skull. 

“Oh, fuck me.” Javi groaned, shaking his head in disbelief at his luck, “You’re right, Merry fuckin’ Christmas to me then.” 

Swirling the pads of his fingers against your clit, your back arched against the floor at the shockwaves the pleasure sent through your body, making you gasp so loud, you were worried you risked a real possibility of waking up your daughters. 

“F-Fuck, Javi-” You whimpered, already bucking your bottom half towards him as he sunk his two fingers into your cunt while the heel of his palm rubbed deliciously against your clit. Reaching up, your grasp wrapped around Javi’s bicep, muscles flexing with each pulse of his fingers as you left half-crescent moons in his skin. 

It took everything in you not to scream as a third finger joined the first two, stretching you out as he bumped against your g-spot, tension already beginning to build in your core. A sudden gasp escaped your chest, surprised by the newfound emptiness that had you clenching around nothing, looking up to see Javi reaching down to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it a few times before lining it up with your entrance. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I need to fucking feel you, baby. Swear you’ve got me feeling like I’m about to bust like a fucking teenager.” Javi grunted, running his tip against your clit and down your cunt, collecting your arousal before thrusting himself inside you, filling you to the brim with every inch of him. 

Unless you were desperately pressed for time, Javi normally had a bare bones minimum of pulling at least one orgasm out of you before he fucked you, but seeing how worked up and needy he was to feel you wrapped around him, it was about as close to an orgasm you could get withtout actually having one. 

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you whined, feeling the tip of his head kiss your cervix as he began to thrust in and out of you, feeling dizzy from his fullness. You could tell he was trying to hold himself together, his hips slamming into you in deep, slow thrusts, breath hitching in the back of your throat every time he buries himself deeper inside you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking tight. Fuck, I can’t wait to fill her up, give you every last fucking drop. Taking me so fucking well.” Javi moaned through gritted teeth, already scrunching his face in concentration through his pussy drunk babbling.  

Running his hands up the back of your thighs, Javi pushed your knees to your chest, pinning your legs in place against your stomach to stretch you out even further, letting him sink himself even deeper to hit the spot he knew drove you just as crazy as it drove him. 

Despite how lost in pleasure the two of you were, Javi was at least conscious enough to realize how loud you had gotten, quickly reaching up cup your mouth, catching your muffled moans in the palm of his hand. 

“I know, hermosa. Fuck, I love hearing you, but we gotta keep quiet enough, baby.” Javi huffed, snaking the hand covering your mouth between your bodies, circling at your clit, almost as if he was putting you through some sort of cruel test to see how far he could push you before he had you screaming at the top of your lungs. 

“Fuck- fuck, I know. You feel so good, Javi.” You whined, hand pressed against his bare chest, his warmth and weight pinning your body below him. 

You feel the way Javi’s thrusts become quicker and harsher, filling himself as deep as he could as your cunt began to clench around his length, sucking him in with your warmth and wetness. Your eyes had been scrunched, so lost in your own pleasure that you hadn’t even noticed the nearly pained look on Javi’s face, furrowing his brow in deep concentration with each slap of his hips against yours. 

“You okay, Javi?” You asked, panting out each word as he pounded into you, circling your clit faster and faster as his grip tightened around your thighs, trying to keep himself grounded. 

“Yeah, I- Fuck- fuck me, I’m trying so hard not to finish before you do. Pussy feels so fucking good. Wanna cum so fucking deep inside you.” Javi moaned, the rhythm of his hips already starting to falter thinking about his endgame. 

If you weren’t so lost in your own ecstasy, you probably would have giggled at Javi’s admission, giving him shit about how he couldn’t hold it together for even just a few minutes, knowing he could finally try to get you pregnant again. But right now, you’re just shocked you can even get any words to form coherent thoughts to string together, let alone tease him. 

“Put a baby in me, Javi. Fuck, want you to cum so deep inside me, please, baby.” 

You could barely finish the whimpers of your sentence before Javi’s pace became sloppy and erratic, hips stuttering before his jaw went slack, letting a low, long groan escape from his chest. 

“Oh, f-fuck-” Javi stammered, flushing his hips against yours as you felt his warm spend coat your walls, pressed so deep inside you, you were convinced it’d have no choice but to stick, in a few weeks finding out baby number four would be on the way. 

Javi’s chest rose and fell, looking down at the way your bodies melted together beneath him, igniting something primal in him to see the mix of your arousal seeping around where the two of you met. His eyes darkened, looking down at you with a feral sort of smirk, not even giving you the chance to speak before his lips were crashing into yours again, hips slowly thrusting while his fingers rubbed at your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“J-Javi, what are you-” You muttered, cut off by the messy dancing of tongues and teeth in your mouths. 

“I’m not done yet, Momma. Not until I fuck myself so deep in there we know it fucking takes. Wanna keep you stuffed so fucking full of me.” Javi grunted, rubbing your clit faster at the way he could feel the walls of your pussy starting to flutter around him, determined to make sure he wasn’t the only one who finished. “Cum for me, baby. I know you’re close. Can feel how tight she’s getting for me.” 

You knew just as well as he did that the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine had slowly begun to flow to every inch of your body, building up through your legs and into your core, clenching down harder and harder around Javi’s cock, knowing there was no doubt the mess between your legs was surley just as wet as it sounded as he slid in and out of you. 

“Oh fuck, Javi, oh fuck- fuck, fuckfuckfuck- ah!” 

It didn't take long before your orgasm crashed through you, lighting up every inch of you in radiating pleasure, your cunt clamping down so hard around Javi’s cock, it made him let out a strangled gasp as he choked out curses under his breath. 

“Jesus, fuck. Gonna squeeze every last fucking drop outta me, huh? My greedy fuckin’ girl.” Javi smirked, planting a soft kiss on your lips before he slumped on top of you, your chests rising and falling as one as you finished coming down from your high. 

The two of you laid there for a moment, catching your breaths and basking in bliss before Javi was pulling out of you with a hiss, one hand wrapped around his softening cock, the other scooping up the mix of your spend pooling between your legs before it dripped to the floor, carefully pushing it back inside you. 

“Fuck,” Javi laughed to himself quietly, sitting back on his haunches, admiring the slick, shiny mess your pussy had become, “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.” 

“Looks like Christmas came early this year… and so did you.” You giggled, making Javi roll his eyes, playfully shaking one of the legs still pressed to your chest. 

“Shut up.” He sighed, shaking his head at you before laying back down beside you, shifting so that his chest was pressed to your back, spooning you in his grasp. “Gotta make sure Santa’s not the only thing coming down the chimney this year.” 

“Jesus Christ, Javi.” You can’t help but snort, ashamed of how easily amused you are by his stupid puns. 

“What? You let me get my gift early, least I can do is stuff your stocking for you.” 

“Oh my god, you are the worst.” 

The two of you giggled, basking in your laughter as you laid together on the floor, only spurred on by the fact you realized how ridiculous it was that the two of you were completely naked in the middle of your living room, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper and presents. 

“Speaking of stocking stuffers, we should finish wrapping the rest of these gifts we have out before we go to bed. At least some of these presents should be wrapped, because the one you just gave me was most definitely not.” You teased, craning your neck to pepper ticklish kisses across Javi’s jaw. 

“It’s the gift that keeps on giving. I’ll give it to you tomorrow too, if you let me.” Javi grinned, giving you a playful wink before pressing a kiss into your messy hair and patting your hip, reaching over you to grab the pile of clothes the two of you had left next to you. “Seriously though, thank you. You and our girls are the best gift I could ever have, but adding one more would make me so fucking happy. I love you, Osita.” 

“I love you too, Javi. You guys are the best gift I could ask for, too. Although, I will say, your gift also selfishly works in my favor, too. Some presents are just better unwrapped.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[gothicpaperback]

THE ART OF THE DEAL | harry castillo x you

{ part two: VALUATION ERRORS>>

wc: 6,7k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Harry Castillo x You | FALSE RELATIONSHIP

summary: you don’t believe in love. neither does he. that’s the only thing you agree on. after swearing off romance, you’ve built a quiet life in art preservation and avoiding anything resembling vulnerability. but when Harry Castillo, arrogant, infuriating, and stupidly rich, proposes you pretend to be his fiancée for the sake of getting his overbearing mother off his back, you’re thrown. but the money is good and with your detached views on romance and love, you make the perfect polished, commitment-free partner. It’s just a deal; cold, clean and temporary. but pretending to be in love with a man you can’t stand has a way of making you feel things you promised yourself you’d never feel again. especially when he starts looking at you like you're more than just a line item in a contract. And worst of all? You start looking back

the MC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely described physically aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: false relationship, mentions of materialists film, smut, enemies to lovers. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

THE ART OF THE DEAL | PART ONE | TERMS AND CONDITIONS

The restaurant is fairly quiet, the music playing in the back is dim. It's the kind of place that takes months to get into, but one mention of his name and his table for two is ready in an hour. It's a perfect setting for romance, for love 

Except Harry Castillo doesn't believe in love.

Not at his age. 

He couldn't, not after her.

Melissa. The girl he'd been slavishly devoted to his entire college experience. The one he overheard at a frat party months before graduation calling him pint-sized to a group of tittering girls. 

"But the sex is decent and he's loaded, so I'll put up with him." 

Put up with him. Like he was an annoying pet. He broke up with her that night, tears in his eyes, a hole in his heart and the engagement ring from his mother still in his pocket. 

When he told his younger brother the next morning over coffee at his apartment he'd just shrugged. 

"That's how it is for guys like us." 

And that was supposed to be a comfort? How? 

And as his date, a thirty year old art curator sits across from him now, rambling on about the things she'd seen recently at work, the people she'd talked to, the daily minutia of her life, Harry finds his attention drifting. 

Not to anyone in particular, that isn't his way of operating. He'd always been a one woman man his whole life. Relentlessly monogamous. But he's bored, the conversation manufactured as if she's reading from cue cards. 

His mind drifts to the kitchen with Lucy, the conversation, the admittance that he didn't think he was capable of love. 

"You will. It'll be easy," Lucy had said. 

This doesn't feel easy. But then again what did Lucy know? She didn't even know what she wanted. He shifts in his seat when he hears his name being gently cooed by the girl across from him. 

"Pardon?"

She fingers the stem of her wine glass anxiously. She's clearly worried she's doing something wrong. 

"I asked if you've been using Adore for long?" 

"I've never actually used a dating service before," Harry replies politely. "You're my first." 

Her cheeks tinge pink, eyes downcast, the very picture of demure supplication.  

"Hopefully your last," she says with a gentle smile. 

She's very soft. Everything from the fabric of her clothing to her voice is soft. 

He offers a low chuckle, a rich sound. He knows that he's a catch, a proclaimed "unicorn" from his matchmaker at Adore. He knows the looks he gets aren't just for looks, but for his sizeable bank account. 

And his mother has been very firm. She wants him to marry and he hates to disappoint her. 

"You're almost fifty, Harry. It's inappropriate to be single at this age." 

The woman across from him is traditionally beautiful, but what woman isn't at thirty? She has smooth unblemished skin, light voice. Botox at the forehead, lips plump from injections. 

It's all tastefully done but what remains is nothing of true interest, nothing that sets her apart from the millions of women he sees in New York every day. 

But she's smart, she's accomplished, she comes from money, she'd understand his world. 

"Would you like a second date?" He asks as he walks her to her front door later that night. 

His driver is idling at the curb, keeping the car warm against the New York autumn chill. 

She beams at him, eyes sparkling. 

"I would love that."

"He's perfect."

"No one is perfect, Gemma,” you remind her gently. Everything you do with Gemma is gentle because she's a gentle creature, long limbed, big dark blue eyes, auburn hair, like a doe come to life. "He's just a man." 

"A perfect man," she swoons, coming to stand opposite your desk. "Rich, six feet, amazing hair and body. Smart, kind." 

"And he's straight?"

"Ha ha." 

You smirk before going back to photographing the small miniature portrait in front of you on the desk. A new acquisition, a piece from the 1700's. A coup for the gallery. 

As the art preserver here at The Chapel Gallery you work in the back rooms of the gallery, in a part of the building the visitors never see. Back here the light is colder, whiter, and everything smells faintly of varnish, aging wood, and linen.

The floor is concrete, scuffed from decades of furniture being dragged across it. You’ve stopped noticing. There’s a tall window, but it’s been treated with a UV filter that dulls the sun to a diffused gray-blue haze. Still, it’s enough.

 You like the quiet of it. The way it catches in the dust floating over a stretched canvas. The hush. Your own breathing. The gentle hum of the fume extractor overhead.

Gemma is the exception. Bouncy, sweet, colorful. You like her in your space. Gemma showed up on her first day in heels too loud for the old gallery floors, holding a latte and a dozen questions about framing protocols, and you liked her immediately for admitting she could never do your job. There was respect in her voice when she said it. 

You'd bonded immediately over a love of Henry Ossawa Tanner and ethnical restoration. You moved quickly to lunches together, and then drinks after work and then a casual friendship that you appreciate in a city that feels cold. She loves to visit you in this space bringing coffee or baked goods, the two of you talking about everything from Rembrandt to The Real Housewives. 

And now she stands in front of you, phone in hand showing you a picture from what you can only assume is Google. 

"Isn't he handsome?" 

He looks like any other rich guy to you. They all start to blend into a mix of fancy watches and stiff hair after a while. 

"Sure." 

Your tools rest in their tray; scalpels in their tray, cotton swabs in jars, solvents labeled in your handwriting. Everything with its place. Everything under control. The paintings arrive with their wounds and histories, and you restore them with a loving hand. 

Gemma doesn’t interrupt, not exactly, but her presence changes the air. She’s lighter, glossier somehow. You hear the quick staccato of her heels before you see her. Always rehearsing the next exhibit, the next acquisition, the next donor she’ll have to charm.

 Her voice echoes through the storage corridor when she’s on a call, naming names you don’t recognize. Its collectors, old professors, gallery patrons who write checks large enough to get their opinions framed.

You prefer the paintings because they don’t perform. They don’t flatter. They don’t lie about what time has done to them.

Sometimes she asks what you think of a piece. You don’t always answer. When you do, she listens in that serious way of hers, her lips slightly parted, like she's memorizing the shape of your opinion even if she’s already decided on hers. It works, mostly. You restore. She sells and curates.

You move behind the canvas while she moves in front of it.

"What does he do?"

"Private equity." 

You hold in a groan. He's just like every other guy she's dated. All rich, all handsome, all in finance and all the most boring men on the planet. You can feel her eyes still on you and you know what she's going to say before she says it. You brace yourself. 

"When are you going to try dating again?"

"Never."

Your sweet, hopelessly optimistic co-worker leans on your work table, big eyes sad. "The divorce was six years ago. When are you going to try again?"

"When men stop being assholes so..." you put on a faux pondering look, "never?" 

She giggles, a bit nervous about her date, a bit tickled by your seriousness. "Don't you miss sex?"

You look over at her innocent face, amused. You're only a few years older than her but you feel like you've lived a lifetime in comparison. 

"I have sex, Gem. Sex isn't the issue. It's living with a man that doesn't appeal to me. And I'm not gay, though I wish I was, so romance isn't really an option anymore." 

You weren't always this way when it came to love. But it was a classic case of Boy meets girl. Girl falls for boy. Boy and girl get married. Boy cheats. Boy gets girl new pregnant. Girl moves on. 

You wish it wasn't such a fucking cliché. 

You think of you phone in your pocket. The message from earlier. You scowl. Gemma's phone beeps and she swipes to open the message, her face breaking into a beam. 

"He's here," she says, going on her tiptoes and bouncing. "He's coming down here to get me! You can see him!" 

She looks completely elated and there's a small, secret part of you that misses that. The excitement of a first date. Just then a gurgle sounds and she gets a strange look on her face, blanching before placing a palm over her stomach. 

"Oh fuck." 

Gemma has what she calls a reactive stomach. Which basically means that she has to aggressively empty her bowels when she gets anxious. 

"I'll tell him you're freshening up," you tell her, making a shooing motion. She casts you a thankful look before rushing off to the loo. 

You shake your head, mouth curled into a smile. She is ridiculous at times but you really do adore her. You go back to photographing the miniature portrait, excited to get to work on bringing the original color back from underneath all that grime.

The sound of footsteps grabs your attention. You glance up to see a tall man with dark wave hair that curls under his ears and large expressive eyes. He's dressed well and in one arm holds a large bouquet of pale yellow roses. 

"Hello." 

He smiles politely at you, plump lips curling under a perfectly manicured beard.

Harry Castillo. 

"Gemma just went to freshen up," you tell him with a motion to one of the desk chairs. "She'll be back any second."

"Great." 

He doesn't move to the chair. Instead he moves deeper into your workroom, eyes casting from one piece to the next. He places the bouquet onto one of the empty tables before surveying the exhibit you just finished restoring. 

He stops in front of a small, clay pot, clearly taken with it. Despite it being behind protected glass you wince when his face nears it.

"Do you mind stepping back from the artifacts? Everything here is incredibly delicate." 

Harry nods unbothered, hands behind his back. "Understood." 

He finds himself intrigued by what you're photographing with such focus. His legs carry him to the side of your desk. You're so invested in the task at hand you don't even hear him near. 

"Rosalba Carriera." 

You almost drop the camera. "What?"

"That's a Rosalba Carriera isn't it?" Harry looks puzzled. "I'm sure of it. My family owns several." 

You hold in a scoff of disgust. Of course his family would buy up art and keep it for themselves. You stare over your shoulder at him, your expression cold. Men like this make you want to scream. Money, looks, arrogance. He has it all in spades. 

"I love pastel painting," Harry continues, thrown off by your muted response.

He thought you'd warm to him and his art knowledge. He's been told he's charismatic, but the longer you derisively stare at him the more he's concerned he's been lied to all his life. You're like a cat; back arched, claws extended. Everything about you screams back off and so he does, eyes trained on yours. 

"Yes," you finally offer when he stands on the opposite side of your workspace. "It is a Rosalba Carriera. One of her earliest." 

Harry can see that the entire portrait is grimy with age. The edges torn in spots. He can't imagine taking something like that and making it beautiful again. 

"Restoration and preservation seems like such tedious work," Harry hums. 

He winces when he sees your jaw tic. He said the wrong thing. Fuck. Tedious wasn't the word he wanted to use. He'd meant labor intensive and exhausting with having so many hours spent over such detailed pieces. 

But he feels out of his element, trying to appear in control of the conversation. But the way your eyes dig into him has him feeling exposed. 

You don't even lower your camera when you reply. 

"No more tedious than telling rich people how to spend their money." 

That's an arrow to the gut. Despite being good at his job there is always the lingering thought that what he does is frivolous. That all the money in the world can't make him a good person. 

He can change his legs, his clothes, his home, but at the end of the day he's still that awkward boy overhearing his girlfriend saying she put up with him.

You put him back there, back to the party that smelled of stale beer and hairspray. The night his life changed, where he changed, where he saw the ugliness in perfection. 

And for that, he immediately dislikes you. 

He frowns, irritated by this serious woman behind the desk and the way she turns her attention back to the portrait, as if he's nothing, as if he's not even good enough to glance at. 

You want him gone. He wants to be gone. 

"I'm ready," Gemma announces with a flustered laugh, coming around the corner in her flouncy dress. You and Harry exhale in relief. 

"Great," Harry says extending an elbow. He can't wait to escape this suffocating space. 

He can't wait to be away from you

Your apartment is on the smaller side, but it does its job. You make decent money. Not enough for some penthouse at the top of a skyscraper but it's got a cozy vibe, something that makes you feel settled. It's a third floor walk up and by the end of the day you're usually exhausted. 

Above everything, you love that it's yours. You picked the paint, the decor, the pillows. Every part of this space is you. 

Not him.

You toss your bag onto the hook by the door and start the toaster oven. You worked late and you have a real craving for that shitty lasagna from the supermarket that you grew up on. 

You grab it from the freezer, Popping ventilation holes into the plastic and pop it into the oven. As you set the timer and heat you laugh to yourself when you realize how different your meal is from Gemma's this evening. She's probably throwing back lobster and farm to table veal. 

With Harry.

What a stupid fucking name. 

You can't help but be annoyed by his presence today, but if you're honest your bad mood started this morning at work after receiving a text from an old friend. Well, not a friend deal, more and emotional vulture. 

I hope you're doing okay. 

Huh? 

I saw the pregnancy announcement on J's timeline. I'm so sorry hun xx

You hadn't even bothered writing back. 

Harry had just been an additional irritant. Bad place bad time. Reminding you of the lifestyle Jarrod always aspired to.  

You used to own a nice place outside Manhattan with your ex-husband Jarrod. A place with quiet neighbours and tall ceilings. A place that he furnished saying that he had an eye for home design. 

He made decent money, but it was never enough. You both worked and he loved to live lavishly. When he found out about your secret account that has been the beginning of the end. 

And the irony is his new wife doesn't even work. But she's young and shiny and maybe that's what he really wanted all along, he just wasn't honest about it. 

But if you're honest you were checked out that last year of your marriage. How could you forgive him after his reaction to-

The ding of the oven catches your attention. You go to pull out the lasagna, hissing when the lip of the grill catches your wrist and the entire container goes toppling over onto the floor. 

Sauce pools over the mushed meal of cheese and pasta. You swear, throwing the pan into the sink with a frustrated cry. 

Today fucking sucks. 

Dinner is delicious. Better than the last time Harry was here with Lucy. Or the time before with Bianca. Or the time before that with Gretchen. It's his favorite steak house and he always rents the back room out when he dines here. It's quieter that way, the service more dedicated. 

Harry watches his date delicately eating her salad. But his mind is still back in that gallery basement, back on the woman who irritated him. 

What was her problem?

Harry dabs at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. He speaks lightly, eyes down as he adjusts his cuff. 

"I'm glad we could do this again." 

"Me too." 

Gemma stares at him with the practised air of a woman that was born beautiful, who went to an Ivy League, who comes from money and expects the best. 

She's a good match. And he's so tired of looking. 

"Tell me more about your job," he insists after another sip of wine. 

"It's not very glamorous," she replies sweetly. Again that picture of demure innocence that's starting to grate on him. "Not like your job." 

"I assure you private equity is pretty dull." 

"I suppose it's similar to your job in that we both act as bridges between consumer and creator. But I've taken on some curating as well. That's my real passion. I love it because it's shaping what people experience when they walk into a gallery or museum."

"That doesn't sound boring."

Gemma looks delighted by that response, her eyes sweeping across his forearm, watching the gold ring he wears tapping against the glass. 

"I guess not. Right now I’m working on curating a show on post-war artists who were overshadowed in their time, mostly women and artists of colour. It's the new piece my co-worker is photographing. She'll be busy pouring over that for the next few months." 

Harry nods, not particularly interested in hearing more about you. But Gemma is on a roll, comfortable with the topic of you since nothing else is coming to mind.

“I'm worked about the funding though,” she says, delicately spearing a piece of endive, “my co-worker says not to worry about it, but I can’t help it. I’m a worrier.”

Harry nods, smiling with practised warmth. The kind of smile reserved for clients and vaguely familiar faces at weddings. 

“Your co-worker seems…” he lets it drift, then adds almost idly, “focused.”

Gemma nods, chewing quietly. “She is. Especially when a new piece comes in. She’s been handling a lot lately. We lost funding for her assistant, so she’s doing everything herself.”

“That sounds unsustainable.”

“She doesn’t really complain,” Gemma says, smoothing her napkin. “But I think it’s been wearing on her. She hides it well.”

“She’s lucky to have you, then.”

Gemma smiles at that, pleased by the compliment, even if it’s only adjacent.

“She’d never say it, but I think she appreciates the support.”

Harry feigns a moment of thought, fingers absently trailing the stem of his wineglass. He can't agree. You seemed perfectly passionate enough to insult him the second after meeting him. 

“She was a bit aloof,” he murmurs. 

Gemma gives a small, quick laugh. “She’s not always like that. She’s very funny, very blunt. She just doesn’t warm up to people easily. Especially not people who act like...well....”

She catches herself and Harry lifts an eyebrow, amused. "Act like what?”

“Like they own the room.”

He smirks. “Guilty, I suppose.”

“No,” Gemma says quickly, almost apologetic. “Not you exactly. It's just, she’s careful with new people.”

Harry leans in slightly, voice low. “You two are close?”

Gemma lowers her eyes, just for a second. “We work well together. She’s so funny and so brilliant. And yeah, a little intense. But she makes the gallery better.”

He nods, slow and thoughtful. There’s something in the way Gemma speaks about you. Respect, yes, but also a sort of nervous admiration. He files that away.

“And she said not to worry?” he prompts gently, circling back.

“Mhm,” Gemma says, dabbing the corner of her mouth. “She always says that. About donors, pieces, my love life…” she trails off, laughing a little.

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t really believe in matchmaking,” Gemma adds. "Honestly, I don't think she believes in romance anymore full stop. But she told me that worrying will just make it worse and that I should enjoy the ride." 

That doesn't surprise Harry in the least. The scraps of information presented to him about you paint the picture of a woman invested in her work. He saw no wedding ring and judging by the late hour he came to retrieve Gemma and you working away, he can only surmise that you likely don't have a partner waiting at home. 

"But I worry about her sometimes. She hasn't dated anyone since her divorce and it's like she's given up." 

Harry lifts his glass, his voice flat. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Gemma says, gently setting hers down. “I worry that she doesn’t believe in love anymore. I mean she told me as much. Since her divorce, it’s all been very cynical.”

That catches. Just for a second. Something shifts behind Harry’s expression. It's something small, almost imperceptible. But Gemma, watching, mistakes it for amusement.

“She calls dating a mutual performance of delusion,’” she adds with a grin, hoping he’ll laugh.

He doesn’t. Not really. He smiles, but it’s distant. His fingers are lightly tapping the base of his wine glass. “She said that?”

“Mhm.”

“And what do you think?”

Gemma blinks, caught off-guard. “I think she’s been hurt. And when people get hurt badly enough, they try to feel superior to what they’ve lost.”

Harry nods, but he’s not really nodding. His mind’s moved. You’re in it again, your sharp voice, the disinterest that wasn’t just rudeness, but something colder. Something he recognizes in himself under all the pretense. 

“Interesting,” he murmurs.

Gemma brightens slightly, mistaking it for approval of her. “But I still believe in something lasting. I mean, why else go to all this trouble, right?”

He looks back at her, as though just now returning to the conversation.

“Right,” he says, softly.

As if just realizing they've devoted the last ten minutes of their date to talk about her co-worker, Gemma turns coy. 

"But enough about that. Tell me, what is your family like? You have a brother, any other siblings?"

Harry smiles again, this time slower. Something has become very clear to him and like anyone working in private equity he knows he needs to conduct a little due diligence before moving forward. 

"Everything was delicious, the most delicious steak I've ever eaten!" 

It’s three days later and Gemma is regaling you with her latest Harry saga and you're fighting to show even passive interest. The two of you are having coffee at the cafe across from the gallery, your favorite place to relax. 

"He kissed my hand. My hand! Like something out of a romance novel." 

"Cute." 

"And he was so sweet; he took me to Central Park and did the whole carriage ride thing." 

"Fun." 

"Didn't you think he was handsome?"

"Sure." 

You offer the odd word, knowing that she's barely even registered you're there. To her you're just a willing audience 

You barely registered the man if you're honest. He seemed haughty, walking around your workplace as if he owned it. 

"And he really knows his artwork," Gemma continues. "I didn't expect someone in finance to be so knowledgeable about more obscure artists."

"Mhm." 

You remember his tailored presence, the faint perfume of old money and self-assurance. The way he looked at you like not with interest, but a kind of calculation.

"He rented out the whole back of the restaurant. We had private servers, a special menu." She's practically floating. 

"So he's new money," you say acerbically. It comes out more bitter than anticipated. "Old money is quiet, new money is loud."

"For your information he is old money," she says giving you a pointed look. "His parents started the family firm."

"So he didn't even earn his money or position himself."

"Obviously there's no winning with you today. Why are you being so shitty about him?"Gemma asks, cheeks pinking in irritation. 

'I'm sorry," you answer, feeling embarrassed. "I've just never been really comfortable with people that have that kind of money. You are, you grew up like that and it's what you want in a partner."

Gemma is in a snit now. "So now I'm shallow?"

"Not at all," you insist truthfully. "If you were ugly, do you think Harry would have asked you for a second date?" 

She's quiet and blushing further. "No. I guess not." 

I nod. My point exactly. 

"You are just two people coming together who want something from the other. It's as pure and honest as any part of a functional relationship."

The two of you are quiet, fingers tracing the lip of the plate from the scone the two of you shared.

"Well, I hope we go out again," Gemma says with a bright look. "I mean, if I'm honest, I didn't feel a huge connection, but he's so good on paper. Handsome, rich, tall, charming." 

"But do you actually enjoy his company?"

Gemma looks at you as if you've sprouted a second head. "What does that have to do with anything?" 

"Gemma," you admonish, "you're always telling me about how you want to find love and be swept off your feet." 

"I do," she insists, "I just think we have a choice in who we love and my choice should take certain things like looks and money into account. I’m thirty, I want kids, and I want stability." 

You want to tell Gemma that she’s capable of having all of those things on her own if she really wants. But you know that it’s not just that. She wants the cache of a partner up the social ladder.

“Well, then I hope this works out for you,” you say sincerely. “And if not, trying to find someone who knows about art preservation.”

By the time you reach your apartment your stomach is rumbling. You skipped lunch to work on some of the finer detailing on the portrait.  You think of the all night deli across the corner and its beckoning croissant sandwiches and make your decision quickly. You throw your sketchbook into your bag. 

The night is chilly and you pull your jacket to your chin. In true New York fashion you don't smile at anyone, you keep your head down; you ignore the fact that you're still upset about the memory of Jarrod.  

You duck into the deli, cheeks and nose chilled. The place isn't busy, not at this hour. A few night owls linger at some of the tables, tapping away on their laptops, a tired man behind the counter raising a nod your way over their phone. 

"A number two and a coffee."

You take a number and a seat, bringing out your sketchbook as you wait. The music playing is rhythmic, quiet, but relaxing. You should thank the serious looking man behind the counter for his choice in tunes. 

The door opens behind you as you debate the menu. You've been curious to try the avocado turkey on rye. 

"Number two," you tell the man with confidence. "And a coke. Thanks." 

"That’ll be $8.66."

You reach into your pocket for your wallet but an arm has come around you to place a fifty on the counter. 

"I've got it." 

The man at the till takes it without question but you whip around, shocked at the random act of kindness. Familiar brown eyes swim into view and your surprise turns to irritation. 

"You."

Harry gives you a dimpled smile. "Good Evening.”

The man at the till tries to give Harry his change but he just shakes his head, a light lift of his hand and the man pockets his large tip. You know you're scowling at this pathetic display of charitable giving. It's easy to give away money when you have so much of it. 

"I can afford my own dinner."

"I know," Harry says.

You think about paying the amount you were going to, but the man at the till is heading over to another customer to answer a question. Harry continues standing there looking at you with interest. That same calculating look you've seen in him before. 

Fine. If this idiot wants to pay for your sandwich you'll let him, considering his appearance has now dampened your mood. 

"Thanks," you mutter his way, taking a table number and slinking away into a nearby booth.

You open your sketchbook, dutifully ignoring the annoying Harry still at the counter, speaking with the man behind the till.  

You're shocked when you hear the guy laugh, a low chuckle. You've been coming to this deli for months and you've never seen the guy crack a smile, let alone laugh. 

Probably hoping for another big tip. 

You hold in an eye roll and begin to sketch lightly. Your mind is driven to darkness today. Black spiky limbs reaching for the sky. 

A can of soda is placed on the table by your elbow, accompanied by a low voice.

"Forgot this."

Fuck. You sigh lightly before taking the can from him, murmuring your thanks. When he lingers, watching you pop the tab you attempt to be cordial. This is Gemma's potential boyfriend after all. 

"This doesn't really seem like your scene."

You're not looking at him when you speak. You're taking a sip of the fizzy drink, nose wrinkling a moment when the carbonation tickles your nose. 

Harry stands next to the booth like an awkward waiter, holding an espresso on a saucer. He's dressed in slacks and a charcoal sweater, a tweed jacket over top. He went to an effort, not that you’d know because you're still not looking at him. 

"I like sandwiches as much as the next guy." 

What he doesn't tell you is that his driver was pulling up to your apartment building when he saw you exit, looking agitated. When you walked into the deli he thought it was a perfect excuse. Much better than his original idea of just showing up at your home with a proposition. 

"Okay."

Harry looks amused, not offended by your cold reception. He was ready for it He watches you go back to your sketching, letting the moment stretch. You don't seem to be upset by his presence. 

The sandwiches arrive, both placed unceremoniously onto the perpetually stained tabletop. Harry motions to the chair opposite you at the table. 

"May I sit?"

You raise your head from your sketches, casting an eye around the fairly empty deli. "There are lots of open tables."

Harry looks amused, not offended by your cold reception. Almost like he was ready for it. "It's not a matter of space, more the company." 

He watches you wrestle with this before lifting one arm in a casual shrug.  

"Knock yourself out."

He suppresses a grin, sliding into the booth opposite you. He can't remember the last time - if ever - he was in a tiny eatery like this with its cheap menus and yellowed floors. 

He watches you take a bite of the sandwich in one hand, the other still furiously sketching away. He watches you for several moments and eventually you feel those big brown eyes on your face and you glance up to see his sandwich untouched. Why is he here?

Harry glances down at the greasy sandwich, hiding a sneer. He wouldn't feed this to his worst enemy. 

"Do you need something?"

You're looking at him with anticipation, as if you're scared of what he might say. 

"I wanted to know if you'd be interested in an exchange of services," he says coolly. "A barter." 

This is how he is in the boardroom; this is how he commands the people he works with. Blunt, forward, confident, charming when he needs to be, but ruthless he just as easily. 

The pencil stills on the page, your nose wrinkling. "With you?"

"Mhm."

He watches the way you blink at him, head tilting slightly. 

"I don't need financial advice and according to Gemma you could buy out the entire gallery, so I don't really get what you want from me."

You feel strangely trapped by him here in the booth. You could slide out and run but would you make it? As if sensing your unease, Harry shakes his head slowly. Fingers lifting from the table briefly.  "You don't have to say yes." 

"I probably won't."

He smothers a chuckle. Gemma was right, you are blunt and you are funny.

"My mother wants me to marry," Harry tells you. "The sooner the better."

"And you're a Mama's boy?" 

He smirks. "Maybe a little." 

"Gross." 

You lean back to take a sip of coffee, eyes peering at him over the rim. "I thought you had a matchmaker?"

He shifts in his chair. "I do." 

"So then why are you here talking to me?"

The eraser of your pencil taps on your sketchbook, tap tap tap. Harry shuffles, one arm over the back of his chair affecting casual interest. 

"Because I want to hire you. I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend for the next several months because I believe it would be mutually beneficial to us both." Harry takes a sip of his espresso now, secretly amused when you drop the pencil.

"Excuse me?" You blink rapidly, lashes fluttering. "What the fuck are you talking about? You're dating Gemma."

"I went on two dates with her."

"She likes you."

"She likes my status, not that I begrudge her for it. But after two dates it’s clear that she wants a husband who will cherish her, who’s every waking thought will be about her. That's not me."

You're quiet because you know he's right. As much as Gemma liked his money, the things she liked most about her dates with Harry was the places he took her, the romance. How he held her hand on the carriage ride, how he listened about her job. Little, beautiful moments. 

Harry takes advantage of your stunned response. "Gemma is a lovely girl, but not a good match for what I need."

"And you think I'm what you need? I don't even like you." 

You stare at this man with his expensive watch and clothes and haircut. He even smells expensive. 

"You're intelligent, confident, attractive," Harry lists these things not with the affection of a lover, but an appraiser at an auction. 

"So is Gemma."

"Yes, but she's also looking for a true relationship, for love. And I can't give that to her."

"Why not?"

"I don't think I'm capable of it." He regards you with a tilt of his head. "I'm selfish, I like my job, I enjoy my own company, I'm driven and I'm not very romantic."

"You're very honest," you say, almost impressed. Almost. 

"I find it saves time to be direct." 

He watches your eyes survey him, appraising him like you would a piece of artwork needing to be restored.  

"Gemma said you took her to dinner at Mastros. Then to central Park for a horse drawn carriage ride." 

"I did."

"And that didn't seem romantic to you?"

"I know it was romantic," he replies. 

"Then why do you say you're not romantic?"

Harry leans back in the booth, drink forgotten. He points at your open sketchbook. "You know how to draw. Are you DaVinci?"

"Obviously not. No." 

"No," Harry agrees with a nod. "But you know enough about art from study. You know proportions without thinking about it. If someone random asked you to draw them a cow you could do it."

"Sure."

"It would mean nothing to you, but it would look like a nice image of a cow at the end. The person would walk away happy with their picture. But you wouldn’t feel attached to the sketch nor the process. It’s no different than how I approach romance. I know what it looks like, I’m happy to give it.”

You fall quiet, arms crossing. You've never thought about romance like that. So route. 

"I've already spoken to Natalia at Adore," Harry continues. "She's setting Gemma up with two of my friends I talked into joining. They're younger and richer and hopeless romantics. Gemma will be just fine." 

You don't know how you feel about that, the way he speaks about it makes it feel like something akin to prostitution. 

"She wants romance and love along with status," Harry reminds you. "Both of those men fit the bill and either one of them would die to date a woman like her." 

"But not you." 

"No. Not me." 

The eraser of your pencil taps on your sketchbook, tap tap tap. "What's in it for me?" 

"You'd be paid very well." 

He sees the hesitation in you now. The way your eyes jerk to the side as you digest his offer. 

"How well?"

Harry takes a piece of paper folded from his pocket. He came prepared. He slides it across the table, biting back a grin when your eyes bulge open. 

"You're not serious." 

"I am." 

Anyone else would have used computer paper, but not Harry Castillo. He used heavy card stock; the amount written in thick black ink with what you're sure was a fountain pen.

"How long would this charade go on for?"

"Six months." 

"Six entire months?" You make a disgusted face. "No. No chance."

You go back to your sketching, the subject clearly closed for you. You toss the piece of paper towards him, forgotten so easily. Harry sucks in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. Rejection always stings. 

"I'll double it." 

Your eyes rise up to his. "What?"

"The amount on that paper. I'll double it." 

Harry watches the way your eyes round, lips parting. He can't deny he enjoys shocking you. He watches you slump into the booth, your eyes darting back and forth between the table and the amount on the page.

"There must be other women you could ask." 

"None that don't want love or commitment."' Harry takes another sip of his espresso before it clinks back into place on the small saucer. "Gemma told me your views on romance and that's when I knew this would work." 

You sit for several moments debating the exorbitant sum on the paper and the year of your life you won't get back. But this kind of money is life changing. 

You look at Harry, really looking at him. "Don't you want to find a girlfriend? A real one?"

"I thought I did," Harry shrugs. "I attempted it. But I don't think it's something I really need. And from what I gather, that isn't what you desire either." 

He's right. But still you hesitate, fingering the thick paper.This could be a lucrative venture couldn't it? A chance to erase debt and start a life you've only dreamt about? And it's only a year. A year could go by fast. 

But a year of secrecy, of false affection. 

"Are we... Are we allowed to find company outside the fake relationship?" 

He raises a brow. "Company?"

"Sex," you state flatly. "Unless you think this amount means I'll be your personal concubine?"

It's almost endearing watching his cheeks flush. "I don't need to pay for sex." 

"Just for a fake girlfriend." 

You watch the twitch at the corner of his mouth, a smirk. Touche. 

"Sex is not required, of course. I would only request that company outside our arrangement be as discreet as possible." 

"That seems fair." 

Harry raises a brow, intrigued. "So you're agreeing?"

"I'm thinking about it." 

Harry nods, standing and buttoning his dark blazer. You have a lot to think about and he doesn't want to rush you. He needs commitment not a lukewarm agreement. He slides over his business card. 

"My number is on the back. I'll wait for your decision, whatever it may be." 

He sticks his hand out like it's a business deal and you take it with a little smile, amused. You shake briefly and he stands the purpose of this meeting over. He gives you a dimpled smile.

 “I hope to hear from you soon.”

He knows he will.

[shadowuponstorm]

He is Nothing Like You

Tim and Reader have been secretly married for three years, which has done them good, considering the risks of Tim's occupation. One day, while Tim was on shift, he never expected his secrets to start ripping at the seams and spill onto the floor.

MDNI 18+ since it involves sexual activities! I might do a second part

"I've been meaning to ask you, what's the ring around your neck?" Lucy asks, trying to break the silence in the shop.

"Not that it's any of your business, but it's just a ring to me, no specific meaning," Tim responds while silently praying Lucy would end the conversation there, "Also it's safer if it's around my neck than on my finger."

"Grey wears his wedding band, and you don't see him having any trouble with it," Lucy mentions as Tim chuckles and reminds her that Luna would kill him if he ever took his ring off.

"Just let it go and focus on other important things, like that carjacker right there," Tim said, causing Lucy to jerk her attention back in front of her as he stopped the shop and the both of them get to work.

Once the carjacker was booked and processed, Tim and Lucy were on their way to get back on the road when Grey stopped them with a, "Bradford, my office real quick."

Lucy asks, "What is that all about?" Tim responds, "I don't know, just wait by the shop. I'll be there when I'm finished."

Tim enters Grey's office to see his wife, Y/N, sitting in one of the chairs. "She doesn't look pleased about something," Tim thought to himself before Grey excused himself to let the couple talk privately.

-Y/N's POV-

"Is everything okay?" Tim asked me while I got up from the seat to stand in front of him before I ask him, "Do you remember telling me when we first started dating that your dad died?"

Tim gulps before clearing his throat and answered, "Yes, why are you bringing that up?"

"I was cleaning the house up when the phone rang. It was a hospice nurse calling for you because Tom Bradford was asking for you," I responded before continuing, “Thinking it was the wrong number, I called Genny to ask her what was happening. She told me I needed to have that conversation with you."

Before Tim could answer me, Grey popped his head in to remind Tim about an old case regarding a family friend, Monica Ochoa.

"Do you need to go? I'm not mad. I'm just so confused," I said before Tim turned his head towards Grey and told him he was still on it before turning his attention back to me.

"I'll explain it later, I promise," Tim responds before I nod. Understanding his tone's urgency, I told him I'd be waiting with Kojo at home.

Hours passed before I heard the doorknob jiggle; Kojo had heard it since he had jumped off the couch to run to the door and greet Tim.

"Hey bud," I hear Tim say as his footsteps start toward the living room, bringing him into view.

"Hi," I say as Tim takes a seat next to me before he takes my hands in his.

"I haven't been honest with you about everything, and I am truly sorry. It wasn't fair of me to let you get whiplash from finding out I lied about my dad being dead," Tim responds as I notice tears brimming in his eyes, making me take my hands back and put one of them on his cheek, running my thumb along the bone.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I meant what I said. I'm not mad at you," I whisper, reassuring him before he sighs and responds, "I know, but it still wasn't right of me. So, I want to tell you everything."

"Okay," I say as Tim clears his throat to mention, "The reason I told you he was dead is because he's dead to me. He was abusive. To me and Genny, mostly me."

Before I can ask, he says, "When I was 7, he smashed my head into a wall. Another time, he left me at Griffith Park with only a compass to find my way home, said it's supposed to turn me into a man."

"Tim," I croak out before tears started to fall down my cheeks, "Now I feel bad that you had to reopen those wounds."

"No, no, don't you dare blame yourself," Tim said as he wiped the tears before continuing, "I should've been honest from the get-go, but instead, I wanted to keep that part of my past secret to spare you from the pain. And it was about time I told you since I have to see him."

"You don't need to see him if you don't want to. Don't let this hospice situation guilt you," I respond before Tim shook his head and told me it had to do with the Ochoa case.

"I think he had something to do with it; now I have to face him," Tim says, looking like the little boy who just wanted his dad's love, which prompts me to ask, "Want me to come with you?"

"No, you don't have to. I wouldn't force you," Tim started to say before I cut him off, "I want to. You're my husband, and my vows stated that I will be by your side for every obstacle in your path."

"Okay," Tim whispered as the both of us exited the house hand in hand, preparing to battle this demon together.

We arrived at the facility and entered the room to see my father-in-law lying in his hospital bed.

"Oh, man. Never thought I'd see your face again. Genny tell you to visit?" Tom says as I squeeze Tim's hand harder in comfort.

"Wow, liver really did a number on you, old man," Tim responds before Tom tells him he doesn't have it so bad.

"Nurses here all love me. It's just no one will bring me that shot of Patron I keep asking for," Tom says as he jesters toward the apple juice, saying it's a joke.

"A cruel joke if you ask me," I thought before glancing at Tim's face to see he thinks the same.

"You always seem to have someone looking after you, even when you don't deserve it," Tim responds, squeezing back my hand.

"Something on your mind, son?" Tom asked, clearly wanting this to be done and over with.

"Remember Frank Ochoa? Lived down the street. Shot to death 25 years ago. Well, I'm sure you remember his wife, Monica," Tim responds.

"Can't say I do," Tom deflects, obvious sign that he does remember.

"Come on. You were sleeping with her behind Mom's back," Tim says, making Tom laugh, and he asks where he got that from. Tim mentions that he saw the two of them together when he was 13.

"Oh, crap," Tom says before Tim continues, "For some reason that I still don't understand, I lied for you, lied to Mom."

"Poor little Tim-Tim," Tom degrades before spouting out, "What are you bitching about? You kept your mouth shut. You did good. Now get over it."

I feel my blood start to boil in anger at the audacity, the disrespect this son of a bitch in front of me had for the man I plan to spend forever with and have children with, but I keep quiet because he seems to not care about my presence.

"You know, I found the gun that you hid in the wall. I know you killed Frank. But why'd you do it? You wanted Monica all to yourself?" Tim asked before continuing, "Ruining one family wasn't just enough for you, was it?"

Tom takes his cannula out before getting off the bed and walking towards us. "And so what if I did?" What are you gonna do about it?"

"Get back in bed," Tim grits out as he moves me to stand more behind him for safety reasons, prompting Tom to challenge him with a "Make me."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You're right. I killed Frank. But he had it coming. So screw him, and screw you," Tom says before telling Tim to put the cuffs on him and drag him away from his deathbed like a big man.

"This isn't over," Tim responds as he grabs my hand again, and we both leave Tom's room.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have heard all of that," Tim whispers before entering the truck, "I have to get to the station and type up that report. I'll drop you off at home before I do."

"No, take me with you, it would save gas," I said as I explained to Tim it wouldn't make sense to do that.

After arriving at the station, Tim heads to one of the computers while I follow him. I glance over to see his rookie, Lucy, walking over.

"My dad confessed to Frank Ochoa's murder. I'm typing up the report," Tim tells Lucy as she looks at me before gesturing there were ears listening, "She's my wife, she knows."

"Wait, wife?! As in ring on the finger?" Lucy asked in shock as I raised my left hand to show her my wedding band, "We'll get to that later, but Tim, while you were gone, I brought Monica Ochoa back in."

"Why?" Tim asks as Lucy explains, "Because I knew there was more to her story. You couldn't see past the version that you wanted to see."

"What'd she say?" Tim asks again, before Lucy tells him what was confessed.

The look on Tim's face tells me we're going straight back to that hospice facility. We walk back into the room and see Tom snoring in the chair, so Tim places the shot glass and pours Patron before placing the bottle on the table, waking Tom up.

"You brought me a present?" Tom asks before Tim tells him to think of it as a push.

"You didn't kill Frank," Tim says as Tom repeats that he did and tells Tim to cuff him, "Monica confessed."

"Leave her out of this," Tom responds.

"Frank was beating her. She fought back. She shot him. She was terrified, so she ran to you. You came up with the burglary story, helped her stage the house, then you hid the gun in case the cops got too close and you needed to frame someone else," Tim says.

"He was a brutal, abusive bastard. She deserves a medal for what she did," Tom responds, making me and Tim look at him in shock.

"He was an abusive bastard?" Tim asked, testing Tom for what came out of his mouth.

Feigning confusion that was fake, Tom asked if he was like him, which prompted him to say he was nothing like Frank.

"I taught you what you needed to know, son. You're a man now because of me," Tom says before I finally let my voice be heard.

"No, absolutely not. You are not getting credit for how Tim turned out," I gritted through my teeth as Tom looked at me with disdain before asking me who I was, "I happen to be the woman your son is going to spend the rest of his life with. I'll be damned if I stand by and let his piece of shit father try to take what's rightfully his credit. You deserve nothing of the sort, he's nothing like you and he will never be like you."

"Tim, you're going to let your wife speak to me this way?" Tom asked before Tim scoffed and responds, "She's right. I'm who I am in spite of you."

As Tom sits there stunned, Tim says, "Goodbye, Dad. I hope it hurts."

We left the facility without looking back, and after we arrived home, I suddenly felt my body being moved to where my back faced the door and I craned my neck up to look into Tim's eyes.

"Thank you," Tim whispers as I look at him in confusion, "Thank you for being by my side for that. I know it wasn't easy, but you were right. I needed you there with me."

"You don't have to thank me for that, I will always be there for you," I say before Tim smiles and leans down to kiss me.

After kissing for what felt like minutes, Tim moves his mouth to be near my ear and he whispers, "I'm also really turned on by you defending me."

I laugh before asking, "Oh are you? What are you going to do about it?"

I feel Tim's hands move down to my ass before I squeak out in surprise as he hoists me up, causing me to wrap my legs around his waist and feel the outline of his dick through his jean.

"I think I'm going to give my beautiful wife a thank-you gift," Tim whispers before moving towards our bedroom and putting me down on the bed.

"Tim, you don't have to," I started to protest before he cuts me off, "Just let me do it, you deserve it."

My attention gets grabbed while I watch his hands curl around the collar of his shirt before he pulls it up off his body, which, I feel myself start to drool over my husband's abs. His hands then moved to his belt to unbuckle it before he walk up to me and get down on his knees so he can be on the same level as me. Tim pulls me into another kiss, one more passionate than the last, as I feel his hands unbutton my jeans before he pulls the materials down to my ankles to take them off, leaving me in my black panties. He then positions my body to lean back against the pillows before he moves himself to be above me, Tim asks, "Is this okay?"

Not trusting my voice, I nodded my head before Tim's fingers curled around the sides of the panties as he started pulling them down. He groans out in pleasure as he changes his position, his shoulders in between my thighs, keeping my legs where he wants them to be, his hands near the area I yearn for him to pay attention to. I shivered when I felt his breath before he placed his mouth on me, causing me to let out a shuttered moan. When I felt myself getting close, Tim pulled away, causing me to groan out in frustration, making him laugh.

"The only way you're cumming is around my dick," Tim whispered in my ear as he gets himself out of his pants and boxers while he pushes my shirt up to above my chest, showing the matching black bra.

The both of us let out a groan as Tim enters me and starts to thrust, his dick hitting all the right places. After minutes passed, the both of us came and Tim's body moves to his side of the bed as I tell him that was a great gift, making him he let out a soft laugh.

"Glad to be of service," Tim says getting out of bed and putting on clean boxers and pajama pants before he goes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean me up.

After Tim cleaned me up and helped me get dressed, he got back into the bed to pull me into him so we can cuddle.

"Tim?" I said after a moment of silence, causing him to say, "Yeah?"

"I have something for you," I respond before reaching over into my nightstand and pulling out a small box, "I was going to give you this later, but now feels right."

Tim opens the box and pulls out a onesie that says, "My daddy will arrest you if you mess with me."

"Babe, this is perfect for our future baby," Tim responds before he felt his voice stop short when he sees what else is in the box, reaching in to pull out the pregnancy test, "Are you really?"

"Yes, I found out two weeks ago, you're going to be a dad, Tim," I said as Tim pulled me into a tight embrace before kissing the top of my head, "And you're going to be the best dad, I just know it."

"I love you so much," Tim whispers before pulling me into the most loving kiss a girl could ask for.

Tim may have had the worst pick in the dad potluck, but no doubt in my mind he will never treat our children the way Tom treated him and Genny.

[aylinaliens]

langdon and mel already do so many couple-y things that when langdon tries to properly ask mel on a date she doesn’t think it’s a DATE-date

an undetermined time in canon langdon is divorced from abby. it takes them awhile to decide if they want to separate but they eventually do. mel has been a solid friend throughout the whole process you know the whole yadda yadda thing

for the past how many months maybe years, the lines between langdon & mel are fully blurred. they crash at each others places so often they each have multiple drawers in each others houses. their fridges are stocked with the others favorite coffee creamer and yogurt flavor. they go for long walks in the park and explore new & exciting things about this city they call home.

for all intents and purposes they are full on in an emotional relationship without the physical aspect although they have came close a few times

mel is so used to grabbing a meal after her shift with langdon that when he walks in one day while she’s picking debris from a fifteen year old aspiring BMX driver and asks mel if she’ll go out with him, if she doesn’t have any plans how about they check out this new italian place that opened up near becca’s center

mel spares it no extra thought & tells langdon that of course :) she would love to go out with him :) italian sounds nice :) she loves breadsticks and chicken carbonara :)

it’s obviously not a date-date but mel’s patient—lucy, a self-proclaimed daredevil with a clumsy streak—is like looking at the nurse assisting dr. king like 👀 and mateo is like 👀 but mel is too happy picking out the gravel from lucy’s forearm gash and asking her about BMXing that she doesn’t even notice anything amiss

and because langdon is no different from an untrainable husky he’s literally the most INSUFFERABLE guy ever. like he’s going around the er bouncing off the walls so erratically that robby gave him a random drug test because langdon is crashing out big time. all he tells anyone who asks what has him shitting and pissing rainbows is that he has a date…a man is allowed to be in a good mood that he’s going on a date later that night with a women he loves... it takes them .5 seconds to know who he’s going on a date with

mel is her normal self? definitely not acting any different than she typically does any other day???? she declines mohan & santos & whitaker’s offer for drinks after their shifts because she’s going out to dinner with dr. langdon though so it’s 100% confirmed what everyone already knew

perlah & princess are having a field day with the gossip. mckay is 60 dollars richer because she accurately guessed what month the pair of them will officially get together, collins is 80 dollars richer because she was the one who guessed langdon would be the one asking her on a real date first

langdon is being extra smiley with mel…like that man wags his metaphorical tail every time she graces his presence

flash forward to the end of the shift, mel takes the bus home since langdon has to stay a little later and she would like to take a shower before they go out anyways. that works for langdon since he wants to get ready too

since it’s a nice italian place with no prices on the menu (langdon had sent her the menu beforehand, like ten whole minutes after she told him yes) so mel puts on a nice dress, leaves her hair mostly down & natural, and throws on some minimal makeup

langdon is all 🧿👄🧿 when mel opens the door

the two end up going to the restaurant and that’s when mel finds out he had a reservation??? that this place is notoriously hard to get into???? and that he went out of his way to request a table that was on the terrace because it’s more secluded and less stuffy than inside was, which mel appreciates because she would not be able to relax for one second if she was inside

they spend the not-date talking about work and becca and his kids that mel adores and langdon reaches for her hand which isn’t…weird? like…he held her hand as they walked inside the restaurant.

except he’s also saying a lot of leading things that sounds like someone would say on a date but it’s ridiculous because mel and frank are nothing more than best friend? her crush torpedoed soon after he came back from rehab but he has not shown or vocalized that he views mel in a romantic light.

the not-date goes well and then they head off to the park for a walk because langdon said he didn’t want this night to end just yet 🥺

and okay mel has had boyfriends in the past. she might lag behind on cues sometimes but she’s semi-confident when it comes figuring out is someone is attracted to her. the probably with frank langdon is that he has ALWAYS acted this particular way toward her, always looked at her with those striking blue eyes like she was something worthy to stare, the only difference is that in the past few months he’s been more touchy. how would she notice anything was up this time around???

she spends the whole walk analyzing…wait…this is a legitimate date, isn’t it? she didn’t realize it because the two of them do this all! the! time! the restaurant was more pricy and fancy than their usual spots but they have definitely went out for dinner and took strolls through the park

it’s not langdon walks mel to her door and kisses her cheek, telling her he’ll see her tomorrow, that she’s just like ?????? that’s it??? ‘you walked me to my door…are you not going to kiss me goodnight 🤨’

langdon the poor sap does not have to be told twice no sir he thoroughly kisses her goodnight until she tugs him inside because now that they are on the same wavelength she wants to ‘climb him like a tree’ (javadi had said this about mateo one night when she was drunk…weird visual…but it definitely applies in this situation mel does in fact want to do that!!! and more!!!!)

anyways, he finds out many months later that mel didn’t realize their first date was their first date…she can’t be blamed for that considering they went on many non-dates for a solid two years before he officially ‘asked her out’. it’s not her fault she didn’t realize the difference :)

[simplyhale]

bed chem t.b. (18+)

tim bradford x fem! reader

summary; the anniversary of tim's divorce didn't have him in the happiest of moods, that was until he laid his eyes on you across the bar. who knew the two of you could have great bed chem?

notes; dividers are by @uzmacchiato l this is an amazing collab that i was able to do with the lovely @sleepymissy ! she had gotten a few asks about doing tim one-shots inspired by sabrina's short and sweet album and asked if i wanted to collab on one where i wrote the fluff and she did the smut. thus is how bed chem happened ! it has been an absolute blast and it turned out pretty cute if i don't say so myself. missy kept the smutt very normal and sweet so no crazy warnings besides the normal, wrap it before you tap it, divorce grump! tim, swearing, flirting, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, cowgirl, missionary and who knows if yall really enjoy this then we might do another?

words; 4771

“who’s the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and the big bad mm?”

— 𝜗𝜚 * ｡⋆ ˖.

Tim Bradford isn’t an easy man to cheer up. 

Most know by now just to not bother him, allowing Tim to take it into his own hands with how he’s always done it; getting over it by not caring about it, or pushing it to the deepest part of himself possible. 

And in almost every case, it was the latter. 

But now, there is currently a third option that is making its way to him.

Lately, Lucy and Angela had been noticing Tim’s extra grumpiness, and after much going back and forth - and the fact that Nyla had searched it up - they came to the conclusion that it was the year anniversary of his divorce getting finalized. 

So, the two rounded up anyone they could and decided that what Tim needed was a night out at the bar.

Lucy is starting to worry that this actually is a bad idea. 

Maybe he isn’t ready yet, maybe he doesn’t like all the new attention either- Tim never truly likes a lot of attention on him, but damn, he’s especially quiet tonight. 

“Do you think he hates this?” 

Bailey, Angela, and Nyla heads turn to where Lucy’s big worried eyes are looking- a small seat away is Tim nursing a mid-strength beer in front of him, people-watching, of course.

“He seems like his normal self,” Angela waves her hand as she takes a sip of her drink. 

“He’s been on the same beer for the past thirty minutes.” Lucy tries to clarify, only to huff when Nyla just shrugs her shoulders, clearly not thinking too much into it. 

Bailey places her hand onto Lucy's shoulder, “If you’re worried about him then go ask him. If he wants to leave then let him. Don’t overthink it.” She explains, a reassuring smile planted on her face before she goes over to where both John and Wesley are throwing darts.

Picking up her drink, Lucy takes a long sip out of it, trying to buy enough time to fully work herself up before poking the bear.

“Hey Tim!” She slides into the empty seat next to him, not even getting a glance. “Look, if you aren’t having a good time you can leave. I- well, me and Angela…no, I roped her into this.” She shakes her head. “What I mean is we all know what today is, and just thought that maybe you would want a night out…” She draws out her last word at the realization that he isn’t paying any type of attention. Her words quite literally are going through one ear and out the other.

Following where he is currently staring is a duo on the other side of the bar, glancing back at him to see that he’s mindlessly tapping the bartop—keeping his eyes steady on you. 

She knows it’s you because when you take down your hair, slipping the black hair tie around your wrist, he stops tapping the bar and hitches his breath—almost as if he’s putting all his concentration onto you and you alone.

“Or…is it because you want to leave the bar with the hottie in the sheer dress?”

“What?” His head practically snaps towards her at the mere mention of you, the tips of his ear starting to redden.

Lucy presses her lips together, trying and failing at hiding her smile, excited to see she was wrong and he is actually moving on. “Why don’t you go and talk to her? Maybe give her your number and see what happens?”

Tim thinks about her words, looking back over to where you’re now laughing at something your friend had told you, now secretly hoping that it’s him making you laugh just to see you smile like that again; the type that reaches the corner of your eyes. 

But…maybe he doesn’t deserve to hear your laugh, to be the reason for your wide smile. Maybe he actually isn’t supposed to move on now. He could now go at least a few months without thinking about his failed attempt at a marriage, but with that crash and burn of a relationship what’s to say that his next one wouldn’t end up the same way? 

The only question is…how long would it take before it would happen? 

He couldn’t do that to you- bring you into a cluster fuck you never even knew had happened to begin with.

“I’m gonna give her your number!” This sentence, plus the sight of Lucy hopping off the stool and strolling towards you, nearly sends Tim into cardiac arrest. 

“Don’t you da—” 

Though it’s too late, because Lucy is long gone, and she watches your friend lean in towards you before walking off in the direction of the bathrooms. 

Now’s her moment to play matchmaker. 

Smiling sweetly as she takes your friend's place, earning back from you as you tilt your head curiously towards her. “Uhm, hi! My friend over there was too nervous to actually come up and talk to you. So here I am!”

You slowly turn your gaze to a very flushed Tim, who is giving a panic death glare mix towards Lucy. But, once he realises your eyes have landed on him, he smiles like an idiot, giving a small nod. 

He quickly knits his brows together, why did he do that? 

You chuckle lightly, quickly scrunching up your nose before turning your attention back to Lucy who is, once again, failing at hiding her excitement. “And I take it that you want me to write down my number?”

She nods her head, shifting her weight onto her other leg, “Yes — if you’re okay with that. I can promise you that he isn’t a creep. He's more like a…big softie.”

You laugh at her words, staring at her for a moment. 

You can’t explain why you know to trust her, but you feel deep in your bones that she’s right. No red flag is being shown to you at this moment.

Besides, if anything bad were to happen, you’ll just block him and be done with it.

Reaching over the bar, you take one of the white paper napkins along with a discarded pen, writing your name down followed by your number. 

Once you finish the small love heart written next to the last digit, you hand it to Lucy and watch as she practically skips back towards Tim's direction. 

Dropping the pen back behind the bar, you fiddle with your neck lace, awaiting for your friend to come back. 

That’s when your phone buzzes, face down on the counter top. 

You halt, somewhat hoping it’s the guy that you’ve just given your number to. 

Only, you’re met with disappointment when you realise it’s your friend. 

BESTIE <3

hey girl! so sorry to cut our night short but i’m gonna head home just got a bad wave of cramps :(

You respond to her, telling her to let you know when she made it home.

Wait, a minute-

Why are you so disappointed it isn’t the random man you haven’t even said a single word to?

Placing your phone back onto the counter face down - the photo of your cat shining through your clear case - you begin to reach for your glass, but your attention is brought back to your phone as it buzzes again. 

And again-

-And again. 

You nearly choke at what you think is your friend- is she okay?

However, you’re proven wrong.

UNKNOWN

Hey this is Tim, was wondering if I could buy you a drink? No pressure, just some casual penetration … CONVERSATION! Fuckk I meant conversation

Pressing your lips together, you smile at yourself before replying.

YOU

Auto correct really knows how to make a penetration interesting…

Looking over at him, you watch as his expression grows from furrowed brows (had he made the wrong impression?), to his face lighting up just as your response comes through. And his smile only grows with each word he reads of your message, laughing and shaking his head lightly.

In that moment you know you have your claws in him, and when he glances up at you just in time for you to send a wink his way, well, that’s all the motivation he needs to get out of his chair. 

Watching him- Tim make his way from the opposite end of the bar all the way around to the spot next to you, you quickly down the last remaining sip in your glass as you rest your elbow on the counter. Using it to prop your face up. 

“I have to say that was a great first impression!” You shout over the music.

He laughs with a small shake of his head, “Yeah, I only use those on the special ones.”

Raising your brows, you tilt your head, “Oh, so I’m special?” 

His brows knitted before leaning in towards you, clearly not hearing what you had said. So you repeat yourself, which, in return, you receive the sound of his laughter again.

That laugh causes your stomach to flutter and your mind to race with thoughts that would make the devil blush. 

Looking around, you notice that almost two bus loads of people have funneled into the bar. Along with their chattering and music, there isn’t any way for you two to have a proper conversation- you know, the respectful ‘let’s get to know each other!’ before you climb into his bed. 

“Do you wanna go somewhere quieter?” 

Tim nearly breaks his neck from how fast he nods at you, mumbling over different ‘yes’s’ and ‘yeah’s’. 

Getting up and making sure to grab your phone before taking his hand into yours, you lead him through the crowded room. Walking outside, you two pass the smoking zone into a more secluded section where not a hint of being can be seen. 

You rest against the wall, and Tim finds his place next to you.

“Your friend is nice.” You start, moving a piece of your hair away from your gloss-coated lips, “A little bold, but nice.”

Tim huffs a soft laugh before he scratches the back of his neck, “Ah, Lucy…yeah- look, she thought taking me out to his bar would help me feel better.”

“Was she right?” You tilt your head, angling on your side into the brick wall as you scan his face.

Tim does the same, taking a step close enough that his warmth breath mingles with yours. His eyes drop down to the concrete, thinking. And for a moment, you expect him to reply with a ‘yes’, but-

“I don’t know.” Tim starts low., “It’s been a year since my divorce and it’s been…weird getting back out there, I guess.” 

You don’t say anything, and he must notice your overt silence because he quickly interferes. 

“Not that I’m still in love with her! God, no-” He winces, waving his hand around, “Nothing like that. It’s not like I hate her either, I’m happy things are over be–”

“You haven't done anything with anyone since the divorce…have you?” 

For a second he shuts his mouth, only for Tim to press his lips together before nodding in defeat. “How’d you know?” 

You shrug, “You’ve got that look- like you’re still trying to figure life out again.” As if you’ve known the type of person he is, you quickly hold your hands up, “Before you get defensive at all, just know there’s no judgement from my end. You’re safe to talk to me.”

And Tim might just believe that.

He takes a moment, trying to pick the right words so as to not scare you off, even worse: say something that would turn you off. 

“I guess I just engulf myself fully into work.” He sighs, “That way I don’t have to deal with…everything.”

“What do you do?”

There was the question he knew would follow up with.

“LAPD.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you, reading you with such an intensity. 

It’s the type of answer that makes or breaks people but seeing as your brows raise with a sense of excitement…mischievous, Tim might just be safe. 

“You know,” You start, unable to hide the smirk on your lips as you reach out and fondle with the hem of his shirt, “I’ve found that some secrets are better kept under lock and key.” Your voice is only a murmur, but looking up at him now, you can’t help but grin even wider as his skin - his stupidly beautiful skin - flushes.

Now he really trains on you, watching even the smallest of your movements- how you shift one foot from the other, even the hint of change to your breath. Even so he darts his focus down to your mouth as you lick your lips, then right back up to your wandering eyes.

So, you take another step up to him, getting a strong smell of his cologne, which might just knock you over with how strong it is- cedarwood, rosemary, musk. 

Reaching out for his hand, you slowly drag your nails up from his knuckles to his wrist, all the way towards his bicep. 

With your voice filled with lust, and lashes batting, you simply ask: “You wanna get out of here?” 

— 𝜗𝜚 * ｡⋆ ˖.

By the time you’re halfway into the door, Tim’s already onto you. 

Not that you’re complaining or anything, it is what you wanted after all.

With a hand grasping your waist, he’s pulling you into a kiss so soft yet so hungry- an emotion Tim’s been longing to feel since…forever. And maybe it’s the gloss still tinting your lips, or perhaps it’s the lingering champagne too, but God, you taste so sweet.

Without leaving the warmth of the kiss, Tim shuts the front door behind him, followed by the click of the door’s lock. Reluctantly, he pulls away, “A drink?” He asks into the midst of another selfish peck.

You shake your head, your breath still heavy against his as you meet his very own baby blues, “Tim,” You cock your head to the side, “Do I look like I want a drink?”

He takes a second to induce what you’ve said, his attention trailing from the heave of your chest, to your quick breaths, and your eyes- so needy, so true.

Fuck, the way you’re looking at him is everything he didn’t know he needed, and he’s obsessed.

“No,” He chokes, though a smile curves the edges of his mouth before he’s grasping one of your hands into his own, guiding you through the warmth of his home. “Ignore the mess, wasn’t expecting company of any sorts.” He murmurs, a shy blush showcasing on the high points of his cheekbones.

But ironically, it isn’t even messy. In fact, this may just be the cleanest house owned by a man could ever be. Sure, the odd dog toy finds its place on the floorboards, but with how homely you feel - especially when you see the light blue throw draped over his navy couch as you walk past it - you can’t help but smile.

“Please,” You turn to face him, and move your hand to wrap it around his bicep just as he begins to open his bedroom door. “Your home is beautiful. And plus, I’m focusing on…” You eye him up and down, just to really get your point across, "something else, y’know?”

“Oh?” And his voice is so fucking soft and endearing even as he raises his eyebrows when he glances at you before inviting you into his personal space. “You might have to spell it out for me, darling- got no clue what you’re talking about.”

Of course he fucking does, even when your palm gently pushes Tim down onto his own bed, followed by the gentle song of your laughter, “You! Tim, fuck’s sakes.” You shake your head, bending down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, "You’re nice to look at.”

And God damn, you aren’t wrong. Because by now, Tim’s widened his legs and he’s staring up at you with heavy eyes that are so inviting- and it would be incredibly rude to deny his offer.

Tim lets out a breathless chuckle as you take the leap when you hook one leg over his lap to sit on top of him and fuck, he’s comfortable. 

“Could say the same about you- that sheer dress is doing numbers on me.” He mutters, low and gravelly before reaching his right hand up to slide a single digit beneath one of your dress’ straps. 

The movement is tender- minimal, even, but oh, does it make you hitch your breath.

You peer down your body slowly, and a small smirk creeps up to your lips when you watch him do the same to the other neglected strap. Then, with a small grind onto the bulge Tim’s been fighting to keep sane for the last hour, you steer just a little closer to his face, “Take it off me?”

Tim wouldn’t have considered it a question, more like a demand than anything. But still, he lets out a shaky breath, “Fuck- yes, of course.” 

And he doesn’t waste a second before he’s guiding you to lay on the plushness of his mattress.

Sure, his bed is soft- but damn, was Tim softer. However, any thoughts are easy to fade away when he leans over you as he begins gliding your straps down with a touch so soothing yet blazing, and with every inch of skin exposed to Tim’s sore eyes, a wet kiss welcomes it.

Tim makes sure to look after you before he begins to undress himself- with an extra hand of care from you as well when he gives you the honours of unbuttoning his pants. Though you can’t stop yourself from halting in the motion of his zipper when you peer up just in time for Tim to tug his Henley over his shirt.

“Holy shit,” You breathe out, already feeling the pool of arousal soaking your thighs at the sight of his muscles flexing beneath the bedroom’s dim lamp, warming his skin to golden from where it stands in the corner. “Fuckin’ hell, Tim- you’re one handsome man.”

Fuck.

Something about you complimenting Tim with only a string of curse words is enough to make his neck redden. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he was admired like this. 

Of course, he knows he’s an attractive man; he’s worked his ass off to earn his toned physique and it’s evident in the stares and hushes of comments he’s received since the duration of being an officer.

But that genuine flush of adoration in your face is worth more than anything, and Tim knows from then on that you deserve the absolute world.

“Got nothin’ on you,” He gravelly replies back, biceps tensing as he finishes undressing himself, “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

And now it’s your time to blush heavily. Though, when you drag your eyes down from his baby blues, what may just be more intimidating than Tim’s words is his cock straining in his boxers. 

Jesus, it seems your manifestations that he was oversizedworked well- too fucking well.

With your mouth hanging low and wide eyes gawking, an ego-boosted Tim takes advantage of your silence by leaning close enough to your space that he’s hovering just over your silky-soft skin. And as he helps to wrap your legs around his lower back, the delightfulness of your perfume aromatises Tim’s senses- and he can’t help but inhale just an extra couple of seconds than normal to intoxicate himself in it.

When an act so intimate like sex comes into play, everyone has their own different niches. And if there’s something you’ve easily noticed by now with Tim Bradford, it’s that he’s a sweet talker. So when he mutters, “This okay, pretty girl?” as he begins to glide himself inside of you, you can’t but let out a shaky giggle in the midst of your breathlessness.

He pauses inside you, meeting your eyes, “What?”

“You just-” You squeeze his shoulders, partially out of reassurance and also to help soothe the stretch down below, “-you talk so sweet when you’re literally about to fuck me. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” Tim angles his head to the side, slowly pushing into you deeper until he bottoms out, his cock twitching in delight at the sound of your hiccup when his hips meet yours. “What’s wrong with that? Can’t imagine speakin’ to you any other way.”

Your heart flutters, “Didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.” And you sneak a kiss onto the corner of his lips just as you tighten your hold on his shoulders. Then, you whisper: “I like it.”

You may just be the death of Tim; your voice, your comforting eyes, your wide smile, your fucking smell, and now the warmth of your pussy as you engulf him when he finally starts to grind himself back into you. 

“God damn, baby-” A small groan escapes Tim’s throat, perfectly in sync to the faint sound of your moan when he begins to set a rhythm- nothing rough or fast, just intimate and kind. Something worth taking his time with. Something he can really appreciate.

Both of your lips meet once again in the midst of the heated moment, though it’s less polite when you’re fighting against the friction of movement when Tim continues to slide himself inside your plush walls, along with the gasps that often leave your mouths when each thrust hits that perfect spot.

“Shit- Tim,” You mewl out when he leans down to your exposed neck, providing attention to it when he trails erratic kisses to your skin, never once missing a beat to his pace. “Are you…fuck- are you free next week?"

You can feel his laughter vibrating against your skin, followed by the actual deep, shaky noise itself when he lifts his head up to stare at you, “Y’wanna do this again with me?”

Oh, how his esteem has blossomed. 

You grin cheekily, breaths and fragrances mixing together when you pull his face closer by the swift tug of your hand to the nape of his neck. “Why not? I’m sensing our-” You gasp when he fucks into you, “-camaraderie is great.”

Tim huffs amusingly, placing his forehead on yours- just in time to groan when he fucking feels your arousal coating him, and the sound of squelching from below, “Friends fuck each other, hey?”

“Well, we gotta start somewhere...” A particularly deep thrust has your breath hitching. You pull back, allowing yourself to look up at his heavy-lidded eyes before you blink. 

“Will you let a friend ride you too?”

Tim would have come right then and there if it wasn’t for the American presidents he was listing in his head.

“God damn- be my guest, darling.” He groans loudly, pulling himself out from you before he’s turning the both of you around. And you don’t waste a second before you’re crawling on top of him, finding comfort once again on his lap. 

Tucking your feet beneath his thighs, you begin to align yourself with the tip of his cock to your entrance, and Tim murmurs something about how ‘you’re gonna be the death of him’.

Then, as you engulf him inch by inch, your fingers press into his chest with brows furrowing in pure delight at the new angle.

Tim squeezes your thighs, “There you go,” He whispers, watching you in fucking awe, “just like that, sweetheart.”

You start slow, much like his pace before- intimate and kind. And as you fill yourself with his cock, his hands move from your thighs to your ass as he helps guide you up and down on him. All the while, he’s whispering praises to you while he cants his head forward to kiss each hardened nipple with his wet mouth.

“Doing so well for me,” He murmurs against your skin when he feels you clench around him, and keeps one hand sturdy on the curve of your ass when his dominant fingers brush back to the front of your body. Then, with a suck on his thumb to gather saliva, Tim lowers his wet finger on your neglected clit.

The following sounds of your pleasure is like music to his ears when his thumb moves in circular motions.

“Tim…” You draw his name out in an aching moan, and it only encourages him to flick your clit more just as you drive yourself harder onto him. “So, so good- shit.”

“You got it,” Tim then rises his hips up to meet yours, beginning a pace faster than yours that it causes your breath to catch, your hands grasping his shoulders tightly as he fucks himself up into you with such an intensity that you can’t even speak, can’t even breathe.

So instead, you lean down to kiss him, all teeth and tongue as you two moan to each hard thrust- and when Tim fastens his thumb to your clit, that’s when you feel it.

You pull back, voice shaky as you peer down at him, “Oh, I’m so close-” An admittance that Tim is so fucking delighted to hear from your pretty, ruby lips that still glisten with mixed saliva.

“I know, baby-” Tim huffs, muscles tensing with every glide of his cock that is pounded into you, “-I got you. Come with me, sweet girl.” 

And he keeps his promise, because when the touch of his fingers on your aching clit mixes so perfectly to the gentle lowness of Tim’s voice, it’s enough to make you fall off the edge- and he falls with you. 

Your name slips from his mouth just as a long moan escapes you, a hot fever washing through your head just when you feel the hot spill of his seed inside you.

“Fuck- that’s it, sweetheart.” He groans out, his cock twitching against the slow roll of your hips as you both ride out your orgasms.

Long exhales fill the warm air as you two finally finish and you can’t help yourself when you collapse onto his chest with a long sigh. 

Amongst the heap of clothes scrambled across the carpet floor, and bedsheets ruffled, the both of you lay peacefully in the midst of it all- dripping in sweat and sex and you’re still inside of him.

But none of that matters, not when Tim is so grounding; with his chest broad and cozy, and his heart thumping in rhythm to yours as you both breathe in sync, it all feels too good to not let go.

“So,” You start once your breathing steadies, finally lifting Tim’s softened cock out of you as you sit back up- but Hell, you’re not ready to leave his lap just yet. Then, you lift Tim’s left hand and take it into your own, fiddling with his long fingers delicately. “You didn’t say no to next week…”

Tim blinks down at your fingers playing with his and back up to your eyes- heavy, exhausted. He gently smiles, his heart beating in a way that feels right…feels domestic, “No, I didn’t.” 

Tim lifts his free hand up, brushing past your jawline until he meets the loose strands of your hair, and he gently tucks them behind your ear. His fingers halt by your face for a second, allowing his eyes to appreciate you before he slowly glides down to where the mess of your hair meets your shoulder, and he’s pushing the heap back to expose the curve of your neck.

He leans closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone, “I would love to see you again.” He admits quietly, stubble tickling your sensitive skin as he grazes his lips up to your jawline. He plants another kiss there, “And I don’t just mean seeing you for…this,” And finally, he moves to your chin where his lips linger on your face, only to reluctantly pull away so he can look up at you. “Let me take you on a date.”

You soften under his embrace, and a smile grows widely on you before you raise Tim’s hand your fingers had been playing with up to your mouth. There, you kiss his knuckles, and you faintly nod, “I think I’d like that a lot.”

And God, what a way to make a man feel better.

— 𝜗𝜚 * ｡⋆ ˖.

CHEN

sooo how did the date go? … helloooooo … oh OHH HEY TIM BE GETTING SOME ‼️‼️ 🤪😝🤩🥳 heh … good bed chem ?

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Ooo hii can I please request a Bucky x fem!reader where Y/n has had necromancy powers ever since she was a little girl (definitely made growing up hard because it’s hard to tell the difference when she’s talking to a ghost and when she’s talking to a living person , and the adults in her life never believed her). Now, as an adult, she lives with the Avengers at their HQ (not officially an Avenger, though Steve has been trying to convince her to become one for years). She had met Steve not that long after Loki’s attack on NY, he found a very overwhelmed Y/n talking to herself in an alley (a lot of people died after the attack so she would’ve had a lot of ghosts trying to talk to her), her eyes glow when she’s using her powers so Steve put two and two together that she’s probably a mutant. He convinced her to live with the Avengers and said he believes her when she tells him what she can do. Anyways, one day she somehow runs into The Winter Soldier (before CA: Winter Soldier), and Bucky has briefly woken up from being brainwashed and ran away from Hydra, and the two of them fall in love, only for Hydra to find him and force him back and Y/n ends up finding out she’s pregnant after he’s gone🥺. She refuses to tell her friends (The Avengers) who the father is and what happened to him but they promise they’ll be there for her🥺 She has a daughter and the Avengers help her raise her (Steve can’t help but think that this little girl is the spitting image of Bucky, but he knows it can’t be true because he “died” in 1945). Fast forward to after Steve finds out his best friend is alive, and he tracks him down to Romania, Steve brings Bucky back to the Avengers Compound (The Avengers never broke up) and the first person he sees is Y/n, with a 4 year old little girl who looks just like him🥺 (they’d both start crying and be so shook and run into each others arms🥺)

They’d have a lot of explaining to do to the other Avengers lol

Spitting Image Of Him » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America, the Avengers, and daughter Lucy

Summary: Bucky somehow manages to briefly escape HYDRA and meets you, which results in you and him falling in love and you having his daughter and Steve can’t help but notice how much your daughter looks like Bucky and you eventually explain everything to the Avengers.

Warnings: Fluff, language, pregnant!reader, mom!reader, dad!Bucky, HYDRA, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the beautifully descriptive request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

A/N #2: Bold text is note from HYDRA.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Not long after Loki’s attack on New York, you could still hear the voices of the people who didn’t make it. You’ve had necromancy powers since you were a kid. Meaning, you can hear the voices of the ghosts of dead people and sometimes it’s hard for you to know if you’re talking to an alive person or not.

Today was one of those days of you. You could hear the voices of the people who didn’t make it from Loki’s attack. You made a beeline to an alleyway. You sat down on the concrete, leaning your back against the brick wall. You covered your ears to try to tune out the voices of those people, which works sometimes.

“Not real.” You kept repeating to yourself.

Steve’s enhanced hearing picked up the sound of a voice as he was walking down the street. He heard it coming from the alleyway he was about to walk past. He followed the sound of the voice, leading him to you. Steve saw you sitting on the ground with your ears covered.

“Ma’am, are you ok?” Steve asks softly.

You yelped when you heard a new voice. You uncovered your ears and looked up at the man. Your mind was all over the place that you couldn’t tell if he was a ghost or not.

“Are you a ghost?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“No.” He answers.

You continued to stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s alive or a ghost. Steve crouched down in front of you. You pressed yourself more against the brick wall.

“Can I see your hand?” He asks.

You silently stared at him for a few seconds before extending your hand to him. Steve gently put your hand on his chest where his heart is. You relaxed when you felt his heartbeat.

“I’m not a ghost.” He assures. “What’s your name?” He asks.

“Y/N.” You answered quietly.

“I’m Steve.” He introduces himself.

Steve watched your eyes glow. That was enough to tell him that you have powers of some kind.

“Come with me.” Steve says, standing up and holding his hand out to you.

“Where?” You asked, looking up at him.

“I’m going to help you out and give you a place to stay.” He says.

You slowly put your hand in his and stood up. Steve took you to the Avengers compound. You’ve seen the building from the outside, but you’ve never been inside before.

“What is this place?” You asked, looking around.

“Avengers compound.” Steve answers.

Steve lead you to the lounge room where the Avengers are.

“Guys, this is Y/N. She’s going to be staying with us.” Steve says to the Avengers.

The Avengers introduced themselves to you. You gave them a smile and shyly waved at them.

“I’ll show you to your room.” Steve says.

You nodded and followed him to the floor where the bedrooms are. Steve opened the door to an empty bedroom, allowing you to walk in the room first. The bedroom was already full with a bed, nightstand, dresser, and a TV. There was also a closet and a bathroom in there.

“My room is right next door if you ever need anything.” Steve says, pointing to the right.

You smiled and nodded.

“I’ll let you rest now. Let me know if you need anything.” He says.

You nodded and he left the room.

It didn’t take you long to adjust to living in the Avengers compound. It took a few weeks for you to adjust to your new living arrangements.

“Hey, Y/N.” Steve smiles as he walks in your room. “Have you thought any more about becoming an Avenger?” He asks as he sat down on your bed.

“No. The thought of it is cool, but I need more time to think about it.” You say.

“That’s ok. Take all the time you need.” He says softly, putting a comforting hand on your knee.

You smiled at him.

Later that same day, you were walking down the street. You weren’t sure where you were going. You just wanted to clear your mind. You were looking down at the ground as you were walking and you accidentally bumped into someone. You lost your balance and fell to the ground, making an “Oof” noise.

“Sorry.” The man says.

He holds out his hand for you. You looked up at him and put your hand in his. You gave him a smile as he helped you up.

“Thank you, sir.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles back. “I’m James, but everyone I know calls me Bucky.” He introduces himself.

“I’m Y/N.” You introduced yourself.

You couldn’t help but notice how handsome Bucky is. Bucky admired your beauty as well.

“You’re handsome.” You blurted out.

“Thank you, doll. You’re gorgeous as well.” Bucky says with a smile.

You blushed when he called you gorgeous. Goosebumps appeared on your skin when Bucky’s right hand cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your skin.

“I have a strong feeling that we’re going to get along well.” He says softly.

“Me too.” You say, smiling up at him.

Over the next few days, you managed to sneak out of the compound without any of the Avengers noticing. You went to the small apartment Bucky is currently hiding out at. You and Bucky have your own knock when you two knock on the door so you two know it’s each other and not anyone else.

“Come in, doll.” Bucky whispers, taking a quick peak left and right to make sure you weren’t followed.

You quickly went inside his apartment. Bucky closed the door and locked it. He then greeted you with a sweet kiss. He put on his hands on your waist and pulled you against him. You smiled against his lips and put your hands on his chest.

“I was wondering when you were going to come by.” He says softly.

“I have to be sneaky around the people I live with when I leave.” You say with a small giggle.

You told Bucky that you live with a few people, but you didn’t tell him that they’re the Avengers. You don’t want him to think you and them are after him, in which you’re not. You and Bucky are still getting to know each other and have a good thing going.

“You know how much I love you?” He asks softly.

“The kisses you give me tell me how much you love me.” You smiled.

“I’ll give you more kisses to show you how much I love you.” He murmurs, kissing you sweetly and passionately.

You ended up losing track of time and spent the night with Bucky that night. As you were sleeping peacefully in Bucky’s arms, he heard all too familiar footsteps outside the door. His heart started pounding. He was expecting HYDRA or whoever was outside the door to break down the door, but it was just the opposite. He seen a folded piece of paper slide under the door and inside the apartment. Bucky carefully and quietly got out of bed so he didn’t wake you up. He picked up the paper and unfolded it, reading what it says. He used the street lights shining into the apartment as light to read.

Soldat, we know you escaped. We also know you got yourself a girlfriend. If you want her to stay unharmed, you return to us. If you don’t, you’ll see her all bruised and bloody. We will use force to make you return to us if we have to.

Bucky’s jaw clenched at the part of the note where they threatened to beat you bloody and bruised. He crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it somewhere in the apartment and ran his fingers through his long hair. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Bucky?” You mumbled.

“Sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Bucky apologizes softly.

“It’s ok.” You rubbed your eyes and sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. “What are you doing up?” You asked.

Bucky walked over to the bed and sat down in front of you, putting his hands in yours.

“Remember when I told you about HYDRA?” He asks.

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“Well…” He starts in a shaky voice. “They found out I escaped and they threatened to hurt you if I don’t go back to them.” He explains.

“No.” You said, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. “Please don’t go back.” You pleaded, your voice cracking.

“I don’t want to go back, but I want you to be safe.” He says.

Bucky watched a tear roll down your cheek.

“It’s going to be ok, doll.” He whispers, pulling you in for a hug.

He let you cry it out for a few minutes before kissing you passionately. He wiped your tears away with his thumbs and looked deep in your eyes.

“I want you to know that I love you more than anything, babydoll.” He whispers.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You whispered back.

Bucky went back to HYDRA immediately. He didn’t want them to lay a finger on you so he did what they told him to do.

A few days later, you were staring at a positive pregnancy test. You were in shock that you didn’t know what to do at first. You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open.

“Y/N, are you ok?” Natasha asks softly.

You yelped and jumped when you heard her voice, dropping the pregnancy test on the bathroom floor. Natasha picked it up for you, her eyes widening when she seen that it’s positive.

“You’re pregnant?” She asks.

You nodded your head yes, nervously fiddling with your fingers. You were caught off guard when she hugged you. You hugged her back.

“Congratulations!” She smiles.

“Thank you, Nat.” You say quietly.

“Do you know who the father is?” She asks curiously.

“No.” You lied.

You then went to the conference room where Steve and the rest of the Avengers are. Natasha followed you behind you.

“Y/N has something to tell everyone.” Natasha says, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

The Avengers stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to you. You felt nervous as hell under their stares.

“I’m pregnant.” You announced to everyone.

Everyone jumped up from their seats to hug you and congratulate you. You smiled at them and thanked them.

“Do you know who the father is?” Steve asks.

“No.” You lied again.

You feel bad about lying to the Avengers about not knowing who the father is, but you don’t want them to know that it’s Bucky. Especially Steve. How do you tell your friend that you’re pregnant with his best friend’s baby? For now, you’re just going to keep it to yourself.

The Avengers were very helpful throughout your pregnancy. They got you what you need for the baby. They also set everything up in the nursery, putting girl stuff in there. When it was time for the baby to be born, Steve was right by your side during the whole thing. You had a baby girl and named her Lucy. Steve held her as you took a nap.

“You’re adorable.” Steve coos at Lucy, smiling down at her.

Steve hums to himself when he notices something interesting about Lucy.

“You know, you look like someone I knew years ago.” He says to her.

The more he looked at Lucy, the more he notices a resemblance of Bucky. His eyes widened.

No… could he be- no. Bucky fell off the train in 1945. He witnessed it.

4 YEARS LATER

The more Lucy grew and got older, she resembles Bucky even more. She just turned 4 and looks like a spitting image of him. Steve noticed it and it blew his mind how this little girl looks like his best friend. Lucy’s hair and eyes are the same colors as Bucky’s, along with her facial features.

“Are you sure you don’t know who the father is?” Steve asks you once more.

“I don’t know who he is.” You lied once again.

Steve didn’t want to keep badgering you on it so he dropped it. He still thought about his suspensions though.

If Bucky is alive, why didn’t he come find Steve? How did he even survive the fall off the train? No one can survive that.

“Uncle Steve!” Lucy shouts, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Steve smiles when he sees his niece running toward him. He picked her up and hugged her.

“I want to go to the park please.” She says, giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

“It’s too cold to go to the park, princess.” Steve says softly, referring to the snow outside.

Lucy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest with a pout on her face. Steve couldn’t help but smile at how cute she’s being.

“Why don’t you go color?” He suggests. “I have to talk to uncle Sam and aunt Natasha.” He says, gently putting her back down on the floor.

Lucy nods and runs to the lounge room where she left her coloring books and coloring supplies. Steve went to find Steve and Natasha, finding them in the conference room talking.

“Hey guys, I need your help with something.” Steve says.

“With what?” Sam asks.

“Tracking down someone.” He says.

“Who do you need to track down?” Natasha asks.

“My friend Bucky.” He says.

“I thought you said he fell off a train in 1945?” Sam says.

“I did, but now I’m thinking he somehow survived it.” He says.

“What makes you think that?” Natasha asks.

“Y/N’s daughter looks a lot like Bucky.” He says.

Sam and Natasha stared at Steve like he’s crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’m thinking that Bucky is Lucy’s father.” Steve says.

Sam’s and Natasha’s eyebrows shot up at his theory.

“Are you guys going to help me or not?” He asks.

Sam and Natasha agreed to help Steve. After a lot of research, Steve finally found the answers he was looking for. Bucky is alive and is hiding out in an apartment in Bucharest, Romania. Steve’s mind is blown. All this time, he thought his best friend was dead when he’s actually alive.

“Hey guys. Have you seen Lucy? It’s her lunchtime.” You say, poking your head in the conference room.

“She’s coloring in the lounge room.” Steve tells you.

After a couple days, Steve came up with a plan to get Bucky from Romania and bring him home. He told the Avengers to keep an eye on you so you didn’t suspect a thing. Steve was about to get on the quinjet, but Lucy stopped him before he could.

“Uncle Steve, where are you going?” Lucy asks before Steve got on the quinjet.

“I have something important to do.” Steve tells her.

“Is it a mission?” She asks curiously.

“Kinda.” He says.

“Can I come with you please?” She asks.

“I wish you could, but you can’t, sweetheart.” He says.

Lucy huffed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest with a pout on her face, sitting down on the floor. Steve crouched down in front of her.

“If it makes you feel better, I have a big girl mission for you.” Steve says.

“Big girl mission?” Lucy asks.

Steve smiles and nods.

“Your mission is to protect mommy till I get back.” He tells her.

“I can do that!” She says loudly.

Steve smiles and kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll be home before you know it, peanut.” He says, playfully ruffling her hair.

Lucy gave him a hug for good luck before running to find you. Steve smiles as he watched her to find you before getting on the quinjet.

“Mommy!” Lucy shouts throughout the compound.

“Yes, sweetie?” You say, walking out of the kitchen.

“I have a mission!” She announces, standing tall in front of you as if she were in the Army.

“Oh yea? What might that be?” You asked curiously.

“Uncle Steve gave me a big girl mission to protect while he’s gone.” She says.

“Ooh! I’m definitely going to be protected, princess.” You say.

“It’s Sergeant Princess!” She says.

“Oh, my apologies, Sarge.” You say, playfully saluting her.

Meanwhile, Steve found where Bucky is currently staying in Bucharest. The apartment Bucky has been staying is small, but it looks like he tried to make it as homey as he could. After a few minutes, Steve turned around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind him.

“Do you know who I am?” Steve asks.

Bucky stared at him silently for a few seconds before answering him.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in the museum.” Bucky finally answers.

Steve nods.

“I’m not here to fight you or anything. I’m here to bring you home where you belong.” Steve says.

“Where’s home?” Bucky asks.

“New York.” He says.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m staying here.” He says.

Steve didn’t want to have to resort to you as an option, but it looks like he has no choice.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” Steve says.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks softly.

“Yes. Do you know her?” He asks curiously.

“Yes.” He said. “Is she ok?” He asks with worry in his voice.

“She’s more than ok, but she needs you more than you think.” He says softly.

“Take me to her.” He says.

Steve felt relieved that Bucky finally agreed to go home with him. Meanwhile, Lucy is being the mini Avenger Steve said she could be while he was gone. You, on the other hand, are curious to know why Steve went on a mission without any of the Avengers.

“Do you guys know why Steve went on a mission without any of you guys?” You asked the Avengers.

The didn’t say anything. They just shrugged their shoulders. You stared at them, narrowing your eyes a bit and crossed your arms over your chest, giving them the mom stare. They know that look all too well from when you give that look to Lucy.

“No matter how long you look at us like that, we’re not telling you where Steve went.” Tony says.

You sighed and went to see what your daughter is up to. You found Lucy in her bedroom playing with her stuffed animals and drawing on blank pieces of different colored construction paper.

“Hi, mommy!” Lucy smiles up at you. “Do you want to color with me?” She asks, holding up a piece of paper and a marker toward you.

“I would love to, sweetie.” You smiled.

You sat down on the floor across from her and started drawing doodles on the paper that Lucy handed you.

The next day, Steve brought Bucky to the compound. Bucky was nervous, but excited to see you.

“Sam, where’s Y/N?” Steve asks.

“She’s picking Lucy up from preschool. She should be back any minute.” Sam says.

“Who’s Lucy?” Bucky asks, looking from Sam to Steve.

Steve and Sam stayed quiet. Steve so desperately wanted to tell his best friend that Lucy is his daughter, but it’s not his place to tell him.

“Let’s just wait for Y/N.” Steve says.

You and Lucy walked in the lounge room a short moment later. You stopped in your tracks when you seen Bucky.

“Bucky?” You say, completely speechless.

“Hi, doll.” Bucky says softly and smiles.

You walked over to him and hugged him tightly. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. Tears of happiness rolled down your cheeks, along with Bucky. Lucy was standing a couple feet away in a state of confusion.

“Mommy, who is he?” Lucy asks, pointing at Bucky.

You pulled away from Bucky and looked at your daughter. Bucky looked at her too, his eyes widening when he noticed that Lucy is a spitting image of him. Steve and Sam left the room, leaving the three of you alone so you can explain everything to Bucky and Lucy.

“I owe everyone an explanation and I might as well start with you two.” You say.

Bucky and Lucy sat down on the couch while you stood in front of nervously and fiddled with your fingers. You took a deep breath before saying anything.

“Bucky, I found out I was pregnant with your baby shortly after you went back to HYDRA. Lucy is your daughter. She’s 4 years old.” You explained.

Bucky’s eyes went wide when you said that. He’s in complete shock from what he just heard. Lucy looked up at him with a curious look on her face.

“You’re my daddy?” Lucy asks.

“I guess I am.” Bucky says.

Lucy crawled onto Bucky’s lap and hugged him. Bucky hugged her back. He felt a new warmth in his heart. You smiled at the two of them as they hugged.

“I’ll let you guys get to know each other while I explain everything to everyone else.” You say.

You left the room and went to the conference room where all of the Avengers are. All of them turned their attention to you when you walked in the room.

“I owe all of you an explanation.” You said nervously. “This may be a surprise to all of you, especially Steve.” You began. “First of all, let me start off by apologizing for lying to all of you. I do know who Lucy’s father is and her father is Bucky. Before I got pregnant with Lucy, him and I were in love.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Natasha asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled and shrugged.

You looked down to avoid eye contact with any of them. Steve walked over to you and hugged you.

“It’s ok. We understand.” Steve whispers.

“You do? You’re not mad at me?” You asked.

“I’m not mad.” He says softly.

You smiled and hugged him.

“Thanks for understanding.” You murmured. “I’m going to check on Lucy and Bucky.” You say.

You went back to the lounge room to see Lucy and Bucky getting along perfectly.

“I see you two are getting along very well.” You say.

“Me and daddy have the same color eyes!” Lucy says.

“That’s right, sweetie. You do.” You smiled.

You sat down on the couch next to Bucky.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You apologized to Bucky.

“You don’t have to apologize, doll. I’m just happy you’re giving me a chance to be a father to Lucy.” Bucky says.

You smiled and pecked his lips softly.

“I love you, Bucky.” You murmured softly.

“I love you too, babydoll.” He whispers.

“I love you guys too!” Lucy chimes in.

“We love you, princess.” You and Bucky say in unison and gave her lovings.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[afictionaladventure16]

The Longest Night (Tim Bradford X Foster!Teen!Reader)

The Rookie Masterlist

Word Count: 3,832

Warnings: Mentions of death and blood

Summary: It's towards the end of Tim's shift when he gets a call on the radio about a nearby car accident, but when he arrives, he doesn't expect his world to turn upside down.

The day began like any other, Tim got up before sunrise and prepped a quick breakfast before getting himself ready. By then y/n was up and dressed and eating her breakfast. Over the past two years, they had a routine that they strictly followed. At first, the life of fostering a young teen was challenging for Tim, especially with his schedule but he was determined to help the young teen. He saw so much of himself within her. 

Getting y/n to open up to him was another challenge. It took a while, but eventually, she learned how to trust Tim and now she felt like Tim was the father she never had. There were times when she had to stop herself from calling him ‘dad,’ even though she knew he wouldn’t mind. She felt like it wasn’t appropriate since she knew that one day she would only be a distant memory. 

Towards the end of his shift, Tim was over it. He was ready to go home and start his weekend. More importantly, he was excited to go to y/n’s soccer game tonight. He knew he was going to be the loudest one in the crowd, cheering you on as you gave it your all in the field. 

He loved watching you play, loved seeing the passion you had for the game and if he could, he would do anything so you could play whenever you pleased, but the world didn’t work that way. 

The plan was for you to drive to the field with some friends after school, you would grab something to eat with them on the way there. Fortunately for you, you were able to get out of class early to grab a bite and head over to the field. Later on in the evening, Tim, Lucy, and Angela will meet you at the game. 

“All units,” the voice came over the radio, “we have a major collision at the intersection of Sepulveda and Fifth. Possible fatalities. Paramedics en route.” 

Tim’s heart quickened, something about this call felt different from the others. A chill ran down his spine, he knew that intersection too well. It was one of the intersections he passed on the way to drop y/n off at school.

“Dispatch, show 7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim announced on the radio as he drove off from where he was parked. The scene of the accident wasn’t too far, it was only ten minutes away, but with the way Tim was driving, he made it there in five. 

When he arrived, paramedics were already at the scene, a couple of paramedics were assisting some firemen help get a passenger out of one of the cars. Just with one look at the scene, Tim already knew that the impact of some of these cars was deadly. 

“Tim,” Lucy hurried towards him, she had arrived at the same time as the paramedics. 

Tim was too distracted by the scene of the wreckage in front of him to even notice the look on Lucy’s face, “Jesus, what was the cause of this?” he asked. 

Lucy’s expression was tense, her eyes had widened with something more than just professional concern, “T-Tim,” she whispered, a hand gently touching his arm. 

Tim quickly diverted his attention towards Lucy, taking in the expression she was giving him, “What’s going on?” His voice is tight with worry. 

Lucy hesitated, she had no idea how to tell the man she loved, the man who was standing right in front of him the news that could cause his whole world to come crashing down. Her gaze flickered over his shoulder to where the paramedics were working frantically on someone who was lying on the pavement. “I need you to promise me you’ll stay calm,” she began. 

There was that feeling again, the one Tim felt when he heard the call over the radio, “What is it?” 

Lucy took in a shaky breath, “It’s y/n,” she said softly. Her mouth quivered, she rose her hand up to her mouth quickly before putting her hand back down and continued, “The way the car hit– She–” She let out a small sob. 

“Where is she?” Tim felt a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach, “Where is my daughter, Lucy!?” 

“The paramedics are doing everything they can,” She managed to choke out. 

Tim felt as if the ground beneath him had been pulled out from under him, he followed Lucy’s gaze behind him, his whole world narrowed to the sight of the paramedics working on his daughter. His heart sunk at their grim faces as they focused at the task at hand. He pushed past Lucy, any call for him went in through one ear and out the other as he rushed to Y/n’s side. 

“No, no, no,” Tim shouted, his voice breaking as he took in her pale and bloodied face. “Come on, baby, you got to wake up,” he cried as he knelt beside her, gently holding her head in his hands. 

“Clear!” A paramedic warned as he held the defibrillator paddles in his hands, Tim quickly let go of y/n, his eyes darting to the small portable screen beside them. The paramedic let out a small groan as he continued to administer CPR, “Another round of EPI!” The paramedic ordered. 

Tim’s heart shattered with every single millisecond that passed. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he brushed a strand of hair from y/n’s forehead, “Please,” he begged, “Don’t take her from me.”

Lucy knelt beside Tim, offering anything she could to support him. 

“Clear!” The paramedic announced again. 

“Come on, baby girl,” Tim whispered as he lifted his hands up, allowing the paramedic to use the paddles on y/n. 

Tim waited, watching the straight lines on the defibrillator, “Come on!” He shouted, tears streaming down his cheek. 

“We got a pulse!” The paramedic called out as a small pulse showed itself on the small screen in front of him. Tim let out a breath of relief, overwhelmed with a wave of emotions, Y/N was alive, but barely. 

“You can meet us at the hospital,” the paramedic informed Tim as they loaded Y/n onto a stretcher. 

Tim watched as they wheeled her into the ambulance, His attention was directed to another stretcher that was covered with a sheet. His heart sank as he noticed a familiar charm bracelet that was barely showing through the sheet. He quickly stopped the paramedics from moving the stretcher. 

Tim glanced over at Lucy, she gave him a nod, confirming his fear without words. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as he took in a shaky breath. 

“I was on my way to inform her parents.” 

Tim shook his head, “No, let me.” 

“But y/n.” 

“Y/N would want me to tell her best friend's parents that their daughter… she would want me to do this.” 

Lucy nodded, “I can go with you if you would like,” she suggested. 

He gave her a small nod. Lucy followed Tim in her patrol car, to the small house that was only a few blocks down.

Tim dreaded giving the news of the death of a loved one, but this was different. A knot of anxiety turned in Tim’s stomach as he knocked on the door with shaky hands. Mrs. Garcia, Jenna’s mother, answered the door with a beaming smile, but it was short-lived once she saw the look on Tim’s face. Her smile quickly faded into concern.

“Tim? What’s wrong?” She asked, her voice laced with concern. 

“Can we come in?” Tim asked gently. Mrs. Garcia’s eyes darted between him and Lucy before she gave him a small nod and stepped aside. Her eyes widened with worry. 

“Heeey, Tim!” Mr. Garcia sung as he watched Tim walk into the living room, “Ready for that game tonight? Don’t tell me one of the girls called you to come grab something,” he rambled on, “Leave it to our girls to always forget something.” His voice slowly faltered as he noticed the look on his wife’s face. 

“Tim has– Um, he’s here because of work,” Mrs. Garcia stuttered as she sat beside her husband on the couch. The look on Mr. Garcia’s face now mirrored his wife’s as they looked at Tim. 

Tim took in a deep breath, his mind searching for the right words today, but he knew there were none. For a moment, he wanted them to take in these last moments, the last moments of them being oblivious to what was going on. The last moments of them believing that their daughter was still alive and with them in this world. 

Tears began to well up in his eyes, “There was an accident,” he began. “Y/N and Jenna were involved.” 

Mr. Garcia let out a small chuckle out of disbelief, “But they’re okay, right?” 

Tim felt his stomach turn as he continued, “Y/N is on the way to the hospital, they were able to resuscitate her.” 

Mrs. Garcia gasped, as Mr. Garcia took his wife’s hand, “and my Jenna?” His voice shaking as he asked. 

Tim could feel the tears in his eyes threatening to make themselves known, “I’m so sorry,” he said with a shaky voice, “Jenna didn’t make it.” 

Mrs. Garcia shook her head, “No, no, no! Not my baby!” She yelled as she collapsed into her husband’s arm, her body wracked with sobs. Mr. Garcia held her tightly as tears fell from his eyes. Tim felt helpless as he stood there, wishing there was something he could do to ease their pain, but he knew there wasn’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tim repeated, “Jenna was more than just Y/n’s friend. They were like sisters. You guys were–are like family to us.” 

Mr. Garcia looked up towards Tim, his eyes red and overwhelmed with grief, “Can we see her? Can we see our baby girl?” 

Tim nodded, “I’ll take you to her. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” 

The Garcia’s followed Tim’s patrol car to the hospital. Tim felt like he could understand the pain they were going through, seeing as he had just seen his own daughter almost be taken from him, but he knew his pain couldn’t compare to the pain they were about to face. 

He guided them through the quiet halls, it was a part of the hospital Tim rarely went through. A part of the hospital not a lot of people wished to see. The room in which Jenna’s body was in was filled with an overwhelming aura of sadness. It’s like the walls knew the pain of those who held her close. Tim stood at the door as he watched them walk up to the bed where their daughter lay motionless. 

In the midst of it all, Tim felt guilt. Guilt that his daughter lived and theirs didn’t and mixed in with all the guilt, he felt angry. 

He wasn’t sure if he was more angry towards the drunk driver or god himself for taking Jenna away from her parents. 

Lucy walked up to Tim, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Hey,” she whispered, gesturing for him to follow her. 

He let out a deep breath, following Lucy down the hall. 

“They’re wheeling Y/N into surgery now, they’re saying it was touch and go there for a while, which is why it took them a while to get her stable enough to go into surgery,” Lucy explained. Her eyes gazed towards the door at the end of the hall, “How are they holding up?” 

Tim shook his head as tears quickly welled up in his eyes, Lucy didn’t hesitate to pull Tim into an embrace, “I almost lost her and I was a mess, I can’t imagine the pain they are going through,” he said shakily as he returned Lucy’s embrace. 

“I know,” Lucy whispered. 

“I almost lost her,” Tim repeated. Taking in the words he had just said. 

“But you didn’t,” Lucy said as she let go of the embrace and held Tim’s head in her hands. “She’s alive and she needs you right now, she needs you more than ever.” 

Tim nodded, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost her.” 

“You didn’t lose her, Tim.” 

“I can’t lose her,” he repeated. 

“You won’t.” 

“But I still can,” tears welled up in his eyes, “they can take her away as easily as they brought her into my life and I can’t bear to lose her. She’s my kid.” 

Lucy couldn’t help but smile, “So, what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that I want to adopt her. I need to.” 

Lucy beamed, “About time.” 

Tim and Lucy stayed in the hall, while the Garcia’s said goodbye to their daughter. A small amount of words were exchanged as Tim watched the Garcias walk out of the hospital, he promised them that Y/N would come over from time to time, but they still wanted her presence around even if their daughter wasn’t there. He knew it was because their home would be missing that light their daughter gave off, the light that y/n gave off when she came into any room. 

~~ 

Tim let out a deep sigh as he moved in his seat for the hundredth time, “would you quit it?” Lucy asked. 

“My belt is beginning to become uncomfortable,” Tim commented. 

“I know,” Lucy said as she looked up from her phone, “that’s why I called Angela to bring us some spare clothes from our lockers,” she said just as Angela walked out of the elevator. 

“How’s our girl doing?” Angela asked as soon as she walked over to Lucy and Tim. 

“The doctors came about an hour ago to update us, it was touch and go then,” Tim said. 

“Fuck,” Angela sighed as she took a seat beside them, handing off the bag of clothes to Lucy. 

Lucy quickly stood up, “I’m gonna go change,” she said as she grabbed her clothes from the bag before handing it off to Tim. 

Tim watched as Lucy walked away to the bathroom, “How are you holding up?” 

“I just wish I could get to the part where this is all over with and Y/n is back home and she’s safe and healthy.” 

“Don’t we all,” Angela whispered. 

The sound of the corridor doors opening caught Tim’s attention, his eyes diverting to the doctor who rushed through the doors and was walking towards him. Tim instantly recognized him as he stood up, “How is she?” 

“She’s stable,” Tim let out a breath of relief, “she did sustain significant injuries and the road to recovery will be a long one, but what’s important is that she is stable for now. We want to keep her in the ICU until she’s off the ventilator.” 

“But she’s okay,” Angela reassured. 

“She’s stable,” the doctor repeated. “I would count that as a win.” 

Tim nodded, “Can I see her?” 

“Of course, I’ll take you up there myself.” 

Tim glanced at Angela, “Go! I’ll let Lucy know.” 

Tim nodded, grabbing his bag of spare clothes before following the doctor to the elevator. 

“I do want to warn you, that what Y/N endured is traumatic. She had multiple fractures, extensive bruising, and some severe lacerations,” Tim was aware, but when he saw her, all he noticed was his little girl. He saw the blood, but only kept his eyes on her face, taking it in as much as he could. 

“She will be swollen and it may look scary along with all the bandages and lacerations,” the doctor continued. 

Tim swallowed hard, “I just want to see her,” he whispered as he tried hard to maintain his composure. 

“And you will, I just want you to keep in mind that it may look bad, but trust me, it will heal and she will recover,” the doctor turns to face Tim, “your daughter is lucky to be alive considering the damage.” 

The doctor stepped out of the elevator once it had stopped, and Tim followed him to one of the rooms in the ICU. “Let us know if you need anything,” the doctor said before leaving to give Tim some space. 

Tim paused outside the door for a second, taking in a deep breath he walked into the room. The sight in front of him was worse than he had imagined, taking in a shaky breath, Tim hurried to the y/n’s side. He took in all the bandages and wires that were connected to her body, the tube that was coming out of her mouth that was to help her breath. 

He gently took her hand in his, “I’m here,” he whispered as he placed a gentle kiss on her hand, “dad’s here,” he whispered again. 

Days went by and Tim remained by y/n’s side. His anxiety was getting the best of him every day that passed, especially since there was no change. Things weren’t getting worse, but they weren’t getting better either. Every day the doctors and nurses came in to check on y/n Tim was hopeful that there would be some change or something new for them to say, but it all remained the same. 

But today felt different. While Tim was holding y/n’s hand, he felt a small movement. He could have swore that she tightened her grip, he took that hope and ran with it. Getting any nurse that was available to show them what he saw. The doctor was quick to run some tests.

One of those tests in particular came back with new results, “It’s a risk,” the doctor commented. 

“But there’s a possibility?” Tim asked. The doctor nodded, “Then let’s do it.” 

Tim sat by as the doctors removed the ventilator, it was a risk. There was a percentage that Y/N could breathe on her own without it and that’s why she’s beginning to show movement, but then there could be a possibility in which she can’t yet breathe with out it. It was all risky, but Tim was willing to take the risk if it meant him knowing where she is on the road of recovery. 

They waited for a few minutes, watching the machines carefully as the ventilator was now completely out.

“Is this good?” Tim asked. 

“So far,” One of the doctors commented. “It looks like she is breathing on her on, we’ll continue to keep an eye on her.” 

Slowly the few nurses and doctors that were in the room began to file out, leaving Tim alone with Y/n. He watched throughout the day as y/n breathed on her own. He took it all as a good sign. 

Soon Tim felt his eyes growing heavy as he let the darkness consume him allowing sleep to enter his body. It was hours later when Tim heard was awakened by a soft groan. 

At first, Tim didn’t quiet understand where it was coming from, his sleep overtaking him again and ignoring the groans. When he kept hearing them, his body quickly reacted, sitting up in his seat, his heart pounding as he looked over at y/n. Her eyes squinting from the brightness of the room, she groaned again. 

“Hey, hey,” Tim rushed to her side.

“It hurts,” she groaned. 

“I know, I know,” Tim softly said as he pressed the button near the bed, alerting the nurses. 

It wasn’t long until a few of the nurses came rushing into the room, examining Y/N and giving her more pain medication. One of the doctors was alerted, he quickly came and ordered some tests before leaving. 

“How are you feeling?” Tim asked as soon as they were alone. 

“Like shit,” Y/N responded.

Tim chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, “you were out for a week,” he commented. 

“I barely remember anything,” She confessed. 

Tim sighed, “It was bad,” he began. 

“I just remember… I remember hearing screams.” 

Tim nodded, “Joey and Lisa made it out with a couple of broken bones. The people in the other car only had a couple of scratches.” He let out a deep sigh, “the driver that caused everything died upon impact.” 

“And Jenna?” 

Tim didn’t know how to muster up the words to tell y/n. He wish he could say that within the past week he figured the words but he didn’t. 

Y/N didn’t like the silence she was receiving, “Tim, what about Jenna?” she asked again.

“They did everything they could,” Tim began to say, tears welling up in her eyes. 

Y/N shook her head, “No.” 

“Y/N, honey, I know-” 

“It should’ve been me,” She cried out. 

“Don’t say that,” Tim raised his voice. 

“Her parents,” She cried, “It should’ve been me.” 

Tim let in a deep breath, “I almost lost you too, Y/n,” letting out a shaky breath, “I had to watch the paramedics bring you back to life. There was no saving Jenna when they arrived, but they were able to save you.” 

Tears welled up in y/n’s eyes as she watched Tim break down in front of her, “I know that’s not what you want to hear and I am sorry about Jenna, she meant everything to our little family, but seeing you lifeless on the floor… It broke me. I don’t think I could ever recover from that.” 

Y/n never imagined to hear those words come from Tim, she knew he cared for her, but she didn’t imagine that he truly cared enough that if she were gone he would miss her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Tim mustered up a smile, “No, I’m sorry, this was a experience I wished you never had to experience, but I am here for you. We’re going to get through this together, okay?” 

She gave him a small nod, Tim sniffles, “I wanted to wait until the paperwork came in, but I think you need to hear this now.” 

Y/n gave Tim a confused expression. 

Tim sighed before he continued, “I want to adopt you.” 

“What? Are you serious?” She asked with a surprised expression. 

“As serious as I ever could be, you have been my daughter since the day I took you in, there is no changing that, So what do you think? Want to officially become a Bradford?” 

Tears began to well up in y/n’s eyes, “You want to adopt me?” She asked. 

Tim chuckled, “Of course, I do.”

“Then I guess I should start calling you dad now, huh?” 

Tim smiled, placing a small kiss on y/n’s forehead, “that’s up to you, hon.” Tim knew that the road from here on out wasn’t going to be easy. It was long and bumpy, but he knew that he could take the challenge one day at a time, especially since the risk of loosing you wasn’t as high as it was before. That’s all that mattered to Tim. 

[lewispullmanofficial]

Inspired by @piratefalls ‘s post

Buck attempts to shift himself onto his stomach to sneak in ten more minutes of sleep before he needs to shower and get ready for work, but he’s pinned to the bed by an arm splayed across his chest. The muscley arm of his boyfriend. Just thinking about that word causes Buck’s insides to flip. He has a boyfriend. A big, strong, beast of a boyfriend – who looks like a vision as he softly snores next to him.

Buck and Tommy were at the same apartment fire downtown last night. Half of LA’s stations were there. It took all that combined manpower to finally put out the fire that had spread to all twenty floors of the building. Buck didn’t even have time to quickly meet up with Tommy and tell him how hot he looked landing the chopper on a flame-engulfed rooftop. All he could do was wave as he flew away and deal with the (not so) gentle ribbing of his team making whip sounds at him.

A little bit after the fire was put out, the 118 were dispatched to another call. They didn’t need as many stations there for the cleanup and triage. As they were driving away, he saw Lucy loading another victim into the back of Tommy’s chopper – his third trip back from Presbyterian. He ended up making another two before the end of his shift.

Buck’s shift ended first. He changed and went to Tommy’s to surprise him with dinner after a long and exhausting shift. As of late, Buck has been staying at Tommy’s more than going home to the loft. Even though it’s a longer drive to the 118, nothing beats getting to wake up next to (or entangled with) his boyfriend.

Buck wanted to stay up and wait for Tommy, but he was exhausted himself and ended up passing out hours before Tommy got home. Around midnight, Tommy buried his face into Buck’s neck, apologizing for waking him up – not like he had to. Buck will always savor every second he gets with his boyfriend. With the man he’s fallen for.

Tommy was misty-eyed as he recalled his last transfer. They didn’t get to the hospital in time. The patient, a college student, succumbed to her injuries minutes before they landed. Lucy tried to perform compressions, but there was no use – she was gone.

It’s part of the job. Both have lost plenty of people with the LAFD. Doesn’t make it any easier. One of the perks of dating another first responder is having someone who knows exactly what it feels like. The regret, the blame, the what ifs – Buck’s been there. Been there more times than he can count.

So even when his muscles were steeped in exhaustion and he had an early shift the next morning, Buck gave Tommy what he needed. He held him down and sank into him, fucking him slowly and reverently until his mind was clouded with only thoughts of him and their shared connection. He showered him in praise, worshiped every patch of skin he could reach and reminded him of all the good he’s done. How he’s worthy of the pleasure he’s giving him. How loved he is.

It’s an act of service that Buck is usually on the other end of. He’s more likely to bring home the trauma of work – he’s over-emotional, he’s too much at times, he’s exhausting – yet time and time again, Tommy takes care of him. The least he could do was return the favor last night.

Buck watches Tommy sleep for a few minutes. He’s beautiful, a work of art unlike Buck’s ever seen before. His chiseled muscles and cleft chin are so handsome, so masculine – it takes his breath away watching him. Sometimes Buck feels like he needs to pinch himself. He still can’t believe this side of himself was hidden away for so long. How he couldn’t see who he was after years of searching for it. But, if he came out before, who knows if he would have met Tommy? Who knows if he would have happiness like he’s found with his boyfriend? He’s right where he’s meant to be, when he’s supposed to be.

Buck turns his alarm off before it wakes Tommy. He kisses the top of his head and slides out from under his (beefy) grip to start getting ready for work. He does his morning routine, basking in the smell of Tommy’s shampoo and soap on his skin. He’s never going back to his old brand. Not when he can have Tommy’s signature cedar scent on him all day, reminding him who he’s going home to at the end of his shift. He throws on one of Tommy’s hoodies (for the same reason) and a pair of dark jeans.

When Buck makes it back to the bedroom, Tommy is still fast asleep – snoring louder now that his mouth isn’t muffled by Buck’s neck. He kneels on the bed and lays a quick kiss to Tommy’s bare shoulder. He really wants a proper goodbye kiss before work, but he’d rather let his boyfriend sleep.

But then Tommy turns over on his side, pulling Buck into a patented Thomas Kinard bear hug. “C’mere.” He grumbles, barely awake. His eyes are still closed.

“Babe, I have work.” He whispers into Tommy’s jaw. Tommy’s lucky enough to have today off. “I’m coming over later.”

“You’ll be coming alright.” He smirks, still in a sleepy daze.

“Okay old man.” Buck laughs, prying himself from his boyfriend’s grasp. He kisses Tommy again, this time on the lips. “Get some rest so I can hold you to that…” He can’t help it - He kisses him again, this time lingering for a few seconds.

“Mmm hmm.” He burrows his face further into the pillow, falling back asleep. Buck stands up and checks his watch, seeing he’s officially running late. Great. “Stay safe, love you.”

Buck freezes. He turns back to see Tommy is out. “Babe?” He questions. He doesn’t get a response. He’s not sure if Tommy was even awake when he said it. But he definitely said it. Said that all important four-letter word. A word they had yet to say to each other. Until now.

All Buck can think about is another four-letter word - Fuck.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

It's Not A Wet T-Shirt Contest

Pairing: Russell Shaw x f!reader, Reader POV

Prompt: “Is that supposed to be leaking?”

Requested by: @luci-in-trenchcoats

Summary:  When your boyfriend comes into town to surprise you one weekend, you thought that you’d spend it together, turns out he has other plans. Reader is a single mom and is the niece of Teddi and Velma. Reader is described as curvy. (Technically takes place in my Long As I Can See The Light Universe, but can be read as a stand-alone.)

Tropes: Established Relationship

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because I made it more spicy than I meant it to, References to Sex, Sexual innuendo, Little bit of self-deprecating thought (reader), Cursing, Kissing, Idiots who love each other lots. I think that's everything?

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n if any. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Tracker Masterlist

A/N: Alright, y'all this is my first fic written for my prompt celebration requested by the wonderful @luci-in-trenchcoats 😊 ENJOY!

You took another long sip of coffee from your favorite hand-painted "World's Best Mom Mug" and tried to block out the symphony of the colorful curse words and banging coming from your upstairs master bathroom.

When your boyfriend showed up this morning out of the blue to surprise you, this was not what you expected to be doing. Well, his appearance was a surprise to you, but you had a sneaking suspicion that your Aunt Teddi and her wife Velma had gotten a heads up that Russell was coming. They'd shown up about an hour before Russell had to take your son and daughter for a movie and a sleepover at their house.

But the bigger surprise was your current dilemma.

You'd expected to be tangled up with Russell in bed for hours trying to convince him to never leave you again, not be waiting downstairs while he tried to install a new shower head in your master bathroom.

You only blamed yourself.

You'd let it slip that the water pressure wasn't quite right and something that you'd thought would take a plumber twenty minutes had turned into an all day affair for Russell. 

Instead of taking you to bed, Russell had dragged you out to his car and to the nearest hardware store where he let you pick out a new shower head and where he got supplies, all the while you told him that he didn't need to, and Russell only kissed away the frown on your lips leaving you wanting more.

You always wanted more.

Russell and you had been together for five and a half months, and each time he left you found yourself wanting more. 

More of him and more time.

It was frustrating to be with a man who had a job that would pull him out of your arms as quickly as he’d appeared and leave your bed cold once more. 

It had been cold before and you didn’t want to go back to that. Didn’t want to be reminded of the cold bed over the final years of your marriage when your husband’s favorite phrases echoed through your bedroom after you put your children to bed:

“I’m tired” and “Not tonight baby, I have to work.”

Those last few years of your marriage were frustrating and did little to boost your self-esteem. Especially when your husband made you think you were annoying him and made you feel stupid for wanting more. 

With Russell there was no such thing.

When the two of you started dating and Russell realized exactly what your husband had done to you, he'd spent every waking moment making you feel more beautiful than you ever had. He listened to you, understood you, and did more for you than your husband had done in all the years that you'd been married.

But each time he left, Russell always took a little bit of yourself with him. You didn't sleep well when he was gone doing God knows what, God knows where, only that when he finally called or showed up to tell you he was okay, you didn't let go of him for hours.

There's another loud bang followed by a string of curses that make you sigh into your mug.

For fucks sake, that stupid showerhead is getting more action than I am.

You loved your boyfriend to bits, but you hated how stubborn he was sometimes.

You straighten up from where you lounged against the countertop in your kitchen, taking one more sip of coffee, before you make the trek through your living room and up the stairs towards your bedroom. 

This wasn't the first time that Russell fixed something in your home. He liked it when you made him a list of things to do when he visited, things like cleaning the gutters, nailing down the front step that always caught underfoot, mowing the lawn, etc. Things that Russell wanted to do for you because he knew how busy you got at work and with your children.

It made you love him more, because you’d never met someone so selfless before. 

When you enter the bathroom, Russell is standing in your shower, just inside the large glass double doors, soaking wet, and holding a wrench.

His usual easy smile has slipped into a frustrated frown while he stares at the bright silver shower head hanging on the wall. 

“I see things are going well.” You snort out a laugh, admiring the scene before you. 

Russell’s dark hair drips forward in lazy strands against his cheeks, his t-shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, catching in the dips and curves of your boyfriend’s muscular torso, and his usual blue jeans are stained a dark navy. The edge of his t-shirt pulls up from the top of his jeans with the stretch of his arms, giving you a view of the delicious stripe of skin just below his belly button.

For the love of french toast, the guy could win a wet t-shirt contest without batting one of those ridiculously perfect eyelashes of his.

At this point you were still trying to figure out how the hell you landed this man and why the hell he kept coming back for more of you.

“Smooth as silk.” Russell gives you a lazy smile that makes you feel like butter on a pile of buttermilk biscuits. “I just finished.”

 “Really?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Huh.” You take a step closer to admire his handiwork, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath ghost along the side of your face, making goosebumps trail over your skin. All it does is remind you of what the two of you could be doing instead of standing inside of your walk-in shower fully clothed and the things the two of you had done in this very shower the last time he was in town.  

"Is that supposed to be leaking?" You ask, pointing to the place where the plate of the shower head fastens to the wall and where there is a trickle of water dancing down the white subway tile backsplash.

"Oh shit." Russell sighs, his shoulders drooping when he notices the stream. “I can fix that."

You note his sheepish smile. “Rus, please let me call a plumber. You’ve been up here for two hours!” 

“No way! They overcharge you and it’s what I’m here for!” He argues.

Maybe I should try a different approach.

“Rus.” You say sweetly, putting both of your hands on his stomach. Russell’s familiar green eyes flick to your hands as you begin to move them up the wet t-shirt. “When you showed up today I thought we’d be doing something a little different with our time.” 

Russell swallows. “Baby-”

“And the longer you stay in here-” You breathe taking a step forward as you continue to move your hands up, tracing the hardened muscles beneath your palms. “The less time we have together.” You gently press a kiss to the space where his shirt meets the base of his neck and you can feel the bob of his throat as he swallows again. 

“I-” He tries again, but you feel his hands come down to the curve of your hips to ground himself there. 

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You murmur into his skin, pressing your chest against his as your hands work up to the back of his neck. The water from his clothes soaks into yours, but you’re not cold. 

“You’re fighting dirty.” He half groans, but you don’t feel bad. Judging by the way his hands have begun to squeeze your hips and pull you tighter against him, Russell was enjoying this as much as you were. 

“But it always works.” You purr against his throat with a smirk. 

“Fuck, baby I-“ 

“Yeah?” 

Your smirk grows the more you tease him. By now you could feel your own heartbeat thudding in your chest calling out to his and despite how cold Russell’s wet clothes are, heat was dancing along your skin. 

“I really want-“ There’s a grit along Russell’s voice, as if he’s trying to hold on to some shred of self-control.

You loved that you were able to do this to him, it made you feel powerful and sexy. Two things that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Hmm?” You moan softly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck while your lips continue their path along his skin.

He groans. “I really want to do this for you, but you’re making it kinda hard-“ 

“Really?” You mutter nipping along his jaw. “That’s what I’m making hard?”

Russell pulls back from you, holding your wrists in his large hands. But he looks far from angry. His green eyes flash a darkened pine, and dance with mischief. “Baby, trust me. There is nothing more that I want to do than show you how much I missed you.” 

“Then why-" You begin to say.

“Because I know that the second I do that, we’re not going to do anything else the rest of the time I’m here. And I want to do this for you.” Russell’s eyes shift a little lighter. He releases your wrists and cups your cheek with his large hand. You can see the love you have for Russell reflected back at you in his gaze

You sigh again a little disappointed. Today really wasn’t going the way you wanted it to.  “But I missed you.” 

“I could tell.” He smirks. “Maybe your shower head would last a little longer if you didn't wear it out." Russell sends you a salacious wink that makes you blush bright red.

“Shut up!” You slap him on the shoulder, cheeks flaming. 

Russell only smirks wider at you. “You know… I’ve got a solution for that.”

“Oh do you?” You ask innocently. 

Finally, we’re getting somewhere.

Russell hesitates, his hand still stroking your cheek softly. "I could move in."

It was the last thing that you were expecting him to say.

“See I've been thinking about this for a bit." Russell  clears his throat. “I know you can’t move because of the kids but... I want to be here in your life. I hate leaving you and each time I get done with a job I always find myself driving back to you. I don't want to be anywhere else.”

Your mouth is still open in shock, eyes wide. You couldn’t find the ability to speak.

In the months that followed your divorce you’d been on a couple of dates before you met Russell, where the mere mention of your kids sent your dates scuttling into the shadows or back to whatever swamp they crawled out of, but here, standing in front of you was a man who didn’t just want you, he wanted you, and he wanted your children. 

It was a combination that you thought you’d never find, and then you’d met Russell. A man who not only loved you, he made you feel beautiful, alive, happy, and seen in a way that you hadn’t been in years. 

Not to mention that both of your children absolutely loved Russell, and he did a good job of scaring off your skeevy ex who refused to come around whenever Russell was in town because the last time Russell had broken his nose and threatened other bodily harm.

Russell’s soft smile drops a little the longer you remain silent. “But if you think that’s a bad idea or if you think it’s too fast-”

You pull him down to you for the searing kiss that you’d wanted all day long, feeling the drag of his beard against your soft skin, and the warm pillow of his lips moving in tandem with yours. 

His hands run along the curves of your body, trailing fire in their wake, the same curves that you’d hidden under long cardigans and oversized clothes, the ones that you cursed each time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. But not since you’d met Russell. 

Not when he’d taught you that each blemish or curve you once cursed was something that could make him lose his last shred of self control and in turn, make Russell lose himself in everything you were. 

“It’s not too fast! I hate when you leave. I hate waking up in my bed each morning and not having you there holding me. ” You breathe before you kiss him again, soaking in everything that is Russell as you do. The roughness of his hands pushing up the shirt hung low on your hips, the smell of mint and gunmetal, the taste of the coffee he had this morning, and gentle drag of his wet hair against your cheeks that dip between the two of your faces when you kiss. “I want you here with me all the time.”

“Then I’ll stay.” Russell smiles so wide you can feel the click of his teeth against yours when he pulls you back in for a kiss. 

“Wait.” You smirk, leaning your forehead against his, your hands gently cupping his bearded cheeks. "If I say yes, I have one condition."

"Anything."

"Please let me call a plumber."

Russell rolls his eyes at you, but squeezes you tighter against him, green eyes flashing with mischief. “Not a chance baby.”

A/N: It was so fun to write this prompt and also to come back to these two! Thank you so much @luci-in-trenchcoats for requesting this one 🥰 If anyone else would like to ask me a prompt for my prompt celebration, here is the post:

Prompt Celebration

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always appreciated 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @louisanalady

@yvonneeeee

[strangespinapple]

BW ~ My Love

Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader

blurb: you and bruce are childhood sweethearts. you love him and he loves you. there is nothing you guys wouldn’t do for each other. but between you being 7 months pregnant with his baby and bruce’s late night activities, you’ve been missing him a lot. so tonight instead of falling asleep and seeing him later on, you decided to stay awake and give your husband a relaxing bubble bath. 

warnings: SMUTTT 18++ MDNI - fluff - pregnancy - soft!bruce - sarcasm? - cursing - bullying - marriage - love - childhood trauma - mentions of death - mentions of virginity - bad/mean boy but soft only for reader troupe 🥹

word count: 2.3k

a/n: the way i've been in my bruce wayne and billy loomis era is CRAAZYYY, definitely more coming soon!

honorable mention: @devilfic. she is one of my favorite writers and i love her Bruce Wayne fics. she is also one of many writers who have inspired me to write. pls check her out if you haven't already! enjoy :)

You and Bruce are childhood sweethearts. Going to the same middle school as the soon-to-be mayor’s son, you saw first hand how cruel people can be. You always made sure to show kindness to him. To let him know that not everyone in this world is heartless. After the death of his parents, the bullying only amplified, and Alfred decided it was best to homeschool him. You were sad that your best friend would no longer be going to the same school as you. But that didn’t stop you from being there for him and seeing him everyday. Never would you have imagined that your childhood best friend would fall for you and make you his wife 12 years later. 

You are currently two months away from giving birth to his son. Bruce has been working extra hard in his day and night job. He promised that he will take a few months off to care for you and the baby. You love Bruce so much and he loves you. That’s why you are filling a soothing bubble bath for him to sit in. It’s 5:30am and the sun is starting to rise in Gotham city. While waiting for the bubble water to fill the tub, you pour a glass of wine and a glass of sparkling cider. Normally Alfred or Lucy (Bruce’s maid) would do this for you but with acts of service being your love language, this time you wanted to make it extra special for him. 

You make your way upstairs as quickly and quietly as your legs can carry you, trying your best to not ruin the surprise. You put the two glasses on the counter in the bathroom so you can scatter rose petals around the tub. Lucy has helped you pick them from the garden, a new hobby you had picked up to fill all your free time. You start to light all the candles you had placed around the bathroom to add to the romance. Turning the water off as now the tub was completely filled, you took one last glance around to make sure everything looked perfect. And it sure as hell did. 

The sound of the bedroom door opening and closing made you feel excited. 

“Honey?” Bruce called out for you. 

“In the bathroom!” 

His heavy footsteps against the hardwood floors can be heard coming towards you. As he walks through the threshold it’s as if time stopped for the both of you. Bruce has always been a very fit, tall and undeniably attractive man. It’s one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. But with him standing there shirtless, still dripping with water from his shower, it made your mouth water. And these pregnancy hormones were not helping either. 

Ever since he found out you were pregnant, he built a shower and changing station inside of the batcave to limit the amount of noise and movement he’d bring to the bedroom. He didn’t want to disturb you and the baby with his mental boots and foul smells after being trapped in leather all night.

Bruce was just as turned on as you were. Seeing you standing there round and swollen with his baby in a purple lacy lingerie nightgown makes his pants feel tight. Beautiful long brown shiny legs and arms that he would bet his last dollar would feel so soft against his skin. Big boobs filled with milk about to pop out of the silk fabric. Your box braids in a high braided ponytail that laid flat against your left shoulder, framed your beautiful chocolate face to look more natural and ethereal than you already look. He could eat you up right here right now and not give a single fuck. 

Taking a look around the bathroom and seeing how stunning it looks, he wonders how he got so lucky to have such a beautiful caring wife. Bruce looks you in the eye with such devotion it makes your heart swell. 

“What do we have here?” He says with a smirk on his face as he walks towards you. 

When he gets in front of you his hands gravitate to your waist, as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Well, I wanted to do something special for you. Something that you wouldn’t see coming.” 

Your smile is art in its purest form for Bruce. He leans down and plants a soft but passionate kiss on your lips. You kiss him back with so much love. The kiss begins to get hot and heavy. You can feel his prominent bulge against your upper thigh, making you more wet than you already are. Placing your hands on his chest to push him away, Bruce looks at you like a starved man with a pout on his lips. 

“I’m supposed to be pampering you, not being seduced by you.” While smiling at him Bruce takes one of his hands and slaps your butt. He takes a deep breath through his nose to calm his hormones down. 

“Okay, whatever you want mamas. Where do you want me?” 

“I need you to take your pants off and get in the tub.”

“Can you take me to dinner first before you try to get in my pants?” He side eyes you while smiling. One thing many people didn’t know about Bruce is that he has a funny sense of humor. Something only you have been privileged to witness. 

You put your hands on your hips and a giggle leaves your lips. (A/N: didn’t mean to rhyme here but just call me DR  Seuss heheh) 

“Get in the tub Mr Wayne” Smiling at him you move one hand to your belly.

“Well of course Mrs Wayne”

Bruce pulls down his sweatpants along with his boxers allowing them to fall to his ankles. His muscular body looks like it was sculpted by God himself. You simply couldn’t help but to stare in awe of him. He steps out of them and makes his way to the bubble bath. Getting in the tub one leg at a time he sits straight up in the bath with the bubble water hitting his mid-waist due to how tall he is. 

Forcing yourself out of your trance, you grab a loofah and lather it with his favorite body wash. Slowly getting down on your hands and knees right beside Bruce, you glide the loofah against his broad strong shoulders and upper back. Cuts and bruises litter across his entire body but you make sure to give a little extra love and care to each and every one of them. 

“Baby you don’t have to do this. I should be taking care of you in your condition.”

“But you always take such good care of me. I want to make you feel as special as you make me feel. Baby or no baby, I can do this for you.” You kiss the side of his face lovingly. Moving to the right side of Bruce to start washing up and down his right arm, Bruce puts his left hand on top of yours. 

“Join me.” His eyes are dark with emotion. You couldn’t tell if it was lust or love or maybe a little of both. 

“Bruce. This is supposed to b-“

“I know I know but trust me, feeling your body sitting perfectly on top of mine IS taking care of me.”

He puts his pointer and middle finger in the shape of legs and walks them seductively along your lower arm. His normally blue eyes, now a gray stormy color, stare deeply into your brown eyes making you incredibly wet. 

“And more importantly it will make me very, very happy.” How could you possibly deny this man anything?

Pushing up on your hands and knees you stand up straight. You throw the soapy loofah into the sink and immediately start stripping. Bruce stares intensely up at you as your hand pulls the straps of your nightgown off and it instantly drops to the floor. 

“Oh you’re trying to kill me.”

With your growing bump in the way it makes it uncomfortable for you to wear sleeping pants and especially underwear. Anyone else would’ve made you feel like a piece of meat, with the way Bruce was eyeing your naked body up and down. But instead, he made you feel so loved and appreciated. Many women would kill for their husbands to look at them the way yours is doing now, let alone wanting to touch them.

“Come here. I need you baby.”

Getting inside the tub, you straddle Bruce. His hand immediately goes over your ass and back up to your hips, moving you back and forth to get you all hot and bothered. A soft moan leaves your lips. Moving the bubbles out of the way, you grab his penis and begin to stroke him back and forth. Bruce’s head falls back hitting the rim of the tub with an audible whine. Thick veins run up and down all 9 inches of him standing hard, with an angry red tint to it. 

You are Bruce’s first and he was yours. When you guys were graduating from high school, he decided to stay home and take over Wayne Enterprises as well as begin his journey as Gotham’s vigilante. While you on the other hand went off to college in Central City. Bruce thought that he wouldn’t be able to have relations with a person, given all that his life entails. So he asked you if you’d be comfortable taking his virginity as it is the one thing he didn’t want to miss out on. Being the best friend you are, you could never say no to Bruce. Also because you were secretly in love with him. How could you not be? Bruce is intelligent, tall, funny, muscular, has ocean blue eyes you can get lost in, and a deep and mysterious voice. He��s always been so attractive. Still to this day women throw themselves at his feet, willing to do anything and everything to be with him. You were more than happy to give Bruce an amazing first time, and that’s exactly what it was. It was so good that he was constantly on your mind at school. He absolutely ruined any chance of you being with another man. And when you tried to sleep with other men nothing came close. Bruce felt the same way about you. Every time you are intimate with Bruce it reminds you of your first time with him. 

Bruce lifts his head up and his hazy eyes meet yours. Not being able to wait any longer, you lift yourself up onto his throbbing cock. Sliding downwards, Bruce’s hands on your hips help guide you as your back arches. Both of you let out pornographic moans into each other’s faces. 

“Fucking hell.” Feeling you squeeze the life out of him, Bruce buckles his hips up into yours. 

“OHH Bruce” 

You rock back and forth on his cock while he pounds up into you. With arms around him, you tug on the hairs on the nape of his neck. Pulling his hair has always been Bruce’s weakness during sex. Bruce wraps his arms around your waist and holds you down as he jackhammers up into you.

“MOMMY I CAN’T—“

“FUUCKKKK”

With him hitting that perfect spot inside of you, you lose all restraint and moan while coming hard on his cock. Due to overly sensitive pregnancy nerves, you end up squirting. Your legs shake and your pussy clenches the life out of him. Your moans are music to his ears and it pushes him over the edge. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he grunts. His cock swells and spurts of his cum fly into the deepest parts of your uterus. Knowing that if you weren’t already pregnant, you’d definitely be after this. 

Breathing heavily against one another, you and Bruce feel a rush of love and content in your hearts. You pull away from Bruce and stare into each other’s eyes. 

“I-”

Taking the words right out of your mouth “I love you so much”

You smile at him. 

“That’s what I was gonna say” You lean down and kiss him as if it is the last time you’re going to see him.

He moans softly into the kiss and then breaks it. You turn around in the tub to sit back against Bruce’s chest. He wraps his arms around you and rubs your belly lovingly. You lay your head back against his strong shoulder. You look up at him through your lashes and study his beautiful face.

“Have you thought about a baby name yet?”  He says looking back down at you.

“No, have you?”

“Nope. But I have faith in you to pick a good name for our baby. You're going to be an amazing mama.”

“Awe honey, you’re so sweet.” He smiles from ear to ear and kisses you sweetly. 

He has always loved it when you called him sweet pet names. It helps heal his mommy issues, one name at a time. 

“What do you think about Dick?” You pull away and hand his glass of wine to him while holding yours in the other hand.

“Mhmm I don’t know.” He takes a sip of wine.

“I guess when we meet him we’ll know.”

Another smile slowly creeps up on Bruce’s face. Seems like ever since you came back into his life, he’s been smiling a lot more. He cups your face with his other hand and moves his thumb back and forth. He stares into your eyes wondering what he do to get so damn lucky. You are the light at the end of the tunnel. The sun that shines after a harsh thunderstorm.

An amazing dream he never wants to wake up from.

[usernameforaboredcat]

Growing Old Together

What life is like when you make the life long choice to grow old with them. Life, family, love, all the things that are needed to get old and crusty with the man you love.

~

Firstly, you two would wait AFTER he becomes King of the Pirates for literally anything to develop in your relationship. He’s too busy focusing about becoming King of the Pirates and finding the One Piece to worry about something like a relationship. Of course there would be that tension, the casual closeness and moments that just the two of you share. Never like boyfriend girlfriend shit, just casually sharing food or sleeping in the same bed all cuddled up, but no relationship. The day the crew found the One Piece and Luffy finally became the King, he asked you to be his Queen.

With such title, came a promise to protect you and forever be by your side, along with it being a proposal. Which yes it’s weird from being a ‘so are they a thing or not?’ for years on end to getting married, but it works for you two and you personally couldn’t have it any other way. You can finally call your captain your lover, officially being each other’s special someone.

It doesn’t take too long to finally have your first and only child. A little boy, he’s all you two need. Neither you or Luffy could think of a name, so Robin chipped in and suggested the name Isra, meaning journey, like yours and Luffys journey together as individuals, a crew, and the journey of going through parenthood together. You both fell in love with the name, thus keeping it. And boy did Isra grow up to be exactly like his father, so full of energy and love in his heart. The crew fell in love with little Isra, enjoying the little boys company and the simple joy he bought to the crew. It was just like having two Luffys

As he got older, Isra would train with his father to become strong and a reliable member of the crew. He is the son of the King of the Pirates, to say he had a lot of pressure was an understatement. Especially since Luffy still remembered what Ace would say about Roger, and it would kill him if history repeated itself. But of course it didn’t, Isra grew up with a crew that loved and respected him, an Angel of a mother, and a father that any kid would ever dream of having.

Anything was on the table for this man, willing to put his dreams of finding The All Blue just to make you happy from day one of you two dating. But when you told him that his dreams where just as important as his and that you’d be willing to duel wield your dreams he fell for you all over again, dropping down on one knee and proposing on the spot. But it was a few years before you two finally tied the knot, after you two had celebrated the arrival of two baby girls. As much as Sanji wanted to marry you before having kids, biology can’t help that you got pregnant. Which is how little baby Sora came along, naming her after his mother. Than around 5 months later on the night he was going to propose, you drop the bomb of already being a month pregnant. And soon enough Kairi came along. Your two little girls, named after the sky and the ocean.

You two had one big wedding, the Straw Hats and at the Baratie. Unknowingly you referred to Zeff as the girl’s grandfather, never have you seen such a tough man melt so fast. The wedding was short and sweet, your big family all together. And that might lead to the creation and soon birth of your third daughter, Lucy. You picked the name in memory of your captain and his alias back in Dressrosa. If it wasn’t for Luffy, you two would have never met and never had your three beautiful girls, it was your personal way of saying ‘thank you’ to him. Luffy actually greatly appreciated the thought, taking the gesture very personally and taking the fact with pride. Definitely doesn’t flex it saying “I have a kid named after me”.

After that as time went on, you two had two more kids and finally decided to stop. Two more girls, named Oceana and Koi. Sanji prided himself on being the number one girl dad, and that he was. All 5 girls being his spoiled princesses, all they’d have to do is bat their eyes and he’d bring them the whole world, sun, and moon. Funnily enough, they all grew up and developed their fathers love of cooking, wanting to be just like him. He felt so proud, have a little class of his little princesses to teach. Not only did he teach them cooking, the girls grew up seeing how a woman should be treated. Not through directly telling them, but just how he would treat you. Always make you feel like the Goddess you are. I mean you gave him all 5 of his beautiful daughters, growing and making them in your own body and going through hours of pain to bring them into the world. He can never express how gratefully he is.

Lucky for him he doesn't have to worry about his girls too much. They didn't get much when it comes to his sheer strength, but they did get both yours and his head strong attitude and not the type of girls to deal with shit. Sure they get into fights a lot because some guy thought it would be a good idea to flirt with one of them, but honestly you and Sanji can't help but feel like the most proudest parents.

Zoro never thought about dating, getting married or having kids. But something about you triggered something in his brain. It wasn't a whole love at first sight and have kids, it was more like a 'out of all these idiots you irritate me the least' and you didn't mind that. You treated each other with a neutral respect, that's what kept you close to each other. Two peas in a pod, attached by the hip, the brains and the brawn. It was only until during the two years that you two thought through your feelings for each other, missing each other and hating not having the other. The second Zoro first saw you again, all he said was "never leave my side again". And that you didn't, ever. You stayed by his side, up until years later when Luffy became King and he could finally chill out a bit. He was still developing using more swords, but now he could focus on other important things. You. Which was the day he gave you that ring, saying the same thing he did years ago. "Never leave my side again". And you accepted.

As if it was some romance novel, your wedding night lead to the creation of your daughter. It was your idea to name your daughter after Zoros deceased childhood friend, looking him in the eyes as your baby sleeps in your arms. "I've always like the name Kuina, it's such a beautiful name! And I know you'll make her proud, her, and our little Kuina". Your words brought tears to his eye, something he hasn't done in a long time. Although he loved and appreciated the name, he'd always call her Squirt. He devoted himself to teaching how to use a sword, since she always used to try and nibble on them when she was teething. When she got old enough he trained her everyday on how to use a blade, over the years teaching her to use two swords. He of course offered to teach her 3 sword style, but she was happy with the two.

Luckily for you, Zoro, and the Straw Hat crew, she didn't inherit Zoros terrible sense of direction. In the case of that event, both you and Zoro requested that Nami teach her navigation. She happily did of course, but not for free. She was a very sweet girl, but was probably double the amount of dense at her father. Can navigate but has zero social awareness, a fair trade from Zoros point of view. But he's always been social unaware, which surprisingly enough he's the only person to get that side of her. There would be something life threatening happening before their eyes, everyone would be freaking out especially Chopper, Nami and Usopp, but poor Kuina and Zoro would just watch with a blank stare before dealing with the threat. In which, Zoro knew that his daughter would be able to take care of herself, she is his daughter after all.

Which is probably the best part of his side of parenthood. Your crew would be adventuring or something and Kuina would be gone and you'd be loosing your mind worrying about your daughter, Zoro would just give you a blank look and tell you to "calm down, woman. She's fine". She always was, but you're a mother. Kuina is basically Zoros side kick, second in command, his left hand woman, his missing eyes, the one who covers his back. He liked to brag to the cook that his daughter is as strong as he was at her age, even going as far as to sometimes say "my 10 year old daughter is stronger than you, pervert cook" which would of course always start a fight. Not that she minded, she always got a kick out of her father getting into arguments with the ships cook. Much to your dismay.

The fact that someone like you confessed to him in the first place was already a shock. You had always been so kind, helping out anyone who needed it. Which makes sense as to why you where Marcos main nurse, his number 2. For a while he just thought you where just being nice, until you two got drunk one night and ranted everything to each other. Ace thought that you'd never talk to him again, think of him as some monster child like everyone else. But no. "Why should I care if your Rogers son? I'm a whitebeard pirate! And so are you, so to pops we're family. And I like being around you, much more fun to be around than all these old men". And he fell hard. The next day he casually asked you out, which you said yes. Even after what you said, he didn't know if he should trust that this would last long. It would be nice while it lasted, the cuddles and kisses, holding someone at night, a drinking partner, someone to keep warm at night during the winter, someone to keep him cold during the summer with how cold womans bodies get, just someone to love him. But the ending never came, shocked even when you brought up the idea of going more and more steps further into the relationship, finally leading to you asking about marriage.

Before deciding what happens next in your relationshit the events of Impel Down and Marineford go down, but end better than hoped. Ace didn't listen to the antagonizing words of the marine, instead he came sprinting for you to scoop you up in his arms and take you far away from all this danger. You're a nurse after all, you shouldn't be this far into the battle field. That was actually the day he finally asked, you, him, and the Whitebeard pirates rushing back to the ship, you safe in his arms, he smiles as he looks down at you. "Let's get married". And you did. The Whitebeard Pirates and the Straw Hats, coming together for your wedding. Soon after, your boss Doctor Marco looked you in the eyes and told you that you're pregnant. It was probably the first time in his life that Ace had cried, knowing that he was going to be a dad. To start a family with you, a family away from Roger, a family starting within the Whitebeard Pirates. You had your daughter, naming her Rouge, after his beloved mother. The woman who slowly forced herself to die just so she could bring Ace into this world.

A few years later you had your son, Eddy. His namesake being your captain, Edward. He was so touched by the gesture, an adorable innocent little one being named after him. Being even more toughed when you two asked for him to be the Godfather. Of course he said yes, already accepting the title of grandpa anyway. You also asked Marco to be a Godfather, gratefully for the man who saved you and brought you to the pirates. The crew loved having the two little ones running around the ship, it bringing a new layer of joy on board. Someone's having a bad morning? The two kids come running past happily playing and laughing. Depression cured. With the two kids, Rouge was an exact copy of how Ace was as a kid, Ace actually finding it funny cause Eddy was exactly like Luffy as a kid. Same age gap to. Eddy was the cute little happy idiot who would talk to anyone and everyone, and if anyone was mean to him you'd expect his big sister to appear out of nowhere and bite your ear off.

The two grew to be amazing, Rouge always staying the protective older sister and taking care of her brother. She developed multiple skills in case Eddy wanted to go off and be a pirate without their parents and he needed a crewmate. A doctor? She's got it. A navigator? She's got it. A cook? She's got it. A shipwright? She's got it. Anything Eddy would need for his crew, his big sister has his back. You and Ace are glad that the two have such a good relationship, especially Ace. Remembering how much of a dick he used to be to Luffy he's glad that his daughter is such an amazing big sister. But where Rouge knew knowledge, Eddy was the fighter. He was the one that started fights and punching people in the face, doesn't mean that Rouge was weak by any means. Say Eddy heard someone making an off handed comment about his sister, he'd hit first. But if they hit him back, she'd come in and hit third. Ace is honestly looking forward to the day his kids will go off and make a name for themselves, knowing that they'll be two forces' to deal with.

Surprisingly enough it didn't take too long for sparks to fly with you two. Knew each other for 3 months before dating, which to outsiders looking in it looked like 'oh they'll last a month and never speak again' but no, it was as if that sweet honeymoon phase never ended and constantly being sweet and lovey dovey. Which lead to only dating for a year and him dropping down on one knee, you said yes. Because of his line of business it had to be insanely small with just the two of you and a priest, of course you two sent out a few letters to close family to tell them. Which was his little brother and boss, and your very close family. He didn't think this would happen, especially since you where once a pretty girl he saw on the street while he was in Dressrosa. Not like me minds, he's madly in love and you love him just as much as he loves you. It didn't take long before you fell pregnant, which is when stuff with life started to change. You where moved to a Revolutionary secret hideout to keep you safe, especially with how many enemy's would love to kill you and your unborn baby. You didn't mind, spending most of your time with Koala and talking about parenthood with Dragon, not like he could say much in the first place.

9 months later your daughter was born, little baby Nova. Her name was a heavy topic between you and Sabo, wondering what to name your little princess. Nothing ever felt perfect enough. Until one night while laying together, looking up at the stars with your head on his chest and his arms wrapped around you and one on your stomach. He said it. "Nova". "Nova?". "Yeah, like a supernova in the stars, and it also means 'New', like my new life with you". "Nova it is". And that's when it was decided. She was the light of his life, not leaving home for almost a month just to be with you and your daughter. You told him that he needs to work and people need him, which he eventually gave in and finally went back to his work under Dragon. There would be time that he would be gone for weeks on end but you knew he'd always come back, and when he did he'd always hug his family close and never want to let go. As she got older she was granted a normal life, being able to go to school and make friends, while under the watchful eye of the Revolutionary. Sabo is very high ranked after all, if anything happened to Nova it would break the hearts of everyone who knew the girl. He always made sure to make it for birthdays and bringing back an amazing gift from the country he had returned from, which defiantly not making her classmates jealous.

As Nova got older, Sabo had told her the truth behind his work and how important and truly scary it really was. Even at the age of 13 when she was told she understood compliantly, she wasn't an idiot. Speaking of, Nova was very smart for such a young age with Sabo being her teacher. She was a little of an outsider because of it, kids her age hating how smart and spoilt she was. She didn't care, she didn't really like them either. And besides, there was an entire organization that practically kissed the ground she walked on. At only age 17, she looked up at her father with a serious stare. "I want to join the Revolutionary". And she did. She wasn't sent to do anything scary or too dangerous, just starting off to help with Koala and her father on missions. You felt so proud of your family, your husband and daughter being Revolutionaries and working hard to change the world for the better. You where just a girl who would spend her days working at a bakery, years later you're married and birthed two people who are changing the world.

Eventually as she got older, Nova became Sabos right hand woman, taking over Koala's job and working hand in hand with her father. She always was a daddies girl, even if he was slightly absent during the early years. He hates himself for that, but he defiantly is making up for lost time by working with her now. Still his spoilt princess though, but she wasn't a spoilt brat. You raised her better than to be a brat, always making sure she grew up to be gratefully and knowing that her daddy wasn't like the other kids dads and could gift her different things. Which she always took to heart, always using it till you two practically begged her to stop using it. Like if he got her a beautiful kimono from Wano, she'd wear it even when it wouldn't fit and was practically falling apart. She has a box under her bed of everything Sabo ever got her that she can't use anymore, not having the heart to ever get rid of it. She thinks it's a secret, but of course you know and you told Sabo. Sabo hopes that one day if needed, she'll take over his roll in the Revolutionary. She would want nothing more, knowing it would make him proud.

Your crew mates described you two as childhood sweethearts, but Law begged to differ. That day in the snow, begging Penguin and Sashi to stop hurting the poor bear, Law appearing and saving Bepo, you and Bepo following him around like lost puppies, and befriending Penguin and Sashi. The OG crew was what you 5 where called. It wasn't a secret that you had a crush on Law and it wasn't a secret that he liked you, but you where always too considerate of his feelings and waited for him to confess when he was ready. He knew that you where doing this and he appreciated the thought, and oh how he wanted desperately to finally tell you how he felt and how much he had fallen for you over the years. What was stopping him? Doflamingo, obviously. He didn't want to get you to get hurt because of him, especially knowing the type of man that Doflamingo is. If he knew that Law had someone that close to him, God doesn't know what that big bird would do to you just to hurt Law. Once it was over, he knew he was ready to confess. But of course shit happens, Straw Hat shit. During the celebration at Wano, the celebration of freeing the country from Kaido. He watched the fireworks with you, and finally told you how he felt. "I've loved you for years now, I've waited years to hold you in my arms. Now, you are safe. And I want you to be safe with me for however long you wish". You grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly. "I'd be more than happy to be with you, for however long you wish to have me".

It took a decade before finally getting married, but a little something popped up between this time. Well, someone. Well...two little someone's. 3 years into your relationship, the Heart Pirates celebrated the announcement of a new member joining, a member created by you and Law. Law was your own personal doctor, giving you daily check ups and his own prescription of how to healthily grow the baby. But while he was doing a check up during your second trimester, his eyes lite up as he told you. "Twins". Two little girls, his little angels. He was anxious as he helped you give birth, no one else was allowed in this moment. After hours and hours, little baby Cora and Rose laid in their bed together all wrapped up like burritos. The crew fell in love with the two girls, swearing to risk their lives for them. Especially uncle Sashi, Penguin and Bepo, self proclaimed uncles by the way.

Law’s a very hands on parent, being a huge helicopter parent for the first 4 years of their lives and closely monitoring their early years of development. Nothing went by without his knowledge, talking things through with you of course since you literally grew and pushed them out. He also wanted his girls to be smart and able to take care of themselves if needed, even if he was keeping a close eye on them over the first 18 years. His girls are free to develop their own interests and hobbies of course, he wasn’t that type of helicopter parent. It took a long time of reassurance from you telling him that the girls are fine and that there’s no one that can hurt them. He knows that there isn’t really anything or anyone that can harm his girls, not with him, you, the crew, and the Straw Hats around. But he’s still going to be anxious as all hell.

But he never ever had to worry about it, his twins where perfectly fine while growing up. The only problem really would be the pranks the two would pull on the crew while they grew up, being identical twins and all. You found it hilarious when they went through their creepy twin phase, especially since it worked so well of your crewmates who would always get all jumpy. Law made sure the girls grew up with at least a brief knowledge about medical care in case they needed it, both growing a interest in anything and everything medical, the sweet to the gory. It should have been a tell tail sign, the girls loved to collect dead animal bones or poke at rotting animals with sticks as kids. You obviously raised the concern with Law, but he reassured you that it's okay. Now they're talented surgeons and morticians, Law was defiantly proud but you on the other hand wished that at least one of them didn't have such a morbid interest. But they're both happy and that's all you care about in the end.

This is the oddest, it being Kid and all. Kid never really expected or planned or even wanted something like a partner or kids. He liked the idea of being free and casually getting to fuck whoever and do whatever he wanted, until you joined. It was actually Killers idea, seeing you being sold off at Sabaody and telling Kid how he knew you from his younger years being known as a little freak who can basically turn any plant into median. The older boy always kept an eye on a kid like you, always wanting the best even with how you where treated just because of your gift. So Kid took it up, during the commotion he ordered Killer to grab you and take you with them. You didn't really fit in with the group, being surrounded by tall buff scary men. You where more the soft smile, the people person, the kind heart, the "Don't worry, I'll make you feel better in no time" on the crew. At first Kid hated that about you, hating that he was convinced to have some softy chick on his crew. It was only during the time of nursing him and helping him through the phantom pains of loosing his arm did he actually start to soften up. You where patent with his suborn attitude, until you'd angrily snap at him if he was actually at risk of hurting himself.

He kinda liked that you had that switch, especially seeing you so nice and happy all the time. He wouldn't admit that he had developed a little crush on you, it didn't get any better. His brain skyrocketed and his crush grew in an instant during a drunken hookup, his brain short circuiting at how much of a secret sex Goddess you are. Taking him so well, saying and doing all the right things, being able to make him finish many times with just your hands and mouth. Sure sex isn't the number one important thing in a relationship, it was the fact that a sweet girl like you had a dark side, and he was in love. He would have been happy keeping his crush to himself and making you just a fuck buddy...until you told him that he got you pregnant. He accepted his fate now, he couldn't bring himself to demand you to get an abortion. He later thanks his previous choice, seeing you with his son. "REX!". "Rex? Like...a dog?". "IT'S A COOL AS FUCK NAME!". And that's how your son got his name, Rex. He wanted a cool tough name for his boy. He felt so proud to have a son, and a son that looked like a tiny clone of himself. He loved to keep him around, loving to watch his son do dumb shit. When he got a little older Rex would try picking fights with the other pirates on board, throwing shit and screaming. He loved his kid, Kid loving his kid.

The two would get scolded by you a lot, saying that Kid is going to raise a violent child who will be swearing by the time he's 10. Or if you'd ask them to do something and yell at you. "SHUT UP BITCH!". "YEAH BITCH". "I'm sorry, what did you two just call me?". You'd ask them with a sweet smile, the two going white in the face and muttering apologies. Not like you where absent, you where the more strict parent. Making him eat his vegetable's, go to bed on time, shower, do homework you gave him, brush his teeth, the normal stuff. The topic of marriage or even being in a relationship never came up, mainly because neither of you felt the need to. He always came to you for his sexual needs or any none asking for comfort. Neither of you went with anyone else, no sex from anyone or anything, just there for each other. You two where basically married, but never even became boyfriend and girlfriend. Not even any 'oh we should get legally married to make it feel more normal for Rex' but no. Rex understood that his parents where different, but that they still loved each other. Kid didn't need some paper or a ring to say "She's mine" when his actions showed that.

Rex was already an interesting kid, growing more and more into his dad. But just like you, he had his other side. Well instead of a dark side it was a light side. He knew how he should act in public so he'd always use what his mother had taught him to his advantage to get what he wants. Even going into making stuff like his dad and being able to sell trash for high prices, being a very charming and persuasive young business man. Little ass hat, but you and Kid still being very proud of him. You're just proud he's getting his own money and not having to beg you and Kid for money, Kid is happy that Rex has taken up his interest in making shit and being able to make tones of cash for a piss poor effort. All in all, Kid was actually an amazing dad for Rex. He was a lot more caring and loving that expected, having his little clone by his side till the day that Rex has old enough to take care of himself and fly on his own.