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casifer-is-king · 4 years ago

Text

Goldfish

PI!Frankie Pt. 2 (Private Investigator Frankie Morales Pt. 1)

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rating: M

Warnings: some language, sexual situations: dry humping and making out.

A/N: I can't get this these two out of my head so I just keep writing hah. It is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

Frankie is bored out of his mind - watching some high up bank employee as he sits through some shady meeting - when his phone pings.

Pollito: Today's the day. At 3pm tonight I will officially be a divorced woman. And by 9pm I will hopefully already be drunk on celebratory drinks! Are you gonna come have a shot with me??

Sorry dulzura I have to work.

Pollito: Bank dude still? You must be slipping, Mr. Morales. You've been stalking that guy for weeks now.

Please don't call it stalking woman. It's surveillance. And I'll have you know I'm about to close this one.

Pollito: Oh I don't doubt you. You're the best investigator I know XD

Frankie shakes his head with a grin. The meeting he's been watching seems to be coming to a close, so he throws some money down for the coffee he'd ordered and walks out to his truck. He looks over the information he gathered from this most recent surveillance and knows that tonight is going to be the best night to follow up on it. He just wishes he could put it off. Spending the evening celebrating with you sounds like a much better time. Especially after everything you've gone through this past month with the divorce.

In the past few weeks, the texting between the two of you had been just as constant as ever, but you had added hanging out together to the mix as well. There had been one dinner so far, which you insisted on paying for, claiming you'd never pay him back if he paid. Then there had been a couple of times you went out for drinks, but Frankie did pay for those even through your complaints that you can pay for yourself.

It was all friendly, though. Not that Frankie didn't want to move on from friendly. He just didn't want to push that move too quickly. You were already stressed enough without him adding his own shit to the mix. So he goes on being the supportive friend, ignores his growing feelings and focuses on work.

And it's a plan that works well for him up until this night.

It's almost midnight when the next text from you comes through.

Pollito: where ar youuuuuu

I'm working Pollito.

Pollito: but yo should be here drikinh with me Fishyyyyyyyyy

Sometimes Frankie really wishes he hadn't told you about his Delta call sign, but he can't help but smile down at his phone as he waited for whatever you were typing now.

Pollito: I need a ride home :(

I thought you had it covered dulzura

Pollito: nuh hh. Come get me?

Frankie bites his lip and peeks up through his windshield. A man in a suit is walking up to the door Frankie has been watching for the past hour. One more glance at the slew of little sad faced begging emojis you had just sent and Frankie was out of his truck and closing the distance to his target with long strides.

Simultaneously hitting record on his phone and pressing a forearm into the target's chest, Frankie quickly takes control of the situation. “This is being recorded. Now I want you to tell me what you and your buddies are doing here tonight?” he asked in a tone that commands an answer.

“Get off me!” the man tried to push Frankie away, but ended up being pushed harder against the building behind him.

“You tell me what I want to know and you can go on your way. Now, what are you doing here tonight?”

“I will call the cops,” the guy made one last ditch attempt. His voice was weak, though, and didn't hold near the authority he had hoped for.

“That's not going to happen,” Frankie's growled out. He glared into the target's eyes for a moment, his teeth clenching. “What's going to happen is you're going to tell me exactly what you and your pals are doing in there. In as much detail as possible.”

“Ok! It's a skim operation!” The man finally gave in. He proceeded to give Frankie everything he needed without any additional prompting from the ex-special forces soldier.

When Frankie got everything he needed, he finally let up on the target, who immediately collapsed into himself. “See, that wasn't so hard,” Frankie said. “Thanks, man. I'm sure you'll be hearing from some people soon.”

Walking away, Frankie looks down to his phone. It's been 15 minutes since your last text.

I'm on my way bonita.

〰️〰️〰️

You know that you're well past drunk when you find yourself singing Total Eclipse of the Heart at a karaoke bar, surrounded by your best friends. Said friends are just as drunk as you are after too many rounds of sickly sweet shots.

You saw him as soon as he strode into the bar. He was wearing his usual baseball cap, but tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket over a tee shirt that stretched deliciously over his chest. You locked eyes with him from the stage, then followed his broad form as he made his way to the bar. With a beer in hand, he watches you sing with a warm look in his chocolate eyes.

As soon as the song is over, you're off the stage and by his side. With a huge smile you throw your arms over his shoulders and he stoops to wrap his arms around you in return.

“I'm so glad you came, Fishy!” You yell directly into Frankie's ear.

“You look like you're having enough fun without me, Pollito. And stop calling me that” Frankie retorts, pulling away with a faux glare.

“I'll stop calling you that when you stop calling me a chicken!”

Frankie laughs outright, showing off the adorable dimple in his cheek. “I promise it's just a nickname. It's not meant to be offensive.”

You glare up at the taller man, fingers still holding onto the plush leather of his coat. He only smiles down at you, though, with a fond look in his dark eyes. “Have a shot with me!” You finally demand. ��We are celebrating the fact that I'm a free woman, remember?”

Frankie indulges you with a smile as you grasp one of his large hands in yours and turn him back toward the bar. He doesn't pull away, so you take that as a good sign and lightly run your thumb down the prominent vein running down the back of said hand.

Ever since the night Frankie came and kicked your ex out for good, he had been tip-toeing around you. You were more than certain that the man felt the same about you as you did him, but he hadn't made any move to go any farther than the dinner date you took him on. But every time he'd peek the tip of his tongue out when he concentrated on something you wanted to kiss him. And whenever he'd wrap his arms around you and pull you into a friendly hug, you wanted to push him against the nearest surface and leave marks across his neck. Not to mention all the little things, like watching him drive and yearning to grab his hand in yours. Or even just sitting next to him on the couch and wishing he'd pull you closer so you could just bask in his warm existence.

But, ever the gentleman, Frankie does none of those things. He texts you all day, spends time with you when he's not busy, and lets you vent to him endlessly about your divorce. And so maybe that's where the issue lies: you were technically still a married woman and Frankie is just the kind of gentleman who wouldn't make a move on a married woman? Regardless of how separated she was from her husband.

Marriage isn't an issue anymore, though, you think happily as you and Frankie down your shots of Jameson and it's subsequent pickleback in two smooth steps. Because this was your celebration as a newly single woman! You just had to make sure Frankie was aware of this as well.

Your little Frankie bubble was invaded as your friends squish up to the bar beside you. “Oh, look who made it right as we are leaving!”

“Hello, Erin. I see you two have been taking care of her,” Frankie nods toward you with a mildly facetious smile.

“Only the best divorce party for our best friend!” Ashley cheers, sloppily throwing her arms around your neck. “But our Uber is here, so it's time to pack it up.”

You can almost feel Frankie's eyes squinting at you as you turn to your friends. Oops. So maybe you had exaggerated just a little bit to convince Frankie to show up tonight. But it was worth it now that he was here. “Actually, Frankie's gonna take me home.”

Erin and Ashley exchange looks and you know, even in your drunken daze, that is time to usher them out to their waiting ride. “Come on, loves, your car won't wait forever.”

After long winded goodbyes, multiple hugs and some empty promises from Ashley that you would all get lunch the next day, you finally packed your friends into their Uber.

“Ready to go, too, cariño?” Frankie asked, looking down into your eyes.

Your head tilted to the side. This was a pet name he had not called you before. You are about to ask about it, but suddenly his large hand is covering the span of your lower back and warmth is radiating from that spot straight into your belly. With a dreamy nod, you allow Frankie to lead you across the lot to his truck. He gently lifts you into the passenger seat and his full torso covers you momentarily as he leans across to buckle you in securely.

You're struck, in this moment, by the realization of how broad this man's shoulders are. Of course, it's not something that you can miss; but in this moment, warmed by his body covering yours, he seems broader than ever. Shoulders leading to strong arms, ending with those hands. It was obvious that Frankie was accustomed to working with his hands, with long, thick fingers calloused from engine work and handling guns. But it's the little things about Frankie's hands that always captured your attention. The way they twitched when he was feeling anxious, always looking for the first thing he could to occupy them. He'd caress the table beneath his fingers, following every groove over and over again. Or when he tapped along to the music on the radio as he drove and his fingers would flex, showing off all of his tendons.

You're brought out of your thoughts when one of those fingers reaches up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. He's still close. Close enough that it wouldn't take much effort to just lean forward and place your lips on his.

But in the next instant he's retreating, shooting you a wink as he closes the door and jogs over to the drivers side.

“Did you get the guy?” You asked once Frankie had pulled away from the bar. “The one you've been watching.”

“Of course I did,” he drawls. “I'm the best, remember?”

“I am certain that's not what I said,” you laughed.

“That's what I remember you saying.”

You laugh at him, enjoying how his deep laugh harmonizes with yours, enjoying the moment with him. You wish you could drag this moment on, you think blearily. But soon enough he's parked outside your new condo and gently helping you up to your front door.

“Stay,” you whisper as Frankie fights to get your door unlocked while also dealing with you draped all over him. He grunts, just a general signal that he heard you speak, but he doesn't answer your request.

He's depositing you onto your couch when you say it again, more forceful, “Frankie. Stay with me.” You're grasping at the sleeve of his coat, both hands attempting to pull him down with you.

Frankie freezes, suddenly a statue in the middle of your living room. Seeing that you aren't going to be able to make the man budge by pulling him down, you relent your grip and move on to pouting up at him.

“Not a good idea, cariño. Not tonight and not like this.” He sounds just a little bit regretful. So you latch onto that and double down on the pouting.

“I want you to Frankie. Want you to stay here and kiss me and touch me with your pretty hands.”

Frankie groans in a way that makes you feel like you've won, but instead he takes a full step back and pulls off his hat to run his hands through his hair. The curls are messy, but they look so soft and you want to touch them desperately.

The next thing you know, you're standing in front of him and Frankie's hands are curled gently around your wrists as he's pushing you back at arm's length. “Dulzura, it is time for you to go to bed.”

You frown and whine, “don't wanna go to bed.”

“Goodnight, cariño,” was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep under your warm blankets.

Frankie 🐟: The guys are doing an early bbq then the fight is tonight.

You pick up your phone to read the text as it pings a second time.

Frankie 🐟: You're still coming right??

Of course! What time should I be ready?

Frankie 🐟: I'll be there around 3.

Sounds good. See you then!

Frankie is there at 2:47pm. It's the first time you've seen him since the day of your divorce just a week ago. You aren't exactly ready, but he only stands around impatiently for 10 minutes before you are finally out the door. The drive is across town, and 20 minutes later Frankie is pulling up to a nice little house in an equally nice neighborhood.

Frankie walks into the house without knocking, leading you through to the back door. In the back yard a group of guys are standing around a grill, two of them with beers in their hands and one with a water bottle.

“Hey! Look who finally made it!” One of the guys calls out as he sees you and Frankie approaching. A wide smile graces his handsome features.

“Hey guys,” Frankie greets, “Sorry we're late. Someone wasn't ready when they said they'd be.” Frankie ignores your huff in liew of introducing you to his friends.

You shake each man's hand, trying to match faces to names you already know: Santiago with his dark eyes, stubbled jaw and curly hair; Benny is the one with the wide smile and crystal blue eyes; and Will who's eyes match Benny's, but who has blonde hair and a beard that enhances his chiseled jawline perfectly.

“I've heard so much about you all.” It's a cliché line, but it's the truth. Frankie talks about these guys more often than he talks about himself.

“Want a beer, dulzura?” Frankie asks. When you nod he turns back to the house.

“So we finally get to meet Frankie's new best friend,” Santiago turns to you with a smile. “You and Catfish have known each other…. How long now?”

“One month, two weeks and four days,” Will pipes up from your left.

Before you can even comment on the absurdity of him just knowing that, Santiago is already going on. “Exactly! And we are only just now meeting you?! It seems a shame that Cat would keep such a niña bonita from us!”

“You know how possessive Fish can be, Pope,” Benny cuts in. “I'm surprised he didn't wait another one month, two weeks and however many days.”

The guys laugh and you join in, though yours is definitely more confused than anything. “I don't think that's it,” you reply. “Just timing hasn't matched up, ya know? But I'm glad things worked out tonight. I'm excited to see your fight, Benny. Frankie talks a lot about y'alls training.”

Frankie appears by your side again, handing you your beer bottle and casually draping an arm over your shoulders. “Ben's gonna do great tonight. He's put in a lot of work for this one and he's gonna leave that ring the champ.”

“I always leave the ring a champion,” Benny puffs up.

“Except when you get the shit kicked out of you,” Santiago says, feinting a jab to Benny's torso which leads to Benny grabbing Santiago in a headlock.

Will gives an exasperated eye roll and he and Frankie begin to drift over to the smoking grill in tandem, you being pulled along with them from under Frankie's arm. “You really thinking he's got this one?” Will asks as he opens the grill to check on the food inside.

“No doubt. He really has put the work in, and we've been working on taking advantage of Thompson’s weaknesses. Benny's the better fighter between the two anyway, so this one is a no brainer,” Frankie replies with confidence.

Will seems convinced by this and nods. “Good. He needs this win.”

They leave it at that as Benny and Santiago make their way over, still pushing at each other and laughing.

“Ok, save it for the ring, brother,” Will says to Benny. “Foods done, let's eat.”

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie downs the rest of his beer and peeks over at your own bottle. Seeing that it's nearly empty as well, he leans in and interrupts your conversation with Will by whispering in your ear, “another drink?”

You turn to him with a sweet little smile and a nod before turning right back to listening to whatever Will was telling you.

Standing and walking into the kitchen, Frankie can't help but feel happy seeing how well you're dealing with his best friends. Brothers, really, after everything the four of them had been through. Which is just another reason for Frankie to smile, knowing that the guys are going out of their way to make you feel comfortable.

Opening the fridge and grabbing two more bottles, Frankie hears the soft padding of footsteps and raises his chin to see that Benny has followed him. He steps back and let's the younger man grab a water bottle and a beer.

“So, you tappin’ that yet?” Benny asks with a salacious wiggle of his brows.

Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend's crudeness. "Come on, man, she just got divorced."

"Ok, but if that wasn't an issue?" Benny pushes.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if she'd even want that."

“But you are into her?"

"Of course I am, Benny!"

"Well, don't wait too long, brother. Don't let her slip through your fingers."

〰️〰️〰️

In the living room you are left with Santiago and Will. Santiago takes the opportunity of having Frankie out of the room and turns to you. “So, has Fish been treating you well?”

You're confused by the question, but answer, “of course. He's a really good friend.” You smile as you lower your head.

“But I'm sensing you're maybe interested in more than that?” Santiago pushes.

“Um, well, I'm just kinda going with the flow. He's just kinda been there for me through a whole shit storm,” you explain.

“Well one of you is gonna have to make a move at some point.”

Before you can deny anything, Will comes to your defense. “Come on, Pope. This isn't an interrogation here.” You smile at the man appreciatively, but then he ads: “anyway, we both know Frankie is gonna take his time making any moves."

The conversation is cut short when Benny saunters back into the room, presenting you with another beer in a flourish.

“Do you do any fishing?” Santiago changes the topic swiftly.

“Not at all,” you laugh.

“Don't like fish?”

"More like fish don't like me. I had a goldfish once, but it died pretty much as soon as I got it home."

“How do you murder a goldfish?” Benny asks, looking your way incredulously.

“I don't know! I did everything the guy at the store told me to do.”

“Well, lucky for you, it's ok if the ones you catch die, goldfish killer,” Benny jokes. “The goal is to eat them anyway.”

“I don't know. I have zero experience with fishing,” you protest.

“Don't you worry, we will teach you everything there is to know,” Benny says with a wink. “I hear catfish are pretty easy to catch.”

Santiago snickers and you see Will try to hide a smirk.

“Is that what you guys usually fish for?” You ask, trying to gain some context for the comment and following reaction.

“No, darlin’, it's not,” Will answers, his smirk evolving into a smile. “But we will be happy to have you come with us whenever you want to tag along.”

“Where are you guys trying to take her, hermano?” Frankie asks as he re-enters the living room. You notice that his lips are turned down slightly and his brows are pinched, creating that worry line between them that he sometimes gets when he's thinking too hard about a case.

“Just offering to teach the goldfish killer how to do some real fishing.” Benny's smile is wide and definitely leaning away from innocent.

“It was literally just one goldfish,” you mumble.”It's not like I'm some mass goldfish murder.”

Frankie pats your shoulder as he takes his seat beside you, “of course not, cariño. I know you'd never purposely hurt a fish.” His tone was only mildly sarcastic, so you let him off with a glare.

“Well you might have to break that rule once we get out to the lake with a hook in the water, but I think you'll manage just fine,” Benny laughs. “Here, put your number in my phone!”

Benny's phone is slapped into your palm, so you have no choice but to comply with his request. He also grabs for your phone and unlocks it to immediately start adding his contact info in return. Only seconds after you have swapped phones back, your own phone alerts you to a message. Opening the screen you note that you have now been added to a group message labeled “Operation Teach Goldfish To Reel In A Big Catch”. You see Frankie listed in the chat, as well as two other phone numbers that are not saved in your contacts.

“Kinda long for a chat name, don't ya think?” You comment, raising one brow toward the younger Miller brother.

“It's a working title,” Benny laughs out loud. “Now let's get going, guys. I have a fight to win!”

There were only a few people there when you got to the venue where the fights were being held. You go back and watch Benny warm up, surprised that the goofy guy from back at the barbecue has now turned deathly serious. He's definitely in his element here. Frankie and Will offer some pointers and words of encouragement until it's time for him to go change.

“I'm gonna go get our seats,” Frankie says as you all file out towards the changing room.

“You're not gonna walk out with me?” Benny sounds suddenly anxious.

“I don't wanna leave her alone, hermano,” Frankie explains, gesturing toward you.

Benny's brows pinch together and his frown deepens.

“I can go save the seats myself,” you assure with a smile at both men.

“Are you sure, cariño?” Frankie looks mildly worried, but he's also glancing back to Benny, clearly at a loss for what to do.

“Of course! You guys do your manly ritual stuff and I'll be out there when you get done.” Turning toward Benny you give him a bright smile, “good luck out there!”

The smile Benny gives in return is full of relief and appreciation. “Thanks, Goldfish.”

“That's… You didn't forget my name already, did you?” You ask hesitantly.

Benny laughs outright at that. “Of course not, sweetheart. But Goldfish Killer is too long to say every time.”

With a huff and an eye roll you try to hide the smile that's creeping into your face. “Ok, asshole. You go focus on not getting knocked out in the ring.”

“Not a chance of that happening,” he retorts with a wink before turning to go into the changing room.

Frankie turns to you once more. “You sure you'll be ok out there?” He asks once more.

“I'm positive, Morales. You go make sure Benny is ready to win this thing.”

Frankie smiles down at you with a soft look in his eyes. “Kay. I'll see you out there soon.”

People are starting to trickle in as you enter the arena and scope out for the seats Frankie had mentioned earlier where they usually sat. They are in the front row and still open, so you make sure to stake your claim on four seats and sit down to wait.

You're scrolling through social media when a shadow falls over you. You look up and see a man standing next to you, waiting to catch your attention. “Hey, are these seats taken?” He asks.

“No, those ones are free. I just have these ones on my left,” you smile politely.

“Thanks,” the guy smiles back before taking the seat next to you. You focus back on your scrolling for a moment before the guy speaks again. “Should be a good fight tonight, huh?”

Looking back up, you see the stranger is still addressing you. “Yeah, I'm sure it will be,” you respond.

“Who are you betting on?” He asks.

“Ben Miller,” you answer without a thought.

“Really? Ok,” the guy laughs.”I'm Nick, by the way.”

You give him your name in return and, with mild reluctance, allow him to engage you in a conversation.

It's 20 minutes before the lights dim and loud music starts pouring out of the speakers. You turn to focus on what's happening, but Nick leans closer to say something else. In that moment, you feel Frankie settle into the chair to your left, his arm automatically falling across your shoulders and he's pulling you toward him.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry that took so long.” Frankie's voice is deep, but usually it's a soft gravely sound that drapes over you like a warm, wool blanket. In this moment, though, his voice has turned stentorian. It's so clear, even over all the background noise, that you are sure Nick has heard every word without issue.

To prove that point, the stranger immediately backs off.

You smile up at Frankie thankfully as Santiago and Will make their way over, passing beers to you and Frankie. He takes his beer in his left hand and keeps his right arm firmly around your shoulders. Accepting that he wasn't going to move any time soon, you subtly lean toward him and focus on the fight that's starting in the ring.

As the second fight begins and the announcer introduces Benny, the solid arm moves from your shoulders and Frankie's hand drops to your thigh. The weight of that hand causes your stomach to flutter as he gives one squeeze of his strong fingers.

You glance over to the owner of the warm hand and see that he is leaning over Santiago, listening to something Will is saying.

You take the opportunity and bring your hand up as well. You allow yourself to touch the denim of his jeans, feeling along the solid span of his thigh, moving inward until the tips of your fingers are touching the inner seam of them.

His hand squeezes your thigh again, this time just a hint harder. Not a warning to stop; probably not even something he meant to do, you realize after peeking up at his face through your lashes. Frankie is straight faced, appearing to be watching as Benny gains the upper hand early on his opponent. But his eyes flicker down to your quickly every few seconds, and each time you catch him you move your hand just a little farther up his leg.

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie's arm is around you again, but this time he has you pulled firmly into his side as he leads you down the hallway. The announcer had barely finished announcing Benny as the winner before he had grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the arena. With one sharp turn he leads you through one of the doors along the hall and has you backed against it in one swift motion.

“I've been waiting to kiss you for so long,” he growls into your neck.

“So why haven't you already?” You counter. And that's all it takes for Frankie's lips to come crashing down on yours.

It's a rough meeting of mouths, both of you having lost all patients after weeks of waiting for this. His mustache tickles you and you giggle a bit at the sensation of his facial hair as well as the euphoria of finally kissing this man after dreaming about it for so long. He takes this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and you eagerly accept.

The kiss has melted into a deep exploration of each other's mouths while his hands find their way up your sides. Those hands cover your ribcage, up just below the swell of your breasts; he caresses the very bottom of them with just his thumbs before both hands continue toward your back. He traces fingertips down each vertebrae of your spine until he reaches your ass and firmly takes a handful of each cheek.

This action causes you to be pulled closer to his body and it's that moment that you realize he has slotted his leg between your thighs. The friction causes you to gasp and your head falls back against the door. Frankie takes this opportunity to begin exploring your exposed neck, mapping out all the places that make you moan and squirm on his thigh.

You move your hands up to push your fingers through his curly hair, knocking his hat off in the process. As his mouth meets the juncture of your neck and shoulder, electricity flashes up your spine and you grip a handful of his hair in one of your fists. The pull on his scalp rips a moan from deep in his chest and he jerks his hips into yours. With this added closeness, you can clearly feel his excitement pressing into your hip.

You drag a hand slowly down Frankie's body, feeling all the firm muscle of his shoulder and pecs, traveling further down his stomach until you reach the edge of his tee shirt. His mouth has migrated toward the other side of your neck as you push your hand up under the bottom of his shirt, fingers dancing across skin covered in a speckling of hair, following the trail down to his belt and…

Suddenly both of your phones are vibrating at the same time. You squeak loudly as you feel his phone through the pocket of the leg he has firmly pressed into your center.

“Fucking shit,” Frankie curses, stepping away from you and reaching into his jeans for the phone. “Fucking assholes,” he curses again, turning the phone to show you that Santiago is calling him.

You fall back onto the door and retrieve your own phone with shaking hands. It's Benny calling you, which you allow Frankie to see with a shake of your head and sardonic smile. He huffs out a deep breath and ignores the call.

“Guess we better find them,” Frankie sighs, running a hand over his kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah, we should do that,” you agree, running your hands through your hair in an attempt to tame it. Once you both have composed yourselves to the best of your abilities, you allow Frankie to open the door and lead you out with a hand low on your back.

Immediately you hear Benny's voice hollering from down the hall, “Well well well, there they are.”

You feel your whole body cringe before turning toward the rowdy voice, knowing full well your face is flaming red from both embarrassment and where Frankie's stubble had rubbed your skin sensitive.

“And where have you been?” Benny questions as the three men approach.

“Around,” Frankie answers, barely nonchalant.

Benny laughs loudly, but Will expertly leads him continuously down the hall. Though not without throwing you and Frankie a knowing smile.

“Did you lose your hat while you were “around” exploring random storage rooms?” Santiago inquires with a leer as he also sweeps past the two of you, following the Miller brothers.

Frankie's hand shoots to his head and he runs his fingers through uncontained hair. He curses under his breath then turns to hastily swoop his hat from the floor and place it back on his head.

When he stands back to his full height, he pauses a moment to gaze at you. The corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile as your eyes meet his and in an instant he's leaning down to deliver a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “We better catch up or we'll never hear the end of it,” he comments.

The three men are standing around outside the doors when Frankie finally escorts you out. Benny wastes no time pulling you into their conversation. “Bar? I need a drink after that win!”

You turn to look up at the man beside you, your eyes meeting is chocolate ones instantly. The two of you have a moment of silent communication before Frankie turns to his friends. “I think we'll skip the bar tonight, hermano. You guys have fun though.”

“Oh, you hear that, gentlemen? Frankie and Goldie are gonna skip the bar,” Santiago says satirically.

“Oh, we heard, brother,” Will affirms in a matching, though more subdued tone.

“Yeah yeah, ok,” Frankie interrupts the banter. “Come on, cariño, let's go before these comedians get too deep in their skit.”

The guys laugh and start their rounds of manly goodbyes.

You turn to Benny when he's stepped back from Frankie's hug. “Great job tonight. Congrats on that win,” you smile up at him.

The beaming man instantly pounced to sweep you into a hug. “Glad we finally got to meet you, Goldfish.”

“You're not gonna give that up, are you?” You glare good-naturedly.

“I've already changed your name in my phone. Can't go back now.”

You sigh half heartedly and return Benny's hug. “It was nice to finally meet you too,” you pull away with a sincere smile.

Back on the ground you get a side hug from Santiago and Will offers a friendly nod and a smile. Then, with one last wave, Frankie grabs your hand and leads you to his truck. After each of you are buckled in, he turns to you with hesitant eyes.

“So….” he doesn't hold eye contact for long, quickly tipping his head forward to hide behind the bill of his hat.

You smile at how cute he is, here in this moment. A distinct difference from the man who had you crowded against a door and rubbing yourself all over his thigh not even 15 minutes ago.

“So, I have this new condo full of brand new furniture, if you wanna check it out,” you suggest.

“Sounds perfect to me,” Frankie agrees, reaching over to grab your hand as he sets off toward your house.

✨✨Three✨✨

#triple frontier #pi!frankie #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you

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poptod · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, I have an ask for Elliot struggling with disordered eating. Love you for keeping up with the gender neutral fics, not too many of those around.

notes: this was a little harder for me because i currently struggle with a disorder like that and at first i didnt want to do it, but i think itll be good for me WC: 1.3k

Warning: Obviously, this has eating disorders and general bad stuff going on. Read at your own risk, you know the deal.

Every now and then, just every now and then, the signs start to pop up. They worry you incessantly for about a week, but they go away fast. Things return to normal. He shows no remembrance of his strange behavior, or at least he denies his behavior was strange in the first place. It keeps coming up though––he'll stop eating, stops dead and claims he's too busy to remember. He stretches his hands towards the ceiling and his sweatshirt rides up, and you can't help but to notice the visibility of his ribcage. The accent of his collar bones. Usually the sight of them has you yearning to kiss him––now though, sickness wells in your stomach, and it feels as though you're taking on his hunger so he won't have to experience it. A buffer between Elliot and the real world.

You can't really take him to a doctor though. It's not a diagnosable problem, it's just––it worries you. Elliot maintains a pretty standard form of body throughout these waves of eating habits, so there shouldn't be an issue. He has it under control, according to him, but sometimes it gets bad, and you have no idea why. Does he have body issues? Is he legitimately just forgetting to eat?

The knife in your hands––freshly sharpened that morning––easily peels away the skin of the round pear, large in your outstretched palm. Generally you try to stay away from knives, as you have a nasty habit of frequently slipping up and cutting yourself, but your strokes are slow and methodical. A long line of yellow peel falls from the pear in one, curly stroke that you maintain for the whole of the fruit. When you cut it into slices juice runs down your fingers. You lick it away and clean everything up, only then taking the plate to Elliot, who is typing furiously on the computer.

Not once have you ever known what the hell it is he does on his computer all day. He even talks about it, but you just don't understand all the tech jargon, and he's surprisingly alright with that. To him, it means he can talk and talk about everything and you'll never leave for the horrid things he's done.

"Not hungry," he says, and his unused voice is barely audible above the clicking keyboard.

"You also haven't eaten in two days," you say softly, pushing the plate ever so slightly closer to him.

Two days––you counted, watched him carefully, but he didn't notice. He never does.

He says nothing and doesn't take any of the fruit. They're special, too––you had to go down to the Asian market to get them, and that's an hour drive in the city traffic. More than anything you feel useless––useless to help him, to understand him, useless to him. You could cry, but you don't. Not in front of him. He's never seen you cry and you're not about to let him see.

Instead you leave him there with the plate, lock yourself in the bathroom for about five minutes, and come back out.

Still hasn't taken one, you think to yourself, counting the number of slices on the plate.

Fourty-two minute TV episode later, there's still twelve slices. Sneaking out of his apartment to return to your own, still twelve slices, beginning to yellow. Your teeth grind yet you do nothing, which is what you usually do, which is what you hate yourself for.

Next time you bake chocolate chip cookies. He has a single bite of one but you nearly cry (again) with the amount of relief you feel. So the next time you make sugar cookies, cut them into fun shapes and decorate them with colored, homemade icing. You give him the heart colored red and blue––he eats the whole thing. Granted, it is one of the smallest cookies, but he ate the whole thing.

You grin like a maniac while mixing up a batch of banana bread, the mildly sour-yet-sweet scent reaching you as you hum. If you can find the right baking pan in your bag, you can make it into a cake, with sweet frosting you're sure he'll love.

"What are you doing," he asks in a monotone voice. You whirl around, finding him on the other side of the small kitchen.

"Banana cake, or bread, depending on if I can make the icing," you say.

"... why."

He doesn't even say it as a question. He says it as a statement.

"I don't have anything better to do," you lie. Actually, you're skipping out on a lot of work, all of which you will have to make up on your vacation days. Telling him straight out why you're baking all these things will only make him stop eating, you know that.

After that he returns to his computer. Later that night you serve up the banana cake––which you manage to make a great frosting for––and the two of you watch an old 50's movie on sex education. He doesn't eat the whole slice, but he eats about half and that satisfies you.

"My cupboard is getting full," he notices one day, talking to you from across the kitchen. His head is stuck in the cupboard while you continue to stir the mix in your metal bowl.

Since the bowl is in your hands, you scooch over to him, looking over his shoulder. The four levels are mostly empty except the presence of plastic containers, all of which containing your various creations. You hadn't checked, but none of them are smaller, an indicator that he still hasn't eaten without you watching him.

"You should take your stuff home," he suggests.

"I think you need it more than I do," you say, and he has no rebuttal. He straightens his back and scans the cupboard once more before looking to you.

"You're a good baker," he says, "but I don't like cookies."

"Good thing I'm making pie then."

He eats half of the slice you give him, and none of the Chinese food you order for takeout, much like all the previous nights. You kiss his cheek before you leave and he lets you––stands still as you lean forward, doesn't flinch when you touch.

"At least keep drinking water," you say, desperate to reach him in some way.

"I know," he says, and shuts the door.

Your spine is pressed tight against the outer wall of his apartment, knees beginning to ache as they're held fierce to your chest. The stinging sensation in your nose reaches your eyes, forming tears that you despise, ones that come in big, fat rolls that mess up the fabric of your sweatshirt. He won't ever listen, will he? He won't ever take care of himself. Why doesn't he care about himself?

Probably because he's too worried about the world. There are things he does that you will never understand––both on computer and within the mind, and despite how many times he's talked about it, you don't get just how much effort he puts into helping the world. All that strength, all that fierceness, it pours into his work and leaves nothing left for himself but sickness in his stomach.

So why doesn't he care about himself?

He doesn't have the energy. It's spent, used on the world, on the poor, on the needy, on the desperate, on those clawing their way through a world that hates them, and on you.

You're so busy trying to take care of him you don't notice the little things he does––buying new ingredients for your creations, cleaning up the spots you miss, paying your parking tickets when you forget, washing the clothes you accidentally leave at his apartment. You don't need someone looking after you, but it's so nice you hardly notice it. Those little weights are off your mind, and the clarity shows just how thin Elliot is spread across everything he can't bear to leave to fend for itself.

There's not enough time in the world for him to help everyone, so he excludes himself. That's alright to him. That's logical to him, it's normal, it's all he can think of being right.

You just wish he'd let himself be taken care of.

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr. robot #tw eating disorder #rami malek #tw ed behavior

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after-avenging-hours · 4 years ago

Text

Virtue & Valor [1]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

You and your husband have the perfect life. Jobs that you love, a happy marriage, an amazing sex life… You couldn’t ask for anything more. But when something unexpected shows up on your front doorstep that completely turns your world upside down, can your relationship survive the fallout? Or will you have to let your feelings go in favor of the greater good? Letting go of the past can be difficult, especially when the future looks so bleak, but maybe you can figure out how to move forward together. You may just make it out to see the other side.

Word Count: 4913

Warnings: this part contains smut at the end, 18+ content, mostly a lot of fluff

A/N: Val is getting used as a nickname for the Reader’s character. This will be explained a little later.

You wake up in the morning to the brush of lips against your shoulder. This is then followed by the feeling of a pair of strong arms tightening around your waist. “Good morning, Mrs. Rogers.”

You groan in protest, trying to bury your face into the pillow. “You’re lying, it’s not morning yet…”

His chuckle is deep, still filled with a hint of slumber. “I’m afraid it is.”

Blearily opening your eyes, it takes a second to adjust. The numbers on your alarm clock blur together into one green lump until you blink a few times, 6:05. “Wow, you let me sleep in a whole five minutes,” you comment, tilting your head to look back over your shoulder.

A pair of bright blue eyes shine back in amusement. “Well, I did keep you up late last night.”

A lazy smile tilts your lips upward. “Yes, you did. And on a school night, how dare you?”

“What can I say? My wife is irresistible,” he responds.

“What a coincidence. So is my husband.” You shift your body around to face him, leaning on your side as you reach up to pull his mouth down to yours. He moans against your mouth, one of his hands slipping underneath your tank top to slide up your back. Steve pulls you on top of him as he falls back against the pillows. Your hands roam across his bare chest as you straddle his waist. You can feel his half-hardened length brush against your core, separated by the thin material of your panties and his boxers. Grinding your hips down, Steve groans against your mouth.

His large hands grip your hips as he pulls out of the kiss. “We should stop. Or else we’ll be late. Not all of us have a free period first thing in the morning.”

You give him a coy look, running your tongue over your bottom lip, where you can still taste him. “You started it.”

He gives you a warning look. “You kissed me first.”

“I wouldn’t have if that mouth of yours didn’t look so delicious.”

Said lips twitch as he tries to fight off a smile. “Are you telling me that you only married me for my mouth?”

You release a laugh, smiling brightly, “That… among other things… Your butt is pretty high up there too.” You yelp in laughter when he suddenly flips you onto your back, taking a dominant position over you.

“I didn’t realize my wife was so superficial.”

Your arms loosely hook around his neck. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

He hums giving you another amused look. His head bends down and you tilt yours up expecting another kiss, however at the last second, he diverts and presses his lips to your cheek. “Nice try, sweetheart. But it’s time to get up.” He pulls your arms off and pushes himself up.

You groan in protest, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face into your pillow. “Do I have to?”

“Unless you want to drive yourself.”

Grumbling under your breath, you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Sinking your hips back, you drop your shoulders and extend your arms in a stretch. A strained moan slips passed your lips as you work the kinks out of your fatigued muscles.

“Val…” Steve calls in a warning tone again.

“Yeah?” you respond, moving back up onto your hands and knees and curling your back to stretch your spine.

“Knock it off.”

“Knock what off?” you ask innocently.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind, I’m just gonna go start the coffee.”

You can’t stop the small giggle that slips out after he’s left the room. Pushing yourself off the bed, you stretch your arms up and arch your back once more, before following Steve out and into the kitchen. He’s already standing at the coffee maker, scooping the grains into the top. You step up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and place a soft kiss in between his shoulder blades.

“Is it possible to fall asleep standing up?” you ask, resting your cheek on his back and close your eyes.

He chuckles, twisting around to throw his arm over your shoulders and brings your body over to his front. He places a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’m sure you could figure it out. Which is why I can’t let you.” His hands fall to your hips, so he can lift you up and onto the counter. He settles himself between your legs, looking at you with a hooded gaze. “Have I told you how much I love you this morning?”

You hum, running your hands up his arms to loosely wrap around his neck. “No, not yet.”

He bends his head down, brushing his nose slightly against yours. His mouth tilts in a crooked smile. “Well, I love you.”

You smile back, tilting your face up to his. “Oh yeah, how much?”

His lips brush ever so slightly against yours. “I’m thinking that I should probably just show you.” He slants his mouth over yours, pulling you into a kiss. Your arms tighten around his neck, arching your body up into his. You moan into the kiss, hands running through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“What happened to not being late?” you mumble against his mouth.

You can feel his lips stretch into a smile. “Coffee’s brewing, we can afford a few minutes of distraction.”

You hum, “We could do a lot in a few minutes.”

He nips playfully at your lower lip. “We could... But you know how much I enjoy giving it to you long and slow.”

You release a small whimper, your knees squeezing his waist. “Mr. Rogers, that’s not how you should be speaking to your wife if you don’t intend to follow through.”

He chuckles, pulling back to look down at you. “If she’s patient enough to wait until after school, then I will follow through.”

You glare up at him, clearly unimpressed. “You don’t put a glass of water in front of a dying man and then tell him to wait 8 hours.”

He chuckles, “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not a dying man, then.” He pushes away from the counter, moving to the cupboards to pull down two mugs.

You jump off the counter trying to push the ache between your thighs out of your mind. “I didn’t realize how big of a tease you were when I married you.”

He grins crookedly. “Too late now.”

“What goes around comes around, Rogers,” you threaten mildly, warning that all this teasing is going to bite him in the ass later.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he chuckles.

He gets your coffees ready while you whip up a quick breakfast for the two of you to share. With a mug and a plate each set out on the kitchen table, you and Steve take your seats and start digging in. “What are you teaching today?” you ask in between bites of food.

“We’re starting a new segment in the advanced class. Creating optical illusions.”

You pause, thinking about what exactly goes into teaching a subject like that, let alone actually making the art piece. “That sounds… hard.”

Steve laughs. “That’s why it’s the advanced class. What about you?”

“We started Intro to Mixed Martial Arts at the beginning of the week.”

Steve gives you a questioning glance, “Mixed Martial Arts? In High School PE?”

You grin openly, gazing back at him. “Remember that survey I gave the kids at the beginning of the year? The one that asked them to tell me what subjects they wanted to cover. A good percentage actually picked MMA as their top 3. And thank God we actually work in a district that gives us funding. I think this is the most successful year we’ve ever had in PE. The kids are actually engaged for once.”

“It’s pretty incredible what kinds of things you can accomplish when the kids are willing to pay attention,” Steve agrees.

“You certainly don’t have any issues with that,” you grin cheekily before taking a sip of your coffee. “Those horny teenagers can’t take their eyes off of you, Mr. Red-Hot Rogers.”

Steve laughs loudly as you say the nickname that’s been circulating around the school halls for longer than you can remember. “It’s not just me they look at. My wife is sexy as hell.”

You hum curiously, “Is she now? You’ll have to introduce me.”

He grins and shakes his head. “I have a feeling you’ll like her.”

The two of you finish up your breakfast and coffee before heading back into the bedroom to get ready for your day. Steve pinches your ass when he moves passed you to get to the bathroom as you stop in front of your dresser. You yelp and swat his ass in retaliation. He laughs, sending you a cheeky grin over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

You change into a set of yoga pants, a sports bra, and a loose t-shirt. When Steve emerges from the bathroom, with a fresh face and minty teeth, you switch spots so you can wash your own face and brush your teeth while he gets changed. As you step back out of the bathroom, you pause and lean against the open doorway, staring shamelessly at the man you get to call your husband.

A pair of black jeans fit snuggly to his thick thighs and perky ass. A white, linen, button-up shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. The shirt is tucked neatly into the top of his jeans, with the collar tucked and the top button left undone to reveal the hollow of his throat. He’s looking down, with a concentrated look on his face as the rolls up the sleeves on either side.

Sometimes, in quiet moments like this, you get a strange feeling that this can’t possibly be real. That he can’t be real, let alone that he’s even yours. Steve Rogers is the perfect man. He’s sweet, attentive, attractive, and a God in bed. He makes you feel loved, cherished, and alive. As he lifts his head and catches your gaze, the small tilt of his lips have you falling even deeper into this dream-like existence.

“You keep staring at me like that and we’re going to be late,” he chuckles.

Smiling back, you step forward into his open arms, hooking yours up around his neck while his hands settle around your waist. “Would that be so bad?” you ask.

He brings his lips down to place a sweet kiss on your forehead, knowing full well that’s not what you want out of him. “Yes,” he responds simply before releasing your waist and reaching up to unwind your arms from around his neck. He laughs at your pout, “Come on. The sooner we get to school, the sooner we get to the end of the day. Then you can have me in any way you want.”

You roll your eyes and huff, but comply and follow him obediently out of the bedroom. He grabs the car keys, his wallet, and his phone from the bowl on the kitchen counter. You then grab your keys for the school locker rooms, the gym, and the equipment building, which are attached to a lanyard. You place the lanyard around your neck, then grab your phone and wallet next before following Steve out the door in the kitchen that leads to the garage.

Steve lets you pick the radio station, but the drive isn’t very long before he’s pulling into the faculty parking lot. The two of you walk hand in hand into the school, stopping first at the faculty lounge. Several of your coworkers already fill the room, many giving a wave or word of greeting upon your arrival. You and Steve split off into different directions as he moves to talk with one of the other art teachers and you head for the coffee table.

Fighting off a yawn, you pour out your second cup for the day, knowing that you’re going to need the extra caffeine to make it through the morning. Not only did Steve keep you up late the night before, but you’d also woken up several times due to some strange dreams. Dreams you couldn’t seem to recall once morning hit.

“Damn you, Val. Damn you to the deepest parts of hell.” A familiar voice has you lifting your head from where you’re trying to pour out some creamer into your coffee cup.

It’s Deborah, one of the biology teachers. You look at your friend incredulously. “What did I do?”

“You walk into the teacher’s lounge, with your gorgeous husband, looking like you’ve been plowed into half of the night.” She glares light-heartedly, her gaze sweeping over your form.

You can’t help but release a girlish giggle, attempting to hide it behind your coffee cup as you lift it up to your face. “Well, you’re not wrong…”

“Jesus! You guys have been married for how long? And yet you still go at it like you’re in your honeymoon phase! How is that fair?” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning a hip against the table.

You shrug. “What can I say, the sex is amazing.”

“Yeah, still not fair… When are you going to learn to share?” she gives you a pointed look.

“Not anytime soon, that’s for sure,” you laugh.

“Killjoy.”

You both stare at Steve from across the room. He’s in a conversation with Don Matthews at this point, one of the English teachers. Feeling the burn of your gaze, he looks over, locking eyes with you. You see the corner of his mouth curl upward before he sends you a wink.

“Good God, I want to sit on his face.” Your friend sighs. “Do you ever sit on his face?” she asks you.

“Deborah!” you laugh, slapping her shoulder.

“What? You could at least give me details. I’m living vicariously through you.”

“What happens between me and my husband in the bedroom stays between me and my husband,” you respond cryptically.

“So, that’s a yes,” she confirms. You notice her gaze drifting up to something over your shoulder.

Moments later, you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist. “What are you two lovely ladies giggling about over here?” Steve asks.

“We’re not giggling,” you respond right as Deb speaks.

“Oh, I was just asking Val how often she gets to sit on your gorgeous face,” she comments nonchalantly.

“Deb!” you hiss in warning.

Steve’s hand tightens on your hip as he chuckles. “I don’t know, maybe about twice a week? If we had it my way, she’d be there every day, but Val likes to keep things mixed up.”

“Steve!” you look up at him, appalled.

He grins cheekily at you, bending down to place a quick kiss on your lips. “I’m gonna head to my room to get ready for class.”

“Later, Deb,” he smiles politely at your friend.

“Bye…” she responds in a small squeak, watching him walk away. “God, if I could murder you and take over your life, I would in a heartbeat.”

“Gee, thanks,” you comment dryly. “I’m going to head to the gym to prepare for second period.” You take your coffee with you and walk out of the lounge. You wave hello and smile at the few students that are already on campus. Some you’ll see in class later and other’s you’ve had in previous years.

The day goes by fairly quickly. It helps that most of the kids are still excited about this new unit, although many of the boys groan in protest when you tell them you won’t be teaching any advanced takedowns today. “We’re concentrating on defensive maneuvers mostly. If I hear about any of you trying to pick fights in the schoolyard, using the moves I’ve taught you… not only will you have to answer to me, but you will be stuck running laps every day, all period long, until the end of the school year. Do I make myself clear?” you give the same spiel each period, and it’s luckily well received.

Before you know it, the watch on your wrist is buzzing in warning for ten minutes until the last bell rings. You dismiss your last period for the day, allowing them to head off to the locker rooms to change out of their PE uniforms. You clean up the gym a little to make less work for the janitorial staff and to kill a little time while the students are changing before locking up the empty locker rooms.

You walk down the halls of the school, heading for the art wing and then step into Steve’s room. You love Steve’s classroom. It’s vibrant and colorful. Every single possible inch of space is being used to display his student’s work. The joy and creativity seem to surround you like a warm blanket.

You find him sitting behind his desk, dexterous fingers clicking away at the keyboard to his computer. His gaze flicks up above the monitor as you approach and he smiles when he sees it’s you. “Give me just a minute, Sweetheart,” he tells you before turning back to the screen.

You nod in understanding and take a walk around his room, looking over the dozens of pieces of art. No matter how many times you look at them all, you never grow bored. In fact, it always seems like you’re able to find something new every day.

As promised, it doesn’t take him very long to finish up before he’s turning off his computer and stepping up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back against his chest.

“How was your day?” he asks, placing a kiss to your temple.

You sigh happily, falling into his embrace. “It was good, but I’m ready to go home.”

“Me, too,” he agrees. Taking your hand, he leads you out of the room, turning off the lights then he closes and locks the door. His palm is warm against yours, his touch sending tingles of awareness through your entire body. You have to separate once you get to the car, however, after he’s pulled into the garage and you’ve both stepped back out, he waits for you with his hand outstretched as you make your way around the vehicle. With fingers intertwined once again, he leads you through the door into the kitchen. You both deposit your cell phones, keys, and wallets back into the bowl on the counter and then head for the bedroom. You pull off your sports bra, tossing it into the laundry hamper and then bend down to remove your shoes and socks next. You leave the bedroom, barefoot, as you make your way back to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Steve changes out of his work clothes into a more comfortable t-shirt and basketball shorts combo before he joins you in the kitchen.

The two of you work in sync to get the food prepared, already having decided on what you were going to eat during the drive home. “Do you wanna watch a movie tonight?” Steve asks as he doles the food out evenly on the two plates.

“Sure. Whose turn to pick?” you ask, pouring out a glass of wine for you and grabbing a beer from the fridge for him.

“Yours,” Steve confirms, taking one plate in each hand before moving to the living room and setting the plates down on the coffee table.

You follow him and take your spot on the couch and set down your drinks. Grabbing the TV remote, you pull up Netflix and start to search through the various options. Steve had a tendency of picking historical documentaries or military based movies. You however had a pension for spy thrillers and action movies. You end up settling on a film that seems to touch Steve’s military interests along with your need for some blood-pumping action. As the movie buffers, you curl in close to your husband, pulling your dinner plate into your lap.

The two of you are fairly invested in the film, occasionally making a comment or some sort of reaction as the events play out. As soon as he’s cleaned off his plate, Steve sets it back down on the coffee table and stretches his arm over the back of the couch and across your shoulders to tuck your body in a little closer to his chest. You welcome the warmth that he provides, settling against him like a puzzle piece locking into place.

By the time the credits for the movie are rolling on the screen, your body is completely relaxed and pliant against his. “That one was pretty good,” Steve remarks, his thumb swiping across your shoulder absentmindedly.

You make a sound of agreement. “Mhm… Still don’t understand how they managed to walk away from that plane crash, though. No one could have survived that.”

He chuckles, “That’s why it’s a movie.”

You release a low hum and give a noncommittal shrug.

“So… dishes before or after?” Steve asks, his voice dropping with a suggestive lilt.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “What?” you ask, lifting your head off his chest to meet his gaze. Your breath hitches when you see the heated look in his eyes.

“I still owe you long and slow.”

That’s all the reminder you need to get on the same page as him. The flame deep in your belly ignites in an instant and you feel a clench between your legs. Pushing yourself up, you turn and throw a leg over his lap, pinning his hips between your knees. “Dishes after,” you respond before crashing your lips against his. You hold his cheeks between your hands, feeling the beginnings of his stubble tickling your palms. You deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding out to slip between his parted lips.

The hum of pleasure that you pull out of him resonates through your entire body. His hands slide from your waist down to your ass, gripping the flesh eagerly and rocking your hips forward. His basketball shorts do nothing to conceal his arousal as you grind down on him. The wet patch in your panties only grows until you’re sure it’s starting to seep through your yoga pants.

Steve’s hands slide up your back, slipping beneath the hem of your tank top. His fingers travel up the dip of your spine and come to a stop over your shoulder blades. Taking the hint, you pull out of the kiss and lift your arms, allowing him to pull off the bunched-up material and toss it to the floor. His t-shirt is the next to go and then he’s pulling you back in.

Your breasts are crushed against the hard plains of his chest as he holds you close. His cock begins to leak into the wet patch on the front of his shorts where you rub up on him like a cat in heat. He’s certain that if he lets you continue, that dribble of pre-cum will quickly turn into a full-blown climax, so he gathers his resolve and pushes your hips back.

The needy whimper that slips out of you is almost enough to break his resistance. His jaw clenches as he fights the urge to rut up into you like an animal until he creams his shorts. He knows that would probably excite the hell out of you, but he’d made a promise and he intended to keep it. Long and slow. He chants those words like a mantra in his head.

“Up,” he encourages, pushing against your hips until you’re sliding off his lap and standing on shaky legs before him. He sits up, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your belly before he releases you and turns to flip the back cushions up and over the top of the couch to make more room. They fall to the floor with a dull thud. “Strip,” he orders next as he moves to lay back across the length of the couch, his head supported by one of the decorative pillows. You are more than happy to comply, slipping your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and undies to push them down your legs. “Now get up here.” He reaches out for you, gripping one of your thighs to drag your leg across his body and settles your knee just above his shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you sitting on my face since Deb brought it up this morning.”

You manage to catch the briefest glimpse of his cheeky smile before his hands on your hips are pulling you down against him. You moan helplessly as his tongue glides over your slick folds. It’s enough to make your body shiver deliciously. He laves across your wet center with long, bold strokes. Like a predator feasting on his prey, he consumes you.

Sweeping his tongue up to the top of your folds, he circles his lips around your clit and sucks hard. Your back arches as you reach forward to grip the armrest of the couch. You try to not let your weight fall onto him all at once when all you desperately want to do is grind down shamelessly on his tongue. It’s an exquisite torture. Even though you’re the one on top, you’re completely at his mercy.

He transitions flawlessly between the long strokes over your dripping slit and the concentrated laps against your sensitive clit. He knows just what your body needs to get you into that euphoric state where all your worries and fears disappear, leaving nothing behind except pure, unfiltered pleasure. Steve knows your body just about as well as he knows his own. It’s like you’re an extension of himself, instead of a whole other person. He can feel your pleasure and he shares your pain. When your bodies join together it’s like fusing two souls into one. It’s more than just a husband loving his wife. It’s intimate and surreal and cataclysmic.

He knows that you’re close, but his own body is so tightly in tune with yours that he can read the signs of his own impending orgasm all because you’re so close to yours. He rips his mouth from your wet center with a gasping breath. “I need to be inside you,” his voice is so low, it nearly comes out as a growl.

He helps you shuffle back, so you’re no longer up on his shoulders. You lean against the back of the couch to make room for him to shift onto his side. It’s moments like these where the flexibility that comes with the territory of your job and his naturally unnatural strength comes in handy. The two of you move in unison like it’s a coordinated dance until your positions are switched and it’s now your back against the couch cushions while he hovers over you.

The decorative pillow has been pushed to the floor, but you don’t need it as you spread your thighs to make room for Steve’s hips between them. Your hands glide down his back until you’re pushing his shorts down the curve of his ass. He smiles in amusement at the promiscuous squeeze to his behind as he kicks the shorts the rest of the way off. His hips drop until he feels your hot slick against the sensitive tip of his cock. He drags his full length across your folds, still fighting that sensual temptation to take you hard and fast.

He studies your face as a distraction. You look back at him with lust-glazed eyes. They’re hungry and carnal but still manage to have a soft edge of tender affection. He loves looking into your eyes while he makes love to you. It’s like he can see an entire world hidden beneath their depths.

He feels the urgent squeeze of your hands where they’re still firmly planted on his ass. He huffs out a gentle laugh before allowing himself to sink into you. Your lips part into a gloriously wicked moan as he fills you up with every possible inch he has. Steve often finds himself wishing that he could paint sounds because every little sound that comes out of you is a piece of art in and of itself.

He pulls out about halfway before slowly easing back in. He wants to build you back up piece by piece. He wants to savor this like you’re his last meal on Earth. There are times that call for a frantic and rushed coupling, but this isn’t one of them. It’s agonizing and tantalizing, the way he can feel your walls pulse and caress every single nerve ending inside his cock.

He can feel you everywhere. Not just physically, but also mentally and emotionally. The love that you share for each other flows all around you like the air you breathe. It connects you and fills you up until you’re overflowing. “Steve…” his name slips out of you just above a whisper.

The smile he gives you is so warm and tender; you feel like you’re basking in the sun. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he gives you the assurance, letting you know that you’re free to let go. That he’ll be there to catch you.

He’ll always be there.

Part 2

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #art teacher!steve x reader #steve rogers x wife!reader #sam writes

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meltwonu · 5 years ago

Text

| caffeine | [chapter 8]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; usage of toys in public, overstimulation, oral(female receiving), anal play, forced orgasms 🥴🥴 we r back everyone! 💕💕 thank you to everyone who’s been so patient since we took a one week break from updates!! 💕💕💕💕 let’s get it!!

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - x - x

Wonwoo gets accepted to go on his archaeology trip next semester which doesn’t surprise you at all but does leave you feeling a little sadder than you anticipated.

And he tells you in the midst of eating you out, hands gripping your thighs as he laps at your clit.

“W--wait, Wonwoo--mmh!”

Your fingers tug on his short hair just as he sucks on your clit; a garbled moan spilling out of your lips as your thighs threaten to clamp shut with his head between them. But he feels you tremble, shooting you a look before he pries your legs open further, holding them still as he continues to eat you out on top of the study table.

“Wuh--wait! So, that m-means you’ll be leaving in like t-two months?” He moans against you, flicking at your clit with the tip of his tongue before he licks his lips clean.

“Yeah, maybe a little bit sooner depending on what prepwork needs to be done.”

“Hmm… ‘m gonna miss you kinda. Maybe just your dick but kinda you too.”

Wonwoo chuckles, adjusting his glasses for a second before he brings his index and middle fingers to his mouth to wet them.

He pops the digits out of his mouth when he deems them wet enough, bringing them to your entrance before he slowly sinks them into you, curling them upward until they tap your g-spot.

“I’m gonna miss your pussy too, sweetheart.”

“Hey, can you put this book down on the third shelf to the right?”

Wonwoo hands you a book to reshelf and you wonder how he even managed to convince you to stick around after he went down on you. Most often than not, it was a quick rendezvous and you or he left. But you think maybe part of you is feeling a little sentimental now that you know he’s going to be gone for a while.

“Right here?”

“Mmhmm.”

The cart of books grows smaller and smaller as the two of you continue to put them away, small idle conversation helping to fill up the otherwise quiet space.

“Any big plans before you leave for, like, three months?” Wonwoo ponders for a second, turning to face you.

“Well, the guys wanted to go to some 21+ beer festival-thing next weekend. You should come with. Maybe you can help me handle them all.” He laughs lightly, a genuine smile plastered on his face when he thinks about the others.

“Are you gonna miss ‘em?” This time Wonwoo scoffs, jokingly rolling his eyes before he walks over to the nearly empty book cart.

“Are you kidding? I’m probably going to have some peace and quiet for the first time in my adult life. I'll be more concerned about having to come back after three months.”

The festival day comes up sooner than you expected; having filled up the time with finishing projects and helping Mingyu not fail his.

You wait in front of the gates, a little uneasy since it was all of SVT House and yourself.

What if someone sees me and thinks I’m the SVT House whore or something, fuck. You panic unnecessarily for a second, wondering if there’s a way for you to escape but you hear Mingyu’s voice calling your name, turning to the side to see the entire group. Too late.

“Hey, ‘Gyu.” You meet him in a hug, Minghao coming soon after until Wonwoo steps in front of you. The others coo at the two of you, jokingly calling you the ‘lovebirds’ before they start walking to the ticketing kiosks, leaving you and Wonwoo alone.

“You know how they are.” “Mm, yeah unfortunately.”

You chuckle, walking with Wonwoo to the ticketing kiosks where he pays for your ticket. “Hey, what the fuck? You never buy us anything!!” The blonde one you’d seen in passing screeches. Soonyoung.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, handing you your ticket which you thank him for. “She’s the only girl here, I’m trying to be a gentleman.” You can’t help but blush at his words, walking with the rest of them through the security check. Mingyu sends you a greasy smirk, just as you quickly flip him off.

All of you get through security with no issues, Seungcheol doing a headcount to make sure everyone’s there before he starts leading the way into the festival grounds. There’s a few amusement park rides thrown in the mix of game booths and alcohol stalls as well and you’re semi-glad it’s a 21+ event only; something was telling you things could get messy.

Wonwoo tugs on your elbow not a second after, curiosity plastered on your face when you turn to face him. “Before we… get started, I have a gift for you.” He smirks, pulling out a small box from his pocket before placing it in the palm of your hands.

You barely open it for a split-second before you quickly put the cover back on, cheeks hot as you stare up at the fox-eyed male. “How the fuck did you get this through security!?” You whisper harshly. He chuckles quietly, pulling the remote from his pocket as he spins the keychain loop around his index finger.

“Dunno, guess sex toys don’t make the sensor go off.”

He tells the others that the two of you were going to head to the restrooms really quick, telling Seungcheol to text him their location while he waits for you.

The blush eats you alive when you slip into a restroom stall, hiking up your dress slightly to pull down your normal panties to replace them with the vibrating panties that Wonwoo had somehow gotten through security. You could already feel yourself getting slightly wet; the thrill of him controlling your orgasms in a public place suddenly extremely hot. And the toy sits directly on your clit, a small shiver running up your spine as you adjust it before gathering your things and leaving. Wonwoo meets you outside, eyebrow quirked as he grins. “Let’s give it a try, hmm?”

The vibrations hit you hard and fast, a choked noise all you can muster in the three seconds he turns it on and off. “Oh, seems like it's working well.”

When the two of you meet up with the rest of the guys, they’re at a game booth trying to win some stuffed animal.

You feel mildly on edge now that you knew Wonwoo could turn the toy on at any second, a cold sweat on your skin as you stand in between Minghao and Wonwoo. “That took you awhile. You guys weren’t… doing anything unsavory were you?” You grit your teeth; Wonwoo having turned on the toy on its lowest level just as Minghao finished asking.

“No? We’re literally here to eat and maybe get a little drunk. Cut me some slack, ‘Hao. When have you ever seen me acting out in public?” Minghao nods slowly at Wonwoo’s words, eyeing you before he clears his throat.

“Ok, I mean… Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Wonwoo shifts the vibration intensity higher, your legs twitching underneath your dress. You can feel your body tensing up, pussy clenching around nothingness as the toy assaults your clit. “Don’t you have anything to say to defend yourself?” Minghao jokes, jabbing you with his elbow.

“W--what? N-no… I mean, I just, I--I needed to use the restroom. There was a line and y-yeah...” You blabber, hands clenched into fists on your sides. Wonwoo eases up, turning the toy off just as your body slumps forward slightly.

“You okay, though? You seem tired.” Minghao’s voice is filled with worry as he places his hand on your shoulder. “Yeah! I’m good, just slept kinda weird last night so I might seem a ‘lil tired today!” He buys it, thankfully, turning his attention back to the others just as Seungcheol wins the stuffed animal.

“For the sweet lady.”

Seungcheol winks, handing you the small stuffed bear just as Wonwoo sets the vibration to the maximum level, forcing an orgasm out of you in a matter of seconds just as you choke out a small ‘thank you’ towards Seungcheol.

You grit your teeth hard, nails digging into the poor stuffed animal you were gifted. “What’cha gonna name it?” You meet the eyes of Seokmin, a cheery smile on his face. Wonwoo turns the toy off again, a soft chuckle fluttering by.

“I don’t know.”

Thankfully you do manage to have fun; momentarily forgetting about the toy. And Wonwoo seems to forget about it for a bit too, enjoying the drinks as you all stop at stalls to grab different beers to try in between all of your conversations.

One of the younger ones, Seungkwan, suggests getting on one of the rides; queueing up in front of the merry-go-round near-by.

“This is supposed to be, like, a wine and cheese festival but we have beer and children’s rides. Who even came up with this?” Vernon asks, genuinely curious.

“Broke college kids who can’t afford wine and cheese but can afford cheap beer and free rides and need escapism.” Everyone nods sadly at Jeonghan’s words, unfortunately very true.

And much like you expect, the small vibrations come back; Wonwoo having set it on the lowest setting while you all waited in line. “We should go sit and eat for a bit after this. My feet are kinda killing me.” Jun complains, but everyone agrees, deciding to take a little break after the ride to finally eat something.

“Yeah, honestly, I’m full of beer, I need something to eat.” Joshua whines.

Wonwoo turns the vibrations up a level, your thighs rubbing together under your dress as you sneakily shift from one foot to the other. He calls your name loud enough to get the attention of everyone else, their eyes on you as you mentally curse at him.

“What do you feel like eating? We should let you choose.” The others nod, a sly smirk plastered on his features. “Geez hyung, you’re really trying to put on that gentlemanly charm, huh?” Chan teases. You laugh awkwardly, a bead of sweat trickling down your temple as you wipe it away.

Gentleman, my ass.

“I--um, I--I saw a pretzel stall we p-passed by, it se--seems like it’d go well w-with drinks…”

The others agree just as you’re all let onto the merry-go-round, sitting on one of the horses next to Wonwoo. The ride starts soon after; the others laughing and cracking jokes almost immediately as they all sit in front of you. Wonwoo’s eyes glint with mischief when your eyes meet, your hand covering your mouth as you let out a choked cry.

At the angle you’re sitting in, the toy presses harder against your clit and almost like Wonwoo knows that, he sets the toy to the highest level again. And this time, you can’t help but grind against it, thankful that you could mask your movements on the god-forsaken ride. “W-Wonwoo…” You whisper. He barely catches it over the ride’s music, smirking as he only mouths the word ‘cum’ to you.

A shiver runs up your spine when you finally cum this time, toes curling in your sandals as you bite your lip to hold in any noises. You sit up pin straight on your horse, your entire body twitching at your second orgasm. But it doesn’t last long, much like your first one. Wonwoo turns off the toy again, just as the ride starts to come to a stop and you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Need some help down, m’lady?” This time it’s Mingyu offering his hand which you shakily take, palm clammy when you place yours in his. “Jesus, are you okay? Why is your palm so sweaty?”

“Yeah, m’fine, I think the beer is getting to me.” He pouts at you, rubbing your back slightly as he ushers your wobbly body off of the ride. “You know what’ll fix that? More beer but also some food, finally.”

You and Mingyu fall into idle conversation; Wonwoo giving you a break that you deserve after forcing two orgasms out of you. And eventually you find the pretzel stall, thankful that there’s empty tables around as you all find a seat.

You sit at a table with Wonwoo by your side, Jihoon and Mingyu sitting on the opposite side.

“We’ll go in pairs or something, so we don’t lose our seats.” You nod at Seungcheol’s suggestion, just thankful you can finally sit and catch your breath. Mingyu and Jihoon get up first, leaving the two of you alone again.

“Having fun, sweetheart?” The tone in Wonwoo’s voice is provoking, your head tilting slightly to look at him and glare. “You’re actually the devil. Gentlemanly, my fucking ass.” You whisper harshly. The stuffed toy in your hands gets squeezed hard again, Wonwoo prying it out from between your iron grip.

“Don’t cuss in front of our child.” He smiles sickly sweet at you, smoothing down the toy’s faux fur before he places it in front of you again.

You’re about to open your mouth to retort but you notice Jihoon coming back, placing food and a cup of beer right in front of you instead. “Hey, uhh, I paid for your food and drink. Hope that’s okay. You seemed tired.” There’s a faint blush on his cheek just as he shyly looks away.

“O-oh. Thank you, Jihoon, that’s really sweet of you…”

“Um, mmhmm, I’m gonna go get my own food, I’ll be back.”

Wonwoo scoffs when Jihoon walks away, plucking the remote from his pocket again. “Isn’t that cute? Everyone’s treating you like a little princess. Doting on you while you cum because of me. So spoiled.”

You blush, choosing to ignore Wonwoo’s words as you focus on eating the food Jihoon had so kindly gotten for you. Eventually the other two come back, leaving Wonwoo to get his own food as he leaves you with them. “Jeez, couldn’t even get me anything, Mingyu?”

“Sorry bro, only one pair of hands!”

The three of you laugh, delving into conversation as the tall male leaves. “Anyway, you guys aren’t dating right?” Mingyu asks. You nod. “We’re not. Why?”

“No reason, just checking in to see if anything’s changed.”

“Since you’re not dating, d’you wanna come to my studio?” You choke on your food, eyes bulging as you stare at Jihoon. “I--what?” He places his food down, taking a sip of his beer before he replies.

“Nothin’ sexual, just could use an outside opinion on some music stuff. We’re all art kids to some degree, y’know? Sometimes I need an outsider’s opinion.”

“But--but what does that have to do with me dating Wonwoo?”

“Nothing really. I just didn’t want to ask just in case he got the wrong idea.” Wonwoo walks back in mid-conversation, setting his things down as he looks at Jihoon. “Wrong idea?”

“I asked her if she’d come to my studio to give me an opinion on music stuff. Nothing major.” Wonwoo glances at you before he takes a sip of his own beer. “Jihoon’s really good at producing. You’d be lucky to hear what he works on. ”

“I’d love to come by whenever!” You smile at Jihoon, hurriedly finishing your food. The other three take their time, discussing various topics just as you see Wonwoo slip his hand towards his pants pocket again. Oh no.

This time he wastes no time, already setting the toy to the middle setting as you try your best to not lurch forward over the table top. Your body is already extremely sensitive from your past orgasms and you find it hard to keep in the noises you so badly want to let out.

“We should go to a few more game booths and then maybe hit up the rides before we leave.” Mingyu says with a mouthful of food. “Mm, yeah, they set up a cool arcade area on the north end of the grounds, we should head over there when the sun goes down.” Wonwoo adds.

You find it incredible that he can sound so normal in this situation and you almost feel jealous. Fucker.

The three continue to chat about the day’s plans just as your orgasm begins to crest quickly, Jihoon’s eyes landing on you when he asks for your opinion. You almost feel bad that you’re cumming while staring Jihoon straight in the eyes but you figure it wasn’t the first time today that had happened anyway.

The wetness between your legs feels horrible when you come down from your high; panties sticking to you like a second skin as you rub your thighs together.

“Yeah, sounds g-good!”

Wonwoo lets up, letting you enjoy the rest of your day in peace for the most part.

The sun eventually goes down and all of you head towards the arcade tent; everyone splitting up to go do their own thing for the time being. You stick with Wonwoo however, walking around quietly and looking at all the arcade cabinets with him.

“Tired yet?”

“Why? Think I can’t keep up with you?” You quip, a little on edge. In truth, you were a little tired. But you also wanted Wonwoo to fuck you already and you weren’t even sure if he’d give in.

“Oh, no, sweetheart. I know you can keep up with me. Just wondering if you were wanting one more orgasm before the night was over.”

Oh.

“Yes.”

You reply before you can even really think, body suddenly on fire at the thought of his hands finally on you. And just like you expect, Wonwoo turns the toy back on, setting it to its lowest level. “Let’s play a game.” He offers, walking you towards one of the zombie shooter games.

“If you win, I’ll fuck you however you want me. If I win, I’ll fuck you however I want you. Deal?” You nod feverishly, not caring about the outcome. If it resulted in him fucking you, there was no real losing. “Okay, sure. Let’s do it.” Wonwoo leaves the toy on as he puts the quarters in the machine, already flying through the intro screen. “I hope you’re ready to lose, sweetheart.”

And lose you do, but you feign disappointment for his sake, setting the fake gun back into its place just as Wonwoo raises the vibration level of the toy. “F--Fuck!” And this time, your voice is drowned out in the crowd of people and arcade noises, small cries and moans spilling from your lips as you lean up against the arcade cabinet. “Pl--please, Wonwoo I can’t w-wait any longer, I don’t care i--if you fuck me here, please!”

Wonwoo laughs, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he drags you out of the arcade tent. “We’ll save that for another time.” He leads you towards the restrooms, although in a much emptier part of the grounds.

“Wait, what if someone… sees us?” He scoffs just as he begins to walk into the restrooms, pulling you in behind him. “Please, this is a 21+ event with booze, I’m sure someone’s fucked in here before we have.” Wonwoo pushes you into one of the stalls, locking it behind him as he fishes for the toy’s remote.

“Let’s get you a little wetter, baby.”

“No~ I’m already so wet, please Wonwoo…” You face one of the restroom walls, pressing your ass against his crotch. His cock is already from what you can feel as you start to grind against him. “Fuck, please, you’re already hard, please just fuck me!” You cry, dropping all of your things to the grimy restroom floor before placing your hands on the wall in front of you.

“I won the game but here you are begging me to do what you want. So so spoiled.” He turns off the toy, placing the remote in his back pocket before he grips the hem of your dress, flipping it up to expose your ass to him.

He helps you slide down your soaked panties, pocketing the material as well before starts undoing his jeans and underwear. “Don’t you want me to eat you out? Get you nice and prepped for my cock?”

“No, fuck, I just want you to fuck me, please! I’m so w-wet I--you could just… slide right in…” The thought alone has you drooling; squirming when you feel the head of his cock sliding through your wet folds.

“What if I wanted to fuck your ‘lil ass, hmm?” You can feel your pussy throb at the prospect. “I--Wonwoo… fuck, I’d let you!” You moan out.

Wonwoo smirks behind you, positioning his cock at your entrance before he slowly eases himself in. “We’ll also save that for another time… But I’ll give you a little taste in a bit.” You groan in response, thanking the heavens when you feel his thick cock inside your pussy. And it takes everything you have to not cum as soon as he bottoms out, cock already prodding at your cervix.

“Ngh, fuck…”

The sound of skin slapping and moans bounce off the restroom walls and you don’t even care if anyone can hear or see what’s going on. But Wonwoo takes his time; slow but hard thrusts that have you whining and clenching hard around him as your body jerks in his hold.

“You were so good for me today. Cumming and not even letting any of them know.” A warm feeling floods your senses at his praise. “And here you are, still taking my cock after you’ve already cum so many times. So good for me, sweetheart.”

You let out a sharp breath when you feel his thumb circling your puckered hole.

“Wonwoo... p-please...” You meet his thrusts, fucking yourself on his cock as he lets a glob of spit land on your hole, his thumb using it as lubrication before he slowly eases in the digit.

“Oh g-god, I--fuck, please, please, please!” You mumble, feeling even more full than you ever were.

“Hah, you’re so cute. Next time we’ll have to use some new toys, hmm? Get all you nice and filled up.”

“Fuck, yes!”

Wonwoo fucks you faster, keeping his thumb in your ass as he chases his orgasm. Your body jolts in his hold, already feeling your own orgasm starting to build as well. “Won--Wonwoo ‘m close already...” You mumble, sensitive body already beginning to slump against the dirty wall.

“Cum with me then, sweetheart.”

You nod shakily, pussy getting tighter around his cock as you feel yourself tipping over the edge. And Wonwoo follows suit, groaning when he cums inside of your pussy, fucking his cum deeper into you as your walls flutter around his cock when you cum with him.

“Fuck, Wonwoo!”

You feel yourself drooling as you cum, eyes clenched shut as the pleasure washes over you. Your orgasm seems to last longer than your previous ones despite how exhausted you feel afterwards, but you’re sure it’s because of Wonwoo and not because of some toy.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“H--Huh?” You head feels muddled as you turn your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

“I’ve been asking you if you were ok for the past minute. You zoned out.”

“Oh... m’okay... tired...” You whisper out, oversensitivity setting in when he slides his cock from your swollen pussy.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll get you some water, okay?”

You can barely stand up straight when you try to exit the restroom stall, Wonwoo offering to piggy-back you back to the arcade tent where everyone else is waiting.

He keeps the vibrating panties but lets you put you regular panties back on.

“I was smart to put ‘em in my bag...” You tell him sleepily, nuzzling into his neck as he carries you.

“You’re lucky you did or else I’d have to put the other one back on.” He grins, re-adjusting you on his back as he sees the others standing in front of the arcade tent.

“Okay, see, now I know you two were up to no good.” Minghao tuts, arms crossed as he looks over your tired form. “God, and here we thought you were one of the good ones, hyung.” Chan adds, dramatically shaking his head as they start walking towards the amusement park rides.

“You might’ve gotten whatever sick thrills you wanted but we still wanna go on the rides so you’re gonna have to come with us now!” Soonyoung screams before running ahead, Wonwoo turning with you still on his back.

“You gonna be okay? Or do you wanna ditch them?” You tighten your grip around his neck, sleepy eyes watching as the others chase Soonyoung.

“I’ll be okay, let’s catch up with them before they lose Soonyoung.”

#fratboy!wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios

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elyonposts · 4 years ago

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Eldarya NE ep.4 - some thoughts

Nevra Since I am on his route it's feel only natural to start from here. I've heard some opinions that some people don't like the way he behaves now. Honestly I can still see the same Nevra except he doesn't flirt like crazy. And in this episode he was especially sweet to our mc. I liked his honesty that he was afraid of this mission and that he didn't like mountains and in later chats that he feel bad that he didn't manage to save her (Lance do) and he thinks it would be fun to train with us. He was sweet, he was blushing and worried about mc. My boy ♡

& his anger towards Leiftan, at first I didn't fully understand it either, in the second (?) episode he was seriously mean but now I can't agree more. Leiftan is just...

Leiftan

... annoyingly useless. I hate this type of attitude, I would call it self-mortification but I am not sure it's the right term, maybe it's too strong word. Leiftan was never my 'top something' character. To put it mildly, I don't like him, and maybe that's why I am too harsh on him.

Koori

I have mixed feelings for her. On the one hand, I likeher much, on the other hand she can be incredibly annoying. But speaking about this episode I'm glad we got to know her past a bit and it's good she has reasons thinking the way she thinks, not just unreasonable thinking 'men = bad'. So I am glad. And second thing, correct me if I am wrong but for how long exactly our mc has anger issues? Koori after a week acting just unbearable. I really hope it's only companion bite, if not I would gladly slap her...

Lance

... and give order of calm to Lance. I don't believe he's all that good everyone see him but I believe he has changed. And as character I like him. I am (was, because of account issues) on his route on other account and can not wait to read his route and dialogues with him. So far I believe he try to keep low profile and act like rightful leader of guard.

Mathieu

Honestly, I still have trouble determining what I think about him. I can't say I like him, but can't say don't like him either. Little annoying, but friendly, sometimes dumb, sometimes cute. Koori would be much less intresing character if not him. Back to episode I have only one thing to say: MC/Erica/Gardienne/choose-your-own-name!!! Haven't you really seen that she has a prosthetic leg??? Where were your eyes so far? On Nevra's ass? Yeah, probably.

Yup, done. Felt inner need to put few words from myself.

#beemoov #eldarya #eldarya new era

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yzkhr · 4 years ago

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Third installment of the Love Language Miniseries

It might be OOC so please bear with me

Dedicated to the one who gave me this wonderful yet painful series idea @meitanteisachi!

Words of Affirmation- You get a thrill from receiving compliments and unexpected praise. You like it when others say they care about you or appreciate having you in their lives. You love feeling understood and receiving recognition for a job well done.

Shinichi trusts Ran a lot. But having a recent 'misunderstanding' along with being busy with his detective work and texting an apology yet receiving a slur of misspelled sentences with only the words 'Sonoko' and the name of a specific bar being decipherable, he can't help but worry and overthink.

(The name 'Kazuha' was readable as well and it did lessen his panic, but the reassurance he felt was nothing compared to Sonoko and her constant tricks that worsened when they became adults.)

Reaching the said bar on Rans' text message, he rushes inside and immediately dislikes the smell of mixed alcohols and smoke everywhere. Face indifferent, he passes through the dancing crowd and went straight to where he deduces his girlfriend to be.

Knowing Ran, she's not someone to go wild in such a tight place, nor does she appreciate the smell of cigarettes all over the dance floor. She would be somewhere comfortable and quiet enough to converse with Sonoko and Kazuha. Shinichi can't think of a better spot than the bartenders' counter.

And he was right.

There she was, in the middle of a familiar drinking blonde on her left and a brown haired woman on her right, reclined in her stool and mouthing words to her left side. Despite her back being the only thing he can see from where he's standing, he recognized it in an instant, having been familiar from the sight since childhood (her iconic hairstyle also helped).

Walking a little closer to be heard and putting his hands into his pockets, he calls out. "Ran."

The girls, save from the gulping heiress who ignores him, turns around and express the same visage upon seeing him. Rans' expression instantly change however, as her wide eyes and agape mouth closes and curls up into a smile.

"Shinichi!"

She stands up from her seat and walks over to him in an odd unbalanced manner. On a closer inspection, Shinichi noticed how her cheeks flushed a rather more healthy red than normal.

Raising an eyebrow, he opens his mouth to scold but his prepared reprimands die on his throat as Ran hugs him instead of just standing in front of him, her slender hands wrapped around his neck slowly, her feet tiptoeing as she concluded she wasn't tall enough to reach Shinichis' height.

He instinctively backs away from the unexpected warmth and weight, flustered and confused. Ran didn't even gave him the time to recover, leaning her head into the crook of his neck and sniffing it as he felt her sigh, successfully making his mind blank.

"You smell nice." she whispers, letting out a giggle as if entertained at her out of nowhere compliment while he stands there, frozen and left with no words to respond. Even after five years of being together, her effect on him stays consistent and powerful, similar to their first meeting.

Fortunately, he was brought out of his reverie by a familiar—not in a good way— smell of rum mixed into her natural sweet odor. From that, everything clicked. Her red face, wobbly walking and unexpected behavior finally made sense to him.

"You're drunk." he deduces as he looks down at his girlfriend who avoided eye contact by looking sideways and pouting, confirming her guilty.

"Sorry Kudo-kun," he redirects his gaze at the source of the voice, finding an apologetic Tooyama Kazuha. " We're the ones that invited her here and as you can see," her eyes went to Ran briefly before going back to him and continues sheepishly, "We kinda got carried away."

He expected the answer. After all, Ran rarely drinks, much less get drunk. She'd only really go all out when there's an important celebration or a really big problem, like a certain misunderstanding that may or may have not happened between the two of them.

"It's fine." he acquits as his eyes looks at anywhere but Kazuhas' green ones, unsure of how to ask. "Umm, did Ran told you anything concerning? Like if there's a huge problem or something?"

The Osakan woman's eyes widened and suspiciously travelled to Ran as if asking for permission, who in return tightened her grip around his neck to bring him down a little. Kazuha now seems to have an answer, glancing back at him.

"Nope, Ran-chan said nothing like that at all." with the way she puts up a tight lipped smile, it was obvious she was lying. "Besides, if there is an issue like that, why don't you ask her? I'm sure she'd tell you."

He wants to disagree, being aware of Rans' nature to he very considerate that she might dismiss the topic. But Shinichi really isn't fond of the idea of pressuring his bestfriends' girlfriend, so he didn't say anything. Besides, Kazuha was right, if there was anyone to ask about what is wrong, it would be his girlfriend.

"Yeah, you're right." he laughs and attempts to change the topic, not wanting to make the atmosphere awkward. "Anyways, it's pretty late. Want me to take you guys home?"

The brunette shakes her head and looks from behind. Shinichi follows her gaze, only to find Sonoko still on the counter and talking to someone on the phone. Her voice is so loud that it can mildly be heard from where they're standing.

"No thanks, it seems Sonoko-chan is already calling Makoto-kun to pick her up."

"It seems so," he now looks back to her. "How about you?"

"No need," she pulls out her phone, showing him her private chat with Hattori. "The ahou already texted he's on his way."

"And besides," Kazuha sends him a teasing look and an amused smile. "Even if we didn't have our boyfriends picking us up, you'll still get your hands full."

As if on cue, Shinichi was reminded of his girlfriend who's still clinging on to him, her constant breathing on his ear enough to make him go red, as if he's the one intoxicated.

He silently agrees to Kazuhas' statement.

Ran insists on walking home instead of getting a taxi. He protested but after being presented with the same adorable pleading look she always used on him back when he was Conan;wide eyes, pouty lips, and blushing cheeks, he was really left with no choice.

Now, they tread across the empty streets of Beika with the moon illuminating the area, Shinichi makes sure that his girlfriend doesn't trip from her quivering steps, choosing to carry her on his back, her arms hanging loosely around his neck while his hand secured on her thighs, assuring of no fall. The night serves peaceful, accompanied by a comfortable silence.

Until he decided to break it.

"Hey Ran--" he starts, wanting to ask her about the 'problem' he wasn't sure they're having, but was cut off by her instead.

"Ne, Shinichi?" her voice is a bit slurred but with his proximity, he heard it just fine. She seemed to have timed it when he decided to speak, deliberately avoid the questioning from him, concluding that something is wrong. He wanted to ignore her distraction and push further, but with Rans' current condition, he gives up and lets her get away.

"Hmm?"

"Did it hurt?" he stops walking in confusion at such a sudden question, prompting him to face her as she wears an innocent smile.

"What hurt?" he asks, not getting the point. It took him a few seconds to catch on to what her 'innocent smile' and question means, and he isn't exactly happy at the conclusion he got.

"Please no," he exclaims as she looks at him expectantly, really wanting to continue. he complains. "Isn't this supposed to be the other way around?"

A glare is all it took for him to know she's not giving up. However, Shinichi isn't going to comply so easily either.

"Let me guess, when I fell from heaven?" he teases her, ahead of the supposed pick up line she's about to say.

Instead of being angry however, Rans' smile widens more than before, not looking as innocent. "No."

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion he asks, "What?"

"When you fell for me."

He stares in disbelief. He had never expected such a cheesy pick up line to be even more cheesier than it already is and it honestly impresses him(in a bad way). Meanwhile, Ran looks way too proud of herself, a huge grin plastered on her face.

"Okay, you win." he states rather dejectedly and continues walking, wishing his surrender to be the end of her drunk flirting.

If he were to be completely honest, Shinichi somewhat expected Ran to do something crazy and uncharacteristic, since it isn't the first time for her to be this intoxicated. The last time, she sang random songs with the most intangible lyrics he had ever heard, her drunk singing voice comparable to his normal one. This time it's the same, only now it's sappy pick up lines instead of crappy lyrics( he isn't sure which one is worse).

"Shinichi," she starts again, and it was cue for Shinichi to pick up his pace to get home faster, and he did. But Ran is stubborn. She calls his name on repeat way too many times, that he has to stop and finally decides to listen.

"Alright, let's hear it and quickly take you home to your apartment because I'm already tired of this." he yields, defeated and weary. On the other hand, Rans' expression is the complete opposite, too cheerful and energetic like neon lights on a dark room.

"You know why you're tired?"

"Yeah because of your pick up--"

"Because you've been running through my mind all day long." she breaks into a laugh as he stops functioning, wondering how his girlfriend can be so witty and stupid at the same time whenever she drinks a lot more than usual.

He ponders if Kaito has something to do it. After all, there is no one better and worse at flirting with words than he is. Rans' are tolerable but maybe it's because he loves her so much that he does appreciate them, but they're still pretty bad.

He deadpans at her still cackling form just to express his emotions. "You know, other people will call you an idiot if they know you're doing this."

She pauses, her turn to be confused. "Just other people? What will you call me then?"

"My idiot who's doing this."

Her reaction is instantaneous. Her face blossomed a shade of crimson as she coughs, too taken aback while he tilts inwards, smirking at having to get back at her antics.

"That's not fair!" she whines, throwing daggers at him as she cough a little more.

"You started it." he yawns, the night catching on to him.

He really thought it was the end of it, but Ran always proves him wrong as she started once again. "Yeah, being good looking must be sooo tiring."

He really is impressed at how her mind can processed a mundane action and turn into a bad and cheesy pick up line. But he didn't become friends with the worst flirt in the world for nothing. Clearly not accepting defeat, he decides to play along. "Then you must be exhausted."

Her face turns into a blushing mess either from embarrassment or frustration or maybe even from both.

"Shinichi!"

And that's what they did until they got home. He truly was worried that there was something bothering Ran, but from the way she conversed and flirted with him(even though he's sure it's the alcohol talking), he was confident that if there was a problem, it isn't as bad as he expects it to be.

After an hour of throwing trashy jokes at each other, they finally made it to her apartment. He grabs the key he got from her earlier and opens the door, going straight to the sofa to put down his girlfriend.

Ran looks tired, eyes constantly blinking as she takes off her shoes, slower than it's supposed to be. She flops down on the couch, ready to doze off. Making sure she won't fall off, he strides into the kitchen to get some water.

Going back in the living room with a glass, he now finds her sitting instead of her laid down position a minute ago. She's dazed, eyes dead set on the table across as her brows intensely furrow as if trying to figure something out.

"Here you go," he sits down beside her, offering the water. He watches her drink it languidly, attentive to her every move. After finishing and putting it back on the table with a thud, Ran stands up, a hand on her throat.

"What's wrong?" he asks as the panic becomes visible on her visage, eyes roaming everywhere.

"I think I'm gonna throw up," as if on signal, she makes a strained sound while Shinichi rushes her inside the bathroom, certain that Ran won't appreciate walking into her living room with vomit all around it.

Upon reaching the toilet, Shinichi lets her bend over it and finally lets out everything she ate and drank that day as he soothes her back, stroking it back and forth. He also holds her hair up just make sure it doesn't get in the way.

"Are you okay?" he tilts his head in confusion as she turns around now done with her task, eyes watering slightly.

"I'm hungry." he sighs, having predicted it. He isn't the best at cooking, but letting his girl cook for herself while still being a bit visually impaired and losing her self balance every now and then sounds like the worst decision he can make in this situation.

"Fine. I'll make you something." hearing such words, Ran wipes her tears and beams at him. He leads her out of the restroom, leaving her on the couch and heading to the kitchen to cook at least a soup just to quench her hunger.

A few minutes passed and he comes back to a yawning Ran, with a hot and steamy soup laying in his hands. She offers him a drowsy smile, and he gives a knowing one in return.

"Here," he places the bowl on the table in front her and Ran takes it leisurely. She takes a chunk of food and blows at it, in the hopes of lessening the heat. Satisfied, she puts it on her mouth and makes a noise, glancing at him.

"It tastes good!" he chuckles and shakes his head in disapproval. "Thanks but, I'm pretty sure it only taste like that because you're drunk."

He leans in the wall as he watches her consume the soup with gusto, making his heart swell. When Ran finally eats half of it, he speaks out.

"Seriously, what made you drink so much like that?" despite the high chance that she won't answer, he still gives it a try.

After hearing no response, the detective sighs and looks away, deciding to let it slide and thinks that he'll just try again tomorrow.

But it looks like that he doesn't have to.

"It's Shinichi's fault." she said it so casually and quietly, but it didn't get pass his ears. Shock at the fact that she replied and at the specific retort, he looks back and stares at her.

"Eh?"

"It was Sonoko's little dare," she finishes the rest of the food without care and continues, "She told me how you're always so indifferent and said to make you blush or whatever. But, you you were so busy with the case that I didn't even had the chance and just gave up."

He was left dumbfounded. The events three days ago went back to him in a flash. All of Ran's little glances, her stuttering words, and even her hold on him before he left after taking her home finally made sense.

'That Sonoko!' he twitches his eyebrow in annoyance. He really should've seen that coming. If there was anyone this world who could think such an idea, it would be none other than their childhood friend.

He attempts to talk, but she beats him to it.

"But, now that I think about it, I really dont mind Shinichi being busy like that," she's now looking at him, a smile plastered on her blushing face, sign of still being under the influence of the alcohol. "After all, I really love Shinichi's face whenever he solves a case. Shinichi's eyes always lights up, like it's alive and burning. As if seeing a world no one else knows."

"Whenever Shinichi solves a case, he helps a lot of people. And it's amazing to know, that tons of people are alive right now—because of Shinichi." she rambles on, calling his name too many times as if she's only talking to herself, like he isn't standing right there at all to listen.

Her voice, despite being slurred holds honesty in them that didn't make the current condition of his heart any better as he's hearing her compliment him.

"I guess that just means, that I really love Shinichi." she laughs at her own words, finding such a revelation amusing.

Meanwhile, Shinichi stands there having only two things in his mind; that Ran is really drunk, and that he's just glad the dare is over. Because if it wasn't, with the way he feels his face burning right now, he was sure Ran would've absolutely won it.

#dcmk #Sorry if it's a little OOC #I love writing drunk Ran #Shinran #3/5 #the next update might take a decade #I have to use all of those pick up line prompts somehow

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astralaffairs · 4 years ago

Text

voltaire to versace 03 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 03

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 16.4k whups

warnings: sex jokes n references again, dolley simping for james again, but probably more this time, implied sex except dolley’s having it instead of mc, maria and angelica are girlfriends, lafayette is basically everyone’s plug for weed so like,, drug references and alcohol references??, very much sexual tension

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Wait, so you're going to do it, right?"

It wasn't until Friday morning that Y/N told Dolley about Thomas's offer, both of them seated at a corner table in the coffee shop in the middle of campus. Y/N shrugged, taking a sip of her latte.

"I dunno, Doll. It seems like it could be... risky."

"How so?" Dolley set down her cup, squinting at her skeptically, and she pursed her lips.

"Listen, he's a good professor, and he and I have a good relationship or whatever, but I'm not sure what a great idea it is for me to be with him too much more often."

"Is your self-control already waning?" Dolley gave Y/N a look of disbelief, and she answered it with a sigh.

"I'm not gonna make a move on him; I swear," she said, expression dead serious, but when she continued, her voice dropped just a few decibels. "But... if I had the chance to sleep with him again, I wouldn't hesitate to take it. And I really can't have that happen."

"How the hell do you think becoming his TA is going to turn into sex?" Dolley asked incredulously. "You know I adore you, but I do not adore when you're self-sabotaging."

"I'm not self-sabotaging," Y/N insisted, and though she'd hoped the statement would sound reasonable, she just came off as defensive. "I'm being careful. I know myself, and I know that early January was some of the best sex I've had in a while."

"Sounds to me like you're pent up." Dolley raised her eyebrows, giving Y/N a pointed look, at which she scowled. "Just fuck someone from Alpha Phi Omega and then take the TA position."

"You don't get it," Y/N groaned. "Half the time, his office hours are just like some mildly awkward run-in with a one-night stand. It's casual enough that there's no real issue, but there's always just a little bit of... discomfort."

"That's called sexual tension, dear." The look in her eyes was knowing. "And it doesn't go away when you turn down positions that will look good on grad school applications."

A beat passed in silence, and finally, Y/N sighed.

"You're right. That's kinda my point, though." She pursed her lips; the nod she gave looked resigned, both disappointed and on edge. "It also doesn't go away when I do take those positions. And I don't wanna fuck up and make everything even more awkward."

"Y/N. I believe in you." Dolley took one of Y/N's hands in hers, picking it up from where she'd rested it on the table as she slumped over in her fit of angst. "You're strong. You can work with a man without fucking him."

Y/N scowled. "Well, when you put it like that, you're making it sound like I'm some kind of sex fiend."

"That's what you're acting like!"

"Fuck off, Dolley; no, I'm not." She folded her arms, pushing her mug and saucer to the side of the table. "My most recent one-night stand turned out to be my professor, and now he's asking me to be his TA. I'm allowed to be a little hesitant."

Dolley pursed her lips. "You might have a point."

"Thanks, I'm thrilled to hear it," Y/N responded dryly. "But... I'll figure it out. I doubt it could really turn out all that badly. I can handle myself."

"That's the spirit." Dolley did not sound enthusiastic. "But you really need to..."

Dolley trailed off with wide eyes, her gaze apparently having caught something across the café. Y/N eyed her skeptically, raised an eyebrow. "... Dolley? You still with me?"

She waited a moment, watching to see if her attention would recover, but when it didn't she waved a hand in front of her, trying to break her stare, but it was apparently locked elsewhere. "Hello? Anybody home?" Another moment of quiet, and eventually, Y/N snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Dolley!"

"Hm?" Her eyes snapped back to Y/N's almost too quickly, and Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh... um, nothing. I just spaced out." The smile that had begun to split her expression said otherwise, though.

"Oh, really?" Y/N's eyes narrowed, shifting in her chair to glance back over her shoulder. "What's back there? Did you see someone? Are you— Oh!" She stopped speaking abruptly, her eyes widening, and when she whipped back around to face Dolley, her grin was sheepish. "That's James, isn't it?"

"Shh, not so loud!" Dolley said, shoving her arm. The giddiness written across her face didn't help her case as she attempted to scold Y/N. "Yes, that's him. Yellow sweater, grey coat."

"He's cute," Y/N commented, taking another less-than-sneaky glance over her shoulder at him, before she turned back to Dolley with an expectant look. "So? Are you going to go talk to him?"

"Right now?" At the question, Dolley's smile dropped. It seemed as if she'd been blindsided, as though upon seeing the man she'd been sleeping with for weeks on end, Y/N was going to encourage her to ignore him.

"Yes, right now!" Y/N was just watching her with disbelief. "What's the issue?"

"I... I don't know," Dolley said softly. Her tiny, dopey grin had been restored, but it was now tainted with anxiety. "I really like him, but..."

"... But?"

Her sigh was heavy. "I'm worried he and I don't have much in common. He's, like, the strong and silent type, y'know?"

Y/N pursed her lips, biting back a wince. "That's so clichéd, Doll."

"I know, I know," she groaned, plastering on a pleading pout. "Just bear with me. Please."

There was a skip, and Y/N was eyeing Dolley warily. "You know I'm always here to listen. But if you get too self-destructive, I don't wanna hear it."

"I won't!" she defended, and a grin was stretching across her face at the whole situation, making Y/N's contempt soften to skepticism. "I just don't know what I want, okay? And worse yet, I don't know what he wants."

"I promise, no one's expecting you to turn into a mind reader. Least of all James."

"I know," she sighed, drawing out the words in the midst of her apparent (or perhaps dramatized) emotional exhaustion. "But he's quiet. He doesn't say much, and you know that always freaks me out a little."

"So I hear."

"But... we get along well. He's nice to be around. He puts me at ease."

"Aww, Dolley, are you falling for him?" That time, it was Y/N's turn to pull on a contrived pout, squeezing Dolley's forearm lightly, and though she rolled her eyes, Dolley still looked as though she was the least bit absent, her head still coming back down from the clouds. "That's sweet."

"I know, I know," she said, biting her lip in a weak effort to hide her smile. "But... you know me. I'm not the quiet type. Quite the opposite."

"That might even be an understatement," Y/N muttered, breaking her gaze briefly, and Dolley scoffed.

"Oh, shut up! I already know that, and I don't wanna hear it." She gave Y/N a pointed look. "But he and I are so different, and I'm worried that I'll end up being too much for him. I don't wanna be overbearing."

Her final sentence was quiet, and Y/N could hear her insecurities weakening her conviction. "You're not overbearing, or overwhelming, or 'too much,'" she assured her, and Dolley covered her hand with her own, squeezing it lightly, affection in her eyes. "And if he's right for you, I'm sure he agrees. You're excellent; don't try to change for him. It won't make you happy."

"You're right, as usual," she sighed, "And... I do want to talk to him, something you know very well. But who knows if he wants to talk to me?"

"Well, he keeps glancing over in our direction," Y/N said matter-of-factly, and Dolley's eyes went wide.

"He is? Wait, where is he?" Her gaze began to dart back and forth, and Y/N couldn't help her light laugh.

"He just got back from picking up his drink, and now he's at the table a few behind you," she said, dropping her voice before adding, "And I've already made awkward eye contact with him too many times, so now if you don't talk to him, I'm gonna look like a total creep."

"Y/N!" she scolded her, but the laugh in her voice betrayed her indignance. She glanced back over her shoulder, and Y/N saw James nod to her when he caught her gaze, the corners of his lips quirking up into a shadow of a smile. She offered him a shy wave.

Quite frankly, Y/N had never seen her like that before, not in all her years of knowing her. Dolley's baseline tended to be everyone else's two-ecstasy-pills-deep, and usually, other people in the mix just fueled the fire of her perpetual enthusiasm — Y/N had never seen a man make her timid, though, of all things.

She couldn't help but think it was kind of cute.

Dolley held his stare another moment, before he finally decided to stand, beginning to make his way over to where they were sitting, and Dolley spun around in her seat, her wide eyes meeting Y/N's. "He's headed over!" she whispered, but the panic in her voice wasn't quite authentic; more of it than Y/N would've expected was simply excitement.

"So I see," Y/N said, wry amusement coloring her tone. She glanced up to her right a moment later, taking a sip of her coffee, before saying, "It's James, right?"

Dolley let out a surprised squeak when he walked up on her left, almost flinching in her seat, and his smile was subtle.

"That would be me. And you are?" He raised his eyebrows at Y/N, taking a sip from his to-go cup.

"I'm Y/N. Dolley's roommate," she nodded to her with a grin. "I'm glad to officially meet you, after hearing about you for weeks on end."

"Y/N!" Dolley murmured, urgency thick in her voice, her accusatory stare what she seemed to think to be covert. As though James couldn't hear her from a foot away.

"I've been mentioned?" James looked pleasantly surprised, but there was no ego in his smile. Y/N nodded.

"Oh, yeah. More than a couple times," she assured him. "I can't seem to stop hearing about you, really."

He chuckled, and Dolley's gaze softened. "I should hope that's a good thing."

"I can corroborate," Y/N said. "So you're a PhD candidate?"

"That I am. Studying economics."

"So, what, you want to go into business? Accounting?"

"Public policy, actually."

"Oh, really?" Her eyebrows shot up, and her smile widened into a grin. "I like you already."

That time, his laugh was still quiet, but it was warmer, more robust. "Consider me flattered. Dolley speaks very highly of you, as well."

"Aww, Doll!" Y/N plastered on a pout, reaching across the table. "I knew you'd been secretly in love with me this whole time."

"You shut it," Dolley replied, and though she gave Y/N a pointed look, she was biting back a laugh.

"Really? You still don't wanna go public with our relationship?" Dramatized dismay permeated Y/N's voice, and anyone would've had to hand it to her - the hurt look she wore almost seemed authentic.

"Oh my God, Y/N," Dolley huffed. "That's about enough, thank you."

When she glanced back up, Dolley bit her lip once more; thankfully, James didn't look put-off by the interaction, only amused. A beat passed in silence, and Y/N shifted awkwardly in her seat, not sure what to do with the heavy, prolonged eye-contact taking place across from her. It wasn't until she picked up her mug and saucer, the ceramics clinking together, that they seemed to regain a sense of awareness.

James's eyes were wide as he glanced back at Y/N. "I... won't intrude on your coffee date any longer, but truly, it's been a pleasure, Y/N."

"Oh, no, no, don't go." She waved off his farewell, scrambling to pull her backpack onto her shoulder, picking up her dishes as she did so. "I have a meeting to be at that, really, I'm almost running late for, so please, stay. Keep Dolley company."

She gave him a bright smile as she stood, pushing her wooden chair out behind her as she collected her used napkin and mixing spoon, but Dolley looked hesitant. "Oh, that's not necessary, really. I'll be just fine—"

"Relax, Dolley. I know you deal with crippling loneliness in my absence; it's really nothing to be ashamed of," Y/N reassured her, her voice mockingly gentle. Dolley rolled her eyes; the sound that escaped her was all but a snort of laughter.

"Oh, of course, dear. Because what more could I want than to spend every minute of my day with you?" she replied sarcastically, and Y/N grinned.

"I know. It's a blessing and a curse." She took a few steps back, though, nodding to her abandoned seat as she started on her path toward the counter. "Seriously, though, James. Please, sit."

She saw him raise an eyebrow at Dolley before she turned to discard her dishes into the basin by the end of the counter.

"May I?" he asked. When Y/N glanced back over her shoulder, she caught just a glimpse of Dolley's sheepish smile.

"I'd like that."

Y/N took the back exit out.

___________________

"Are you sure I was included in that invite?" Y/N's voice was skeptical as she crossed the green toward Thomas's office, hours later. Apparently, hours that Dolley and James had ultimately spent together, taking a walk through the city for much of their afternoon. (When Dolley told Y/N that the two-mile loop near the Lincoln Memorial had taken them two hours to walk through, she had a sneaking suspicion walking wasn't all they were doing. Hopefully, they'd at least escaped the watchful eye of our oversized 16th president.)

"Yes, I'm certain you were," Dolley insisted from the other end of the phone's line. "He said it'd be great if I brought you."

"... This sounds suspiciously like a pity invite."

"It isn't a pity invite!" Y/N could hear the indignance in her voice.

"Dolley, why, exactly, would he want me there if it wasn't a pity invite?"

"... Because you're my best friend, and he's decided to make an effort to get to know you better?"

She laughed. "As much as I appreciate this idealized James Madison, I have a feeling it was more to the effect of 'I just saw your roommate and feel obligated to invite her'," Y/N corrected her. "But go to the party without me! Don't let me hold you back from having your fun, alright?"

"Please come? It wouldn't be the same without you." Dolley's voice was high, containing traces of what almost smelled like desperation. "It'll make me much more comfortable to have you along."

Y/N groaned. "So when you and James go make out in the bathroom, I'm supposed to, what, play truth or dare with all the other PhD candidates?"

"Why not?" Dolley's tone was mild, which made Y/N roll her eyes.

"No offense to James's friends, but I'm not sure I want to spend an evening making stunted small talk with them."

"You're such a warm person, though! You'd be quite alright."

"It'd be awkward!"

"Please, Y/N? I'll beg you if that's what it'll take."

She scowled at how soft, forlorn Dolley's voice had become. As far as she was concerned, this was akin to emotional manipulation. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

"Yes. I like him so much."

She sighed. "I'm gonna say yes solely because I have somewhere to be and can't deal with this argument anymore. But you owe me."

Y/N could almost picture Dolley's sappy smile. "Thank you so much, dear. You're too good to me."

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Her words elicited a laugh from Dolley, and Y/N continued, "But you know I'd do pretty much whatever you asked if you asked it in that I'm-about-to-cry voice, so I'm not sure this relationship is healthy for me anymore."

"Oh, of course; I'm truly a parasite," Dolley sighed. "Taking you into my house and home, paying for your meals — how evil of me."

"I pay half the rent, and we literally only eat ramen," Y/N defended, but the words were lighthearted nonetheless. "Next time you give up five perfectly good hours of a Friday night so that I can get laid, we'll call it even."

"Don't make any calls about Friday just yet. You haven't even seen James's friends." Dolley's voice was just teasing enough to placate Y/N. "I may not be the only one having some fun."

"Have you even seen James's friends?" Y/N asked dubiously, and Dolley's silence told her all there was to know. "That's what I thought. He's an econ student, so it's probably gonna be about eighty percent entitled rich men attending school on family money."

"Or they could all be just your type," Dolley reasoned, but by then, any efforts to talk Y/N out of her convictions were futile. "Tall, hot, and older."

"First off, I don't have a type, and second, just because you're dating an 'older man'," — The final two words were said mockingly — "doesn't mean that his older friends aren't still douches."

"I hate to have to be the one to break it to you, but that is absolutely your type."

"Based on what?"

"That professor of yours?"

"Dolley!" Y/N scowled, turning down the volume on her call just in case some passing pedestrians were notorious gossips with super-hearing. It was certainly possible. "Can you please stop talking about him like that? Don't make it a thing," she murmured, jaw tense.

"Oh, we're well past that, dear," Dolley said matter-of-factly, and Y/N could only roll her eyes. "But if you've agreed to the party, I won't push my luck."

"Smart choice," she muttered bitterly. "Anyway, I've gotta go. Talk to you later tonight?"

"Of course."

With that, she hung up the phone before Dolley could take advantage of her giving mood and start making further outlandish demands, tucking it into her coat pocket as she pushed open the door to Melos Hall. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was broken, and Thomas's office was several flights of stairs above her.

After at least eight long pauses for her to catch her breath, heaving as she leaned against the railing in the stairwell, and three stomach cramps, Y/N knocked on his door. "Anybody home?"

"C'mon in." His voice was soft, muffled through the door, and she opened it to find him all but slumped on his desk, resting his head on his hand as he graded papers he appeared to be rather cross with, and with more of said papers covering the entirety of the desk's surface (and much of the floor). He glanced up when she entered, and a soft grin split his expression. "Hey, I thought that was you."

"I'm in absolute awe of your pattern-recognition skills, really," she replied, tone dry as she let the door fall shut behind her, and despite the playful smile she wore, Thomas rolled his eyes.

"You actually here for anything, or am I gonna have to kick you out?"

She laughed. "I'm not here to derail your work, I swear." He raised a dubious eyebrow. "I was just stopping by to let you know that, assuming it's still on the table, I'd love the TA position."

"Oh, yeah?" His smile widened almost imperceptibly at her words, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "'M glad to hear it. Could've just shot me an email, though."

She shrugged. "I was headed this way anyway. Figured I may as well stop by."

"I'm not complainin'." She let out a soft huff of laughter at the words, but she could feel heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. "'S good timing, anyway. Intro to IR just turned in an essay on Kant."

The soft groan she let out only served to amuse him further as she surveyed the wreckage of his office. "That's what all this paper is?" He nodded in confirmation, and she scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure if I feel worse for the freshmen who had to write them or for you having to read them."

"Well, I should hope it's the freshmen," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back in his chair. The smile he wore was concerningly self-righteous. "'Cause, now, readin' these is your job, too."

Her eyebrows shot up; the dread in her gaze was the furthest thing from contrived. "... Is it too late to rescind my application as a TA?"

He shook his head. "Mm-mm. You're welcome to abandon ship."

She didn't like the satisfaction which grew in his gaze as she weighed her options; they both knew she wasn't considering turning down the position in earnest — that simple fact left Thomas unnecessarily smug. Another beat passed, and she sighed. "You're lucky this is going to look good on my grad school applications."

He laughed. "Sure am. I could use all the help I can get, right now."

"I can see that," she replied, voice laden with amusement at the state of his office.

However, Thomas said nothing more, and she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the drawn-out silence. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and it took her a moment to grasp his intention. "Wait... d'you mean, like, right now?"

"Unless you're busy." He shrugged. His gaze was hopeful as she eyed warily the small stack of papers she'd spent the past few minutes trying not to crush under her boot. She sighed.

He grinned when she bent over to pick up the papers that'd floated to her side of the desk. "As depressing as it feels to say, I've got nowhere else to be on this fine Friday night."

"That's the spirit." He winked, and though she rolled her eyes, her amused smile was deep-set. "So, you're gradin' for accuracy and watchin' out for grammar, of course, but the points are really earned for analysis. The paper's on changes in the international system. They've gotta connect 'em back to Kant's maxims."

She let out a low whistle as she took a seat across from him, plucking a red pen from his cup and dropping her bag onto the floor. "That certainly sounds pretentious."

He laughed lightly. "You really tellin' me you didn't have to do anything like this as a freshman?"

"Oh, I wish I could say that, but unfortunately, my professor was apparently every bit the pseudointellectual you are." She nodded sadly, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious, sweetheart, really." In the dry sarcasm of his tone, the casual pet name didn't seem to register with him, but Y/N couldn't help but notice, and her breath caught. "Here, lemme get you a copy of the rubric. 'S nothin' too complicated; go easy on 'em. Got some STEM majors in the class who're just takin' it for the graduation requirement, so I'm not expectin' much."

She pursed her lips. "Are the essays that bad?"

He deadpanned as he turned back to her, sliding the rubric across the desk. "At least as bad as I'm makin' 'em sound."

Y/N let out a long, dramatic huff, rubbing her temples, and Thomas looked thoroughly entertained at her reaction.

"I'm in for a long few months, aren't I?"

______________________

Thomas texted her the next day, too — she'd been the one to ask for his number, its utility obvious considering she was now going to be working with him, but he didn't give it up without teasing her just a bit for asking. When she opened it, she found that his request was just for her to drop by and pick up as many more essays as she was willing to grade by Monday, but when she arrived at his office, it quickly became clear to both of them that she was in no hurry to leave.

She showed up around eight, a decision that had everything to do with her having been out all afternoon running errands and nothing to do with the unfortunately appealing idea of being in his office late into the night — or so she told herself. It was hesitant both when she offered to stay and work on them with him and when he accepted. As she'd cautiously anticipated, her new role felt like walking an impossibly fragile line, and it'd hardly been twenty-four hours.

Subliminal tension remained in the air, hanging heavier than either of them would've claimed, but the hours flowed by easily. The hills upon mountains of student work they had to dig through didn't feel like the burden they were, either, not with the light atmosphere they'd managed to create, cracking jokes and swapping input.

She couldn't place when it'd become so comfortable for her to be around him.

"Hey, can I get your take on this?" Y/N held up what must've been her twentieth paper of the night, red pen between her teeth, and Thomas glanced down from where he was standing beside the desk, sorting the finished papers for his classes.

"Mhm, what's up?"

"Personally, I kind of hate this kid's analysis, but I'm struggling to determine whether there's anything actually wrong with it or if I'm just biased." She pursed her lips. "Here, come look at this third paragraph."

He set down the essay he was leafing through and walked around to join her, resting one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the desk beside her. He wasn't looking in her direction, his lips pursed as he scanned the page. However, her heart rate had begun to pick up in the immediate proximity, and she was on edge, able to feel his body heat radiating off of him from just inches to her left. Her breath hitched when he spoke. "This essay's a mess."

Despite the tension in her body, she let out a surprised laugh. "My thoughts exactly."

"Which part are you strugglin' with?"

"Right here." She turned the paper slightly, its words now directly facing him, and tapped on the sentence that'd given her pause. "It's not a great interpretation of the quote he used, in my opinion, but it's one I've heard in academic circles time and time again. It's defensible, but since his organization is fundamentally nonexistent, I'm not sure how well he's defended it."

Thomas raised an amused eyebrow. "How much of your free time are you dedicatin' to discussin' Kant?"

Y/N only rolled her eyes, ignoring the thrum of her heart against her ribcage as he turned his head to face her. He was only inches away. "Oh, shut up; I'm not dedicating any." He eyed her with disbelief, and she could tell he was still stuck on her first sentence. "I took a class focused on this book in high school, alright?"

"What kinda high school did you go to?"

"The class was through a local university." She shrugged, and he looked rather impressed. The small smile he wore wasn't helping her spiking pulse. "What? I was hoping to graduate from college early. I would've, too, if I hadn't spent a year traveling to figure out my life."

"And your plan for gettin' college credit was to take a philosophy class, of all things? Does that even fulfill a credit requirement?" Despite the disbelief in his voice, he seemed somewhat fascinated with the idea, was watching her like she was some sort of a puzzle.

"Anywhere I went would've made me retake core classes," she said mildly, and he cocked his head to one side. It wasn't lost on her how he hadn't withdrawn even a centimeter; she could feel traces of his breath on her skin. "It was just another credit toward graduation."

He gave an obliging nod, a half-shrug at her words. "Guess so. You surprise me sometimes, though."

"It's also made your class a breeze, but that's just an added bonus," she added, and he laughed, breaking his deliberative demeanor.

"You really think my class is easy?"

She shrugged, wearing a self-contented smile. "My grades speak for themselves, don't they?"

"I seem to remember a couple nights of office hours that'd contradict that." He raised an amused eyebrow, giving her a pointed look, but her grin broadened.

"Listen, if you gave clearer instructions, I wouldn't need to show up here twice a week to ask you what the fuck you were talking about, alright?"

He gave a skeptical hum. "Now, why aren't you askin' your questions in class, then? 'S awfully selfish; I'm sure your classmates would benefit from hearin' the answers, too."

"I think they'd benefit more from you actually doing your job."

"If you aren't askin', how am I supposed to know what isn't makin' sense?" He shrugged, and the playful glint in his eyes had her gaze locked onto his. He didn't think a single second further before he continued; over the past few minutes, his mind had reverted to its setting from one fateful January night spent in the speakeasy on 4th Street. "Or, maybe, you've just been comin' here at night lookin' to get me alone."

She inhaled sharply; her stomach turned, and at first, neither of them broke the eye contact. When Y/N finally did, it was because her stare had trailed down to rest at his lips, and she swallowed roughly at the smug smile he wore. Her gaze jumped back to his — he raised an eyebrow. Apparently, her wandering eyes hadn't gone unnoticed.

Something about it was intoxicating, whether due to the musky scent of his cologne or to the wild, forbidden temptation of it all. Y/N was certain that, were this the Garden of Eden, she'd fare no better than Eve.

It was her nerves that saved her, ultimately. She was terrified to push that boundary, and despite his usually-lighthearted teasing, Thomas had resolutely decided where lay the line he couldn't cross. Thus, neither of them moved for another moment, but Y/N drew in a shaky breath, turning her head back to the paper before them.

"So, what's your conclusion on the essay?" Her voice was small, and it was only then that Thomas seemed to have remembered where they were. A shudder ran through his spine; it almost looked to be shaking him back to the present, metaphysically knocking some sense into him.

The silence was heavy as his eyes ran over the paper, muttering the words under his breath as he read and re-read the paragraph. He'd shifted further from Y/N, his adamant decision being that the more space there was between them, the less likely he was to forget himself, and his brow was knit as he stared down at the words. "This interpretation's full of shit," he huffed. "Think this kid plagiarized it; doesn't seem like he understands it. From what I can tell, he pulled half the language from other authors."

He picked it up with him when he drew back from Y/N, returning to his side of the desk. It was then that her breathing once again leveled out.

"So should I assume he's not getting the complexity point?" The expression she contrived was intended to be lighthearted, but it was laden with tension.

"'S doubtful. 'M gonna have to meet with him sometime this week. Just hopin' I won't have to report it as some kinda case of academic dishonesty." He folded it in half, pulling his briefcase onto the desk and tucking it in among his many other loose papers. "But for now, 's gettin' late; I need to head out. My roommate'll be wonderin' where I am pretty soon."

He didn't meet her eyes for another moment, instead focused on getting his office in order as much as it could be for the evening, and Y/N plunked his red pen back into its metal cup. She stretched as she stood from her chair wordlessly, letting out a light yawn. "Yeah, that's a good call. I think we're both a little out of it; probably not the best for grading essays right now." She offered Thomas a conciliatory smile when he glanced over at her. He nodded.

"I think you're right." A moment passed in silence as he dug through one of his folders, dropped something into one of the drawers of his desk. It almost seemed offhanded when he asked, "Any chance I can offer you a ride home? Your place is on my way."

"Oh, um..." She blinked as she trailed off, looking back at him in surprise as she picked up her bag. When she didn't continue, only eyeing him warily, he sighed.

"Don't look at me like that." He shrugged on his jacket. "I don't have some ulterior motive, alright? If you don't wanna accept, don't worry about it; I won't be offended. Just wanna make sure you're gettin' home safe."

"I dunno..." She paused, seeming to have corrected herself midsentence when she finished with, "... Professor Jefferson. I'm not sure it's the best idea."

"Your call," he said, and he hesitated for a long moment before continuing. "For the future, can I ask you to just tell me straight out if I'm ever makin' you uncomfortable? Wish I could pretend this was just any other circumstance—" He gestured between the two of them. "—but it's my first time spendin' a semester teachin' a student who I slept with before, and I'm really tryin' not to overstep."

How matter-of-factly he spoke made Y/N laugh, a genuine, albeit surprised, laugh. "Don't worry. I'm not uncomfortable; I just don't know if it's smart for me to keep testing my self-control."

He watched her skeptically as she spoke, pulling her own coat back on. "... Alright, but I'm serious. Don't hesitate to bring it up if I'm toein' a line."

She looked back at him, amusement thick in her gaze. "Thanks, but I'm not sure your untarnished intentions are going to stop this from being weird once in a while. It's also my first time having a professor who I've screwed, for the record."

He smiled. "I figured."

"But if I really minded," she continued, buttoning up her jacket. "I wouldn't spend so much time in your office hours, and I certainly wouldn't have agreed to be your TA. Seriously, relax."

He sighed. "That's... reassurin', actually."

"I'm glad."

"But what was that about you testin' your self-control?" He raised a teasing eyebrow, and she laughed outright.

"See, you say you're trying to respect my boundaries, but when you go down that path, I have to wonder exactly where you think those boundaries are."

"I'm drawin' the line where it stops just bein' talk, Y/N," he said, and she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, though. 'S why I need to know your boundaries. You've gotta talk to me; I don't wanna push it 'n make you feel unsafe."

"You're a good guy for even asking this, Thomas," she said, and he didn't even react before she corrected herself, "Sorry; Professor Jefferson. But I mean it, you've never once made me feel unsafe. Please don't stress over it."

"Alright. Lemme know if that changes." He eyed her with a certain degree of worry. "As long as we're talkin' about you bein' unsafe, though, 'm still waitin' to hear exactly how you're plannin' to get home tonight."

She gave him a soft smile. "Is the offer for a ride still on the table?"

____________________

James's house party was exactly a week from that night. It'd been all Dolley wanted to talk about ever since they were invited, and Y/N couldn't help her consistent, underlying, low-level dread as she anticipated the event. She wasn't intimidated by the prospect of an apartment full of graduate students; that much was genuinely the truth. The real issue she had was with being in an apartment full of strangers while her only friend present was off being wooed by the grad student she'd now had her eye on for months.

She kept repeating to herself that it was only a few hours, and then she'd be able to hold it over Dolley's head until the day they were both six feet under.

"That's what you're wearing?" Y/N raised an eyebrow at Dolley's cable-knit sweater and black jeans, and she furrowed her brow.

"What's wrong with it? We're dressed practically the same."

"But I'm not going there tonight looking to getting laid," she pointed out, and Dolley huffed.

"If I change, you have to change. I can't look like I made more of an effort than you did; it'll make me seem out of place."

"Come on; this sweater's comfortable," Y/N groaned. "I've already agreed to go with you; I feel like my contribution is finished. I'm not trying to look hot; I'm trying to blend in."

"What if one of his econ-student friends is hot?"

"Then I'll wait until the night's over and never see him again." The look she gave Dolley very clearly read 'duh,' and Dolley scowled.

"Come on, you don't even have to wear anything flashy," she pleaded. "If I change, can't you just put on a tank top? Or something tighter? Or a skirt? Something?"

Y/N eyed Dolley's expression dubiously; she'd figured the emotional manipulation would've ended the week before when she agreed to come to the party with her, but apparently not. Ultimately, she sighed — even these past few weeks had been the longest amount of time she'd seen Dolley attached to the same guy. She could make an exception. "Fine."

Dolley squealed, pulling her into a hug. "Alright; go change quickly. Grab the nice vodka and meet me in the car."

"Wait, we're bringing the nice vodka?" Y/N called after her, incredulous. "Hang on, we spent almost twenty bucks on that! We can't bring it to share!"

Dolley didn't respond, and Y/N let out a sigh of defeat.

___________________

"James, hey!" When they arrived at his apartment, Dolley didn't waste a moment before pulling him into a hug. They hadn't even passed the doorway. While it seemed to have caught him by surprise, it only took him a second to process her sudden action before his arm fell to the small of her back.

"Hey, I'm glad that both of you could make it," he said, nodding to Y/N with a smile as she stood awkwardly behind them. Dolley finally pulled away. "Can I get you two something to drink?"

"That would be excellent." Dolley flashed him a wide smile as they walked in, Y/N pulling the door shut behind her.

"Actually, where are the drinks?" Y/N asked, hands tucked into her pockets as she surveyed the space. The apartment was cute, bigger than Y/N would've expected that James could afford on the budget of a student, and it was, as expected, littered with James's other friends, slumped on his couch, laying on each other, seated on the floor — wherever they could fit, really. The three who'd all slotted themselves into the same armchair were passing a blunt back and forth, and Y/N wondered how difficult it'd be for her to get in on that. "We brought a bottle."

James raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Mhm. Doll, it's in your purse, right?"

"Yeah, hang on a minute." Dolley's words were all but absentminded as she pulled her purse from her shoulder, unzipping it and beginning to dig through her mountains of knickknacks.

"Well, that's nice of you, but it was awfully unnecessary." James gave her a warm smile. "Let me show you both to the kitchen."

"Thanks, James," Y/N responded; Dolley seemed preoccupied with her purse, though, her brows knitting more and more tightly by the second as she overturned her empty lipstick tubes and discarded keychains. Y/N nudged her with her elbow. "Everything alright?"

She let out a heavy sigh. "We left the vodka in the car."

"You're kidding," Y/N groaned. "I was looking forward to breaking that open."

"I'm sorry, dear," Dolley said, lightly squeezing Y/N's forearm. "Let me just run out and get it. I'll be back in a moment."

"No, you're fine. I'll grab it," Y/N said quickly, plastering on a smile before Dolley could move. "I'd rather leave you two to your own devices. Can I borrow your keys?"

Dolley rolled her eyes at how Y/N wiggled her eyebrows; she even coaxed a laugh out of James. "Of course. Remember to lock the car, and be back soon."

"You've got it." Y/N sent her a wink as she caught the keys Dolley tossed her, turning swiftly on her heel toward their door.

_______________________

The walk back to the building's parking garage was cold; Y/N was grateful the concrete walls were there to stifle the chill of the wind, but she regretted letting Dolley talk her into that tank top.

She'd left the bottle in the glove compartment, apparently, something Y/N only found after digging through the trunk and the backseat. She didn't mind how long the expedition ended up taking her; the longer she could stall returning to the party, the better. The night would inevitably be painful, as she saw it; she had no desire to third-wheel James and Dolley for hours, so her best hope was to find someone to get drunk or high with.

Almost a half-hour had passed before she once again found herself at James's apartment door, still shivering from the cold spring night and, that time, armed with 750 milliliters of Absolut Citron Vodka. She was almost grateful for how long the walk up had been. By then, she could hear the bass booming from whatever music they'd set up; the sound of heavily overlapping chatter was muffled through the door yet still notably prominent. She rang the doorbell with hesitant fingers, wondering for a moment whether or not Dolley would even notice if she spent the remainder of the night getting drunk and playing Angry Birds in her locked car.

The click of the door unlocking broke her musings.

"Hey, so I got the vodka; do you know where Dolley—?" She cut herself off midsentence when it was swung entirely open. It'd taken her a moment too long to process who was standing before her, no longer in the slacks and button-down she'd gotten used to, but instead wearing a tight, v-neck t-shirt and jeans. She held Thomas's wide-eyed stare with one of her own. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here, last I checked," he said. Her eyes widened. "What are you doin' here?"

She eyed him dubiously for another moment, unsure whether she could've just been losing her mind. He just watched her tentatively, and ultimately, she let out a halfhearted, breathy laugh. "James invited me. Do you know his friend Dolley?"

"I've heard of her," he responded mildly, and Y/N nodded, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Well, I'm her roommate." He didn't respond at first, still seeming hesitant to respond one way or another, and her shadow of a smile broadened to a cheeky grin; she extended her hand for him to shake. "Y/N. It's nice to meet you."

Another beat passed without him knowing quite how to react, glancing down to her outstretched hand. "... Are you serious, right now?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" She raised an eyebrow. "...and you are?"

His skepticism didn't subside for another moment; the next ten seconds were akin to a standoff, and Y/N didn't let up with her cheery front. Finally, he let out a breathy laugh, raking a hand through his hair. "Thomas. 'M James's roommate." He shook her hand obligingly, and she looked beyond self-contented at the entertained glint in his eye. "C'mon in."

She followed him inside, self-satisfaction building in her chest, and he glanced back over his shoulder to her. "So, almost everyone's in the livin' room, and drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever."

"Thanks. You've got a nice place," she replied, perusing the rooms as they crossed through them. "D'you know where James is, by chance?"

"Not sure; why?" His voice was raised over the racket flooding in from all sides.

"Because wherever he is, I'm sure Dolley isn't far behind," she said, voice low and bordering on sour, and Thomas grinned.

"I saw them goin' to his room a little while back, so you might not have a lotta luck." She groaned at his words, and he laughed quietly, looking to her with tentative eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he nudged her arm. "Here, c'mon. Let's get you a drink, and I'll introduce you to my friends."

Her eyebrows shot up. Quite frankly, she'd expected to be on her own for the evening, spending the next couple hours sniffing out the stoners who could help her make the time pass a little bit more quickly. Thomas's expression was wary at her reaction. "That okay? You're welcome to go it alone."

His gentle tone eased her livewire nerves. She offered him a small smile. "No, no, a drink sounds excellent. Thanks."

He grinned. "Alright, sweetheart. C'mon." Her skin jumped under his touch when his hand came to rest at the small of her back, leading her through the tightly packed crowd alongside him, but he didn't seem to notice. Though she could feel heat rushing to her cheeks, she followed without hesitation.

The pair emerged just a few short minutes later with two red Solo cups. Y/N appeared to be substantially less bitter than she had been, whether the smile she wore was because Thomas had managed to placate her with his advanced mixology skills (he'd never give away his elusive vodka Sprite recipe) or because of, for once, how relaxed he seemed with her, his arm having fallen to her waist as he gave her the 411 on everyone she'd soon find scattered on the couches.

Part of her couldn't help but be surprised, though she didn't let that ruin her relaxation. She supposed it must have just been the change in environment, but the difference in attitude between this Thomas and her Professor Jefferson seemed to be night and day. Gone was the cautious air of professionalism, the guarded front he carried when he discussed with her their most recent unit.

It may have just been because he was already two beers deep into the evening, but no matter.

Upon reaching his living room, Thomas was greeted enthusiastically by a few different (incredibly attractive) people, including the three she'd seen sharing a joint earlier on.

"Thomas!" one of the women shouted. "Come sit with us! Where have you been all night?"

"Oh, hey, Maria; 's nice to see you, too. I'm great, thanks for askin'," he said sarcastically, offering her a contrived smile, and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, whatever. I just don't like being avoided, Jefferson," she replied, giving him an unamused look. "So are you joining us or not, hm? Time-sensitive offer."

He cracked a grin. "Yeah, yeah, alright." He glanced down to Y/N and raised an eyebrow, a silent ask as to whether or not she wanted to stay, and she gave him a small smile, a short nod.

They both took seats on the couch opposite Maria, Thomas nonchalantly greeting the man on at its furthest end who he called 'Monroe.' Y/N didn't bother to question it — quite frankly, she never expected to be in any sort of situation meeting Thomas's friends, and she certainly hadn't seen it coming when she was leaving home that night. She shifted in her seat, feeling rather self-conscious and out of her league on this.

"And who is your pretty friend, hm?" The man sitting beside Maria turned to Y/N with a bright, curious smile. "Where 'ave you been hiding 'er from us?"

At that, she laughed — his buoyant manner eased her nerves, if only in the least. "I'm Y/N."

Before she could determine exactly how to explain her knowing Thomas, Lafayette cut in, eyes shining. "Ah, you are ze TA, non?"

"Oh, um..." Her eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, that's me. You've heard about me?"

"We cannot seem to stop 'earing about you, chérie," he drawled, wearing a wry smile. "Although, I do not believe zat someone told us you would be 'ere tonight." Though he gave Thomas a pointed look, taking another hit of the lit blunt he held lazily between his fingers, and Thomas only rolled his eyes.

"James invited her, actually," he said. "Y'know his girl Dolley? Y/N's her roommate."

Y/N mentally archived his words; she was sure Dolley would enjoy hearing she'd been referred to as 'James's girl.' Lafayette raised his eyebrows. "What a twist of fate," he mused. "If not for James, we may 'ave only ever been able to 'ear your stories about 'er. It is lovely to meet you, Y/N."

"Yeah, you too." She offered him a timid smile, adjusting the straps of her shirt. "So what's Thomas told you about me, then?"

The woman sitting beside Maria on the end of the other couch, legs draped over her lap, interjected, "Just about everything, honey. I mean, first, all the gossip about him accidentally having slept with a student, of course."

While Y/N was thoroughly entertained, Thomas rolled his eyes, but how he was shifting in his seat betrayed his air of nonchalance. The woman continued, "And since then, you've been an ever-growing saga. My favorite story is still you going to his office just to yell at him." The look in her eyes was amused as they flickered between Y/N and Thomas. "Personally, I find it more entertaining than the grumbling about not knowing how to teach a student he's fucked, especially when the sex was so—"

"Alright, that's about enough, Ang," Thomas cut her off, looking more exasperated than annoyed as he shot her a warning look, and she wore a wide grin.

"Oh, come on, I was just getting started," she complained. "Not my fault you can't keep things to yourself. I just don't think it's fair to keep poor Y/N here in the dark."

"Yeah, really, Jefferson," Maria piped back up. "Don't you think she should get a say?"

She raised her eyebrows at Y/N with a playful smile, and she couldn't help the grin she wore that threatened to broaden. However, Thomas scowled.

"Remind me to get friends who aren't gonna rat me out, next time." He took a sip of his drink, eyeing Maria and Angelica dubiously, but neither of them wavered. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, so you're owning up to it?"

He looked over at her with an irked gaze, but the corners of his lips were quirked up. "You stay outta this."

"Hey, that isn't fair!" she protested, knocking her elbow into his, and he pursed his lips. "This is all absolutely my business. I feel like my privacy as a student's been violated, professor."

"Oh, so now you'll call me 'professor'?"

Despite how skeptically he was eyeing her, his smile grew, and she shrugged innocently. "I've been doing my best."

"'M sure you have."

"You don't sound too sure," she countered, taking a sip of her drink. "I don't like having my integrity questioned. Shouldn't you be able to trust your TA?"

"Maybe I will once you prove yourself worth trusting." He shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please. If anything, you're the one who's proved you can't keep a secret." The side of her thigh rested against his as she cast a pointed glance back at his friends. "I guess, next time, I'll have to be sure not to sleep with such a gossip, won't I?"

He grinned. "Good luck finding someone better."

He looked beyond self-satisfied as her eyes widened; her heart jumped to her throat. Despite everything, the air between them was charged, and Lafayette raised an eyebrow.

It took Y/N a moment to break his heavy gaze, not having noticed the silence stretching on throughout the group. Angelica and Maria exchanged a glance. It wasn't until he met Lafayette's skeptical stare that Thomas cleared his throat, cracking the atmosphere.

"I'm gonna go get myself another drink," he said, pushing himself up off of the couch. He glanced down at Y/N, and then turned to the rest of his friends. "Try not to traumatize Y/N while I'm gone."

"Oh, no need to worry," Lafayette said, his gaze alight, and Thomas narrowed his eyes skeptically. "We will take very good care of 'er."

________________________

Thomas returned later than he'd planned to — the couple broken bottles and failed keg stand he found in his kitchen were an unfortunate detour — but when he did, Lafayette had taken his seat, and Monroe had split. Y/N sat all but leaning into his side, giggling at whatever it was he was saying as they passed his joint back and forth, and in turn, Thomas took the now-empty seat on Y/N's other side.

She'd just finished shouting something over at Maria when Thomas spoke, breaking her focus.

"So I see you two got awful close while I was gone," he said, tone dry as he glanced between her and Lafayette, and Y/N only seemed to notice just then that he was even there. She turned to him with a mellow grin.

"Hey, Thomas, Lafayette was just telling me all about how you went to undergrad together." A hardly-contained giggle was concealed in her voice. He raised an eyebrow.

"That so?"

Y/N nodded, absentmindedly taking the blunt back from where Lafayette held it out to her. "I hear you were just as uptight then as you are now."

"Oh, I'm uptight, now?" When she shrugged unapologetically, he didn't meet her gaze, instead leaning around to look at Lafayette, who looked beyond pleased with himself. "So by 'take care of her' you meant you were gonna get Y/N high?"

Lafayette shrugged, wearing a lazy smile. "You did not ask me to elaborate on it, mon cher."

Thomas's deadpanned expression didn't change, but Y/N snickered at Lafayette's words before taking another hit. She leaned back onto his shoulder as she turned in her seat to face Thomas, scrutinizing the whole of his stature, and he winced when she inadvertently blew smoke into his face.

"What, are you jealous?" she drawled, her tone taunting, and Thomas raised an unamused eyebrow.

"'Jealous'?" he repeated, almost in disbelief, and she shrugged.

"Mmhmm." Her hum of agreement was drawn out dramatically. "Why do you feel the need to judge me for it? Y'know, if you wanted a hit, you could've just asked." When she extended Lafayette's joint to him as if it were an olive branch, watching him expectantly all the while, he hesitated, unsure if that was the candid conclusion she'd drawn. Her conviction didn't waver; he could only laugh.

"Alright, sweetheart." He leaned forward, and she looked pleased when he plucked it from between her fingers. "I think you've had about enough of that."

However, moments later, he put it out on a coaster, and she whined. "Hey. Don't be an ass." She plastered on a pout, kicking his calf halfheartedly, and she slumped back onto Lafayette, looking up at him with disappointment. "Looks like you were right about 'uptight.'"

Lafayette matched her frown, shifting so his arm was resting at her waist as they both faced Thomas. "And to think zat I paid good money just for zat to go to waste."

"Stop being a spoilsport, Thomas," Maria shouted, eyeing him with contempt. "You're not Y/N's mother; let her live."

"I'm not actin' like anybody's mother," he scowled, throwing a pillow in her direction, and missing by about a foot.

"Could've fooled me," Angelica muttered into her drink, and while Thomas glared at her, Y/N laughed.

"Oh, loosen up." Thomas's eyebrows shot up when she pulled her legs up into his lap, now fully laying on Lafayette's torso. "We aren't in class, professor."

He eyed her skeptically. "Y'know, if my friends didn't seem to like you more than they like me, I'd have started tryin' to kick you outta here by now." Despite his dry tone, the words held no bite, and she laughed.

"Well, I'm James's guest, not yours, so I don't think that's quite within your jurisdiction," she replied frankly, wearing a wide, sly smile. "Besides, you're just bitter I'm stealing your friends."

"She makes an excellent point," Lafayette interjected, wearing a playful smile, and Y/N giggled as she leaned back to look at him. However, Thomas only rolled his eyes.

Though no retort sat on the tip of his tongue, his focus instead on how his stomach turned as Lafayette's arm looped around Y/N's waist, pulling her close, any chance he had to respond died the moment the brief rapport between Lafayette and Y/N was interrupted, both their voices light.

"I'm glad to see that you've all made yourselves comfortable." Everyone turned, though at different rates, toward the voice at the other side of the couch. There stood one James Madison, looking as cool and collected as ever, Dolley at his side. However, she didn't so much hold up the composed air; her hair was mussed, though she'd obviously tried to push it back into place, if only hastily, and her cheeks were still flushed pink with James's arm around her.

"Hey, haven't seen you two in a while," Y/N said, wearing a sly, lazy smile. "What have you been up to back in James's room, huh?"

"We were just talking," Dolley defended timidly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, but her wide grin betrayed her bashfulness.

"Oh, I'm sure," Y/N replied, voice saturated with sarcasm. "And a prerequisite for that is obviously locking yourselves in his bedroom."

Dolley didn't respond, just pursed her lips, only meeting Y/N's gaze, but James laughed good-naturedly. "In any case, we've returned. I trust everyone's made you feel welcome, Y/N?"

She shrugged, glancing to the group around her. "More or less. Would've been better if someone hadn't decided to play bad cop and restrict any 'illegal or dangerous activity,'" she said, tying together all the haughtiness she could manage into her voice as she gave Thomas a pointed look. However, he only shrugged unapologetically.

Lafayette took that moment to pipe up, though. "And, now, why did you not bother to tell anyone zat Y/N would be joining us after we 'ad all 'eard so much about 'er?" His tone was accusatory, but James didn't quite seem to follow, his brow furrowed.

"What do you mean 'after we had all heard so much about her'?" he echoed, but his gaze drew back to Y/N and then to Thomas, and he raised his eyebrows, seeming to have connected the dots. "Hang on, is this your Y/N?"

Y/N couldn't have explained why she felt her skin begin to heat at the words, but she certainly wasn't about to protest them. Thomas scowled. "She's my TA, assumin' that's what you mean."

"That was not what I meant, but it answers my question regardless," James said, but as he spoke, Dolley's face split into a grin.

"So I take it you're 'Professor Jefferson,' then?"

"Thomas," he corrected her with an easy smile, extending a hand for her to shake. "And where've you heard about me?" He glanced to Y/N with his words, a teasing eyebrow raised, and she huffed.

"I see that IR degree you like to flaunt must not have tested your inductive reasoning skills." Her scowl didn't hide her unease, and he grinned, lightly squeezing her calf where her legs were draped over his.

"No need to be so hostile, sweetheart."

Dolley's smile was knowing as she glanced between the two of them. "In any case, I've been told quite a bit about you. Though, you're much bigger in person."

That one genuinely had him confused. "Bigger than what?"

"That faculty profile picture on the university website that a certain someone keeps showing me?" she explained, and he laughed outright. In the meantime, Y/N had managed to weasel Lafayette's drink from his hand and drain the cup in one fell swoop, claiming that 'she needed it far more than he did.' He didn't put up much of a fight.

However, Thomas was far from done. "Oh, really, now?" he said, lips pursed to stifle his entertainment as he looked over to Y/N, meeting her wavering glare. "Wonder who that could be."

Y/N didn't respond, didn't trust her voice enough to try to when Thomas's hand rested on her knee, and she could feel her cheeks flare. "I don't know how I'm expected to make it through tonight without weed," she grumbled, shifting where she sat against Lafayette, not meeting Thomas's eyes. Dolley's grin mirrored Thomas's, then.

"Aw, is everything okay, dear? Did I say something wrong?" she asked mildly, and Y/N's withering gaze turned to her.

"Oh, don't you start," she said, accusation heavy in her voice as she jabbed a wavering finger at Dolley. "You're really gonna throw me under the bus like this after I came here just so you could fuck James?"

To Y/N's dismay, Dolley looked far from ashamed at her words, her playful expression holding firm. "I think that perhaps you're just jealous."

Y/N hummed noncommittally. "Mmh, don't give yourself too much credit, babe. You're not that good in bed."

While Dolley could only gape at her for another moment as she passed Lafayette back his empty plastic cup, something he didn't seem to mind, James looked thoroughly entertained. "Is there something happening between the two of you that I should be worried about?"

"Nah, don't worry." Y/N shifted in her seat to turn, looking back at him now. "You're more than welcome to my sloppy seconds."

"Y/N!" Dolley all but recoiled, seemingly incredulous at the claim. When Y/N only shrugged in response, she turned to James with wide, pleading eyes. "Believe me, she and I were never together."

"Oh?" he asked, turning to Y/N, who sighed.

"Alright, alright. I don't wanna push it, so I'll confess: I broke it off with Dolley before it could ever get that far," she drawled, having contrived a forlorn facade. "Her loss, really."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Dolley said, rolling her eyes, and when a grin split her friend's expression, Dolley turned to Thomas, meeting his amused gaze. "Would you care to corroborate?"

Then, it was Dolley's turn to be entertained. Thomas was only glad they couldn't see the blood drain from his face at the point-blank question, though his surprised unease was obvious in his wide-eyed stare. He tensed, and Y/N could feel it as the fingertips of his hand resting on her lower thigh tightened around her leg. "Excuse me?"

Y/N bit back a smile. She glanced between the two of them, and Dolley's expression was a duplicate of her own hardly-suppressed laugh, but seeing Thomas's obvious discomfort, she could only sigh.

"My buzz from Lafayette's weed is wearing off," she said, the words directed at no one in particular, withdrawing her legs from their place on Thomas's lap and pushing herself up from where she sat against Lafayette. She turned to Dolley when she stood. "I'm gonna grab myself something to drink. You wanna come with me?"

She swallowed her grin. "I'd love to."

Y/N looped her arm through Dolley's as she began to pull away from the group, dealing out a fleeting apology to James for stealing his girl. Once they were out of earshot, had reached a quiet lull with the crowd in the kitchen, Dolley turned to Y/N with an arched brow.

"You and Professor Fuck-Me were getting pretty friendly back there, weren't you?"

"'Professor Fuck-Me'?" Y/N repeated with a snort. "Creative."

"I'm entirely serious, dear," Dolley said, wearing a teasing smile as she nudged Y/N with her elbow. "I faintly recall saying something about James's friends being just your type. Was I wrong?"

"Oh, come on, don't do this," Y/N groaned. "We've long since agreed that nothing's going to happen. Him being James's roommate doesn't suddenly change the fact I'm an undergrad, for fuck's sake."

"Well, if he and James are around the same age, he isn't much older than you and I. So if I can get with James, why would you and Thomas be so illicit?"

"Because James doesn't work here, Dolley," she said, looking at her seriously as she reached for the vodka they'd brought (and she'd tucked out of sight behind the toaster next to the fridge). "Thomas, a professor, getting with me, a student, could end his career. You do realize that, don't you?"

Dolley sighed as she dug through the cooler in front of the counter, ultimately withdrawing a Fanta, and Y/N quirked a brow. Dolley was either preparing to be their designated driver, or she was trying not to get so buzzed that James wouldn't fuck her, and Y/N could only hope it was the former. After a moment, Dolley responded, "Yes, I know it's futile, but isn't it a nice thought?"

"...Sure." Y/N looked skeptical.

"Oh, please, you know it, too," Dolley reasoned, dismissing Y/N's hesitation with a wave of her hand. "You're clearly attracted to one another, and I'm dating his roommate. It would be—"

"Can we stop talking in impossible hypotheticals?" Y/N cut her off. "I get that you think it'd be fun, but I'm both his student and his TA. It's not like that. He and I are friends." The added emphasis on her final word did little to dissuade Dolley, but Y/N had something of a point. Why hope for what you can't have?

Before Dolley could respond, Y/N went on, "But, hey, can we go back to the fact that you and James are dating now? Since when? Why didn't you tell me?"

She bit her lip to keep back her smile. "Oh. Well, it's not... official, really, but he asked me on our first actual date just a couple of hours ago. We're doing dinner and a movie next week."

"Dolley!" Y/N exclaimed, swatting her arm. Her jaw was slack, her awestruck expression mildly contrived, but her excitement was entirely genuine. "That's so exciting. I'm really glad for you. Seriously."

"Thank you, but we've yet to see how the date actually goes," Dolley said. Y/N didn't appreciate her dismal tone.

"You already know him pretty well. And you already know you like him," Y/N pointed out. "I think you'll have a good time, but you can always text me if you need me to call you with a horror story about how my spleen gave out and I desperately need you to drive me to the emergency room."

"I appreciate the offer, dear, but shouldn't you call an ambulance instead?"

"Under this healthcare system?" Y/N eyed Dolley as though she was losing her mind. "I'd sooner Uber."

"How lovely to hear that you'd die if I weren't around to take care of you," Dolley said dryly, finally cracking open her soda. "I can only imagine what you'll do after graduation."

"Get health insurance, ideally," Y/N huffed, the sound akin to a wry laugh, but her heart wasn't in it — even with all the hot-for-teacher jokes she'd been making for the past few weeks, that was her least believable quip. She took a long sip from the fresh, new, shiny Solo cup she'd poured herself and nudged Dolley. "Hey, when we go back, you've gotta stop making jokes about me screwing Thomas. They're cute behind closed doors, but you're just making him uncomfortable."

Dolley didn't meet Y/N's eyes as she started back toward their living room. "Alright, but only because I love you. I wouldn't want Thomas to take my place in your heart."

"Aw, Doll, he could never!" Y/N called after her, "You know I've only got eyes for you."

"You'd better." Dolley sent her a wink as they reached James and company.

When they finally turned, breaking the playful eye contact, they found Lafayette and Maria crouched on the floor beside their coffee table, laying out a hoard of plastic cups. Y/N assumed they weren't looking to try their hand at speed stacking. "Are we playing beer pong?" Dolley asked, glancing between the pair.

"Yeah, you in?" Maria asked, raising an eyebrow as she held up a ping-pong ball between two fingers. Dolley grinned.

"Absolutely." When she turned to James, though, Y/N was mildly offended; she folded her arms as Dolley offered him a hand. "Care to join me?"

He joined her wordlessly, giving a shrug, but he wore a wide smile, and Y/N scoffed loudly. "Excuse me?" James looked taken aback at her combative tone, turning swiftly on his heel to face her. Nevertheless, Dolley wasn't taking her too seriously, and for good reason. "You sleep with one grad student, and suddenly, years of winning beer pong together mean nothing to you?"

Dolley rolled her eyes, glancing between her and Thomas with a sly, growing smile. "No need to be jealous, dear. I'm sure you can find a perfectly suitable graduate of your own."

When Dolley met his gaze, watching him expectantly, he looked her up and down, a dubious eyebrow raised. "What're you lookin' at?"

"Oh, sure, act as if you don't know," she said, stare turning skeptical. "Y/N, you may want to find yourself a more perceptive professor in the future. I'm not so sure about this one."

Y/N laughed when she turned back away from the table to see Thomas's bewildered expression. "Oh, c'mon, lay off of him." Y/N tugged Dolley back over to her by the arm, and as she finally joined her, giggling, Y/N stole a fleeting, amused glance back at Thomas before looking to Lafayette with a smile. "You need a partner?"

The man in question folded his arms, eyes shining and his brow raised. "Are you offering?"

"Only if you're willing to accept." She shrugged. "After all, I just got dumped by my old partner," —she gave Dolley a pointed look to which she responded with a wide, unapologetic grin— "so it looks like I'm back on the market."

Neither noticed Thomas eyeing them dubiously from the couch just off to one side.

"Alright zen, Y/N," Lafayette responded, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. "Welcome to ze winning team. You 'ad better not tarnish my perfect record." He threw an arm around her shoulders, and obligingly, she went alongside him to the far side of the table. Thomas knocked back the rest of his drink in one heavy sip.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Y/N said, her gaze dragging over the elaborate (and precarious) setup on the low-set coffee table — she pitied the rug beneath it; it almost certainly didn't know what it had coming. When she looked up, Dolley and James had taken their positions across from them. However, while Dolley looked like she meant business, eyeing the scene before her, brow knit as she rolled a ping pong ball between her fingers, James looked slightly perturbed.

Y/N glanced back to Lafayette with a teasing look. "But you'd better be able to keep up."

"Mm, I make no promises, yet with zat attitude, you may 'ave just met your match." He looked her up and down appraisingly, and when she caught sight of the mischievous glint in his eyes as they stalled toward her hips, she swallowed hard.

"We'll see about that," she replied, and despite the confidence she tried to inject into her voice, the words came out meek under his heavy gaze. He grinned at the sudden timidity of her smile; when his arm came to rest at her waist, pulling her back around to look at the table before them as he promptly began talking strategy, heat rose in her cheeks. Her mouth was dry.

And Thomas was nowhere to be found.

_______________

The night didn't come to a close for hours, which was saying something considering how late it'd begun, and several (entirely successful) games of beer pong later, the crowd was just beginning to dwindle. James and Dolley seemed to be attached at the hip, something which had Y/N feeling more conflicted than she'd have liked to — she was glad to see them happy, certainly, but her own Dolley deficiency meant that, for the most part, she was on her own in navigating her novel state of limbo with Thomas, as confusing as it was exhilarating. She could only pretend to mind it, though.

She'd latched onto Lafayette at some point among their continued victories; she'd liked to have chalked it up to his friendly, outgoing nature, making her feel easily welcome, but she couldn't pretend that it wasn't in large part due to the tight tank top he wore and the circumference of his arms. And she made sure to tell him so, too, as the night went on and she sank deeper into the setup of what was sure to manifest an impressive hangover come morning. Lafayette's breezy laugh at her proclamation put her at ease. Neither took the interaction too seriously.

At the end of the day, her easy willingness to fall into the mellow atmosphere he dragged alongside him had less to do with him and more to do with her desperation to stop focusing on how Thomas had hardly said five words to her since Dolley had earlier been sure to tell him how utterly enamored Y/N was with him. That was also her motivation to throw back whatever liqueur came her way, and while those two impacts may not pay off long-term, for the time being, they only meant getting drunk with an unreasonably attractive Frenchman. Y/N sleeping with her professor may have been off-limits, but no one said anything about the touchy-feely exchange student with the blinding smile and the sharp tongue. She couldn't help but briefly wonder what else his tongue was good for.

As the party finally came to a close, and as people began to say their goodbyes, the remaining attendees were scattered around their apartment, far more sparse than they had been.

Y/N stumbled out of their bathroom bleary-eyed and with her phone's flashlight on. Dolley had long since withdrawn back into James's bedroom, and Y/N couldn't even complain — she was just relieved that she couldn't hear whatever they were up to from where she stood.

She kept a hand on the wall to her right as she unsteadily navigated the straight hallway, much more of a challenge than it should've been, all the while her thoughts oscillating between her internal turmoil over Thomas's sudden aloofness and how in the world she was supposed to get home five drinks closer to the end of the night than she'd begun. With her mind elsewhere, she didn't process her flashlight catching the silhouette of the lumbering figure who'd suddenly emerged from the doorway just before her until it was a second too late.

He noticed the moment he entered the hallway, however; he didn't have enough time to stop it short.

Y/N yelped as she stumbled forward, tripping over his shoe and grasping desperately at his clothing in her desperate bid not to end up on the floor with a carpet burn all the way down her chin and an ache in her chest.

"Woah, woah, woah." He turned to her frantically, the panic in his eyes fueling his actions to be just quick enough. It didn't stop her from falling — he was no miracle worker — but she fell instead into an unsurprisingly strong chest, large hands finding her waist. She dropped her phone somewhere in the havoc, and he winced as the flashlight shone directly up into his face; despite this, his expression eased when he saw the smile she wore upon catching sight of his face. "You alright, there?"

"Thomas, hey." Her eyelids drooped in her tired enthusiasm. "Where have you been all night? Missed you. We all missed you." The heavy pout she wore with the claim just made him chuckle, and she took in a deep breath, stifling a yawn, as she tried to pull herself up from her hands on his shoulders. "And when were you this tall?"

He laughed, helping her back up to a standing position, but back on her feet, she was still relying heavily on him for a crutch. "I've been around, sweetheart. Guess you just didn't notice me."

"Or you've been avoiding me," she accused as he helped her back toward the living room. Her staggering steps were far from steady, and her voice was reduced to a weary drawl as she stumbled over her own feet.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, though. "Not my fault you've been so focused on Lafayette all night."

"Not my fault he was the one being nice to me," she grumbled, but almost the moment the words left her mouth, she looked up at him with apology in her gaze. He didn't even have time to react. "Not that you haven't been nice. I didn't mean that you're not nice. You're so nice, too. You're too nice. I don't—"

"Relax," he cut her off, his voice soft and eyes glinting with amusement. "No offense taken."

"This is what I mean by too nice," she said, words slurred. She jabbed a finger into his shoulder even as they walked. "Too forgiving. Learn to be meaner."

"So you'd rather I did take offense."

"That's not what I said," she protested with a huff, the sentence sounding as childish as her intentions felt. She sniffled. "Stop twisting my words. I was so happy to see you before; can we go back to that? Meanie."

He quirked a brow. "I'm mean again, now?"

She scowled. "No. I wish you were mean, 'cause then I wouldn't just have to blame myself for being bitter, and it's not fair, either, and I'm just moping 'cause you haven't been around all night. When I walked in and saw you, I thought my night might be okay, asshole. Didn't know I'd hardly see you."

"You've seen plenty of me," he countered, and she grinned.

"Oh, yeah? In more ways than one, right?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and his deadpanned stare only made her burst into a fit of giggles. He couldn't help his small smile. Despite her protests of his not having been around all night, this was the most attention she'd paid him since being introduced to Lafayette, and he couldn't say he minded the paradigm shift.

"Somethin' like that. How much have you had to drink?" he asked, and her shrug with her shoulder pressed into his side was halfhearted.

"Lost count. I'm gonna regret it in the morning, but not so much I'm gonna spend four hours throwing up." She grinned, trying to nudge him, but her elbow just brushed against the front of his shirt in a feat of hand-eye coordination. "So I obviously did perfect."

"'Obviously'," he echoed, looking down at her dubiously. Her footsteps stalled as she reached down to pick up her phone, struggling to find the button to turn the flashlight off. She struggled to stifle a yawn as she reached around to put it in her back pocket.

"Too bad you didn't have tequila. Then I might've gotten less conscious. If you weren't so fucking nice, I might be pissed," she said matter-of-factly. He just hummed passively. "Where's Lafayette?"

"How would I know? You're the one who's been hangin' onto him all night." There was a certain gruffness in his voice that hadn't been there before, but Y/N was too addled to pick up on it. She frowned, slumping against his chest. "You shouldn't be tryin' to go home with him after this many drinks, anyway."

"I wasn't trying to go home with him," she pouted, but when her steps stuttered, when she struggled not to trip over her own feet, Thomas wrapped an arm tighter around her waist, and she didn't stop him. "I was just gonna ask him for a ride home, 'cause who knows what Dolley's up to with James by now. You don't have to be so protective, y'know. I'm an adult."

"Hey, I know," he said softly, and although she wouldn't have readily admitted it, his gentle tone went far to placate her. "'M sorry."

"You should be," she huffed. "Saying I'm just here to fuck your friends. Can't believe it's what you think of me."

"It's not; that's not what I was sayin'," he defended, but when he looked down at her with a frown, she refused to meet his eyes, gaze fixed firmly on her own feet. "C'mon, sweetheart. You can't really think that."

"You promise?" He couldn't help his pang of guilt when she looked up at him with a wide-eyed, trusting stare, on the brink of tears. He offered her a soft smile, squeezing her side lightly.

"Promise," he confirmed. "Now let's get you out of here; you're wasted. I'll call a cab."

She groaned. "No, don't. I don't wanna get in a car alone with a stranger when I'm this smashed. That's not safe."

Thomas chuckled lightly at her words, raising a surprised eyebrow. "How's your judgment better when you've had a little too much to drink?"

"Shut up," she grumbled, and though she tried to shove him by the shoulder, he wasn't all too dissuaded. "Are Maria and Angelica still here? Think they'd wanna carpool? They seem nice. I could probably convince them."

"I'm sure you could, but they're both long gone."

"So who's still here?" she whined, "I'm too tired to walk home. I don't wanna."

"Y'know, I do have a car," he pointed out. She scowled.

"Yeah, congrats."

"And I can drive you," he added, looking down at her expectantly. She shifted in his grasp, letting out a noise of reluctance.

"No, Thomas, you can't," she said, her voice watery. "You're really, really sweet for offering, and I really appreciate it, but no, I can't ask you to do that when you aren't already leaving anyway. But that's thoughtful. Thank you."

"Seriously? I'm offerin'." Worry was clear in his eyes as she dragged herself forward, clinging to his shoulders. "You don't have too many options, now."

"No, no, it's fine." Her words were slow, the syllables dragging on as she buried herself further in his embrace. "I'm gonna find someone. What about your friend Monroe? Isn't he gonna have to drive himself outta here?"

"'S there somethin' wrong?" She could hear his frown in his voice. "Or d'you just really not want me to drive you that badly?"

"Everything's okay, I'm fine." She let out a short huff as he slowed to a halt, still propping her up. "I do want you to drive me, but I also don't wanna ask you to drive me after you've been avoiding me all night, but I wanna hang out with you. And I know the feeling isn't mutual, and I don't want you to feel like you've gotta drive me. 'M sorry."

"Hey, what're you sorry for?" He nudged her softly. "I haven't been avoidin' you. I dunno what makes you think so."

"It's okay; don't worry. I get it," she assured him, and her smile looked slightly dazed as she rested a hand on his chest. "It's weird that your roommate invited your TA who you fucked to the house party you threw. I know you're just trying to respect my boundaries. And you're such a nice person for it. Honestly. Seriously."

"I'm bein' serious, Y/N," he defended, despite her sappy tone. "'M not avoidin' you."

"You don't gotta defend yourself! It's okay." She gave him an understanding smile, but as her bottom lip pushed out, it was closer to a pout. "I'm lucky you're so careful and sweet about everything that's happened. With us sleeping together, and all."

"I got the implication," he said, a trace of a laugh in his voice.

"Okay, well, I wasn't sure," she defended. He chuckled. "I'm just saying, I'm lucky it was you. It coulda been someone who wanted to exploit this weird dynamic. I'm not sure if you've realized, but you've got a lotta power here."

He furrowed his brow. "I'd never do somethin' like that."

"I know," she agreed softly, and the look in her watering eyes was doting.

She inhaled shakily when she broke his gaze, trying to continue to his living room, but again, when she proved to be a little less steady than she'd thought, her center of balance not quite where she expected, she let out a surprised squeak.

"Woah, there," Thomas laughed, catching her before she could fall any further. She hung desperately onto his arms. "Alright, let's go. Let me drive you home."

She hummed reluctantly. "This is exploitation. You know I'm too tired to be pretending I don't want you to since it'd be so much more trouble for you, and I know you're too nice to insist after I tell you not to. How am I supposed to say no?"

"You ever consider that you aren't?"

Her huff was halfhearted, and she still wore a wide smile. "Alright, alright. You win. Bully."

He grinned. "Mmh, I'm really the worst."

___________________________

Getting her out of his apartment and down the stairwell to the garage was quite a process, but twenty minutes later, they were pulling out in his Bentley because of course he couldn't just drive a Subaru like the rest of us. They drove the first few minutes in a warm silence, Y/N still mildly addled with fatigue and vodka.

Thomas stole a glance at her to see her leaning her head back against the chair, her eyes shut, and her soft smile elicited his own. "You have an okay time tonight?"

She hummed, not opening her eyes. "Yeah. I really, really liked your friends. They were all so sweet. It was so nice of Lafayette looking out for me all night. He's nice."

She didn't see Thomas's lips quirk down. "Yeah. Lafayette's really somethin'."

She cracked a eye open to look at him; the tension was clear enough in his voice that even she couldn't miss it. "You okay?"

"Fine."

She frowned. "I know I didn't see you much tonight, but... you know I wasn't actually mad when you took Lafayette's weed, right?"

The question caught him off guard, less for the question itself than for what she was reading into the sudden hostility in his demeanor. "Seriously?"

"It was no big deal," she said softly, tapping her fingers on his car's central console. He laughed. "I know how good your intentions were. You're just... such a caring person." Her huff was quiet, and she put on a small pout. "You're too sweet sometimes, and I dunno what to do with it. Sorry if I made you feel like you weren't. You're such a good person, Thomas. I'm sorry."

Her voice broke with her final sentence, and she took a deep breath, sniffling and pursing her lips, and Thomas looked over, a concerned eyebrow raised. "Are you... tearin' up?" She didn't respond, only nodded, trying to hold down the tears building in her throat, and his gaze melted. "Aw, sweetheart. Hey, relax. It's ok."

His hand covered hers where it sat on the central console, squeezing it lightly, and she looked over at him with a sentimental smile. "'M not—" She inhaled shakily. "I'm not sad. I just really appreciate you. You're so nice. You're always worrying about making sure I'm safe. If you weren't around, I probably would've been abducted, like, probably twice by now."

"I'm not sure tryin' to make sure no one kills you is the height of altruism."

"Yes, it is," she insisted, threading her fingers into his. She didn't see his small smile. "You've called me definitely at least four Ubers by now, and this is the second time you've driven me home. And this gas isn't cheap."

He shook his head, amusement shining in his gaze. "Well I'm not gonna let you pay for your own Ubers. I know how tight money is when you're an undergrad."

She groaned. "Stop being so thoughtful. It's insufferable. You're just reminding me how obnoxious everyone else is 'cause you're always so fucking kind."

He stole another glance in her direction, noting how tired her smile looked, but her gaze was soft despite her facade of exasperation. "I dunno about that. You did think I was avoidin' you all night."

"Yeah, but you didn't wanna make things weird because of our weird history, and I get it! It's probably right. But..." She turned her head, still resting against the back of her seat, to watch him. "Thanks for not making it weird or just acting like I'm some kid who you don't wanna be around. I really liked meeting your friends. Thanks for introducing me." Her thumb brushed across the back of his hand, and her thoughtful gaze fell to where their fingers were interlinked. "I was dreading tonight."

"Oh, yeah?" He gave her a concerned look, and the corners of her lips twitched up. Her warm gaze was a comfort.

"Mhm. I didn't wanna come and I wouldn't if Dolley wasn't so into James, but she really likes him so much," Y/N said, her lazy words running together. "I even put on my good jeans for her 'cause she was worried about being overdressed. Love her so much. But I thought this night was gonna be such a big sacrifice and, like, hours of misery."

"I'm glad it wasn't," Thomas said, and her smile broadened as she met his soft eyes.

"Yeah. Me too. Thanks for treating me like we're friends."

"Aren't we friends?" He raised a hesitant eyebrow at that, at the quiet notice he took of the bittersweet trace in her voice. Her eyes widened.

"I... are we?" She blinked hard, turning toward her door as he took a left turn, as she was afraid her eyes were again beginning to water. "I didn't think you thought we were. I didn't think you wanted to be friends, since you're always keeping me at arm's length, I guess."

"I'm drivin' you home from my apartment at one in the morning," he said matter-of-factly. "I dunno if there's still any degree of removal, there."

"You didn't want me at your apartment in the first place, and you don't have to defend yourself." Her gaze caught on a passing streetlight. "I just didn't think you wanted to be friends."

"I'd like to think we're friends," he said quietly, and she squeezed his hand lightly. He didn't comment on how absurd it was that she thought this was how he treated all of his acquaintances.

"Me too." She sniffed again, reaching up to rub at the corner of her left eye.

"And I'm sorry if I've been holdin' you at arm's length," he added. "I'm just tryin' to keep the fact that we slept together the first night we met from havin' some kinda outsized importance. Don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"You're so respectful. Fuck. Thanks, Thomas," she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut to hold any tears at bay. "Thanks for everything."

He smiled. "'S been my pleasure."

___________________________

When they arrived at her building, he offered to walk her up to her apartment, and she didn't put up even a moment of resistance. She knew just as well as he did that trying to make it all the way up to her floor alone would be a losing battle.

They'd been waiting for the elevator for about a minute when she began monologuing an overly-emotional apology about when she went to his office to yell at him, which turned into one about how she wasn't even halfway through the papers he needed to be graded by Monday, which turned into one about how she was exploiting him as a Google Translate substitute for her French class. (She swore she wasn't using him as a means to an end.)

Her eyes were teary when they reached her floor, and he led her down the hall with an arm around her waist as she continued to gripe about how unreasonably kind he was.

"But I'm serious, Thomas, if you weren't so fucking nice all the time, you wouldn't be so easy to exploit, and I wouldn't feel so guilty," she whined, "I can't believe it sometimes."

"Sorry?" he said hesitantly, fighting back a smile at her indignance. She scoffed.

"Why're you apologizing?" she asked, plastering on a pout. "I'm calling you nice, asshole."

He had to laugh, then. "Sure you are, sweetheart."

"I am!" she huffed, folding her arms and looking up at him with wide, watering eyes. "I swear."

"Alright, alright, I believe you," he assured her, and as she sighed, he could feel her shoulders relax against him. He looked back up, then, gaze scanning the walls of the apartment building. "Now, remind me which one of these rooms is yours?"

"566." She sniffled, still watching him as he walked her down the hall.

"Okay. Only a little further."

"Thanks for walking me up, Thomas," Y/N said, the ghost of a yawn stifled in her voice. She reached up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. "You're so sweet."

"Y'know, I think you might've mentioned," he replied, tone playful, and she groaned, dropping her head against his side.

"Shut up," she grumbled. "I'm being serious. Don't appreciate your sarcasm."

"I'm only playin', alright?" He squeezed her side as he tugged her along, and she wore a soft, reluctant smile. "Now, are you gonna be okay tonight? There anything you need before I go? Are you gonna need anything for your hangover? I can pick up some ibuprofen."

"No, no, that's okay," she said, her eyes drifting shut. She was too sleepy to do anything but trust that he wasn't about to lead her astray. "Just wanna sleep. That's all."

"Okay." She nearly tripped when his footsteps stopped rather abruptly, her grip tightening around his arm to hold herself up. "Looks like we're here."

"Shit. Right. Gimme a minute to get the door." She withdrew her apartment key from her purse with little trouble, but unlocking the door was a different story. She put a hand out against the wall as she stepped out of Thomas's embrace, fumbling with the lock above the doorknob, and she'd scratched three different parts of the wood finish when Thomas's hand ghosted down her forearm.

"Wanna let me help you with that?"

She smiled when she turned to see him watching her with a brow raised. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

She passed off the key, and his other hand fell to the small of her back as he gently pulled her aside. "There you go." He turned the knob about a minute later, handing her back the key, his gaze soft. "G'night, sweetheart."

Though she dropped her key into her purse without protesting, before she went in, she looped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. "Night. I'll see you," she murmured, but when she pulled away, she still hung off of his shoulders, wearing a demure smile. "Unless you wanna come in?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Y/N, you’d better not be serious." When no sign surfaced that she may have been joking, he sighed, but his hands didn't leave where they'd dropped to on her waist. "You know I can't. Even if I weren't your professor, you're well past drunk. Go to bed."

"Well, I won't tell," she sang, blinking innocently. "Who's it hurting?"

"You're not lucid right now, sweetheart. You don't know what you're saying."

"Uh-uh. I know exactly what I'm saying." She dragged a finger down his chest, biting her lip. "You know it'd be fun. We had a nice night last time."

"Y/N," he sighed, and with how hopeful she sounded, guilt was building in his chest. She frowned.

"Fine. I'll just call Lafayette," she scowled, and vindication flashed in her eyes at the way Thomas tensed at the words. "I'm sure he'd be down for a good time."

"Stop. Don't talk to me like this," he warned, voice hard, and she raised her eyebrows.

"What's the problem, professor? I thought you liked Lafayette. Aren't you two friends?" she asked, drawing out the syllables of her words. She wore a small, egoistic smile. "Maybe it isn't too late for me to give him a call."

"No. Don’t you dare." He raised his eyebrows at her and nodded toward the interior of her apartment. “Get some sleep.”

"I dunno about that," she drawled, reaching up to brush her hand across his stubble. He grabbed her wrist before she could, eyes ablaze. "I think I might go get some sleep with someone else. Thanks for the ride, though."

"Y/N," he scowled, taking a step forward, backing her through her doorway. Her eyes flashed with vindication. "Stop talking about fucking Lafayette. You know what a bad idea this is."

"Aw, why? Is someone getting a little jealous?" she mocked him, pulling him toward her. He gritted his teeth. "It was obvious earlier; you weren't fooling anyone. Did you think I wasn't gonna notice?"

“Let's not do this. This isn’t a game you wanna play." His stare was conflicted as she grinned, flipping on her living room light and taking a step further back into her apartment. He took a reluctant step forward with her with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. "I'm not jealous."

"Then what's your problem with me calling up Lafayette? You don't own me," she said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“That’s about enough,” he said, his voice low as he fixed her with a warning look. She shrugged.

"I can make my own decisions, Thomas. I can do whatever I want."

"Not right now, you can't.” His grip tightened on her waist, and the look in his eyes was sharp, frustrated. She grinned, pressing up against him.

"Then what are you gonna do about it, hm?" she teased, weaving a hand into his hair. He sucked in a deep breath, self-control waning. Her gaze shone with satisfaction. "How do you plan to stop me?"

A moment passed in anticipatory silence, tension heavy in the charged atmosphere, and Y/N firmly believed she'd won. When he pulled her closer, her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned in toward him; there was a skip, but she only wrapped her arms more tightly around the back of his neck, tilted her face up toward his. She didn't quite get what she wanted.

His lips brushed against the crown of her forehead, and she furrowed her brow, re-opening her eyes. Despite her small frown, he reached up, taking her face in one hand, and brushed a hair out of her face as he eyed her with a gentle gaze. He took a small step back, wearing a remorseful, weak smile. "Goodnight, sweetheart. Get some rest for me, now."

Before she could protest, try to pull him back in, he was out the door, swinging it shut behind him.

She was too stunned to move for another minute.

That night, the apartment felt empty.

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years ago

Text

American Boy

Bucky x Reader

Request: So basically buckyxreader where she is a super successful businesswomen and awfully confident but when she’s with bucky she feels insecure as many women want him and she’s insecure of nat. Based on “American Boy” by little mix where bucky is her american boy and the other girl in the song is nat. So like angst with a happy ending (maybe smut if you’re comfortable idk idk).

Words: ~ 9,700

Summary: Dating Bucky can be challenging sometimes -- all the time.

Warnings: Smut, angst

A/N: Sorry this took me so long :( I recently started work so its been hard to write -- but I’m really happy with how this one turned out!! Thank you so much for the request!

And I met him back when I was out in California He was playing in a band and she was dancing on a stage And he says that I'm the one but she's the one that got away And he never knew her real name

Nothing about tonight sounded mildly comfortable. It was going to be six hours in a too cold banquette hall, standing all night in too tall heels, a too tight dress, with your hair scraped back into a too painful bun. From the moment you stepped inside, the flesh on your arms and décolleté erupting into goosebumps – nothing a little alcohol can’t fix, you thought to yourself, snagging a glass of champagne off of the tray from the first waiter you saw.

“Y/N,” Tony called, opening his arms to greet you. His suit was perfectly pressed, a three-piece suit that cost more than twice your monthly rent. You walked up to him, giving him a side hug, checking yourself out in the reflection of his iconic red glasses. “See, I knew you’d come.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, remembering how for the past week you’d declined his numerous invitations to his party. “I hope you know that I’m charging you overtime for this.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He ushers you away while he continues mingling with his other guests.

Never in a million years had you thought you’d be an A-list guest at one of Tony Stark’s infamous parties. But, as fate would have it, you and Tony had been working together quite a bit in the recent years. What began as a little start-up from your college dorm room, quickly grew into a multinational billion-dollar company. Stark industries contracted your company out to spearhead multiple new projects – including the development of high-tech equipment for the Avengers. You had many ventures, sectors growing from technological advancement, to biometrics, to teams specializing in law, advertising, and operations.

The past few years had been a whirlwind for you. Moving to New York, managing your ever-growing company – up until now your life had been all work and no play. Once you met Tony, you knew that your world would flip upside down. You’d been in Forbes 30-Under-30 list for three years straight. Your life had grown into nothing but interviews, business deals, and fame – and you loved it. You felt like you were on top of the world at this moment in your life; nothing was going to stop your forward momentum from climbing up the ladder.

“Hey,” a smooth voice pulled you out of your fog, a figure popping up next to you.

“Hey, Steve,” you responded, smiling up at the blond man.

“You having a good night?” You’d met Steve a handful of times before through Tony, working with him a few times in the past. You don’t know if you could outright call him your close friend, but Steve was always so kind.

You could should be using tonight as a networking opportunity, but after an extremely stressful week at work, all you wanted to do was crawl into a bubble bath and relax. You couldn’t do that, so you thought you’d at least try to let loose and take it easy tonight, hoping to catch up with friends and enjoy some time partying. “I guess,” you shrugged, taking another sip of champagne.

“That makes two of us,” he replied, taking an equally long sip of his drink. “It’s hard to lay low at Tony’s parties, y’know?”

“Its hard to lay low when you’re Captain America,” you joked, nudging his arm with your elbow. He rolled his eyes again, running a hand through his short blond hair.

Your eyes scanned over the crowd, trying to find something worthwhile to talk to Steve about: maybe about the couples dancing in the center of the room, the large crowd gathered at the bar, the performers that laced their way through the influx of people. Your gaze fell upon a smaller group of people gathered around a table, laughing, telling stories and interrupting each other with more tall tales. You only recognized a couple people in the group; Sam Wilson: tall, well-built, perhaps a little tipsy, chirping away with his witty comments; Natasha Romanoff: a goddess, quiet, watching, observing, black dress so tight on her beautiful figure it looked like it was painted on; Bucky Barnes: the epitome of tall dark and handsome, at the forefront of the conversation, laughing and cussing telling his sensational war story, dark tendrils of hair hanging loosely in front of his face, obstructing the view of his blue eyes.

“Have you met Bucky?” Steve asked, interrupting your thoughts. You shook your head ‘no,’ unable to tear your eyes away from him. His black suit was complemented quite nicely with a fitted black shirt, the top buttons undone, his tanned muscle peaking out. He ran his metallic hand through his long hair – you finally were able to see his eyes, the only color on him, so bright compared to their dark surroundings. And they were looking at you.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you turned your head up to Steve. He was watching Bucky, watching him looking at you; Steve’s head turned between the two of you, almost unable to stop the smile from pulling at his lips. Steve pulled you into the group, making space for you to stand between him and Bucky. As introductions were passed around the group, you felt eyes on you. This time, the set of green eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Natasha give you the up and down a few times. Your first reaction was that it wasn’t in a bad or necessarily judgmental way; she was interested in who the outsider was. She was protective, it was instinctual; she would observe said outsider, finding all of her flaws, quirks, secrets, until she was certain she wasn’t a threat. When you were introduced to her, she politely flashed you a smile with her infamous painted red lips and shook your hand.

“(Y/N), this is Bucky,” Steve finished, watching eagerly as the two of you shook hands and exchanged smiles.

“(Y/N),” Bucky whispered, your name tasting sweet on his lips; he tipped his head ever so slightly towards you in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Everybody took the hint – that hint being Steve wiggling his eyebrows at everyone – and the group dispersed. You waved goodbye to the like, politely offering goodbyes to everyone. In your peripheral vison, you watched as the red head gave you one final up-and-down, crossing her arms over her busty chest, flitting her eyes to Bucky’s before she strutted off.

…

You hit it off with Bucky instantly, spending the night discussing everything from your future prospects to your relationship status to your past (specifically, your past). He was completely enamored by you. He was obsessed with the fact that people looked up to you; you demanded respect – so much so, in fact, that your success intimidated them; you were unapproachable to those who didn’t have their shit together. After that night, he knew he had to see you again.

And you could not feel more the same way.

It started fairly privately. Despite your constant media attention – being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company had that effect – being Tony Stark’s business partner escalated that. Usually on your commute to and from work, whether that be your corporate office or the Avenger’s tower, there would be a few paparazzi and a couple reporters following you around. They wanted information on you, your ventures, but most importantly: Tony Stark. When you were contracted to work with Stark Industries, you knew this was a possibility – in fact, it was the number one con on your pros & cons list. While you did think it was a decent opportunity for exposure, it surely came back to bite you in the ass.

You didn’t anticipate meeting Bucky Barnes – you surely didn’t anticipate dating him, either. You couldn’t be happier with Bucky; you wouldn’t let the incessant paparazzi and media attention get to you. Surely, you’d figured that dating an actual Avenger would draw some attention to yourself. However, you couldn’t have predicted the magnitude it would have on your daily life. The amount cameramen and reporters that followed you on a daily basis more than doubled.

Now, you’d never considered yourself shy, especially not camera shy – hell, all you were doing was walking from your car to and from different buildings – you could surely handle getting your picture taken. You had to admit, you were put together (and damn hot). You wore tailored suits, the tall heels; your hair and makeup were done perfectly every day.

It’s not like you hadn’t been on the cover of magazines before; but they were articles, studies, biographies. You posed for the cover of Forbes and Wall Street Journal and Harvard Business Review. Gracing the cover of tabloid magazines, however, was new territory for you. They talked about your style, your makeup, you clothes, your hair – nothing was too surface level for them to delve into. At first, that’s all it was. Noting and pricing your style, People magazine printing a “Who is She?” issue.

Then the comparisons started.

It was a side-by-side of you and Natasha – Black Widow. How could you compete with her?

You were sitting in bed one morning, up early before dawn, checking your phone before you started your morning routine. It was supposed to be like any other Thursday: work, meetings, executive board reviews: productive. But after reading that article, your heart deflated; today would only truly be over once you get to crawl back into your bed at the end of the day and sulk under the covers.

You slowly let out a long breath as you scrolled quickly through the article. “(Y/N) Becomes Black Widow’s Replacement: Is She Good Enough or Will She Get Tangled in the Web?” leave it to Daily Mail to start off with a shitty pun to ruin your mood.

The first picture was a full body shot of you laid next to a similar image of Natasha. She was shorter, sure – but curvier. She had more muscle, obviously – and those legs. Even you wanted to be strangled to death by her thighs. (And you felt like dying at that moment, that’s for sure). Maybe she just wore tighter clothes? You did, in fact, wear well-tailored clothes – you were actually very fashion forward for the business world, taking Fall 2020 by storm. She just got the chance to wear tighter clothes more often.

The second photo was an extremely flattering behind shot. The photographer might as well have taken the camera and pointed it right up your skirt. You’d heard the tabloids comparing the asses of other famous women, surely even the English Royalty had headlines circulating about it. You actually thought you had a good ass – you do – but hers was better. Black fucking Widow and you were supposed to somehow compete?

The last shot was a close up of your faces. You had to admit, they probably could’ve picked a worse picture of you. You weren’t smiling, you weren’t frowning – it was neutral. Your brows maybe slightly narrowed. Natasha, on the other hand, was glaring at the paparazzi. They gave her space, as if they took one step too close, she would murder them (and although she was actually extremely kind to you, they were probably right in that case). Her glare exuded confidence, intimidation. That was the difference between your auras: while your success may have been intimidating to others, it was her essential being that was intimidating – she could kill you just by looking at you.

While some people may not appreciate that fact, the pure daunting atmosphere that surrounded her, there was one person that did: James Buchanan Barnes.

He, himself, had the same ambiance, after all: that is being the don’t fuck with me stare.

Oh, and I don't mean to get so caught up And insecure 'bout all the things you say Oh, and I don't mean to be jealous, it's just careless me Boy, I must drive you mad

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, swinging open your front door, pressing a chaste kiss to the lips of the man before you.

He hummed against your lips, caught off guard as you pulled away sooner than expected. “Hey, baby,” he responded, shrugging it off stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “It smells great,” he noted regarding the pasta sauce simmering on the stove. He dipped a metallic pinky finger in the sauce, cheekily smiling at you as he licked his makeshift tasting-spoon. “Tastes great – no surprise.”

You couldn’t help but return his smile, trying to shake off the bad day you’d had, instead turning all focus to your giggle boyfriend before you. He takes two steps forward, engulfing you in his strong arms, rubbing his flesh hand up and down your back in a soothing motion. You rested your cheek against his chest, taking a deep breath in; his earthy scent calmed you down, the heat radiating off of him offering you to a level of relaxation you didn’t know was possible. “Did you have a bad day, baby?” He cooed quietly, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding into his chest. “Bad. And busy. And annoying.”

“Annoying?” He repeated, testing the word on his tongue, but not questioning further. “Come on, why don’t we eat because I’m hungry – and I know you’re hungry – and get you to relax.” You smile up at him, giving him a proper kiss this time, unsure if he was just saying that to get dinner going, or if his supersoldier senses could actually tell that you were hungry (because you were).

Dinner went smoothly. It was quiet, moreso than usual. But it was nice. It was calm: a good change of pace from both of your busy schedules. It was tranquil: spending the evening exchanging loving glances and touches across the table, playing footstie under the table, Bucky quite literally licking pasta sauce off your cheek.

As he finished up his third serving (to which you just sip your wine while he gets his fill), you can’t help but break the silence and light conversation with a loaded question: “What’s with you and Natasha?”

You didn’t mean for the question to come out so abrupt or harsh, but it had been eating at your mind all day. You’d found yourself looking at that article during every five-minute break you got. Comparing hair, clothes, smiles, eyes, teeth – everything.

“What’s with us?” He repeated, eyebrows cocked in misunderstanding, palms raised in confusion. He didn’t understand the question.

You sighed heavily, dropping your eyes to the near empty wine glass before you. “I don’t know,” you grumbled, running your hands over your forehead, dropping them behind your head, pulling your hair a bit. “I’ve been seeing these articles about her – about her and me,” you clarified, trailing off, hoping he’d understand the picture. As he remained silent, you sat back against your chair, slouching. “Did you guys date or something?” You immediately bit the inside of your cheek. The question burned coming off your tongue.

His chuckle almost startled you out of your fog; your stomach dropped as you felt knots pull at all your insides. “Babe.” He reaches across the table with open palms, waiting for you to place your hands in his. You hesitated, but eventually complied, his soft smile and kind eyes giving you no other choice. “No. We never had – or did – anything. Never. I promise.”

Okay, well that made you feel better. You let out a breathy sigh (this time of relief) as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” you repeated. “Okay.” It made you feel a little better, sure, but then why?

He raised his eyebrows once again. “You don’t believe me?”

“No – no, no, no – ” you replied quickly, reaching farther across the table, fingertips grazing his forearms. “I’m just confused. I keep seeing articles comparing me and her,” you stated very slowly, unsure of the right words, unsure of what his innate reaction would be.

“We have a… past,” he responded, slowly; it was calculated.

But in that moment, he knew he miscalculated. “A past?”

No, not like that, he thought. But like what, exactly? How was he supposed to explain it? God, his own life was complicated enough to explain – he hadn’t dared to divulge that deep, in fear of ruining your newly blossoming relationship. He owed you some sort of explanation, though, right? But he was at a loss for words at the worst time possible. “It just goes back to… a long time ago… with… well… ” With no words left to complete his fragment of a sentence, he raised his left hand and wiggled his metallic fingers.

Your lips formed an “oh” shape as you said the same word mentally. Oh, no shit, more like. The Russian spy and the Winter Soldier had intertwined pasts. You felt like an idiot – like the answer was laying right there before you, your eyes glazing right over it. “Bucky, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry but – ”

He cut you off immediately, taking one of your hands into both of his. He looked you straight in the eyes, his own blue irises staring deep into yours. “Don’t apologize, please.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want that part of my life taking over my life now. You’re not prying – I need to be open with you about it.” You nodded slowly. “I want you to be apart of my life, (Y/N),” he clarified, nearly smiling at you missing the implication of his previous sentence.

You grinned, a goofy wine-infused smile. You leaned across the table, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

That night, he began telling you about his past; nothing he wasn’t comfortable with discussing was mentioned. You didn’t push him, didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer opinion or advice. The only thing you offered was solace, comfort, and hot tea. You held him in bed, ran your fingers through his hair, rubbed small circles on his muscled back.

He told you about how he trained her, how their connected past drew scrutiny to them in the media. How their ties to Russia, Hydra, and a few not-so politically correct incidents in the past tied them closer together both in eyes of the tabloids and, subsequently, to each other.

You had no questions, no comments. There was nothing for you to say. You weren’t questioning the validity of his past and you didn’t question the fact that he and Natasha were just friends. You were confident in Bucky, confident that he was telling the truth – confident in your relationship.

The two of you fell asleep that night wiping tears off each other’s cheeks; but neither of you had felt more safe – more in love – than at that moment in your lives.

…

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing down at you – at your figure.

You were turned away from him, trying to busy yourself, acting as though bringing it up again was casual, like it was just a normal question on par with how was your day? It, in fact, was extremely loaded; there couldn’t be more of a loaded question, in Bucky’s opinion (in your own opinion, too). But, dammit, you needed validation – wasn’t that okay?

It was okay.

It was always okay. Bucky understood that. Even he, himself, needed validation in a similar way. However, there were two distinct differences about what he needed vs. what you needed.

1. He never needed validation against someone else.

Bucky was insecure – the fact of the matter was every single person in the world had insecurities, from the brightest minds to the most beautiful models; there isn’t a single person who isn’t immune to outside pressure, societal expectations, internal comparisons. Sometimes Bucky would be insecure of his arm, oftentimes he’d be insecure about his past. He’d wonder about his hair, he’d read articles about himself, comments people posted online. Bucky had a certain confidence about himself, sure. He was intimidating (that was both a good and a bad thing).

But you. You were intimidating, too – you were, in Bucky’s eyes – the baddest bitch; you controlled the business world, dominate magazine headlines, demanded the attention of every man in the room. He loved it. He loved the fact that you were all that and more, and that he got to come home to you. He got to hold you in his arms at night. He got to make love to you.

That’s why he didn’t understand your – what he determined to be – obsession with her. All the time asking him about her. Were you as good as her? Were you better than her? He understood, at first. Natasha was very intimidating – to anyone, even her own team. He didn’t mind showing you extra attention, sprinkling you with more compliments, lovingly laying his hands on the places you didn’t like about yourself. He loved you; he loved complimenting you. Nothing he ever said was a lie, so he had no problem saying them.

But as time went on, you kept asking. About. Her.

2. He believed you when you validated him.

Not only were you asking about Natasha, constantly comparing yourself to her – your body, your brains, your face, even your hair. Again, he had no problem telling you how beautiful you were; it was a service to you that he would trade anything in the world for. He loved to say that to you; complimenting your intelligence, looks, attitude – all of it.

Maybe he wasn’t complimenting you enough anymore? Even so, you had to know the way he felt about you? He tried really hard to validate it as his own fault. Like it was something he had done to cause you to suddenly be so insecure. But all it took was one walk down the bustling street-stands on the New York City’s streets for him to realize. You, after all, had graced the cover of every magazine as of lately. You and Natasha.

He wasn’t so hard on you or himself after that little piece clicked in his head.

But at the end of the day, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if you never believed him. Did you trust him? Did you love him? Those questions ran through his head at night – as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop it.

“It’s not how many times, Bucky! It’s – it’s – ” You tripped over your own words.

“What is it, then, (Y/N)? Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.” In fact, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t pinpoint it. You couldn’t put the words together.

You turned around, crossing your arms across your chest, mirroring him. You just stared back it him, biting your lip. There wasn’t anything you could say; just offered him a shrug.

“(Y/N), come on,” he began. “You can’t seriously believe the shit they say.” He was referring to the incessant media coverage. The eyes on you – 24/7 cameras. It eats away at you; it was all you could think about. “You’re too smart for them. What’s this all about, then?”

If there was anyone who could see right through you, it was him. But if there was one thing he needed to know about you, it was that you had too much pride to admit any sort of insecurity to anyone – even your boyfriend of now eight months.

It was in that moment that you wondered if he took a short tone with her the way he had been with you lately. Did she have to ask him such endless questions? Definitely not. She had nothing to worry about. She didn’t care.

That was the difference between the two of you.

You couldn’t do anything but care.

Singing, singing, singing Ooh la la, he breaks my heart I know he thinks about her when he plays guitar And ooh la la, my American boy

You and Bucky sat on the couch, the movie playing in front you now long forgotten. The past few weeks have been stressful for the both of you. You were both dealing with a lot at work; you with new projects and development issues, Bucky with compiling intel that seemly led nowhere. Last night, you’d attended another one of Tony’s parties with Bucky. You thought it was going to be a fun night, seeing all your old friends, catching up with everyone you hadn’t seen in so long. What was supposed to be a casual night of fun drinking and dancing, turned sour very quickly.

It was nice in the beginning, catching up with Sam and Steve; that is, until you caught a glimpse of Bucky from the corner of your eye. He was just meant to get a refill of drinks. All he had to do was weave through the crowd, make it to the bar, and return with the drinks. You felt that it shouldn’t have taken him that long. Maybe you should’ve offered to get them instead.

There he stood, leaning against the bar, a handful of cold drinks sitting in front of him on the tabletop. You watched as he ignored the cups the bartender placed down in front of him a few minutes ago; watched as a drop of precipitation slid down the side of the cold glass, pooling with all the others at the granite bar top.

Beside him, a tall blonde mimicked his movements, leaning against the counter. She spoke to him in a hushed tone, gazing up at him under her long eyelashes. Her perfectly manicured hands grazed up and down his arm, undoubtedly innocently asking about the strong metal underneath his shirt sleeve. You rolled your eyes, nearly scoffing at her fairly blatant attempt at flirting.

You wouldn’t be so pissed off, usually. She was beautiful, sure, but you were confident in your relationship with Bucky. You knew how he felt about you and he knew how strong your feelings were for him. There was no doubt on either end – so why shouldn’t he be able to have a conversation with some woman at a party? He had just grown comfortable enough to talk about his metal arm, finally accepting the gift that the great King T’Challa had gifted him.

So why did this interaction piss you off so much?

Because you knew that if a man had come up to you to chat so innocently with you, he’d be on him in less than one second. And if a man had come up to you to chat while also running his hand up your arm or down your back, Bucky would ensure that man would be leaving this party with nothing but then broken fingers.

But your pride took the best of you, as usual. You rolled your eyes to yourself, carrying on your conversation with Sam and Steve, trying your best not to look over Sam’s shoulder too much, staring past him and at Bucky. You held your empty cup in your hand, almost now more pissed that your new drink was sitting lonely at the bar, when you needed alcohol more than ever in this moment.

All you wanted was to go up there, rip her hand off your boyfriend, and get your damn drink. Instead, you held your tongue all night. When Bucky returned with your drink, you thanked him and took it, gulping it down fairly quickly. When his hand rested on your waist, you simply gave yourself a twist, shrugging his hand off of you. You felt him give you a questioning look, but you simply pretended not to notice, instead keeping your eyes locked on Sam’s as he told his story about what ever he was talking about (you weren’t really paying attention); just smiling and nodding and looking as engaged as possible.

When you and Bucky got home that night, you quickly showered and crawled into bed. Bucky had been trying to talk to you on the car ride home, all night while you got ready for bed. Finally giving you your peace to shower, he decided to try again once he slipped into bed beside him. “What’s going on, (Y/N),” he whispered, turning towards you; but he was met with the sight of your back turned to him.

“Nothing,” you replied, face smooshed int the pillow. “’M just tired.”

His hand found your side, rubbing over your hip bone slightly, as he moved closer to you in bed. His chest pressed up against your back, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Is that all, baby?” He kept pressing. “Let me make you feel better,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck, burying his face in your shoulder.

“No, Buck, stop.” You shrugged him off and lifted your shoulders in protest, pushing his head away. “I’m not in the mood – I just want to go to sleep.”

“Sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, settling back down in the bed.

You tried to fall asleep that night, you really were tired – exhausted, in fact. But you just couldn’t calm your racing mind enough to fall asleep. You knew Bucky knew it, too. You suspected that he didn’t get much sleep either.

When you finally did get a few hours of rest, you woke up to a note left by Bucky.

Went for an early workout with Steve. Feel better, I’ll call you later.

You gave yourself a whole self-care day. Bath, face mask, manicure – the whole nine yards. You willed yourself to think of anything except Bucky and that girl – Bucky and any girl.

Every girl in the world had eyes for Bucky – why wouldn’t they? He’s absolutely gorgeous: tall, handsome, he’s got the mysterious vibe going on – basically every woman’s walking wet dream. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to women flirting with him. He was from a different time; he was just being polite. That’s what you told yourself, at least. The more Steve told you stories about him being a charmer – how he always “wooed” women back in the day – the more unsettled you became. Maybe he missed being a flirt, afterall, as he recovered, he slipped back into his old ways, whether that be an old Brooklyn accent, or his charming smile.

But how many times could you just brush it off? Blatantly flirting in front of you – sure it may have been an innocent conversation or an innocent arm touch (you know that’s how he would sell it to you) but hell, he lived in a different time now. So, he just had to get used to the fact that he had to stop letting these girls flirt with him. Was it really so hard to tell them he had a girlfriend?

Unless he thought about it and didn’t want to. He was so touch starved for the past seventy-plus years that who knows? Maybe he did enjoy all the attention – especially all the female attention. Considering the fact he was such a ladies man, maybe this is exactly what he wanted to feel like himself again, winning over all the women. And, god, all the tall women with their perfect faces and gorgeous chests, showing off more skin than they covered. They had the confidence of models, the ferociousness of catwoman – not to mention Black Widow; she was her own breed of gold-like-women.

He didn’t call you until the next day.

That’s how you ended up on your sofa, innocently watching a movie, two boxes of pizza abandoned on your coffee table. Neither of you brought up the night of Tony’s party; instead, you two sought solace in each other’s arms on the plush couch between piles of pillows.

You two ended up making out, his hands wrapping around your waist and up your back, yours winding their way through locks of his long hair. He leaned over you, your back meeting the sofa top and his chest pressing to yours. His pelvis touched yours, grinding lazily against yours. A mess of legs entangled with each other at the opposite end of the couch. His hand slid down your side, squeezing between your bodies to unbutton your jeans, his fingers slipping underneath your panties.

He groaned once his finger slipped between your slit, moaning at the wetness he found there. He pulled his hands up and shimmied your pants off, his own jeans following suit. He didn’t bother even taking them off all the way, instead latching himself on you with his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles.

His hands grabbed your hips, roughly pushing into you while his lips attached themselves to your neck. You gasped, the sudden entry startling to you. Your arms encased his torso, nails digging into his back as he roughly fucked you into the mattress. You hips met his as you tried to rock against him to meet his thrusts. His hands pinned your hips down, jackhammering you into the couch.

You were panting and moaning and screaming. You couldn’t help the noises that were coming out of your mouth. You and Bucky had tried some pretty not-vanilla stuff in the past, and sure, sex was maybe one of the best ways to get your anger out. But Bucky hadn’t ever been this nonattentive to you before. Or this quiet. Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up – between the dirty talk and the praise, you could never get him to shut up; and he loved it. He knew his whispers and all his egging-you on only flustered you more. That was the sex you loved.

This was different. He didn’t say anything; he just grunting to himself as he pounded into you, hips snapping into yours. God, you were going to be bruised tomorrow just from how hard he was holding you down. He wasn’t attentive, nor perceptive to you. He didn’t kiss you, just barred his teeth through heavy breaths.

This must have been all related to the night at Tony’s party. He was probably angry with you after that night – not talking to him at all. Not to mention you didn’t say anything when he clearly knew something was up with you; you definitely owed him an explanation. You couldn’t blame him or being angry. You weren’t so sure this was his best reaction. He was so dangerously quiet.

That’s when you threw your head back against the pillows, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut. Was he just fucking you to fuck you? He came quickly and without warning, spilling into you with nothing but another grunt.

He dropped on top of you, pelvis to pelvis, his cock still inside your warm cunt. He dropped his head to your chest, you shirt still left on from earlier. He shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around him. Your fingers found his hair, stroking his chestnut strands as he fell asleep on top of you.

Maybe he was just tired from waking up early? He probably needed to get his aggressions from the day out – not to mention the frustration from you basically ignoring him all day and night. There was a feeling in the back of your head, though, that this sudden change of pace may have been brought on by something else. His eyes were shut the whole time – hell, maybe he was thinking about that blonde girl from the party.

You said it to yourself as a joke – it was a fleeting thought. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it after that. Was he picturing someone else? He wasn’t turned on by you – you didn’t even get a chance to do anything sexy before he was fucking you with your clothes on. He’d probably rather be sleeping with someone else. Someone who made porn star noises and pulled his hair harder and –

God, you were tired of thinking like this.

So I wanna know who's on your phone Making me paranoid, making me bad Making me sad, making me crazy Making me feel like I needed to ask I wanna know if you're at home And if you're at home, baby, are you alone? Are you alone? Answer your phone Oh, baby, no no no

Things went back to normal after that. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him – and you – that day, but it was nothing but a distant memory. You were dating for about a year and a half. From that point, you two had kept everything very lowkey. Extravagant parties were few and far between, dates became even more private – no distractions, nothing to get between the two of you.

“Baby, I’m home,” you called, throwing your purse and keys on the kitchen table. You were hit with the faint smell of dinner, but as you checked the stovetop and oven, you were met with nothing – just the leftovers already cold in the fridge. You worked late tonight – tonight and every other night for the past three weeks. It was only nine, which wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to wake up at five tomorrow to get into the office early. Your team was being met with a deadline soon, there were a lot of extra hours being put in to get the project done. You weren’t one to complain because you were the boss. You weren’t going at this alone, you had everyone else working with you helping out. But it was your job to make sure everything got done, and that included being the first one in and the last one out.

Bucky said it never bothered him. He’d go on missions for days – sometimes weeks – at a time. He encouraged you to work hard, he loved your drive and commitment to your company. He motivated you; he knew you had drive and could get things done. He loved being able to support you, too. When Steve first introduced the idea of dating to him, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone who was only obsessed with him: who got their own recognition just by being his girlfriend. He was lucky enough to be your boyfriend.

You took the Tupper wear from the fridge, popping it in the microwave and waiting for your food. You noticed Bucky on the sofa. Kicking your heels off you made your way to the living room, calling out to him again. He sat up, his face donning a large grin as he waved to you, quickly pointing to the cell phone propped up against his ear. You gave him a shy wave back, turning back to the microwave, soon to be beeping with your meal. You ate dinner alone at the kitchen table, nothing but the sound of Bucky’s roaring laughter bouncing off your ear. By the time you finished, you tossed the bowl into the sink, making your way up to your bedroom.

“Ok, yeah, I’ve gotta go – ” Bucky said into the phone, before interrupting himself with a chuckle, laughing at whatever the person on the other end said. “Yes, I have to go. Yeah, no, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You shut the door before he could get off the couch and flopped straight into bed, groaning. All you wanted to do was fall right asleep, unbothered. That’s when Bucky came in and plopped himself right down on the bed next to you. “Hey, babe,” he greeted you, giving you a light pat on the ass.

“Hey, Buck,” you replied, tucking your arms up underneath your head, propping your head up on your hands. You offered him a tired smile, gazing into his adoring blue eyes. “Who was that on the phone?”

“It was nobody,” he replied, quickly changing the subject. “How was work?”

Well that was extremely unlike him. You already knew all his friends. If it was one of them, he would’ve just said so. But it clearly wasn’t, especially considering how giggly he was on the phone. You just narrowed your eyes at him, breezing right past it. “Good – tiring,” you corrected. “But this contract closes out next week, so hopefully not that many more long days after that.”

“Good to hear, I know you can get it done, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

…

The next day, you were met with nearly the same sight. Bucky on the couch, but this time, dinner was covered on the stove. “Thanks for cooking, Buck,” you call to him, taking the lid off the pot and serving yourself a plate. He jumped from the couch and came up behind you, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck.

“Anytime, baby.” He pressed another smooch to your neck before stepping back and grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. He poured up to glasses, situating himself at one end of the table, waiting for you to join him at the other end. Once you do, your phone rings from your purse. You drop your head back with a groan. “You should probably get that,” Bucky offered, reaching for your purse and holding it out to you.

You give him a quiet “thank you,” and answer the call. Not even before you can answer it, he’s pulling out his own phone and texting away on it. You take your call at the table, a quick last-minute question from a colleague. You tried to focus on what he was saying on the other line, but all you could do was stare at Bucky, smiling down at his phone, furiously typing away.

“No problem, Dave. Thanks for taking a look at it, we can finish up tomorrow morning,” you say into the phone, offering a quick goodbye before hanging up and digging into your food, glaring at Bucky from under your eyelashes. He still sat on his phone, laughing to himself. Once he heard your knife slide against the plate, he locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket and looking up at you, starting another conversation about your day. You quickly changed the subject to him.

You internally rolled your eyes. All you got was talking about your day and whatever girl on the other end got giggly Bucky? Whenever work got busy, your relationship got boring. It may have been partially your fault: short tempered, tired; you put everything into your work and maybe not enough into Bucky. But your jealousy issues got the better of you. Maybe he was just talking to Sam? Or laughing at memes with Steve – they had a lot to catch up on, afterall. But if so, wouldn’t he just say that instead of saying he was talking to “nobody?”

But your paranoia was actually well placed and almost deserving. Bucky still graced the covers of magazines and newspapers. The attention people gave you quickly died down after the one-year mark on your relationship. You didn’t mind, all it was just a little more peace in your day-to-day life. That same attention never did (and never would) die down for him. He still saved the world; more importantly, he was still hot. Meaning the tabloids would continue to try to stir up trouble with him and every woman he knew. They wanted to play matchmaker, constantly shipping him with the other beautiful women he spent time with – whether that be at work or not. Thinking about all that and Bucky’s charismatic personality was almost too much for you.

…

The third night in a row where you’d come home past nine. The first night without dinner. You were met with an empty apartment, no food, no lights, not a single sign of life. You tossed your bag on the table and immediately called for takeout. As you waited for your Chinese food to arrive, you changed into your pajamas, and called Bucky.

No answer.

All you wanted was to lay on the couch and feast with him. If you were going to stuff your face, you wanted it to be with someone who really knew how to eat. After trying again with no answer, you dropped your phone on the coffee table and began flipping through the channels on TV. Not finding anything good to watch, but also deciding you didn’t have the mental capacity to watch something new, you threw on some Friends reruns. Something you could watch without having to pay attention: just what you were in the mood for.

When the doorbell rang, you jumped, almost forgetting you ordered food. You swung open the door, half expecting to find Bucky on the other side, but you were instead met with the delivery boy. You paid the guy and took the food to the living room, feasting on the couch straight from the little takeaway containers. You didn’t do this often, but damn, it was relaxing.

You picked up your phone: no notifications.

There were a few excuses you made up for him as you stuffed your face with noodles. He could be in the middle of training. You knew him and Steve too well, and knew they always had enough supersoldier energy to fit a workout in anywhere and anytime. That, or he could just be busy. Maybe a work thing came up – he does save the world for a living, afterall. He could just be at the tower. It’s not like he officially lived with you. (It was unofficial, though; he did spend nearly every other night sleeping here with you. And if he didn’t, he would at least give you a reason why he wasn’t). But you’re not his mother or his gatekeeper. There was no reason he absolutely had to tell you where he was and that he wasn’t coming over – that was crazy. But it was just…

Unlike him.

Even if he was at the tower, why wouldn’t he answer?

And as you continued onto your dumplings, you quickly began comfort eating, as your mind traveled to the worst reason you could make up.

Afterall, he never told you who he was laughing on the phone with all this time. He couldn’t even stop himself from laughing at his texts – it was blatantly obvious. There’s no way Reddit could be that funny. You scoffed. It probably was some girl – maybe that blonde from the party. You had no idea of knowing who, but you surely couldn’t stop yourself from speculating.

You called again.

Again.

You just wanted to hear his voice.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

Okay and alone.

American, my American, American boy You know it's my American boy

It wasn’t every day that you thought about Bucky in such a way. Honestly, you didn’t like to think about the other women that he might be friends (or more) with. It was just your own little fucked up indulgence.

Against your best judgement, Bucky convinced you to go to another one of Tony’s parties. “It’s Steve’s birthday party, (Y/N), you have to go!”

So, you did go. And just like the very first time you met Bucky – at one of these parties – you dragged yourself out of bed and got all dressed up to head to the event. You knew even Steve wouldn’t want such a big celebration, so you’d at least have one person to mope around with.

You held on to Bucky the whole night; your arm gripping his metal bicep as the two of you mingled. Bucky liked having you tucked into his side all night, the warmth of your body pressed up against his arm. “Hey, Stevie,” you greeted him, offering a warm hug. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he replied, hugging you, then Bucky. “Happy Independence Day,” he added.

Bucky’s hand immediately snaked around your waste, pulling your hip against his.

It wasn’t until he left to use the bathroom that you suddenly felt naked. You almost wanted to wrap your arms around yourself in comfort. You felt stupid – you were in a room full of friends, people you knew, that you liked. Yet, every time you were in this setting, you never felt more insecure.

And apparently it showed.

You were joined by none-other than the reason for your insecurity. “(Y/N),” she greeted you with a curt nod.

“Hey, Natasha,” you responded, taking a long sip of your drink. She watched you under lidded eyes, her red lips pursing slightly. She looked great, of course, her royal blue dress hugging her curves tightly, he heels adding extra height the both of you knew she didn’t need. “What’s up?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Enjoying the night?”

Now it was your turn to shrug. “As much as I can, I guess. I’ve been waiting for the fireworks show. It was the best last year.”

She nodded, this time taking a swig of her own drink. “Tony sure does know how to throw a party.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “He’s thrown enough of them.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment; it wasn’t super comfortable for you, but she sure didn’t seem to notice – or care. “You seem a little on edge.”

She wanted you to out yourself. Surely, she was going to pull it out of you somehow. “Not really my scene,” you noted, swirling the ice around in your glass.

“Look, (Y/N),” she began, obviously confirming your suspicion. “There’s never been anything between me and Bucky. In fact – ” she glanced around the room, eyes stopping on a particular man. “ – I’ve got a few skeletons of my own.” You tried to follow her line of sight, but the crowd was too thick in that direction. “He loves you so stop trying to find things wrong with your relationship. He may have been a charming guy back in the day, but you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” She winked, a small smile building across her plump red lips.

You didn’t even know what to say in that moment. You gawked at her – at Black Widow hyping you up? Was that her way of doing it? Hell, she could tell you that you intimidated every single person in this room, and you’d take it as the biggest compliment ever. To hear about your power from her? Practically an honor.

“Hey,” Bucky spoke up from behind you as he returned. “What’s goin’ on over here?”

“Just girl talk,” Natasha replied before heading off.

Bucky turned to you, confused. “What’s that about?”

You stared at her as she walked away, swaying her hips and heading for the man she mentioned earlier. “I’m not too sure,” you said slowly, mesmerized by her walk.

Bucky’s hand in yours made you turn up towards him, meeting his blue eyes. “Ready to get out of here?” He whispered lowly.

You bit your lip and nodded, setting your glass down and squeezing his hand in both of yours.

Bucky carried you from the front door to the bed; he placed you down on top of the mattress like you were made of glass. He kissed your lips like he was going off to war, but he tasted like he’d just returned.

His hands ran furiously over your back, eventually resting on the zipper and tugging downwards; your hands ran all over his chest, tugging his shirt open, no regard for the buttons. He started peeling your dress off your body as you leaned back on the bed, working on taking off your bra while he discarded the dress on the floor. He followed suit, discarding his clothes before returning to the bed, covering your body with his warm one. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, the other holding his balance on the bed. Your arms wrapped around his neck one hand holding the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss, while the other ran through his tangled hair. You interlocked your legs around his waist, pulling yourself upwards to grind on his hard cock.

He moaned into your mouth, grinding back into you, reveling in just the feeling of your wetness gliding against his cock. His hand left your face to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he pinned your hips to the mattress with his own, humping against you. You whispered against him, pleading: “Bucky, please,” you whispered against his lips.

His mouth skidded down your cheek and past your jawline to suck a sloppy kiss onto your neck. As his face was buried in your shoulder, making his way down to your breast, his hand found its way between your hips, stroking your soaked lips. You hummed and gripped his hair as his finger split the difference, prodding its way into your soaked entrance. As two other fingers joined in, curling inside of your pussy, he licked your nipple, biting the pebbled nub softly. “You’re so wet, baby. Love how you’re always so wet for me.”

“Only for you, James,” you whispered, blissed out, head falling back against the mattress as his thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles under the hood. You felt a jolt up your body, your pussy instinctively clenching against his fingers.

He let out a deep breath, kissing your breast before planting a wet kiss to your lips, fingers not faltering. “I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured against your lips.

You opened your eyes, meeting his staring down at you, glazed over with lust. “I love you, baby,” you breathed, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

He pulled away from you, fingers stilling, long forgotten in the moment. “No, baby – ” he stopped, staring down at you, pleading with you, please understand. “Only you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Tears burning the back of your eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, not trusting your words as a few tears fell from the sides of your eyes, rolling down your skin to the mattress. He kissed you feverishly, teeth chipping against each other’s, lips and tongues sloppily sliding over each other, sharing air.

He pulled his hand away from your thighs, not moving far to line up his dick to your now soaked and desperate pussy. Your breath hitched as he pushed the tip in; all the air Bucky held in his lungs suddenly escaped him. “Fuck, extra tight for me tonight, huh?” You moaned, trying to rock your hips against his, his bodyweight pinning you down. “Eager, baby,” he groaned from the back of his throat.

“Please, baby,” you begged, fisting the sheets, using all your energy to grind against him. “Please.”

Please.

He complied, snapping his hips down into yours, his big dick stretching your walls. You yelped out, your opening burning as it welcomed his length. His cock curved upwards, hitting deep inside you as he swiftly moved his hips back and forth, quick rhythm never erring. His hand fell to your lower stomach, as he pressed his hand firmly above your public bone. “Mmm, look, baby, I can feel my dick in you,” he whispered, reveling in the feeling as his dick bottomed out inside of you. He felt the tip through the soft flesh of your belly – boy, you felt it, too. Every time he pounded into you felt your head spin. You saw nothing but black, stars blinding your vision at every thrust.

You nearly snaked your hand down to your clit for your final release, but he pulled your hand away, pinning it to the mattress above your head. He sat up on his knees, grabbing your other hand and joining it with the other, holding them both down to the mattress under the grasp on his metal hand. As he returned to leaning over you, sliding his dick back in your pussy, his flesh hand returned to your clit, rubbing in fast circles. You screamed, thighs coming together, snapping tightly against his hips.

That wouldn’t stop him. You weren’t strong enough to hold him in place; he kept fucking you into the mattress, your body shaking wildly as your legs were tied around him. Your back arched off the bed as your pussy throbbed. “Yeah, baby, squeezing my dick with your tight little pussy, huh?” You screamed out and nodded your head wildly, clenching around his cock as the pressure on your clit built up. “Fuck, you’re so good to me – made for me.”

You pulled against his metal arm, body convulsing underneath him. He watched with anticipation, biting his own lip nearly bloody as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm. You yelped out, gasping for air as your eyes squeezed tight. Your legs shook around him, fingers clawing at his metal plated hand. Bucky could come along just from watching you tremble mid orgasm. But, god, your tight pussy quiver around him surely helped. He fucked you harder, the last few strokes hard and fast. He came with a groan, spilling his hot seed into your soaked cunt.

He whispered curse words to himself as he fucked his dick soft, mixing your own juices together before falling on top of you, pressing his lips to your neck, littering hickeys all over.

As he felt your post orgasm breathing change, he picked his head up, kissing all the way up your neck and jaw until he could look fully down at you. “Hey, baby, no,” he cooed once he caught sight of your watery eyes. “Why are you crying?” He kissed away the tears running down your cheeks.

You smiled at him, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “’M fine, Buck – I just,” you huffed, rolling your teary eyes at yourself, thinking it all suddenly stupid. “I’m sorry – ”

“’s nothing to be sorry for, baby,” he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your fingers grazed through his hair again, scratching slightly at his scalp. He knew. He knew what you were talking about. He always did – he always understood everything you did or said. “I love you, James.”

“I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured with one final kiss. “Only you.”

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