#note: the scratches on his jaw are from the ladies 'helping' him shave in a way that let them steal more kisses

[see-arcane]

In which the ladies take their kisses at their will after Dracula has been and gone, and now insist Mr. Harker take his own.

Kiss the Bride, Jonathan...

Just a grisly little nightmare that may or may not be a premonition of the future.

[namjoonchronicles]

late | th

↳ genre fluff, established relationship, dad Taehyung

↳ words 4k

↳ summary a trip back to hometown for a friend turned into something memorable which embarked something deep in Taehyung’s heart. 

↳ notes i discussed the premise of this story with my good friend @hellotherehoneybee​ and based on her ideas, i prolonged the length and added some plots to push a heavy turn so appropriately, the summary here is thanks to her. 

↳ warning mentions of childbirth, vivid descriptions of the scene, major character death

↳ song taylor swift ‘gold rush’, imagine dragons ‘levitate’, taio cruz ‘telling the world’, taylor swift ‘ you’re in love’

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“Taehyung… tea?”

Sand cuffed the shore. Half painted coast on the canvas. The wind blew rather harshly and every strike of wind, Taehyung’s wild mane of hair ruffled against themselves. They were long enough to cover his eyes but it didn’t stop him from painting the colours on his canvas. He blinks at the view of the sea and how it doesn’t change despite the years passed by. He wore slippers with an open toe, a baggy shirt and baggy trousers. His eyes looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Sunken cheeks and empty eyes, his jaw was immaculate and his face was crafted by God. He is beautiful in this light. So beautiful. 

“What are you drawing so seriously?” you asked. But no answers from him. As it should.

Six, maybe ten years back, this caravan was parked here. Pair of hands raised to the ceiling. The sunlight sieved through the blinds. The pair laced themselves, and toyed around. The make out of the knuckles under this light, showed how veiny his hands were than yours. Small chuckles and soft whispers accommodate the serene and tranquil moment. The caravan was parked by the sea. His easel leaned against the kitchen counter next to the sink. His whole body covered yours as you snuggled in bed. You thumbed his supple cheeks and traced the shape of his lips as he lay half-awake. You ran your index finger down the slope of his pretty nose and counted his eyelashes, you lined the edges of his brows and ran your hand through the locks of his brown hair that looked lighter in the sun. He moans sweetly at your touch. 

You proceed to trace your fingers down the helix of his ears, his excellent jaw lines and chin. There's prickling hair ends at the chin and you thought that he might need a shave. You remembered how bad he was at shaving. You even suggested that he should stop shaving all the way. The smile he had on when you said it was priceless. Then he remembered that society wouldn’t have allowed him to live. Taehyung’s eyes half-opened at the stimulating touch. He breaks a smile in his sleepy state and he crunches his nose at the view of you. You swore, you had never seen anyone that beautiful. He nuzzles into your face and neck, planting kisses where he can and he spoke, in his drowsiness, “I’m so sleepy.”

He gets on top of you and buries his face in your neck. Through lighthearted giggles, you say, “You’re heavy, big bear…” While making no effort to push him away. He feels like a weighted blanket you always wanted when you’re younger. Warm and snuggly. Gentle and tender. He smells like a pillow and his hair is soft. He loves it when your fingers thread through his hair, just caressing the glorious length, he’ll make sounds that are so lovely. You brushed your lips on top of his head and one arm around him. They never meet the total length of his shoulders because they were too broad. So you end up scratching the fabric of his thin shirt. Had the weather been warm enough, he would have rather slept in his skins. You whispered softly, as you felt him drifting back to sleep in his new found comfort, “If you don’t get up now, we are going to be very late…” 

And we won’t be able to help around like we planned.

Jeju’s beaches are breathtakingly beautiful. Especially in Handam. Where the waters are brilliant blue and the skies azure. The black rocks, rubbles, kissing the shore. It would make a fine painting, this scenery. Taehyung poked his head out the caravan door at you, 

“I thought you said we’re late?” 

You glanced over your shoulder and gave him a sheepish smile. Jogging lightly back into the caravan, you pinched his sides as you walked in. 

In fact, you weren’t late. You were not late at all. Taehyung’s eyes had always been inviting. Beautiful brown irises so encapsulating they almost felt unreal. It was those eyes that your friends recognised. They quickly adopted him once he carried in all the groceries like he is one of them. The crowd roars as they see you because they know it will shrink you. You were never good at crowds, so you covered your ears and physically shrunk while laughing till your eyes turned to crescents on their own. Quickly, the host came to the rescue, gathering you in her arms and calling off those people that are bothering you. At once, Taehyung had disappeared to make new friends and greet the old ones. 

“A baby shower, this late?” you stared at your friend, Junhee quizzically. She pursed her lips and stared off to the corner of the room while tucking your arm in hers.

“I wanted an excuse to see my good friend,” she said with a cunning grin, then she cowers, falls silent in a sudden, her palm rubbing over her swollen belly. Nine months in, any day now. You knew in your heart that it was a bad idea, but still, her husband, Jimin, felt like it was okay to hold these gatherings for her. Jimin would do anything to make her happy. Then, she hisses. And you start to cower over her, pulling the chair closer for her to sit. 

“Is it the contraction? Has any contraction happened today?” 

“No, this is the first…” 

Junhee seemed to have calmed down after she rested. You still wanted to talk to Jimin if you had the time, asking why he’d think it was a good idea to hold the party anyways. You had your answer when he walked in, snapping the fridge door open for a cold drink refill.

“She looked so miserable these past few days, I just wanted to see her smile,” Jimin carried two bottles of fruit punch as he brushed shoulders with you. Then, a toddler came crawling in, on all fours, stopping just by your feet and falling onto her bum and sat. Her twinkling eyes ushers you to carry her up. 

“Where did you come from, little one?” You cooed. She curls up to your neck, and starts babbling. Then you suddenly felt her little hand roaming around your clothed boobs, and when she felt she found the tip, she began suckling. And you laughed out loud. Loud enough to have everyone's attention on you, including Taehyung’s. The baby’s mother rushed to you in her loose ponytail, handling another two slightly older children that were at her feet. One is tugging at her blouse and the other wailing so loud, you became concerned. You helped her into a nursing room, Jimin’s wife had prepared. It was a short tattling walk away from where you were. The baby was hungry. She’s four months old and today was her first day out since she was born and was brought home. You were glad that the number of guests didn’t scare one bit. 

Taehyung had distributed the barbecued sausages to the kids around. He had the sharp sticks taken out and was helping to blow the heat from the sausages from one of the kids. He looks pretty much at home with everything. It’s probably been awhile because he finally saw you out the room carrying the baby, her little stodgy fingers curled around your thumb and she is gurgling. What a beautiful sight it was. It seemed you might have heard his thoughts when you looked up to the side and had the baby waved to Taehyung. He chuckles through his nose and crinkles his eyes at the little one, making a funny face. The little toddler extended her short petite arms and grabbed air repeatedly at Taehyung’s presence. Then you motioned her closer to Taehyung.

“I think she wants you to carry her…” 

“Me?” He sounded unsure, uncertain, but, he brushed invisible dust off his palm on his butt and, “It’s been awhile but. Okay.” Arms open, collecting the toddler in.

The pinkish hue of her skin, her soft supple cheek, her little angel hairband, and twinkling, gleaming smile. Taehyung memorised her scent like a wolf would to a pup, with his eyes shut, his nose nudging on her softness. His arms held her gently but firmly. It felt like there was only him and the baby, he shut every other sound. When he held that baby, there’s stillness in the air, the noises ceased to exist, the visions clouded and the heaven’s hinted; it was his calling. It felt very much like sinking and flying at the same time. It was as if the world stood still, the time stopped and the anticipation grew. A lifetime in a second. Gold rush, a dam broke and first rain in the desert. Taehyung eyes fluttered open to the view of the baby’s rosy cheeks and immediately searched for you. Any semblance of you. 

But you were kneeling by Jimin’s wife laying body on the floor. 

Taehyung padding over the wooden balcony into the living room. In daze, Taehyung passed the baby over to her mother and closed into you. Your mouth was moving but for some reason, his brain couldn’t string the words. You were screaming but he heard nothing until seconds after.

“Call 911!” You ordered. There was a puddle of water where she once stood. 

Meanwhile, you’re massaging her tummy. Jimin’s at the other end, and people pooling in to watch. The men are asked to wait outside with the kids for the ambulance. Taehyung had his hand on the house phone, and as he tried to arrange his words, his attention flew to you and your alarmed eyes. Your lips read, 

“Speak slowly… clearly.”

The dial tone ended and, “We need. Ambulance. Birth. A woman is giving birth, please send in an ambulance.” He turns to you again and right now, you have all the ladies lined up. 

“Okay, listen. Towels, all of it, blankets, pillows, sterile gloves, plastic bags, and Jimin,” you listed. Everyone spreads around to get everything. Towels from upstairs, blankets from the laundry room, pillows from the guest room and plastic bags from the kitchen drawers. Even Jimin who was outside waiting for the ambulance is being carried in by Jungkook. Taehyung handed a plastic cup of water. Jimin has his wife’s head cradled in his lap, padded with pillows and she’s holding her hand.

“I told you this was a good idea…” she joked, “I only trust her around…”

“I have only delivered a baby once in my life and that was in nursing school, that does not mean this was a correct choice, Junhee…” you half scolded her.

“I wouldn’t have it in any other way,” she said with a big smile before she hisses in pain and clenching around Jimin’s fingers. Then she groaned till veins were popping on her forehead. Jimin kept on peppering kisses and wiping her sweat with warm water. She continues to wretch and shiver. She felt cramps in her abdomens, churning. So she retched. What a relief she had her husband on the side. Jimin’s whispering words of affirmations and it really helped her calm down. Although she is really not far from giving birth. She is 9 centimetres dilated. 

“Where is the ambulance?” You asked in a rushed tone. 

“Any minute now!” Someone at the door informed. 

That’s not good enough. She will be 10 centimetres in no time and if the ambulance isn’t here by then, the baby will drown. She is perfectly ready for vaginal delivery, you grab a towel, place it underneath her openings and tell her to push until she feels the contraction. Work with the contraction and push as hard as she could. You also massaged to make sure the baby’s head was out first. From the physical examinations, the baby’s head is visible. All that’s left to do is for Junhee to push. You thought her the breathing method, and counted with her. Even Jimin’s following suit. 

“Deep breaths, sweetheart. You can do this…” you reminded her, “And then we’re gonna go again, okay?”

“I think I’m going to vomit…” Jimin fetches the bag from the side and vomits. Taehyung gulped, watching the fiasco from the side. He watches his wife carefully guiding, and assuring and giving space towards the mother to feel as comfortable as she can. 

Junhee was obedient and she was cooperating. She was entirely under your care. You can see from her eyes that she trusted you with her life. She had been, ever since you knew her. And now, she entrusted you with her life and her baby’s life. Junhee delivers a big push and this time the baby slides out into your arm along with it’s placenta. The detachment is healthy, and you quickly glance to the time, on the grandpa’s clock on the corner, 

“Someone note the time!”

“3:47PM!”

You placed the baby on his mother’s arm, a healthy baby boy. Another warm towel on his tiny body and his mom’s tired laugh. He is red and warm and crying, lungs are not congested. But still you need to wait for the ambulance. You placed the placenta into the bag Taehyung opened and told Jimin to hold them up. You refused to cut the umbilical cord without proper tools. It’s not sterile here to do so and there’s no medical back-up should anything go wrong. You told everyone to stay put until the ambulance arrived. Taehyung caught your eyes from across the room and slowly, you drew a smile on your face, contradicting his worried one. And again, in this lifetime, even when he was most concerned about you, you told him with your eyes that you’re okay. Even at this distance. 

“Who delivered the baby?” the ambulance personnel yelled, his voice seeped in, through the windows to you, while you were cleaning up the living room. 

Taehyung rushed to the door with a panicked look on his face and you sprinted out.

They gave you the scissors.

“The ma’am wanted you to cut the umbilical cord instead of the father, will you do the honors?” The man in medical assistant uniform smiled at you. You took the scissors in your hand and you glanced up at her, tears welling up in your eyes and you cried, “Yes, of course, yes…”

“She’s a retired nurse, I never once worried about my life when she’s around,” Park Junhee boasted as she was carried into the ambulance. Jimin climbed in, too. You followed the ambulance close while Taehyung drove Jimin’s car. It’s to help them later, if Jimin needs to return home. Taehyung left the car parked in the hospital parking area and climbed into your shared caravan. He offered to drive. And as he was driving, and talking about how cool you were as the night fell, he heard nothing from your side. You had already fallen asleep. Defeated by the tiredness. He stops at the same spot this morning and lowered your chair. He fetches a blanket from the bed and tucked you in warm. You moaned and switched to your side. He leans over you and plants a firm kiss on your head. As you swam deeper in your slumber, the stars twinkling in the sapphire blue sky, the moon stood witness to the feeling Taehyung had over you. He lowered his own chair to watch you sleep with a smile and fondness in his eyes. 

His soft curls fall over the hood of his eyes, touching the bridge of his nose as he clamors in renewed emotions he felt for you. Such pure love, the kind that authors would write about in novels, many years ago. He is so in love, his feet are levitating from the ground it seemed. One of those wishes thrown at the shooting skies had come true. Broken pieces of him, finally held together, and the last piece was in a form of a person. He extended his arm to reach yours, and you took them in like a soft toy. He gladly cuffed himself to you, it's been his fate. Lips, body and soul, is yours. The bell resonated from the far back of his mind, of when soulmates found each other. His heart thumping so loudly he feared you might have heard them. You have stirred something inside him he doesn’t quite understand yet. Rain or snow, storms or deserts, it's your hand he wanted to hold. He wants to create a home so comfy for you and maybe, in between you two, a baby that’s both his and yours. Someone to carry his name. Symphonies of violin when he watches you sleep. Like an orchestra coming together. 

Walking down the street in the morning, you wore beige knitted cardigan, hands intertwined. He swings your hand with a big toothy grin on his face. His soft curls flying in the wind, his deep chuckle sparking your insides with excitement. You wanted to choose a gift for Jimin and Junhee’s baby boy who is now at the hospital. With this man’s hand who made your heart ascend in the small of your back, it felt like you could do anything. An older woman who was also a customer in the small shop gave you both a big smile. 

“Newly weds?” She asked.

“Why? Do we seem like so?” You asked her warmly.

“We've been married for almost 2 years now…” Taehyung corrected her.

The older woman chuckled, and then her smile faltered, crestfallen on a vision it seemed, “Such soulmates are rare… You looked so good together, such a beautiful couple…” Taehyung wanted to buy a small necklace for the older women. He grabbed one that caught his eyes and dashed out the shop’s door, but the old woman had disappeared. 

“She walked really fast for someone her age…” Taehyung spoke to himself, squinting hard at the distance in both directions. To see if there’s any semblance of the friendly old woman anywhere. It’s like she vanished. When he returned to the shop, you asked him to buy you a glass ball with a bear reading and confettis inside. It was nothing special for Taehyung but you wanted it so he bought them without much thought. In the caravan, it was placed on the dashboard with a double tape, securely glued. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we have our own little one?” Taehyung stared at his friend Jimin, cooing his little baby.

“Could we?” Your smile faded as you bore into the view of the glass. You turned to him with a broken smile, “At my age?”

“You’re not as old as you think you are…” Taehyung said. And did he prove them well. Nine months later, you were holding his arm as you walked out of the apartment door with Jimin’s wife on the phone, telling you that she had arrived. Unlike her, you wanted to be at the hospital when the water broke. The same beige cardigan you wore on her child’s birthday,you wore today. It’s already old and strings were coming out at the ends but you insisted. Taehyung carried you bridal style into the car, towels ready. His arms were yours to clench on and while you were groaning, he was biting his lips at the same force. You clawed into his flesh as he calmed you down. Jimin was driving and his wife was teaching you the same breathing method you taught her. You plastered your face into Taehyung’s neck. Hair stuck into your forehead as you sweat profusely, fighting through the incessant pain. 

“Please hurry Jimin, please hurry…” Taehyung begged.

“I have the hazard lights on, we will make it on time, don’t worry bud…” Jimin said in a rushed tone. 

In the delivery room, Taehyung was dressed in all blue, masks and gloves, just like the doctors and nurses. There’s only his eyes, but you recognise them so well. One look, in that delivery room, meant only for you. Light hearted jokes and hand held tight. He pressed his lips on your whitened knuckles the whole time. His tears fell like diamonds as he watches you push with all your strength, a baby that is his. No words exchanged, but you saw enough. He was in love, so direly in love. Memories flash in the back of your mind, under clenched eyes, kisses on the sidewalks, love declarations under the heavy rain. The way he lifts you to the sky in that storm, slowly sliding you down his body, enough for you to place your forehead on his. His wide gaping smile, drenched in the night under the lamp post, warm wafts of breaths escaped his lips. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him hard. You couldn’t hear what the midwives are saying, but you know one thing, this is the ultimate gift you could give the man that has given you everything. 

One last push, and a shrilling tiny cry accompanied. Taehyung looked at you and linked his forehead on yours. You’ve gone pale. So pale. Your lips were blue and your eyes were drooping. You are coming in and out of consciousness. The doctors had to lead Taehyung out of the delivery room, they had to perform operations. You were too tired to continue pushing. But before he leaves, you brushed your lips on his left cheek, and you tell him in your last bits of strength, 

“I-I love you. So-so much...Thank you…” 

Taehyung’s hand was separated from yours. He was grabbing air just as yours were holding out. 

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Today. 

“Taehyung, tea?” His mother greeted him. He and his easel in use. He shook his head. And from inside the caravan. Small pair of hands curled on the handles, to push the door open. Carrying a beige cardigan. Four feets putting on shoes and padded to their father. With brown irises twinkling at Taehyung’s back, no older than four years old, Taehyung glanced over his shoulder and spread his arms. One in each arm. 

You watched them from the caravan, and it felt like you were right there. You could almost touch him, his hair, the slope of his nose. The babies. The babies are all grown. You could almost smell the sea. The breeze you knew so well. But you can’t. 

Six years ago.

Taehyung returned home with the babies. Dressed in all black, he has to head back out again, to send his wife. When he returned, he saw the babies sleeping on their side, covered by the beige cardigan. He rushes outside to where the caravan’s were. His mother caught him just in time as he fell to the ground, shivering and calling out your name repeatedly. His mother cradles him in her lap.

“Release, my child. Release your agony…” Taehyung’s mother cradled her baby boy in her arms and Taehyung let out a cry, heart-thumping, guttural screaming cry as he let out the grief he had kept in the silent since he saw your casket lowered, six-feet underground, a baby in his arms, sleeping, coddled in her late mother’s knitted cardigan she wore when she was at the hospital, trying to have her. Taehyung looked up at the sky that strangely bright day, and a single drop of rain fell to the left side of his cheek where his wife had kissed before she went away. 

God is neither late nor early. 

God took one of His angels back home to Him. Left two behind in Taehyung’s care.

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Copyright © January 9th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, leave feedback :’) please

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter One

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1750

Warnings: 18+, foul language, some ogling, smut in future chapters

A/N: Thank you again to @thelastsock​ for being my beta. Written from Sy’s perspective and since I am a woman, venturing in the (not) so complex mind of a man. Enjoy!

<Prologue

Title: Chapter One

Syverson watched as everyone in the camp looked at the two Humvees entering through the gates inside the compound. The chopper came flying behind them, hovering over the area they had prepared for it to land.

With arms crossed over his chest, his signature sunglasses covering his eyes, he looked at the chopper, it’s skids gently being placed on the ground. The blast of air from it’s whirring blades, blew dust and sand for which he shielded his face with his hand. The group of soldiers alighted from their vehicles, their smoother than milk skin making Sy snort. Here they were, his Special Forces guys all scruffy and rough, whereas these new arrivals looked like school kids for a photo op.

When the chopper blades stopped spinning, and the pilots hopped down from their cockpit along with the others; Sy walked up to them. He watched as the main pilot spoke to the unit and pulled off their helmet. The swagger of his walk faltered a step when he noticed her lustrous red hair tied in a bun. It was not very often that lady soldiers came down to a warzone like this.

Instinctively, when he saw she was a woman, his eyes travelled to her bottom. Even with the armored vest and her fatigues, the beautiful curve of her body was highlighted when she bent down to lift her bag. She turned to speak to the other pilot, allowing Sy to finally look at her face. Big brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes were set on her heart-shaped face. Her high cheekbones were freckled, spreading to her nose, and her lips looked full and plump.

It was inconsiderate of the Captain to check out a woman in the middle of a raging war, but he had been high and dry for nearly a year. A man has his needs.

“Captain Syverson, sir?” The other pilot addressed him, he was a young man with the signature crew-cut hair and clean shaved like a boiled egg. His duffel bag laid heavily on his shoulder as he clasped the straps with one hand.

“All day,” Sy said, taking off his sunglasses and hooking it at the back of his t-shirt. “Are you Sergeant Ross?”

Sy’s eyes darted to the approaching men and women when he noticed her walking up to them. Soldier from before brought his hand for a handshake towards Sy which he took with a smile.

“I’m Sergeant Schmidt. She is,” he turned to the red-haired beauty, “Sergeant Ross.”

Sy did not want to come off rude or appear like a male chauvinist, but he wasn’t expecting a woman to be commanding a unit. He raised his eyebrows in surprise which she seemed to catch on to.

“You are Sergeant Ross?” He asked, trying but failing to conceal his astonishment.

“All day,” she said with a smug smile, imitating him by repeating what he had said only a moment ago. “Sergeant Olivia Ross, sir.” She held her hand out, Sy’s eyes darting towards her gloved one. He took her hand in his, noting how hers looked small in his large ones, and gave a confident shake.

“Okay,” He cleared his throat looking at the group of twelve new soldiers at his camp, “We prepared a block for y’all.” He started walking towards the other smaller building besides the main wing. Their new arrivals followed behind him, lugging their bags on their shoulders.

“Keeping us separate, I see.” Olivia commented. Sy turned slightly to look behind him at her. She avoided his gaze, but her face looked unimpressed with her lips sealed tight.

Sy chose to not respond. They climbed up the flights of stairs leading up to the living quarters, bypassing their mess hall and a make-shift gym, and reached the doors to adjacent rooms.

“Guys go in there,” he pointed towards one room, “Ladies, over here.” He turned around to face the group. “Night patrols will be assigned, and I need a group to go with my boys to the village in fifteen minutes.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking directly at Olivia. “We need to get a briefing done.”

“I’ll be down in ten, sir.” she curtly nodded. Everyone seemed to understand her annoyance as they glanced at each other. Sy let out a slow breath, choosing to not address her, again.

When he was back in his office, he pulled out the Echo unit file. Pepps had informed him that women were going to be included in the arriving unit, what he had failed to mention though was that it would be led by a woman. A pretty woman with curves.

Syverson shook his head. He grimaced at his own thought. He was not there to ogle at women, he was there on a mission. He quickly read through the contents of the paper. Sergeant Ross, he gathered, was an enlisted soldier, got promoted to a corporal before she took Aviation course and earned herself a position of helicopter pilot. She got promoted to Sergeant after spending time in Afghanistan and was now leading her own unit.

Sy was impressed. He liked women who were strong and capable, but they were also usually trouble. She already looked miffed about the separate living quarters. In Sy’s defense, he had only thought about making it less uncomfortable for the ladies. Wouldn’t have minded if she had stayed right across from mine though.

He rolled his eyes, exasperated at his train of thoughts yet again. His dick was beginning to strain against the fabric of his pants and as he caught a glimpse of her red-hair heading towards his office, he chose to adjust himself. Because sitting with an erection at their first briefing was not on his agenda today.

“Sir?” Olivia asked, standing at the door with her hands behind her back.

Sy nodded for her to enter. He tried to angle himself in his chair so as to hide his bulge from the Sergeant. “Sergeant Ross,” he cleared his throat, placing the papers back in their place.

“I also go by Liv, sir.” Sy could see the confidence in her eyes glimmer when she spoke. She was fierce, he would give her that. The last time Harper had arrived with his men, they had looked weary and tired. But Olivia looked like she could go to war right now if she was asked to.

“And I go by Sy.” He smirked, watching as Liv spared him a smile. “Are your men ready?”

“Yes. They are getting prepped by your men.”

Sy nodded. There was an empty chair right next to where Liv stood, but she had chosen to stand instead. Typical soldiers. He gestured towards the seat with one hand, “You can take a seat.”

“I’m completely fine here, sir.”

He tried desperately to not let his eyes roam over her body. She had changed from her fatigues to the standard military t-shirt with her cargo pants. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not let his inhibitions down. 

He caved.

Sy noted how the fabric stretched over her bosom, curving over her mounds. Her dog tags laid in the valley between her breasts, another silver chain hanging with it. The belt she had cinched at her waist highlighted her figure, making Sy lick his lips. Olivia seemed to be aware of her effect on him, as Sy noticed her fighting a smile.

He coughed and adjusted in his seat as his own soldier came to life again. “Th-the food truck… arrives every week.” He pulled out a map from underneath the table. Spreading it out on his desk, he leaned to point at an ‘X’ marked on it. Olivia took a few steps forward and leaned in too, to understand him better with visualization.

He explained to her the routes they were going to take and the air support they would be needing. All the while she had been standing bent over the table and her face was only a small distance away from him. Sy was aware of their proximity because in this dry desert where all he could smell was gas and sweat, he was getting a whiff of lavender from her.

“What happened to the food trucks from last week? Were you able to get them to the village safely?” Olivia asked. Her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she looked at the map again.

Sy scratched his beard, looking up to her. “They have set IEDs on the road. We couldn’t even reach the truck. The bastards blew it up as it was turning up the mountain.”

Olivia let out an angry huff and stood up straight. “It’s a good thing we can look from above now.” Sy gave her a nod as she went back to standing with her hands behind her back.

He decided to stand up. In front of him she looked small. Her head barely reached his shoulder and to speak he had to look down. “About the quarters,” he started.

“If I may, sir,” she interrupted him. He gestured at her to speak. “I’m actually thankful for that. Because with your initial surprise at me being a woman and your men looking at us like we are dinner, I’m glad to be staying with the ones I really know.”

“Hey, if you feel vulnerable out here-”

“No sir.” Olivia looked him in the eye. “We are not vulnerable. We do not need you guys to protect us. But we also don’t want to be looked at, like we are for your pleasure.”

Sy understood what she was trying to convey. She hadn’t been fighting a smile earlier. No, she had been fighting a sneer. He clenched his jaw because his mama had raised him to never yell at a woman. He had found her blatant accusation to be rude and being from a higher rank, he could also inflict punishment on her.

But that is not how he worked. And, this was not how he wanted them to start their shared time in this Godforsaken land.

So instead, he decided to be formal. "You are dismissed, Sergeant Ross.” 

The challenge in her eyes was somehow arousing for Sy. She had her head held high, her shoulders squared and her back straight. He watched her with furrowed brows as she turned and walked out the door, the confidence in her steps glaringly evident.

Fiery, Sy thought with a renewed smile creeping up on his lips. Just the way I like them.

Chapter Two>

✨Series Masterlist✨

Tagging:@wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @asyverson @awhitewolfandhisvibraniumshield

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.22

A Worrying Revelation

01/01/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,595

Warnings: smut, smidge of angst, lots of fluff, blood

A/N: Happy New Year! Enjoy! Let me know what you enjoyed. And if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Steve’s lips graze your brow. With your arms thrown over your head, resting limply against your pillow, you’re wide open for affection.

His lips trail down along your temple to your cheek, your chin, then up towards your lips.

He lets his own hover over yours, warming them with his breath.

Then he moves higher and presses a small peck to your nose.

“Wake up, my sweet blossom.” He gushes, deep voice still thick with sleep.

He must have just woken up and rolled over to kiss you.

Your heart flutters sending tickles into the base of your tummy.

My tummy! You’re pregnant! You always forget. Just for a few moments while you’re waking up. Especially when your dreams are plagued by the truths of what your marriage used to be.

You smile as Steve traces the shape of your shoulder then slowly he moves closer to your breast. He tickles your nipple with his thumb and it pebbles underneath his touch.

He leans down, latching to it, suckling gently as your lips part and your body eagerly responds.

Steve throws your blanket back to expose your still naked body.

Clothes has hardly been worn since the two f you holed yourself up in this room to explore your renovated relationship.

“Mmmm.” Steve moans, wrapping his arms around you to hold you closer as he suckles your breast.

You wind your hands into his messy hair and softly caress the curve of his head.

He releases you but then trails sloppy kisses between your breasts, up along your neck to your ear which he nibbles on gently.

The scratch of his beard, growing in since it’s been days since he shaved, pimples your skin with pleasure.

You laugh, enjoying the rough sensation.

Steve pulls back to look at you, resting on his left elbow as he lays practically on top of you.

“What? Why do you laugh?” He wonders, tilting his head curiously reminding you so much of the stray dog you'd had as a child. Golden fur and chocolate eyes.

This puppy has blue and you’re happy to say you love them. Storm blues that gaze down at you in reverence.

Reaching up you cup his jaw and he leans into your hand.

“I miss your beard.” You admit, liking the feel of it against your skin.

“Oh.” Steve’s brow narrows. “I’ll grow it back.”

“I want you to be comfortable.” You relent. “You don’t have to.”

Steve smiles, crooked and beautiful and your heart nearly breaks it’s so lovely.

“I want what you want.” He counters.

“I want…” You think on it, then your stomach growls. “…oh.”

You chuckle, amused with your own body.

Steve however doesn’t. He springs up, rushing to his dressing gown to pull it over himself. He covers you with the silver sheets of your bed before slipping over to the fireplace where he pulls a long cord that disappears into the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” You ask, a little miffed that he ruined your snuggling.

“Feeding my loves.” He says, sliding back over to you.

He hooks his hand behind your head and kisses you dizzy. Then he pulls away and while you recover, he leans down and cups the side of your teeny bump making it visible through the sheets before he kisses it too.

“Good morning, my little one.” He coos.

You melt. Heart soaring. You smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

If Steve’s arms were the only place that you could ever be again, then that would be a good life lived.

They’re strong arms. And though you’d once feared them, now they are only gentle. Reassuring. He squeezes you closer, your head resting against his chest as it rises and falls. You splay your hand against it, gently tickling the fine golden hairs of his chest.

You find a scar, small but raised and faded. You trace it. As you move your hand around, you find another. And another. Each one you make note of but you’re too consumed by his presence to focus on them just yet.

He smells like smoke from stoking your fire, and raspberries from kissing you after you ate. There’s something else in his scent, something fresh, like mint but softer.

You groan as he squeezes you, relishing in his heated embrace.

“Why did you agree to do as Tony asked?” He wonders, pulling your dozing eyes open.

You think for a moment, trying to recollect the day that you’d made what would turn out to be the best choice of your life.

“How long have you been wondering?” You ask him, and he rubs your back with his left hand, his right tracing circles along your elbow.

The skin where the two of you are connected, knees, thighs, his hip against your pelvis as you rest your leg over his, stomach against his side, breasts just under his pecs—is sticky from laying so close for so long. Wet from the perspiration that several rounds of lovemaking has caused. Glistening from the fire still heating the room as the winter storm outside rages on. The snow hasn’t stopped once since it began to fall when Steve had first made love to you.

Steve hesitates, taking in a deep breath before he answers.

“Too long.” He admits.

You let that settle, wondering just what kind of woman he really thinks you are. There’s no doubt in your mind that he loves you. But…maybe he also isn’t sure of who you truly are?

“I did it because he asked me.” You answer honestly. “I did it because as his subject, it was my duty to do what my king needed.”

You think for a moment.

“I didn’t do it for money.” You assure him, turning your face up to look at him, searching for that uncertainty that you’re imagining.

When he meets your eyes, you don’t see suspicion. Just curiosity. He smiles down at you, reaching up to stroke your chin. He runs one fingertip along the curve of it, slowly, burning you with his touch.

He leans down and you meet him eagerly to give him his kiss.

It’s only a peck and when you pull away, he relaxes, and you return your head to its spot on his chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that thinks of money less when it comes to their own needs. But you do think of it quite often when it pertains to others.” Steve reminds you. “Your charities…the program you started for the poor in my kingdom has truly prospered. I am very proud of you, Y/N.”

His praise heats your neck and cheeks. You try not to smile but you can’t help it and you’re glowing with pride too.

“I hope it’s helped.” You sigh. “Truly. I know what it is to be hungry. I don’t want my people to feel that way if I can possibly help it.”

Steve is silent for so long, you begin to drift off again, snuggling in closer when he tightens his arms.

“Tell me about your life before you came to me.” He says, forcing your eyes open once again.

“My life?” You ask, drowsy.

“Yes. What did you do? You say that you know hunger…”

“Oh.” You realize what he’s asking.

He wants to know what hardships you’d endured before you married him.

“Well, I…I’ve been an orphan since I was about six? Perhaps a little younger. My mother and father became sick with the plague and were the reason there were so few casualties in Malibia. Because of their deaths, King Anthony was able to fight the disease much faster.” You think, trying to remember the next part of your story. “Then I…I sort of just kept living. Alone.”

“All alone?” Steve asks, his hands caressing the parts of you he can touch. A comforting gesture.

“For a while the lady in the house across from ours would come to check on me. Every day for almost a year, then her son got very sick and she came once a week. Then once a month. Then she stopped coming. Her son got better, and she never came back.” You still remember the lady. Kind but a little reluctant to take care of you.

“How did you eat?” Steve asks, sounding calm but you can also hear the shock in his tone.

“I didn’t sometimes. Other times I would sell a trinket or piece of jewelry from my mother’s small collection and I’d buy some bread and greens. But the jewels ran out eventually. Then the landlord came, and he took back the house.”

“You were kicked out?” Steve asks, his voice tight but controlled.

“I was given two options. Go to an orphanage or linger. I chose the latter. The Bright Rise was my only home. How could I leave it? I ended up finding an old broken building near the woods that had once been an old storage shed for firewood.

“I repurposed it as much as I could. Fixed up most of the broken wood and eventually got the holes in the roof patched up. I took the odd job here and there to buy a small mattress and some clothes when I needed it. I was…thirteen when they took the house. Within the year I was standing on my own two feet.

“Still hungry more often than not. Still cold in the winter, wet in the spring, baking in the summer, and starving in the autumn. But I was alive. I began to stitch again. My mother had taught me when I was little, and it took time to perfect my skill. I miss it.

“It’s the one thing I can truly claim as my own.”

Steve gives you a squeeze.

You look up at him to find him staring at the shirt you’ve been working on the two weeks the two of you have spent here at the cottage. The broidery stands out. Neat stitches that many would pay handsomely for.

“I’m yours.” Steve says, surprising you.

You smile and then reach up to smooth the wrinkle between his eyes as he frowns at your story.

“I should stop.” You whisper.

“No.” Steve asserts quickly, turning to meet your eyes. “No, don’t stop. I want to know you.”

“You already do.” You huff a laugh.

“Not truly. I know you as you are in our home. I need to know what made you as you are.” He points out.

“Nothing made me as I am. I just am.” You sigh, a little confused by what he means. “The old woman I brought to the castle was my only friend. I didn’t know her. Not truly. And many people in the village said that she was a witch and warned me to stay away from her. But when I was ready to give up. When I was so hungry that I felt I might finally die, she would feed me.

“Grandmother gave me hope when there was none to be had. She helped keep me going. If I owe anyone for my positive outlook on life, then I suppose it’s her. Is that what you mean?” You watch his face as he shifts through several emotions. Confusion, anger, relief, worry.

“Yes.” He nods. “I’m sorry that your childhood was so tough. If I’d known-”

You smile, nearly laughing by the beginning of his thought. “You wouldn’t have cared. You were with Margaret.”

Does he really need the reminder?

“I would have cared.” He assures you.

“For a lowly girl? An orphan?” You challenge.

“Yes.” He nods. “I would have cared that you were suffering. Perhaps I wouldn’t have loved you as I do now…”

He squeezes you again, as if the thought of not loving you is almost torture.

“…but I would have cared that you were hungry. I would have cared that you were alone.” He nods and you find it very easy to believe him. You’ve seen that care, that worry.

You shut your eyes as you’re overcome with the terrible thought of having found Steve someday as the girl you’d been. If he’d still been with Margaret, he wouldn’t have looked at you twice.

The pain it gives you makes you tremble, and Steve reacts to it, sitting up a little more and pulling you with him so that he can look at you better.

“What?” He wonders. “What is it, my flower?”

“I wonder what my life might have been if I’d never crossed paths with father. If he’d found someone else to pretend to be his daughter? You and I would have never met. Or maybe Margaret had never died?

“You would have still been married to her. You child born. We might have crossed paths in the road, and I would have bowed down as your carriage rode past.” You sigh, your heart breaking for some reason.

It’s silly, because you’re here. In his arms. This is your place. You’re his Queen and the mother of his heir. Yet, the image is so clear it chokes you with emotion.

With sorrow in your voice, you continue.

“You would have ridden past me and never given me a second glance. Perhaps not even a first?”

“No.” He protests, but it’s weak.

“Yes.” You nod, feeling his hand on the sides of your face as you try not to let your stupid feelings make you cry. Why does it feel so real? “You know that it’s true.”

He swallows hard, shaking his head not in denial of your words but hating your sadness.

“My petal…” He begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“And I…I would have married someone in my village maybe? Or Phin might have finally succeeded in his attempts to take me for himself? I would have been spoilt for anyone else and no man would have married me.” You shake your head, hating the image.

“What?!” Steve demands, pushing himself up a little more to take firm hold of your face and make you look at him. “What do you mean?”

“He tried so hard. He almost succeeded once or twice. But I fought harder. And he was very drunk.” You nod, “But he would have had his way eventually. And maybe I would be having a bastard instead of the heir to a throne? I would have been alone, until the end of my days, raising the son of a monster?”

“This is pointless, Y/N. Why are you saying these things?” Steve gasps, shocked by the weight of your words but also the way that you’re suddenly crying.

“I don’t know!” You sob, reaching around to wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face against his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, caressing the back of your head as he kisses the spot he can reach.

“Maybe you’re right.” Steve admits, nodding despite his disgust with the idea. “Maybe that is how thing would have happened, had Margaret never died. But she did.”

You feel terrible suddenly for making him talk about her when he’s been so good about not bringing her up around you.

“This was always where I was supposed to be. You were always meant to be my wife. I your husband. And this little one was meant to be our heir. You are my choice. You are my love. You are my future. I…I wish that Margaret hadn’t died. How can I wish anything else? I loved her.”

Steve’s admission makes you cry just a little harder, but he forces your face up to look at him.

With a trembling lip, you stare into his storm blue eyes, both of them boring into yours.

“But I can’t find it in me to wish that anything had happened differently. I meant what I said before, my flower. You are the rightful Queen to serve at my side. You deserve to stand beside me. You are my love but more importantly, you are more than qualified to rule our people. You think for them. You place them first even when I cannot. You are my one and only.”

He means it too. His eyes tell you just how much he means it. So much. It’s pouring out of him in waves.

Leaning down, he kisses you hard. All of the fear and glee that this is where you two find yourselves in life crashing down upon your lips.

You return his kiss, eagerly pulling him closer.

In one swift move he turns you over, laying you down as he settles above you. The soft mattress hugs you as Steve’s hand moves down to grasp your thigh. He hooks it behind your knee, hiking it up around his waist as he nudges the other aside so that you’re open and bare for him again.

There’s no muss about it this time. He slides into you in one slow glide.

You gasp, breaking the kiss, mouth wide open as Steve breathes into you.

He licks your lips and you search for his mouth again as his cock begins its impaling dance.

“Mmmm.” You moan into him, and he gets faster.

The slap of your skin, still sticky from your lovemaking before, is tantalizing and you lean to your right to look down at his massive body over yours.

His thrusts are fluid, despite their speed, and he buries his cock within your cunt to the hilt before he grinds then resumes his motion.

“Steve…” You whimper, and he grunts, tugging your leg more tightly around his hip as he flips you over again.

He lands on his back and you’re straddling him, hips temporarily unmoving as you fall onto him and he hits a whole new spot within you that shocks your body into quivers.

While his hands trace the shape of your body, wandering up to tweak your nipples into peaks, you wiggle on him, wondering just where to start with this new sensation.

“Move for me, my flower.” He instructs, then reaches back to grasp your bottom.

He pulls you back a little and you feel him slide out of you, just enough to make you shiver, then he pulls you towards him and fills you up again.

You curl in, wondering if there is any end to this feeling.

With his guiding hands, you move as he wants you to.

“Mmmph.” Steve grunts, throwing his head back, eyes closed as your body bends to his will.

The sight of him in ecstasy dries your previous tears but you still can’t move on your own. Your body is in slight shock.

You just need a moment.

Steve stops, tracing your sides up to your neck where he holds your head still so that he can meet your gaze.

“You okay?” He asks, worry beginning to paint his beautiful face.

You nod.

“F-feels good.” You stutter. “Different. I-I need a moment.”

Steve slides his hand back behind your head to pull you down and kiss you.

It helps clear your mind, his tongue exploring the soft pad of your own.

It takes a few minutes, but soon you’re moving on your own. Eager to get going again, you slide back as he’d wanted you to, and forward again.

He breaks your kiss this time, throwing his head back again as he groans.

He thrusts upwards and it feels so good you fall forward onto his chest, laying there as you break into pieces.

Mewling, you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“I’ve got you, my sweet little bud.” He promises, then reaches down to grab tight hold of your bottom.

With startling speed, he begins to piston up into you, hitting you over and over in that one little spot that makes you see white.

You’re a mess, trembling and shaking against him as he fucks up into you.

He pumps faster than he has before, and you don’t feel a buildup this time when you suddenly explode against him. Toes curling hard, you stop breathing as your mind clears, your body stiffens for a few seconds as he continues to ram into you.

When you breathe again, you gasp and shake your head as your body becomes overstimulated, twitching with each of his thrusts until he finally pulls you down hard against his cock and fills you with his heat.

He bites you this time, nipping your neck as he comes within you.

The two of you stay that way, catching your breath until finally Steve’s hands begin to stroke the length of your back.

“My flower.” He whispers, sighing happily before he shifts onto his side, taking you with him.

Face to face, he nuzzles his nose against yours.

“You’re mine.” He declares, no argument to be made—not that you want to make one.

And just when you think you can’t love him more; he reaches down to place his hand on your stomach.

“Mine.” He declares. “And I am yours. Both of you. No more talk of a life without each other. I won’t have it.”

He raise his eyebrows, waiting for you to respond.

“Agreed.” You breathe, exhausted again.

“Sleep, my flower.” He urges you, kissing the tip of your nose. “Sleep.”

Happily, you obey.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve gets up while you’re sleeping. He watches you for a moment.

You look so peaceful. Your mouth is slightly open, your eyes shut softly. You’re on your stomach, right where he’d left you when he got up, slipping out from beneath you.

As he stands there watching, his heart aches. He reaches up to run his hand against his bare chest.

He didn’t know that loving someone could be this painful.

With Margaret it had been so easy. The only pain he’d felt was when he’d lost her. While he had her, every day was simple. Easy.

There was much more to make it complicated. His work, Margaret’s involvement with it. Their lives were more complicated and yet still their relationship remained straightforward and simple.

With you, things are harder. Not in a bad way. He wouldn’t give up this difficulty even if his life depended on it. You are his world and he would kill to keep you. Which goes against his very core morals.

How did you come to mean so much more than any other person he’s ever met?

He’s dressing as he watches you sleep, pulling on dark pants and a dark shirt. He pulls from his wardrobe a blue and red stripped tunic but rolls it up and shoves it into a seat where you can’t see it. With it he throws a tattered red cloak that still looks fine and expensive but torn and frayed at the ends with long strips missing around the front.

Dressed, he crawls over to you, hovering over you as he kisses the center of your back and trails soft kisses up along your spine.

You moan, waking up slowly until he reaches the back of your head where he kisses you and you turn to look at him, exposing your beautiful body for him.

He watches as you eye him up and he devours the sight of you naked and relaxed in his bed. Your shared bed.

With an echo of agony, Steve realizes that this is how it should have always been. From the very beginning, this is the life he should have given you. This is how he should have loved you.

Better late than never?

Brow furrowed, he settles over you as you wrap your arm around his neck and pull him closer. Your fingers find his collar and you frown, looking down to see he’s clothed.

“You’re dressed.” You croak, voice still thick with sleep.

“I have something I need to do.” He tells you, watching as the sleep threatens to take you again.

You’re awake but he’s worn you out. He’s proud of that fact. The amount of pleasure he’s given you in the past week has been important. He needed you to see that he could do that for you. That Thor wasn’t the only one who knew how to make you happy in bed.

You’re his wife.

“Right now?” You wonder, looking towards the windows to see that darkness is thick outside, falling snow still blanketing the ground.

“It can’t wait, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, my flower. I’ll be back before you know it.” He promises.

You sigh, hating the idea of parting with him so openly that Steve’s heart swells.

“Will you miss me?” He asks, allowing himself the pleasure of these intimacies with you.

This relationship has grown by leaps and bounds and he’s excited to be this couple with you. To show you off proudly. To watch you grow round with his child and to know that the world will see it.

You’re his. And he is yours.

You nod slowly, bringing your gaze back to his.

“I’ll be cold.” You explain, and Steve laughs softly.

He pushes himself back to sit on his ankles as he gathers the blankets of the bed and then proceeds to wrap you up in them. He makes sure that you’re covered from neck down, arms trapped underneath so that you can’t hold him anymore. Then he settles back over you, smiling wide.

Your eyes dazzle him, happiness radiating from them.

“There, now you won’t be cold.” Steve reasons.

“This isn’t what I meant.” You huff a laugh, and he could die happy, knowing that he can bring you to laugh.

“I know.” Steve nods. “But I do need to go.”

You think for a moment, your expression darkening.

“Please be safe.” You whisper, eyes more awake now than before.

“I will always come back to you.” He promises and leans down to kiss you.

Your lips are eager, lapping over his to taste him as he caresses the sides of your face to hold your head still while he gives you a proper goodbye.

The energy in your kiss begins to fade and he pulls back to see that you’re falling asleep.

He runs one finger down the length of your chin before placing one final peck upon your lips. As he stands, you’re already fast asleep, bundled up in the blankets he’s wrapped around you.

Steve stares at you for a minute longer before he takes his cloak and tunic and leaves you under Peter’s care.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve had promised that he would be back before you wake and yet…he isn’t.

“Where is he, Peter?” You demand, irritated because you haven’t eaten.

“He might have been caught in the storm.” Peter reasons, moving to you with a tray of hot beef stew, bread, cheese, and a few fruits. He sets the tray on the table beside you.

You don’t know if you can eat while you’re this worried.

You put your book aside and turn to look at the food.

Practicing your reading is also exhausting mentally. You’ve become much better at all of it but it’s still a chore. And this library is so full of books. Old ones that your home castle doesn’t have.

This library with its multicolored tiled walls and floors, large fireplace to keep the space warm, and the dark brown furniture, the seats cushioned with plump orange pillows is by far the most comfortable room aside from your bedroom.

There is also a large set of windows to the South side. The focal point of the room with tall curving bookcases that line each side. Outside you can see that the ground is indeed covered with several feet of snow.

The white stuff continues to rain down on the castle grounds even now only it’s worse since the blizzard started. Now it comes down sideways, fast and painful. Ice piercing skin. The wind is biting. As soon as it hits you, your face is raw.

You hate it. Officially.

Before it had bee perfectly fine. But now? Now it’s keeping you from Steve and you hate it.

“You have to eat.” Peter chastises you, reaching to take your spoon to offer it to you.

You stare at it.

“He’ll be angry with me if you don’t eat.” Peter reminds you.

You stare.

“What about the baby?” Peter guilts you.

With a sigh, you take the spoon and fill it up, blowing gently before you shove the food into your mouth.

You’d been sure that you wouldn’t eat until Steve came back, but you’re shoveling the stew into your mouth with a fervor, the taste exquisite. The bread follows, and you dip that into the stew. Cheese broken off and placed into the hot liquid where it melts.

Peter smiles. Proud of himself for making you eat.

“Don’t worry, your Majesty. Steve knows how to take care of himself. He wouldn’t have left you unless it was urgent, and he’ll be back as soon as he can because you’re the most important person in his life now.” He says with confidence.

You lick your lips, loving the taste of your meal, but curious.

“How do you know?” You wonder.

Peter smiles. “Because before he left, he came and threatened me with death if I didn’t take care of you while he was gone. Take care over my wife and child. If I find them in a bad state, I’ll kill you.”

You scoff.

“He was being a little dramatic. He can get like that.” Peter shrugs. “I think he was just scared to leave you.”

You eat in silence until all that is left is your fruit. With a cup of tea to keep you warm, you nip at the apples and grapes. A slice of honeyed banana speared on your fork as you think.

“When will the others come?” You ask him, finding him watching the snow fall.

“Soon. I’m sure this snow has slowed them down. They should have been here tomorrow, but I think it might be another day or two.” Peter nods. “Do you miss them?”

You nod. “I miss Natasha most.”

Your friend, your confidant, your sister. You have so much to tell her. You can’t wait to see her.

~~~~~~~~~~

It takes hours for you to fall asleep. You toss and turn until you send for some chamomile to hopefully send you off to bed.

Sleeping in a bed without Steve after the two weeks you just spent in his arms is difficult. You want to be with him. You want him always at your side. Though you know that it isn’t possible for him to always be with you, you still want it. Desperately.

When you finally fall asleep, it’s a tenuous slumber. Every crackle of the logs in your fireplace startles you awake. Every whistle from the shivering wind outside force your eyes open.

It takes hours. Finally, you begin to drift off.

You’re almost asleep, the edges of a summer’s day dream begins to take hold when you ear a grunt. A shattering of glass as something—the vase by the doorway?—falls and breaks. You hear shuffling feet and the hot smell of iron fills your nostrils.

Eyes shooting open, you gasp and sit up, searching for the source of such commotion.

Your heart turns cold at the sight before you.

It’s terrifying but there’s also something very familiar about the figure as it stumbles towards the chairs in front of your fireplace.

The gleam of armor on its shoulders and on its head are what hold your gaze.

In his arms he holds loosely a round shield made of metal. On it is the insignia you’ve worn around your neck since almost the day you were married. Three rings, red, white, red, at the center is a blue circle that holds within it a stunning white star.

In this moment, you know without needing to ask.

The Freedom Knight… “Steve?” You ask, voice trembling.

He freezes, holding his side with his free hand and as he turns to look at you, your eyes find the spot.

It’s gushing blood, dripping onto the floor and seeping into the tunic and cloak he wears.

You’re on your feet, racing to him as he tries to reach out for a seat but misses completely and falls to the floor in a clatter of armor and shield.

You land with him, catching his head before it can hit the floor.

In a flurry of trembling fingers, you pull off his helmet and let it fall with a loud clang. The bottom half of his face is dirtier than the half he kept hidden, but his hair is everywhere, grimy, and his skin is sticky with sweat, dirt, and blood.

You shove his hand out of the way and press down hard on the spot that still bleeds. It’s a heavy flow and the paleness in his face gives you worry.

“This is what you meant when you said that you fight the evils of this world?!” You demand, angry at him suddenly.

He stares at you, reaching up to touch your cheek and leave a bloody trail.

“I thought you meant on the battlefield with soldiers and knights. Not your bare hands!” You chastise him.

He smiles. “I missed you.”

His eyes roll back into his head and his head lolls to the side.

“No! HELP!” You shout, knowing that only one person will be able to hear you. “Steve, wake up, please! PETER!”

As Steve continues to bleed out, you press harder, leaning down to rest your forehead against his. Willing him to heal.

“Don’t leave me.” You whimper and press harder.

[dcbbw]

How would a one on one game of truth or dare would be for Liam & Riley B. With alcohol involved?

Thanks for the ask, @umccall71! This takes place maybe 2-3 weeks before Penelope dumps SGL. Drake and Riley are still together.

Song lyrics are from Shirley Horn’s Summer (Estate) and You’re My Thrill; they belong to their respective owners.

Huge THANK YOU to pre-readers @burnsoslow, @ao719, and @bebepac!

“I cannot believe you let me buy all this shit, Liam! All of it’s so unnecessary!” Riley huffed as she followed Liam into his apartment.

The best friends had spent the evening having a seafood dinner and catching a movie in Chinatown. The dinner was not grouponed; the movies were. Afterwards, they walked up to Walgreens because Liam needed toothpaste; Riley apparently needed the entire store.

She walked out of the store with bags filled with snacks and toiletries, including Liam’s toothpaste, and $100 poorer. They went to Vapiano’s for takeaway pasta, Liam’s treat. Once back outside, the H Street traffic sped by while Riley set her bags down to pull out her phone. Liam’s hand on her wrist caught her attention.

“Hey, it’s still early on a Friday night; I’m caught up on work until Monday morning. Wanna come back to my place for a nightcap?”

Riley pushed her lips out in a pucker as she considered. She would be going home to an empty apartment and two weeks’ worth of laundry. But, she now had a billion chocolate bars and a huge container of yummy pasta to keep her company while she caught up with Race for the White House and The Windsors.

“I understand if you have plans with Drake later tonight,” Liam’s voice carried over the roar of traffic and the sweet notes of street corner singers.

Riley’s eyes darted to Liam’s face. “What? No … no plans with Drake. It’s poker night with his work buddies.”

“So you’ll come?” Liam’s eyes, and voice, were hopeful.

Riley nodded; Liam ordered an Uber.

Liam took Riley’s bags from her and sat them on his kitchen island before returning to help her out of her jacket. It was autumn in DC, which meant cool mornings and nights, but warm days.

“Hey, you were ready to fight me! In public! Over some Symphony bars! I wasn’t going to stop you,” Liam said defensively.

“Chocolate is always a necessity! Now, the shaving cream … not so much.”

Liam’s index finger tickled Riley’s chin. “It kinda is. You got those hairs on your chin.”

Riley rolled her eyes as she moved her face away from Liam’s finger, mostly because she did have chin hair and had not shaved it in three days. She was willing to bet money Penelope didn’t have chin hair.

Riley removed her shoes and sat in a corner of the sofa while Liam placed their pastas in the refrigerator. He cut on his stereo system, and soon the rich alto of Shirley Horn’s voice filled the apartment. Liam went between the kitchen and living room, placing an ashtray, 2 cans of cold Sprite, and a bottle of spiced Barbados rum on the coffee table. He carried two glasses filled with ice and lime wedges with him when he finally joined Riley on the couch.

He looked at her sheepishly.

“Sorry, I haven’t been grocery shopping, so this is all I have to offer by way of a nightcap.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have groceries, but you have all the ingredients to make a cocktail?”

Liam was pouring rum into the glasses. “Don’t start, Riley B. I haven’t even been here to drink or eat. Hell, I barely sleep here anymore.”

Riley popped her soda open, carefully pouring lemon-lime fizziness into her glass. “Why are you working so hard?”

Liam had just raised his glass to his lips. He hadn’t told anyone except Penelope about the junior partner position. If Pen weren’t his girlfriend, she wouldn’t have known either. What if he didn’t get it? He was up against some pretty stiff competition. And the support and encouragement of his friends would just be added pressure to perform harder, faster, longer.

“Trying to get a raise,” he finally said before sipping his drink. His eyes widened with mischief as he met Riley’s gaze.

“What?” Riley asked as she dug in her purse for cigarettes.

“How about we make the evening more interesting? A game of truth or dare?”

Riley lit up, drawing thoughtfully on her cigarette as Shirley sang about her love being like the wind. Her head nodded towards the sound system. “That’s her live at the Village Vanguard.”

Liam nodded enthusiastically. “It IS!” He took another sip of rum. “So … truth or dare? We can pass on whatever we don’t want to answer.”

Riley shrugged, passing Liam the cigarette. “Why not? Who goes first?”

“Ladies first.”

Riley thought for a moment, undecided whether to ask the question that had been at the back of her mind for almost three years. She decided to go for it.

“Are you in love with Penelope?”

Liam’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as he looked at Riley.

Penelope’s thighs were clenched around Liam’s head as her breath gasped and her body bucked. Liam’s tongue finished its ministrations, and he raised his head once Penelope’s thighs fell open on the bed. Liam’s head rested against one of his girlfriend’s legs. He wanted to kiss her, but Penelope didn’t like to kiss after giving or receiving oral.

“You’re so good at that Liam. Too bad I don’t get it as often as I used to”, Penelope said as her fingers idly combed through Liam’s hair.

Liam’s jaw tensed ever so slightly. “I told you, Pen. I’m working on a promotion. A partner promotion. I know I don’t have a lot of time for you now, but soon I will. I promise.” He softly kissed the inside of her thigh.

“When?” she whined.

“I don’t know when, but I really need your support now, Pen. I need you to understand, and not nag or fuss when I’m working late or on the weekends. It’s hard now, but soon it won’t be.”

“Okay.”

Penelope attended one work related function with Liam after that conversation. She quickly reverted to nagging and whining and demanding Liam to focus on her, focus on their relationship. Liam did his best to accommodate her, but he was too caught up in the race for junior partner.

The client was ready to sign on the dotted line.

Phase One completed.

He needed to focus all his efforts and attentions on the upcoming case, but he promised to take Penelope out for a third-year anniversary lunch. Their anniversary had been two days ago, but Liam had been in meetings all day, and spent half the night catching up on paperwork.

“I love her,” he said carefully. “I’m not entirely unhappy.”

Riley looked at Liam in disbelief before chuckling. “Yeah, that’s a Hallmark sentiment right there.”

Liam allowed himself a small smile. “It’s not my ideal relationship, but I’m invested now: time, emotion, money. And it’s not completely one-sided.”

“That’s not love, Liam!”

Liam’s eyes darkened as he met Riley’s gaze. “It’s no fairytale to be sure, but hey … I bear my cross and hope for the best. I’ve gotten used to not getting what I want, and learning to embrace what wants me.”

Silence as Riley swirled the liquid in her glass. Liam raised his glass in salute. “We all can’t have a relationship like yours and Drake’s.”

More silence from Riley as she thought about Drake: he still ordered and bought her regular Coke, even when she specifically told him what she wanted; he still didn’t know she liked her meat well done, and not medium rare. He scoffed at her grouponing. She still had to tell him where her erogenous zones were.

But they had been together for so long. It was comfortable, it was familiar.

Maybe that’s how it was with Liam and Penelope.

“What’s your ideal relationship?” Riley asked curiously.

Liam shook his head. “My turn, Riley B. Who would you kick out of the gang? You don’t have to give a reason.”

Without hesitation, Riley answered, “Madeleine!”

Liam choked a little on his drink. “I was not expecting to hear that!”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Who would you choose?”

Meeting her eyes, Liam said with a straight face, “Drake.”

Riley swallowed some of her drink. “You may want to think about that. Drake is really handy when it comes to DIY projects. And he knows his meats: how to pick ‘em, how to cook ‘em.”

“Who needs Drake Walker when there’s YouTube?” Liam looked at Riley before tapping a cigarette out of the pack. “Oh, I forgot. You do.”

Riley’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you saying, Liam?”

“I’m saying, YouTube can’t be your boyfriend.” He lit the cigarette, a plume of smoke dissipating into the air.

Riley leaned against the sofa cushions. “My turn. Your ideal relationship.”

“One that’s supportive and rooted in friendship. Where it doesn’t matter if we go to bed angry, as long as we go to bed together. One where we have the same group of friends, and don’t hate the outer circles we may run in. I want laughter, and jokes, and cooking together. I want loyalty and faithfulness. I wanna watch football and documentaries and maybe just lay around naked doing nothing but running my fingers through her hair while she does a crossword puzzle. And sex! I need the sex.”

Riley drank more rum. She reached her hand out for the cigarette; Liam moved closer and held it for her as she inhaled deeply.

“My turn,” he said as he dragged on the cigarette. “Show me a scar and tell me the story behind it.”

“What the hell, Liam?”

“You wanna tell me about your first time instead?” Liam took a healthy swallow of his drink.

Shaking her head, Riley pulled her skirt up to her bent knee. She pointed to a large dark patch of skin; it was slightly bumpy; Liam could still make out the long-ago remnants of what at one time had been a nasty scrape.

“I fell off the back of my dad’s motorcycle. I was supposed to hold on tightly, but my leg itched. I let one hand go to scratch it and lost my grip. I landed on this knee; the skin busted open, and then I kind of skidded along on it for a minute or two.”

Liam grimaced. “Sounds painful.”

Riley gave him a small smile. “It healed. Okay, my turn! It’s a dare!”

Liam cocked an eyebrow. “I’m ready!”

“Call Penelope and tell her I’m here with you alone!”

Liam snickered. “You just wasted your turn, Riley B. Pen is … out. With her friends again. It’s my …  punishment for having to work late on our anniversary.”

Riley’s hand touched Liam’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said softly as Shirley’s voice continued to serenade them.

You bathe me in the glow of your caresses You've turned my eager no to tender yeses You sweep away my sorrow with your sigh

Liam’s eyes locked on Riley’s just a moment too long. They both dropped their heads to hide their blushes.

“You get a make-up turn,” Liam mumbled.

Riley raised her head. “Who’s the mystery woman you’ve been wanting?”

Liam picked up his glass and drained the rest of his drink. Shirley Horn sang on.

You're my thrill You do something to me You send chills right through me When I look at you 'Cause you're my thrill

His eyes searched Riley’s face, and he held himself back from cupping her cheek.

Riley was with Drake. Liam was with Penelope.

Riley B. was his best friend; some days, his only friend.

To tell her the truth now would be too messy, too complicated.

He set his glass on the table. “I pass.”

  Tagging: @sirbeepsalot @wannabemc2 @jared2612 @katedrakeohd @hopefulmoonobject @custaroonie @liam-rhys @jovialyouthmusic @thequeenofcronuts @amomentofsinclairity @bobasheebaby @ao719 @sashatrr @marietrinmimi @ladyangel70 @gardeningourmet @umccall71 @angi15h @romanticatheart-posts @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @blznbaby @tabithacarlisle @emceesynonymroll @bbrandy2002 @ab1901 @janezillow @debramcg1106 @radlovedreamer @jessiembruno @lodberg @thecordoniandiaries @ramseyandrys @caroldxnvxrs @princess-geek @burnsoslow @annekebbphotography @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @emichelle @indiacater @loveellamae @forthebrokenheartedthings-blog @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @zaffrenotes @bebepac @liyanin @dibberdipper @choiceslife @ac27dj

[hollandroos]

Get up | Tom Holland

My writing ♡ 

Summary: Toms entire life is skating, it’s all he knows. So what happens when he manages to get injured during training for one of the biggest events in his career and you’re there to see the entire thing?

Words: 1983

Warnings: Injury, a broken ankle. I may not be correct with all of my information – this was just a small wee concept I bought up to my group chat and with help from @neptuneparker and @hey-its-grey, we got this.

Moodboard by @neptuneparker

For fifteen years Tom had been skating.

There was nothing he knew better then the smell of freshly shaved ice beneath his skates and bitter, cold fingertips after a good session. He had come to welcome the feeling, that as well as icy blue lips. There was no sound the brunette had memorised as well as he had the Zamboni – the roar of the machine coming to life was like music to his ears.

When he was ten he took his first step on the ice, wearing the smallest pair of skates he’d ever stuff his poor feet into and a thick pair of woollen gloves over two hands as well as a bomber jacket. When he turned fifteen he got a job at the rink, serving food to the customers for free sessions. He would hand out the buttery popcorn and cups of soda for six hours a day for a portion of money slapped into his palm and a weekend lesson.

He’d hardly stepped off since.

And on the ice was where he’d met you.

He had watched on in adoration from his spot at the cafeteria, eyes wide and filled with adoration as you performed all types of tricks without fail – well, every now and then you’d slip and land on your butt but he didn't laugh like the rest of the girls in your squad. Tom was one to take notes and learn from others mistakes.

He introduced himself the following year and you clicked. You walked to training together until Toms career got more serious. Even then, you walked with him to training. You rode with him to competitions. You hyped him up when he put his name down for the trials of what would be the biggest event of his career.

You stole each other's clothes when you felt like it and slept in each other's beds.

You became platonic soulmates. Inseparable. Two peas in a pod. 

Tom skates freely, the blades on the bottom of his skates hissing as they meet the ice. Every now and then he does a jump, becoming airborne for a second before he hits the rink again with a heavy thud and every time he’s successful, hitting the ground without so much as a single mistake he smiles.

His heart is beating in his ears, adrenaline thick and coursing through his veins and Tom is reminded once more of just why he spends his days skating. It was worth the ugly blue and purple bruises that sometimes painted his feet and the blisters that’d cause him to (rarely) hiss in pain as he peeled his skates off.

That was only on the bad days – or the days where he had to break in a new pair of skates.

“Tom! Watch the footing on that one,” His trainer calls, correcting his form. The man was scary with often pursed lips and a hard stare but Tom knows he means well and beneath layers of bitterness and the occasional jealoisy, he had a heart of gold.

Tom immediately straightens up, silently promising to do better next time.

He hardly notices that he’s tired. So goddamn tired. Maybe he’d slept three hours last night, possibly four. And maybe he'd been on the ice since six am. The bags beneath his eyes are hardly noticeable beyond the genuine, beaming grin that crosses his features every time he meets your eyes. Getting Tom off the ice would be like telling a puppy it’s time to leave the dog park.

Heartbreaking.

You’ve just changed out of your own training gear and you’re now dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and a hoodie. It was Tom's training hoodie – he knew simply because his last name was printed across the back in bright, capital letters. The action makes him shake his head, a light laugh escaping his lips because he swears he may have a pair of your socks tucked away in his bag.

You always had claimed to be his number one supporter. Never missing an event and showing up to most of his trainings.

Maybe Tom hadn’t had anything to drink in a couple of hours and his stomach was crying out for food. But Tom was home on the ice. He was comfortable twirling and jumping, stretching his arms as wide as he could or high over his head. He enjoys the pull of his muscles as he extends his legs and the feeling of gliding across the ice.

He’s flying, soaring through the air. Tom is flying like a bird, arms extended and legs straight. He feels the cool air running through locks of tousled hair, teasing dry lips.

Until he’s not.

He hits the ice, his head smacking against the frozen ground with such a force he swears for a single second that he’d knocked a couple of teeth out. Maybe seriously damaged his jaw or his head. Maybe that wouldn’t have been too bad because he’d be able to continue skating – pushing his way through recovery so he could compete.

It only takes Tom around three seconds for him to realise that the searing pain has travelled to his ankle. And my god – it’s so bad. It’s unbearable. It’s bone-chilling and excruciating. It’s like someone had cut off his ankle and stitched it back on without anaesthetic. The skater had felt pain before but nothing like this.

Tom hears distant screams and somewhere, somehow he hears his name being called. It takes him another three seconds for him to realise that some of the screams are his own but it's hard to tell over the ringing in his two ears.

It takes bystanders a second to realise what had happened before you’re rushing onto the ice, muttering something about an ambulance to the lady next to you when Tom doesn’t push himself up like he usually does. Instead, he continues to wail, cries of pain slipping past cherry red lips.

“Tom– Tom, hey.” You speak, rushing to his side. The brunette remains still, arching his back in pure agony. You nearly slip over the ice yourself before you fall to his side, sitting up on your knees. “It’s okay, you just fell.” You tell him, picking up a sense that this was more than just a little slip.

Skaters fall over frequently. Beginners and experts – they fall on their butts, sides, fronts. It was all normal. But Tom always got up, forcing himself up with two stiff arms and achy legs. So why wasn’t he getting up?

The skates feel like they’re suffocating his feet, stuck in that enclosed space just squeezing until he begins to lose feeling but Tom knows as well as everyone else that they’re no tighter then normal. But he can’t help but want them off. And now.

“It hurts.” He mutters, gritting his teeth. Without thinking about it you take the boys hand and he squeezes intensely. You don’t even wince as he pinches your hand, trying to release some of the searing pain. His whines get worse when his trainer begins to slide his skate off, tugging gently to get the thing to budge.

You make the mistake of looking down.

You hold back the urge to throw up upon seeing his left ankle twisted in a way it shouldn’t be and seeing the horror written all over your face, Tom tries to sit up on his elbows, attempting to get a look at his ankle that was still aching. The action sends shock waves like no other up his leg.

“Don’t look,” You tell him, gently easing the boy back down onto the ice. Pure pain paints his features. “It’ll be okay, just… don’t look. Look at me instead.”

Tom wants to cry – scratch that, he was crying. Warm, salty tears run down his cheeks and make contact with the ice. Surely his trainer wouldn’t be too happy about that but the man couldn’t care less as he watches a couple rush across with a blanket. You practically throw the thing over him, tucking it under his sides.

Moving him would be a challenge. Every movement seemed to put him in more pain.

It’s then that Tom realises he’s shaking wildly, hands trembling and lip wobbling.

“I can’t deal with an injury right now, I have trials and I have to make the team.”

“You don’t have to make the team. There’s always next year and the year after that and besides, you’ll get a hundred more opportunities like this one.” You watch his face morph into disappointment, a fresh set of tears flooding his eyes and let out a sorrowful sigh. “Let’s not skip ahead yet, we need to get you to a doctor.”

He’d need at least a couple months to heal but you give him a little hope, even if you feel none yourself.

Glancing down at your feet, Tom chuckles to himself with the odd tear still staining his faded pink cheeks. 

“No shoes on the ice, remember? Haven’t you learnt anything?”

You want to laugh at your best friends teasing too but you’re riddled with fear. How would he cope - how would he forgive himself for injuring himself like this only weeks before the biggest event of his lifetime?

“I’m not going to worry about taking my shoes off when my best friend nearly knocked ‘imself out.” You reply, bitting back your fears.

Tom was the kind of person to blame himself for every mistake he’d ever made out there, it was hard enough with the pressure to be the best, but here he was, almost helpless, just like the little boy you met on his first day of skating lessons when he first fell over and you helped him get back up. There’s an ache in your chest that refuses to cease.

“Why do you look so sad? I’m the one who’s just fallen on his ass.” Tom tries to bite back his pain by teasing you. But every statement feels more forced then the last.

“Just worried that you’ll need time off and you know how much I hate coming to training by myself.” You playfully groan, whipping the dull smile off of your features when Tom winces as his trainer moves his leg. It’s only a small noise of pain but you screw your face up, completely at a lost for words.

Tom looks over, tilting his head to the side. His eyes are rimmed red, lips swollen and wet with sticky tears.

“Tell me doc, how bad is it?”

You look at his ankle, face falling at the swelling that definitely wasn’t there the first time you glanced over. His trainer gives you a sorrowful look, carefully shaking his head. The comp would definitely be a no go.

“You’ll skate again, but maybe not for a little bit.”

Toms' heart falls in his chest, plummeting into the pits with a thud. He skates. That’s it.

Going months without skating for Tom was like… it was like going months without a phone or your favourite sweets. It gave him that adrenaline rush that could be compared to spending a good night with friends or seeing your favourite film in the theatres for the first time.

He adored every day that he got to race back and forth on the rink and Tom was already counting down the minutes until he could get back to it… to feel the cold air rising up from beneath his ankles instead of beneath his pounding head.

“I skate nearly every day, for me two weeks is a ‘little bit’.”

“I know.” You say, rubbing patterns on the back of his hand. Toms' cheeks had long turned a shade of pink. Like peaches. “But for a little bit you get to relax and when you come back, the ice will be waiting for you.”

Tell me what you thought!

Tagging mutuals: @keepingupwiththeparkers @starksparker @mcuspidey @spiderboytotherescue @spiderrrling @naturallytom @screamholland @bi-writes @madmadmilk

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[theonewiththefanfics]

Hopelessly Devoted (one-shot)

Synopsys: The Reader has been in love with Steve for a while, but the only problem is- he’s with someone else. Bucky has been in love with the Reader for years, the only problem is- she doesn’t love him. But a night spent together at a gala might change people’s feelings.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: SMUT; unprotected sex (gotta wrap it up before you do the devil’s tango), swearing and the usual stuff

Word count: 5771

   Y/N’s heart clenched as she looked at Steve, his hand intertwined with Dalia’s while they smiled at one another. She had been crushing on the Captain for almost four years but he obviously didn’t feel the same. But right at that same time, his best friend Bucky Barnes was giving Y/N the exact look as she curled up in Natasha’s side, the redhead lazily stroking the other woman’s hair.    Bucky sipped a bit more of his coffee, letting the bitter taste trickling down his throat match what he felt on the inside. The newest season of ‘Brooklyn 9-9’ was mindlessly playing on the big screen before a loud voice interrupted their peace.    “Listen up, jerks!” Tony’s voice boomed throughout the room. “In two days there is going to be a gala. Here in the tower, so you don’t have to be babies about not wanting to drive anywhere. It’s a black-tie event. All of you have to be there. We’re trying to make good with the public since you know... Sokovia... so please be nice. Thank you that is all.” And in a true Stark fashion, he sauntered away without taking any murmurs of protest into account.    "I really don’t wanna do this,” Y/N groaned pushing her head in the crook of Natasha’s neck, who gently patted her fellow Avenger's head.    “I know, sweetie, but hey- free booze and food!”    “It’s not like we pay for our stuff anyways. Everything is on Tony’s credit card,” the Y/H/C haired girl replied before pushing off the couch and making her way into the kitchen where Bucky was sitting by the countertop on a barstool.    His blue gaze followed every single move of hers, but most importantly how the muscles scrunched up her face in disgust.    “Not a fan of parties?” Bucky chuckled, handing Y/N her favourite mug.    “Not a fan of getting ready, not being able to stay in my PJs and having to wear heels that make my legs look fucking amazing while at the same time wishing I could just cut my feet off.”    He snorted, shaking his head and taking a big gulp of coffee.    “You sure it has nothing to do with those two?” Bucky pointed at Steve and his blonde girlfriend. In an already sour mood, Y/N flipped the man off. Obviously, he didn’t take it to heart, but then an idea popped into his head when he heard her mutter a quiet ‘what if it is?’.    “Do you want to go with me?” Bucky asked, his eyes defiantly looking at how the spoon made his drink swirl.

   “To the gala? Like together? As dates?”    “We don’t have to,” he was quick to interject. Maybe too quick, for his own liking, the fear of saying how he felt acting for him. “We can go as friends though. And still, you’d be able to show what that punk is missing out on. Get glammed up, look like an absolute princess and make the idiot realise what has always been right in front of him.”    Y/N grasped his palm, squeezing the ex-Winter Soldier’s fingers. “I’d like that. Thank you, Buck.”    A tightlipped smile was what she got as an answer, but even the small gesture had set her heart stuttering. And Y/N had no idea why.

***

   He fidgeted with his cufflink, so unaccustomed to wearing fancy clothes. Bucky was more of sweats and a shirt or jeans and a leather jacket type of a guy, but there was a difference when Tony Stark threw a gala or a party where people got hammered.    Standing by Y/N’s door his nerves got the best of him. Yes, he had offered to make Steve jealous, but for him, this was an opportunity to spend more time with the gorgeous Avenger. Three years he had been in love with the girl. They had met a few days after he’d become an official part of the team. She was on a solo mission somewhere in Guam and when the blood, dirt and all sorts of grime covered woman entered the common room floor, cheers erupting all around making her widely grin, Bucky was done for it. Just like he was in the moment she opened her door.    He couldn’t help the fact his jaw hung open. Y/N looked absolutely stunning, the deep blue gown hugged her form and it looked like a sea in the storm with every step she took. The back had a deep plunge and there would be little possibility of him keeping things modest as the opening ended just above the curve of her spine.    “You look absolutely magnificent,” he breathed out as Y/N stood before him, a palm clutching her small handbag.    “And you look like you just stepped out of a Hugo Boss ad,” she replied with a smile letting her eyes roam over Bucky’s form, but most importantly his face for it was no longer concealed by the dark brown locks. Instead, he’d gotten a haircut, quite similar to that of what he had in the photos. From back in the day. Slicked back hair, jaw shaved and back straight- there was no doubt in the girl’s mind he’d been a ladies man.    The deep rumble in his chest was a complimentary sound to that of his wide grin.    “Shall we?” he extended Y/N his elbow in a true gentleman fashion and with a mock curtsy she linked her arm through his.    The gentle music could be heard even two floors above and it encased them like a blanket when the two Avengers stepped out of the elevator. The tower had been completely redone. Or at least it looked that way, the two giant chandeliers that hung from the ceiling casting a yellowish glow over everything, while usually, the place was darker, made perfect for their movie nights.    A loud whistle came from their side, the pair’s heads whipping in sync as they saw Nat, body covered in a gleaming emerald dress striding towards them.    “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my friend has been kidnapped and an impersonator has arrived in her place.”    Y/N went to jab her in the side, but missed, a small smile playing on her lips.    “You calling me ugly, Romanoff?”    “I’m calling you not a fan of attention yet here we are.”    That confused the girl, but her question was answered when Y/E/C eyes looked around the room, seeing everybody’s gaze settle on her. Some men’s were so predatory it made her squirm in place. Nat immediately noted how uncomfortable she felt, but the way Bucky’s jaw clenched told her, Y/N would be fine. There was no way in hell, he’d let her out of his sights.    “Made quite the entrance,” she purred in her ear before sauntering away and towards a smirking Tony.    “I need a drink,” Y/N mumbled, Bucky immediately having picked up on the words and leading them towards the bar. “Scratch that- I need like ten.”    “This is a fancy event, Y/N. You really want me to carry you upstairs?”    “Just leave me somewhere on the floor, no real need to do that,” she laughingly retorted as the bartender passed her the gin and tonic.    “No can do. If my best girl gets drunk you can be positive I’ll make sure she gets home safely. Don’t care if it’s two floors up, two blocks away or a two-hour drive.”    Bucky was grinning at the woman right until he realised what he had said.    “I’m your best girl, huh?” there was a smirk on her face, but underneath that, he saw a mix of emotions swirling. It was hard to decipher what exactly was going on in her mind, especially when he thought he saw a flash of happiness gleam through.    “I mean,” the man searched for words, but Y/N stopped his erratic heartbeat with just the touch of her palm on his. Literally, he felt his heart stop, blood freezing in his veins.    “It’s fine. It’s actually kinda… nice… makes me feel special.”    He wanted to reply with a definite ‘you are special’, but kept the words on the tip of his tongue not letting them slip past his lips. He’d already incriminated too much of himself.    “Come, let’s dance,” Bucky downed the rest of his drink and extended his hand for Y/N to grasp.    And she accepted right away. The night trailed on, but there was a moment, right when a more modern song had been put on and the metal-armed super soldier twirled her around, a wide grin splitting his face in half, Y/N found herself dumbfounded as not even for a second had she thought about Steve that evening. Yes, Bucky had said that originally they had gone as friends and she could use it as an opportunity to show his best friend what he was missing out on, but instead, Y/N was immensely enjoying the night by the brunet’s side, the laughter never ceasing. Until her eyes caught the glimpse of Dalia, snuggly sitting in Steve’s lap while his hands trailed up and down her sides. Bucky had gone off to get the pair something to quench their dry throats and Y/N took it as her opportunity to become invisible, slipping out onto the restricted section of the landing pad. Restricted to others, not the Avengers.    She looked at New York, the bright lights making the sky turn an orange hue, not a shimmering star peeking through. Y/N took a deep breath and exhaled, shoulders slumping forward as the girl leaned against the glass panel which allowed her not to fall.    “You disappeared,” Bucky’s low voice invaded the quiet of the balcony. Well, as quiet as you could get in New York. Y/N looked back at the man. He stood by the door aisle, arms crossed while his gaze simply trailed over her figure. It made her shiver and she had to break away from the intensity of his eyes.    “Just needed some air. It gets quite stuffy when there are hundreds of people around.”    Bucky scoffed but masked it as a chuckle. “And it had nothing to do with the fact Steve was being all lovey-dovey with Dalia?”    Y/N stuck her tongue out but it was a halfhearted attempt to hide her true reason for ditching the party. A silence settled over the pair, Bucky having walked over to the railing, leaning against it on his elbows, but he kept a little bit of a distance. After all, they had come as friends, even though he wished nothing more to warp the girl in his embrace any time he craved and to have her respond the same way.    “Am I a fool?” Y/N’s voice was soft as the words passed her lips.    “Why would you think that way?”    “For pining after somebody who clearly isn’t even remotely interested in me, hoping that maybe they’d notice even though it breaks my heart every time they don’t?”    Bucky wanted to laugh how perfectly her words described his own situation, but the way his heart clenched was a reminder, that he was also helplessly in love with a girl whose heart belonged to someone else.    “I think you can’t control your feelings,” with a sad look he flitted his gaze over at the girl who kept on peering into the night sky. “You didn’t mean to fall for him. I think you can choose your friends, you can choose your family, but the one thing that is out of everybody’s hands is who you love. That’s the hearts and only her decision.”    Y/N finally turned her head to face Bucky. “When did you become so wise?”    “Maybe I’ve always been that way.”    Their eyes locked, piercing blue with her sparkling Y/E/C ones. Unconsciously the pair had started to lean in, bodies moving on their own accord, two magnets having found their opposite. It was when their noses brushed against one another Y/N noted she was barely breathing and took a shuddering breath, yet still not fully snapping out of the trance.    A gentle palm, rugged but the touch utmost caring, cupped the girl’s cheek as Bucky searched for any sign that she didn’t want this, and when the super soldier found none, he softly pressed their lips together. Y/N melted against him, her fingers weaving through his hair pulling and tugging in places making him groan into her mouth. The response he got was an even harder kiss as she seemed eager to hear the sound again.    The cold winds whipped around them, but both felt hot like a forest fire was raging through their veins. Bucky’s grip on her hips was bruising, and she knew there would be marks left for her to find the next day, but somehow, Y/N cared about nothing but the feel of him against her body.    But the kiss was over almost as quickly as it came to be. The two completely and utterly shocked about what had happened. When Bucky opened his mouth to say something, a loud noise from behind startled the pair, their heads whipping around to see Tony.    “Sorry to interrupt whatever this is,” he pointed between the two, “but Y/N we need you on a mission. ASAP. Like right this second. There’s a jet ready and you have to go. Sorry.”    The look on the billionaire's face was serious, so with one last glance at the brunet soldier, the woman picked up the front of her gown and rushed off leaving Bucky cold and alone on the balcony.

***

   The morning after the gala, Bucky was in a weird mood. He’d kissed Y/N, he’d kissed the woman he’d been in love with for almost half a decade and she had reciprocated. The man’s knees had almost bucked when her fingers had woven through his hair, tugging in places, as if she needed to be closer to him. But then that stupid mission had come up, Stark having burst onto the scene a second after they had pulled away and made Y/N step onto a jet to who knows where.    Entering the kitchen blue orbs saw his best friend, yet the girl who was always by his side was nowhere to be seen.    “Where’s Dalia?” Bucky asked, not seeing the blonde by the counter as she usually shared her morning coffee with Steve.    The Captain deeply exhaled before replying. “We broke up.”    Bucky almost choked on the piece of bacon he had snatched from the pan. “What? Why?”    “Remember that gala, the one Tony threw two weeks ago?”    Bucky nodded, mind carefully selecting the emotions he was going to show. He hadn’t been able to talk to the girl how greatly the kiss had affected him, nor was he able to ask if what he had felt was real. If that had been the champagne in her system or was he delusional thinking that emotions were involved.    “She said I spent too much time eyeing Y/N. Threw a fit in the cab. Said I was obviously involved with someone else since I couldn’t keep my face together when I saw her. I'm a shit liar apparently.”    Blood rushed to Bucky’s head as the jealousy made him see red. But he pushed it down. This is what Y/N would want. He had suggested the idea, but now it might have worked and she could get what she wanted.    “Were you though?” he questioned further, scraping the eggs along the pan. “Paying more attention to Y/N than her?”    “I mean you can’t deny she looked stunning. No one had seen her so dressed up and I guess, inadvertently I did. She’s a beautiful girl, without a doubt, but that laugh… she reminded me so much of Peggy, so much of that confidence she exuded and the strength…”    The brunet hummed, mind reeling with the newfound information. He was desperate to talk to Y/N, but she was away on a mission. The girl was supposed to get back sometime that day, but every minute was almost agonising. Most importantly- she’d find out Steve was single and Bucky was afraid that the kiss they had shared had been his only chance. And he had blown it.

***

   Bucky was fidgety throughout the entire movie. And it was four hours long. When FRIDAY finally turned on the lights and people started to drag themselves to their respective rooms it was like he could take a breath. The fact that it was already past midnight and Y/N had not given a single message of her progress was nagging at Bucky, but the rest seemed calm, so he just sat tight and waited.    Also, having lost a bet to Sam who could make Steve more annoyed, he was stuck on dish-duty, but it was a good thing. His mind was able to worry about Y/N without any other distraction apart from the racing of his heart any thought of the woman induced.    The soft sound of the elevator hissing open took away Bucky’s attention. Looking over his shoulder he expected it to be Nat or even Sam, having forgotten something or just needing another cup of coffee, but instead, a tired looking Y/N exited.    His face visibly lit up as she stalked towards him, the duffle bag hitting the floor with an audible thud.    “Hey…” Bucky’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s body, the touch careful afraid she might have gotten hurt during the mission, but with how much strength she put in her own muscles, to tighten her grip around his neck, it seemed to him she was quite alright.    “Hi…” her reply was breathless, the feeling of safety and content weaving its way into her body. “Why are you still awake?” Y/N asked, concern making her forehead crease. “Did you have another nightmare?”    “No,” Bucky shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “We just finished movie night and I was left to do the dishes.”    “I thought it was Sam’s week.”    “Yeah, well… I lost a bet, so…”    Y/N snorted making her way to the kitchen and taking a glass, filling it up with water and chugging it in a span of three seconds.    “How was the mission?” Bucky asked, blue eyes looking at the girl, as she went over to the fridge and fumbled for some food. He saw her shrug in response.    “Fine. Took a bad hit while escaping, but nothing that Tony’s nanotech couldn’t fix on the way over. How are you?”    “I- I’m good. Was worried about you. When Stark sprung it on like that, it must’ve been a really tough one….” he trailed off. “I really th-“ but Bucky was cut off mid-sentence as FRIDAY’s female voice butted in.    “Your ship’s log has been processed and it turns out you haven’t slept in two days, Miss Y/L/N.”    Y/N bit her lip as to not snort at the motherly tone of the A.I. and at Bucky’s disappointed face.    “Bed, doll,” he said. “Now.”    With a roll of her eyes, the girl stood up from her stool and slung her duffle bag over her shoulder.    “Night, Buck.”    He let the blue gaze trail after her until Y/N’s form disappeared behind the corner.    “Night, doll."

***

   Even though Y/N was home safe and sound a different kind of worry ate at the super soldier. He had to be the one to break the news of Steves split. Yes, it was his best friend’s relationship, but the brunet was fairly certain that the girl would like to know from her co-conspirator. So when she hadn’t shown up for breakfast in the morning, nor lunch, nor dinner he decided to wake up his crush with a meal in bed the next day.    “Morning, doll,” Bucky mumbled pushing a strand of hair out of Y/N’s face after he had lightly tiptoed into her room and closed the door with an inaudible click.    A prominent groan escaped her throat and she opened one eye. “What time is it?”    “Seven.”    “Seven? Yeah, no, I don’t deal with single digit numbers, goodnight.”    “Love, you’ve been asleep for twenty-nine hours. You gotta eat something.”    “I’ll eat when I’m dead.”    A snort escaped the super soldier when he heard Y/N’s grumbled response, but none the less he persisted.    “Isn’t it ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead’? Doll, come on. Breakfast’s ready.”    Finally, with a deeply dissatisfied look on her face and a groan, she turned around in her cocoon of blankets. Only her face was visible, nose sniffing the air as the sweet scent of pancakes and raspberry jam enter her nostrils, accompanied by the bitterness of freshly brewed coffee. Despite her efforts to look pissed at Bucky for waking her up, Y/N’s features softened and she gave him a small smile. And by the growling of her stomach, it seemed to agree with the hundred-year-old man.    His laughter was deep and seeped into Y/N’s bones as she untangled herself from the white bedsheets and sat up, comfort overtaking the room. Bucky took the tray he had set on her nightstand and placed in the girl’s lap.    “Okay, you and Steve might be super soldiers, but I’m not. I can’t eat this much.”    The man wiggled his brows in response as he revealed another fork hiding underneath the napkins. “Good thing I’m here then.”    Together they sat against the headboard of Y/N’s bed and ate. The clinking of utensils and hums of content were the only sounds in her room for a good while. She felt safe with Bucky, that was a prominent thing the girl noted. She felt like there was no need to pretend or hide what she truly thought. And he was definitely a sight for sore eyes.    Y/E/C orbs peeked at his face, while he concentrated on the taste of coffee. He’d brushed the hair away, this time without any products, longer strands still slipping into his eyes, yet the chiselled jaw was now covered in a stubble instead of being smoothly shaven. He looked gorgeous and Y/N’s heart suddenly started to thud a bit faster.    “Steve broke up with Dalia,” the words were uttered quietly, and in an instant, a tense silence settled over the two people.    “What? When?” that took the girl out of the moment.    Bucky sighed, intertwining his fingers, the metal rubbing across his other thumb. “Right after the party. Apparently, she didn’t like the fact he had been paying too much attention to you that night.”    It was out there, and he couldn’t take it back. The sound of a heart shattering is silent, but Bucky felt like his created the same amount of noise as an explosion would, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound in its wake. He was terrified to look away from his clasped hands, to see the happiness and glee written all over Y/N’s features when he was doomed to be alone for the rest of his life. Yet when he did glance upwards her shocked, but mostly blank face made Bucky frown.    “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he questioned, feeling his heart clench.    “I- yeah, but I- I never wanted to be the reason they broke up, not like this. But now...”    She looked to the side at Bucky, eyes immediately falling to his lips. The man’s breath hitched seeing it settle there.    “Now?”    “Now I don’t think I wanted them to break up at all,” she finally flitted her gaze back to his orbs, holding it for a few seconds, but Y/N couldn’t find the words so instead she leaned over, pulling their mouths together and straddling his lap. Instantly Bucky melted against her, arms securing her back and feeling bold he gripped her butt, giving it a squeeze. She moaned into his mouth before pulling away.        “Because of that.”    Blue eyes, wonder, disbelief and awe shining through them kept looking into Y/N’s Y/E/C ones.    “Please, tell me you really want this, that you want me,” Bucky’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t take it if your heart isn’t truly in it.”    Vigorously she shook her head, pressing their foreheads together, fingers weaving through the dark-haired man’s long lock.    “I- I don’t want Steve. I,” Y/N huffed searching for the right words. “I guess I always felt a certain way towards him because he was the first person to ever look at me like I belonged here. Like an equal. And I fixated onto that. I was scared that nobody else would see me, see that I had value. I don’t have amazing powers, just my brain, maybe a little brawl… that’s it…  But that night at the gala. I- you were the only one I could think of. Steve didn’t enter my mind once. I was so happy with you. And when you kissed me I couldn’t help but wish it was because you wanted to do that, not because you felt obliged to help me out with that ‘make him jealous’ thing.”    Y/N kept her gaze onto Bucky whose palms had settled onto her hips, her plain shirt having ridden up, allowing the man to trace invisible patterns with his thumbs onto the exposed skin.    “I’ve had some time to think about everything. Being away for the two weeks was actually a good thing because it made me reevaluate my life and what I want.”    “And what do you want?” Bucky asked, tightening his hold, afraid she’d slip out of his arms like smoke into the air. He didn't get the answer he expected but certainly wished for.    The kiss was filled with passion, frustration, feelings of inadequacy and most importantly love. As their lips moved together, a dance they slowly became experts in, Bucky had lifted her shirt over her head and settled his hands onto her hips, grinding up his crotch, to her core. A strangled moan made its way into his mouth and the man ate it up like it was a five-course meal, begging for more.    Bucky’s mind had been so preoccupied with the feel of Y/N’s hot skin moving against his, her laboured breathing and the delicious sounds her throat made, only now did he note the tightness in his pants that was becoming very uncomfortable. To get some sort of friction he rolled his hips again and Y/N detached her lips, throwing her head back in pleasure. Blue eyes watched in awe as the girl relished in the sensations overtaking her body.    “I love you, doll. Let me make you feel good,” he licked up a long stripe from the hollow of her neck to her ear. “Let me make you swim between the stars.”    Y/N let out a high-pitched whine and sighed his name, making his erection painfully twitch in its confinement. It wasn’t too gentlemanly of Bucky to groan in her ear and whisper profanities, but he just needed to feel her, needed to have her wrapped around him in every possible way, that the manners he’d possessed during the forties completely evaporated. Of course, if there was even a whisper of how she didn’t want to continue he’d stop on the spot, but her soft nips at his collarbone told him otherwise.    “You’re wearing too many clothes, Buck,” her words came out growl-like and the man couldn’t help the excitement that rushed through him.    “Then I guess you gotta remedy that.”    Y/E/C eyes narrowed in on him and she bit the corner of her lip. “Fine,” Y/N said right before her fingers grasped onto the collar of his shirt and ripped it clean down the middle.    “Fuck,” was the only word Bucky managed to rake his brains for, his already lust-blown pupils dilating so much there was no visible trace of the blue they usually sported. He left a trail of sloppy kisses down Y/N’s shoulder, over her collarbone and settled himself in the valley of her breasts while she desperately tried to rid him of the torn piece of fabric.    When his arms were finally free, completely able to envelop her in his touch, the cold metal sent a shiver up her spine while his hot skin soothed the unexpected sensation. Their kisses didn’t stop, mouths separating for a second to pull some oxygen into their lungs before resuming the breathless dance.    Bucky grasped onto her duvet and flung it out of the way, the soft cover making it harder for the man to follow Y/N as she made her way up the bed to lean against her plush pillows. Trembling arms pressed right next to her head, desperately trying to keep the man from crushing her, but it seemed like the wrong thing to do.    A harsh yank against the nape of his neck and Bucky was fully pressed to Y/N, her legs locking around the man’s hips.    “You keep doing that and well have an unfortunate situation here,” he warned when the girl ground up against him, her heat needing some friction, some sort of release.    “If I don’t keep doing that I’ll have an unfortunate situation where I have to finish things myself."    “Impatient are we?” Bucky mumbled before starting his assault on her breasts. He sucked and bit at the mounds, Y/N’s back arching up in pleasure while nimble fingers made quick work of her sleep shorts a palm slipping between her thighs.    “You are soaked,” they were words of admiration and pride- he’d gotten her to this point. It was his doing, how her body was writhing underneath his, searching for ecstasy. She let a guttural sound into the air as two long fingers rubbed around at her entrance before sliding in without any problems, her arousal making everything almost effortless.    Bucky set a slow pace, allowing Y/N to feel every push and pull, every curl of his fingertips and the flicks of his thumb against her clit. Her face was adorned by a blissful smile as she continuously whispered his name.    He worked her like that for quite a few minutes, before a sudden change in pace. With lips still attached to one of her nipples, Bucky pushed another finger into her. Y/N’s eyes sprung open before rolling to the back of her head, palms grasping at his hair which he took as a sign- the harsher the tug, the closer she was. But the soldier hadn’t found what he was looking for.    “Where is it,” he mainly muttered to himself, but the girl looked over at him, concern flashing over her features. She was just about to ask what was wrong when all the air was punched out of her, a wicked grin settling on Bucky’s face at her reaction.    “That’s the spot? Right there? Feels good, sweetheart?” Y/N’s only answer was a moan, the coil in her abdomen tightening and tightening until there was nothing left and she had to let go. Her nails dug deeply into his shoulders, some places breaking the skin, but Bucky was relentless, helping her through the orgasm and then some as her legs shook. Gentle palms soothed her outer thighs and he left a kiss everywhere a love bite sat on her chest before connecting their lips.    A hand settled on Bucky’s hip, tugging down his sweats and the boxers underneath.    “Insatiable woman,” he muttered into her mouth before dropping the annoying clothes on the ground, both people completely naked now. A groan of relief rolled off of the man’s tongue as his rock hard member was no longer constricted and instead it slapped against his abdomen.    “One word and we stop,” Y/N’s voice had a hint of innocence like she wasn’t the devil incarnate and Bucky had to slap her thigh in response. She pointed a finger at him, mouth pursed in a tight line    “Behave, you caveman,” but amusement shone through as he rolled his eyes and leaned down, pressing his forehead tightly to hers.    “Ready doll?” it was whispered with trembling lips as Bucky coated himself in her slick, the warm feel already too much to handle. He slid a few more times up and down, nudging his tip against her clit before lining up and entering Y/N. Never had he used as much strength in his life as Bucky did holding himself off from exploding.    She was tight, so unbelievably tight, squeezing and pulsing all around, the only thing he could see was white. Her voice brought him back, pleading for him to move, to do something as she desperately tried to move her hips.    A primal instinct kicked in as Bucky thrust down, completely bottoming out and going back up barely leaving his tip in before slamming again. Y/N was a mess underneath him and the ex-assassin was in love with the sight, with the breathless moans and needy whispers of his name, with the feel of how perfectly she fit around him, hugging every pulsing vein and ridge, but most importantly with her.    It didn’t take long to bring Y/N to the edge once more and Bucky was glad because there was no way he’d be able to keep things together for much longer.    “Cum, doll. Come on, I got you,” he murmured in the girl’s neck before leaning up and biting her earlobe, pulling the skin between his teeth. “You’re being so good to me. Come on, sweetheart.”    She was whimpering uncontrollably and with two more thrusts from Bucky, she shattered. It was everything and nothing all at once. Y/N’s fingers dug deep into his back, scratching, trying to find purchase all the while not feeling a thing. Her spine arched all the way up, their chests pressed together so tightly not an ant could crawl between them, sweat covered skin gleaming in the morning light.    Nothing but pleasure existed. Bucky had promised to make her swim between the stars, yet he had not expected to practically lose consciousness himself. With his mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut he emptied himself inside of the girl. It took every muscle, every ounce of brainpower he had left to not just drop dead on her, the super soldier ’s body completely and utterly wrecked.    Y/N spasmed under him, face hidden in the crook of his neck, trying to regain some sort of control and composure, but when Bucky weakly pulled out, collapsing by her side and instantly dragging her to his chest, she relented, drifting off to sleep in an instant. He chuckled, hearing the soft snores she’d been emitting only an hour ago, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling how his heart slowed down to match the beat of her.    He was hopelessly in love. And right before Y/N slipped under, body blissfully exhausted, the girl realised- so was she.

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A/N: I’m so mad at Article 13!!!!! Like seriously- as a person living in the EU this is not copyright law- this is blatantly taking away creative freedom from people who base their work on already existing materials- fanart, fanfic, covers etc. It’s insane people actually think this will do good. Fuck all of those assholes who voted yes.

P.S. please tell me what you think :)

P.S.S. if you wanna be tagged in future stories or have any requests, drop a message :)

P.S.S.S. please don’t repost without credit :)

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Secret Identity

I one hundred percent blame this on @magellan-88 for sticking the thought in my head. I’m sure it was you, but if it wasn’t you’ve plot bunnied me with things before so take the blame. Then I watched Ghostbusters, and this happened. Edit: it was @mywildestdreamings fault, though I'm still pretty sure Maggie had something to do with it.

“So you just work there, in a pair of eyeglasses and a different hairdo and no one has figured out you’re Superman?”

Clark shook his head. “People believe what they want to believe. They can’t imagine the mild-mannered, slightly stuttering, occasional fraidy cat Clark Kent is Superman.”

“That’s incredible.” Thor crossed his arms and peered out over the city of New York. “People truly don’t see it?”

“Sometimes they look at you funny, but the human mind is very good at dismissing things that don’t make sense.”

Thor turned to the other floating superhero who’d been passing through on his way back to Metropolis and held out his hand. Clark gripped his forearm tightly, and Thor returned the gesture. “Thank you, my friend. Fair thee well in your city.”

“And yours, Thor of Asgard. It is... nice to know I am not the only alien on Earth any longer. But keep that brother of yours out of trouble for a while?”

“I make no promises,” Thor chuckled as Clark flew away. He hung there thoughtfully for some time, thinking about secret identities. What would he need to do to fool the public into thinking he wasn’t himself?

“I’d need a new name.” He stroked his beard and frowned. “And a shave.” His hair was already cut shorter than the people were used too. “Yes,” he smiled. “I can do this.”

***

The other’s had all laughed at him when he said he was going to develop a secret identity, but he wasn’t deterred. He was so undeterred he was standing outside the round door of the shop above the Chinese food place. From the smell, he wasn’t certain he would ever want to eat there.

He adjusted his glasses, accidentally sticking his finger in his eye. Sure he didn’t have to clean the darn things anymore - how did Clark put up with them - but he kept poking himself without the barrier of the lenses. He also felt ridiculously underdressed. The purple shirt and maroon tie were one thing, but the uncomfortably tight jeans with the rolled up cuff and the shoes Tony had call “loafers” were another. Then there were the green coat and the “man bag,” but he let those go, figuring it would help throw people further off the scent.

He wasn’t Thor anymore. Now he was Kevin.

He gave the wood frame a tentative knock. It looked not at all sturdy. The woman with the reddish brown hair looked up, and Thor smiled as he walked in the door. “Hey, uh, I’m here about the receptionist job?” That was a simple position, right? He couldn’t possibly get in too much trouble, and to make sure no one recognized him, he deepened his accent.

Natasha had snorted and commented that he sounded Australian, whatever that meant, so he'd thought it successful.

She turned flustered. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Now he was flustered.

The blond with the yellow glasses murmured, “Is this a big ol' robot,” while grinning at her colleague.

The first woman made an odd sound. “What?”

He shifted uncomfortably but forged ahead. Was the woman daft? “The receptionist job, um. It was in the paper here.”

“You’re hired!” she said and laughed, still flustered.

He grinned a little, realizing she was attracted to him in his secret identity. Was that common? He hadn’t thought to ask Clark if he had that problem. But then Thor was the God of Fertility. Sex appeal just... happened.

Another woman walked in, shorter, darker, wearing a pair of glasses not at all dissimilar to his own, right past him as if he wasn’t there and joined the first woman. “Okay, hey. God, you’re all sweaty. I think I got it. If there’s something strange in- ow,” she huffed when the first woman jabbed the brunette in the side and motioned toward him. “Oh. Kevin, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Abby. We spoke on the phone,” she smiled and held out her hand.

“We did.” Thor smiled back and relaxed a little, shaking it before adjusting the strap on his annoying bag. At least one of them seemed to have a brain.

“Hello there. Okay.” She turned back to the first woman.

“Kevin, oh. That’s a manly name. My name’s Erin, with an E, for everything you want.”

Odin’s beard... What was he getting himself into?

“Okay,” Abby said, clearly dismissing her weird friend. “Well, we should probably, probably get started. Erin.” She motioned her friend over. “Erin, do you want to join us?”

“Yes,” Erin sighed. “Erin... I’ve got some questions.”

He could practically hear her panties melt. Thor tried not to sigh in exasperation as he followed Abby, and was followed by Erin and the blonde to a table. This could be a very long day. Shrugging out of his coat, Thor placed it on the back of his chair with his bag and sat facing the three women.

Abby flipped open a notebook. “Okay, here we go, let me just get to my notes, um, okay. First off I just want to say-”

“You know,” Erin interrupted, “we should probably start with a very important question that we’re asking all of the applicants, um, you know, are you seeing anyone, uh, right now?” she smiled oddly.

Abby cleared her throat and made as if she were pushing up her glasses but really elbowed Erin in the shoulder.

“Um, seeing anyone?” Had the woman no grasp on how to be subtle in her inquiries?

“Yeah, just for business purposes,” Erin murmured.

“Business purposes only,” Abby muttered.

He decided now was a good time to play dumb and gestured at the ladies. “I’m seeing all three of you in front of me.”

Abby laughed and raised her hands. “Just forget she even asked. If she did, that would be illegal.”

He liked this one. Loyal, but not inebriated by her base instincts. “So forgotten.”

The blonde shifted to lean across the table. “Uh, Jillian Holtzman Radio Times. Uh, what have you been doing with your whole life?”

“That’s a great question,” Erin agreed, her hand lifting to stroke a finger along her jaw.

Abby appeared utterly exasperated.

“Oh, well, um lots of different jobs, um,” he reached up and scratched the corner of his eye, forgetting about his lens-free glasses. “I did the,” he held up finger quotes, “actor thing, uh, works alright.” He adjusted the frames.

Abby made a T sign with her hands, which, thankfully, Thor new from the many times Tony had made the same gesture. “Just real quick, um, can I ask why no, no glass?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Shit! “They just kept getting dirty, so I took them out. Don’t have to clean them anymore.” He fiddled with them a little and tucked them back on his face.

“I gotta try that in mine,” Abby murmured, but he could tell she thought he was a blithering idiot.

Well, if he were going to be labelled pretty and stupid, he would play pretty and stupid. “Would it be okay if I bring my cat to work sometimes? He has major anxiety problems.”

“You know what?” Abby twisted her fingers together, appearing apologetic. “I would love to let your cat live here with you, but I have a pretty severe cat allergy.”

Time to go for broke. He fought to keep his face serious. “Oh, I don’t have a cat. It’s a dog. His name is my cat.”

Both Abby and Erin looked at him in confusion, while Jullian seemed highly amused. “Your dog’s name is my cat?” Abby clarified.

Thor smiled a little. “Mike Hat.”

“Your dog’s name is Mike, last name Hat?” Erin asked.

He could see some of the attraction fading right before his eyes. Loki would be in stitches if he were here. It was a trick worthy of his brother. “His full name is Michael Hat.”

Abby made a small gesture with her hands, clearly a little confused and uncertain how to deal with him. “I can’t say that I’m allergic to dogs so...”

Thor shrugged and looked down at the table. “Yeah, that’s alright. He lives with my mum.”

“Well, then we have that figured out.” Abby and Erin looked back down at the notebook. “One down, no cat.” Thor chewed on his bottom lip, finding this far more amusing than he should. “But you know what, I say let’s jump ahead, ah, Kevin,” Abby pointed with both hands at him while looking between her two co-workers,” dabbles in web design, and I asked him to throw together maybe a couple of logos for us.”

“You wanna...?” he asked. Peter had given him a crash course in the art of design, and he thought he’d done alright on their primitive Midgardian technology.

“This is your moment,” Abby said. “Pull it out.”

“Ooh,” Erin murmured only for Abby to throw her a glare.

“You’re like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Abby hissed at her.

Thor fought off another snicker as he opened the laptop and turned it toward them.

“Here we go, okay.”  Abby leaned closer.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “What do you think of that?”

The female ghost had enormous breasts, as seemed to be the way with all Midgardian feminine media design. He wasn’t quite sure what these ladies did, but it had something to do with ghosts, and as they were female, he thought they would appreciate his effort.

“Oh.” Erin looked shocked.  Abby looked impressed but speechless. “Yeah. You do see how this might make us look bad, right?” Erin asked, her face contorting into a grimace.

“Uh... is it the boobs you don’t like? Cuz I can make them bigger,” he offered.

“I can see them, yeah,” Erin murmured.

Jillian’s expression morphed to mirror the other two women. “Ghost tits was my nickname in middle school.”

“Is that right?” He smiled and nodded. It was always good to humour the crazy ones.

“I can definitely see them. You know what I think?” Abby held up her hands. Thor noted she spoke with them quite a lot. “It’s not always about the end result; it's about the journey.”

“Well, uh what about this?” He gave the screen a click, bringing up the next image.

“Oh, ahh,” Erin pointed at the screen. “I think that... I think that that’s already a thing.”

He bent to look at the screen. “What? Seven one one?”

Abby’s teeth were slightly gritted. “It’s seven eleven.”

“Oh, well, I’ve got other options.” He clicked through to the next picture.

“Please,” Abby muttered.

“Haha! That’s one is my favourite.” He grinned broadly.

“Uh, I think you might have made a mistake, I don’t think that one’s for us,” Erin said.

“Oh, no. That’s for you.” He really was beginning to think this one had very little brain. “You know, I just thought that the floating hot dog implies that the ghost is holding it.” He lifted his hands in a demonstration.

“Ah,” Abby sighed, bringing her linked fingers to her chin. “Your work is more cerebral than I expected.”

“I still have so many questions about that choice,” Jillian added. “The first one is why a hot dog?”

Thor gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. I just like ‘em.”

Abby huffed a little gasp of surprise.

“Both food groups, all in one.” He held up one hand and then the other. “Dogs and buns.”

All three women looked at him with smiles and nods. Clearly, he was making a positive impression.

“Um, those are great,” Erin nodded. “We‘re actually going to, um, discuss everything just for a second so could you,” she pointed toward the corner, “go stand over there? We just need to talk for a moment.”

“Sure.” He smiled and pushed to his feet, wandering toward the fish tank.

“Don’t listen,” Erin laughed strangely.

“I won’t.” He covered his eyes just to drive home his less than smart persona, then went and messed around with the counter and the fish tank. Yes, he could listen if he chose to, but it felt wrong to do so as Kevin, so he patiently waited for their verdict.

He wondered why there was a phone in the fish tank. “You know an aquarium is a submarine for fish,” he said offhandedly when he caught them all staring at him. Then wandered over to where a gong hung on a stand.

The mallet was right there. He’d never been one to pass up the opportunity to swing a hammer and smacked the gong. When it rang loudly, he quickly covered his eyes again, sticking two fingers from each hand through the frames of his glasses. “God that’s loud, huh?”

“That’s loud,” both Abby and Erin agreed.

“Kevin?” He looked up to find Abby smiling at him. “You’ve got the job.”

“Welcome aboard!” Erin added.

“Cool! Can I bring my suitcases up?”

“Yup, you sure can,” Abby nodded.

Great.” Thor headed out the door, wondering if it was common on Midgard to live where you worked. Jane had. The Avengers did. And now here with the strange science ladies.

Least he’d packed a few suitcases just to be safe.

***

And that’s how Thor ended up the receptionist for the Ghostbusters. Though I guarantee Roland wouldn't have possessed him.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

I Know This Game | Eight

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader 

Summary: In which you and Bucky sit down to have the conversation you’ve been needing to have for a while.

Warnings: Language, brief mention of vomiting, sad!Bucky, mentions of sex

Notes: FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS. It’s an angsty ride to the end, it is. Fic inspired by ‘Eyes Closed’ by Halsey.

IKTG Masterlist

You’re absolutely floored. Completely speechless. You’re half-tempted to pinch yourself, to check if this is another cruel dream concocted by your overworked mind. Of all the people to run into right now, the universe just had to give you James Bu-fucking-chanan Barnes. Whoop-de-doo, your good luck never ends.

The silence seems to drag on forever. In the end, it’s Bucky who makes the first move.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks tentatively, as if worried that you’re some sort of apparition, or something. He takes a step towards you, expression very much like a deer caught in the headlights, hands outstretched in a non-defensive gesture. “Wha—what’re you doing here?”

You cross your arms over your chest and arch one eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing, Bucky,” you reply coolly.

Bucky winces at your tone, painfully aware of the fact that the two of you are probably not the best of friends, right now. He chooses his next words with caution, not wanting to aggravate you further, because he’s not exactly sure what kind of mood you’re in. 

“Well, I—I couldn’t sleep,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “So I decided to go for a walk. And…I guess this is where I ended up,”. Bucky stretches out his arms and gestures around the park. He exhales nervously, “I hadn’t realised that I got so far from the compound,” Bucky admits, a timid smile playing on his lips.

You purse your lips, but otherwise don’t give him any indication of what you’re feeling. Truth be told, you’re still in shock — you cannot believe that Bucky Barnes is standing in front of you, in the flesh. Once you’ve got over most of your initial surprise, you force your jaw to work, your lips to shape the words. “I couldn’t sleep, either, actually,” you tell him, “I was—I kinda wanted to talk to you. Wanna go grab some coffee?”

Bucky looks at you like you’ve just spoken to him in Ancient Greek. If his eyes weren’t wide and filled with wonder before, they certainly are now. He blinks a couple of times, as if to shake himself out of his stupor. “I—y-yeah!” he stutters, “Yeah, yeah that’d be great! How—where d’you—I mean—,”.

“There’s a 24/7 diner around the corner,” you interrupt, gracefully swooping in to save him from making a fool of himself. Bucky flashes you another one of those timid smiles, and, though it is a mere ghost of what his really happy one looks like, it manages to melt your heart a little all the same.

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky murmurs, motioning for you to walk ahead, “That’ll be real nice. You lead the way,”.

The two of you walk side by side, in a surprisingly not awkward silence. You catch yourself sneaking glances at Bucky out of the corner of your eye when you think he isn’t looking. It’s still pretty dark out, so you can’t make out his features very well, but you manage to catch a brief glimpse every now and then, when the pair of you pass under a streetlight. You swear that his face looks more gaunt than it used to. The stubble on his jaw is scruffier and thicker, which actually tells you a lot about Bucky’s state of mind.

When you were dating him, you used to use the amount of facial hair he had as a sort of ‘mood gauge’. The longer he voluntarily went without shaving, the worse of a mental state he was in. Bucky had a tendency to neglect his self-care when he retreated from the world. Your makeshift meter had always proven to be pretty darn accurate.

When you arrive at the diner, Bucky — like the 40’s gentleman he is — holds the door open for you. It’s a cozy little place, if a little dingy looking. You know that the owner, Scott, is trying to save up some money to spruce the place up, but for now, customers have to put up with the faded tiles, suspiciously-stained seats and faintly musty odour. At least the food is decent enough to make up for the decor. The only other patron in the place tonight is a woman wearing neon pink earphones and reading a newspaper in the corner booth at the back, a mug of coffee in front of her.

Scott waves at you from behind the counter, where he is currently drying glasses with a tea towel. “Y/N!” he calls, “Nice of you to stop by!”

“Heya Scott,” you greet, shooting him a smile, “Business a little slow, tonight eh?”

He shrugs as if to say, nothing new there. “Not much I can do about it, can I?” Scott says, “Go ahead, sit wherever you want, I’ll get you some menus in a minute, yeah?”

Beside you, you can sense Bucky agitatedly shifting his weight from foot to foot as his eyes dart around the room. You know how antsy he gets when he goes to unfamiliar places, so you put your hand on his forearm to calm him down. Bucky startles at your touch, but his expression soon softens when he realises what you’re doing.

“Where d’you wanna sit?” you murmur, knowing it’ll give him a peace of mind if he gets to decide.

Bucky goes for the table you thought he might pick; near the front, so that the two of you have some distance between Scott and Newspaper Lady, and right next to a window, so he can keep a watch outside. He chooses to take the seat facing the door and you sink into the chair opposite him. Scott comes over and hands the two of you your menus.

Now that you’re inside the diner, you realise how famished you are. The hunger pains have been gnawing on your stomach for a while, now — ever since you threw up what little food you had inside you after that nightmare — but your body must have tuned out the signals, as your mind was preoccupied with other things. Nearly everything on the menu looks enticing. Your stomach lets out an impatient growl.

Bucky is flicking through the menu, a mildly alarmed look on his face. Extensive options can still make him feel anxious, as his brain gets easily overwhelmed by all the prospects. “If you want something filling, I’d go with the fluffy pancakes, maybe with sausages on the side,” you say gently.

He looks up at you through his lashes, a grateful smile lightening his features. “Yeah? What’re you getting, doll?” he asks.

“What I always get. Chocolate chip pancakes and a coffee,” you reply smoothly.

Bucky snorts in amusement. “You and the fucking chocolate chips,” he mutters.

You wag your index finger at him and narrow your eyes in mock anger. “Don’t you dare insult my chocolate chips, Barnes,” you growl quietly. Bucky’s eyes widen in terror and for a minute, he looks like he might actually fall for it, so you waggle eyebrows playfully to put him at ease and he actually chuckles.

“Okay, okay, chill out,” Bucky says, holding his hands up in surrender, “I know better than to get in the way of you and them,”.

“Good,”.

This is what you miss, you realise. The easy back-and-forth between you two, the amiable banter, the friendly insults, the ability to make a conversation about literally anything last for hours and hours. Despite having not talked to each other in over half a year, not to mention the fact that you parted on less than amiable terms, you fall back into your old routine with surprising ease, as if nothing had ever happened.

When Scott comes by to take your order, Bucky goes with your suggestion and gets the fluffy pancakes with a double helping of sausages. He takes his cap off after Scott leaves, setting it on the table beside him, before raking his gloved metal fingers through his hair.

“You been eating okay, Buck?” you ask softly.

He freezes and looks at you guiltily, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “No, guess I haven’t,” he mutters embarrassedly. A part of you wants to lean over and hug him, maybe shake him around and mother him incessantly, demand that he takes better care of himself. Instead, you settle on scowling in disapproval.

With an apologetic shrug, Bucky goes back to fixing his hat hair. He’s grown his dark locks out since you last saw him; they almost reach his shoulders now. Huffing impatiently, he pulls a simple black hair band from his wrist and pulls his uncooperative hair back into a low, messy bun. You have to smother down a smile at how frickin’ innocent it makes him look.

Under the bright yellow glow of the overhead fluorescent lights, you’re able to study him better. Bucky’s hair is not just longer, but also scragglier and somewhat…greasy? Like he hasn’t washed it properly in a while. Bucky’s face is indeed more haggard, the eyes sunken in and ringed in dark circles, those beautiful cheekbones now more prominent. His jaw, as you’d noted earlier, is left unkempt and covered in thick stubble, and even his skin looks more sallow, unhealthier than you’d like it to be. All the evidence of self-neglect leads you to draw two possible conclusions. He’s either a) just come back from a really long mission, during which he had no time to take care of himself or b) really been struggling to cope without you. 

The desperately love-struck fool inside you dearly hopes it’s the second reason.

“So how’re things at the compound?” you ask, hoping that it’s an innocent-enough question to break the ice.

Bucky’s left shoulder hitches in the way you’ve learnt — over countless therapy sessions — to interpret as nothing’s changed much. “Pepper’s brought in this guy, Dr Banner as our new on-site psychiatrist and — well, he’s great, but he ain’t you, y’know?”

You level an unamused glare at him. “Don’t, Bucky. Trying to guilt-trip me won’t make things any better,”.

He grimaces apologetically, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to,” he mutters.

A tense silence passes, the two of you just trying to assess the other person. Bucky is idly picking at the fingernails of his right hand, brow furrowed and jaw tensed. “Doll, I have so many things I gotta tell you,” he says slowly.

The moment he speaks, you feel like a lightbulb suddenly goes off in your head.

“Hold that thought,” you say sharply, holding a hand up to stop him in his tracks. Bucky’s mouth snaps shut and he levels you with a look of mild confusion. You reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone, bringing up the ‘letter’ that you’d written him earlier. You skim over a few of the paragraphs, chewing at your bottom lip as you mull over whether or not you actually want to give this to him. You haven’t even read it all, and it probably won’t make a hell of a lot of sense to him. Besides, there’s a lot for him to take in — what if he gets confused?

Then again, there’s a lot of things you want to say, and most of it’s already been written down.

“Doll?” Bucky asks, breaking you out of your reverie, “What is it?”.

You decide to bite the bullet. With a deep breath, you spin your phone around and hand it over to him. Bucky’s uncertainty only deepens as he accepts it. He frowns as he looks at the screen, “What is this, sugar?”

You swallow nervously and look down at your clasped hands. “So…I told you I couldn’t sleep, right? I—well, I had a lot of things on my mind. So, I decided writing some of it down might help,”. You laugh weakly, and jerk your chin towards your phone, “And that’s what came up, I guess,”.

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise — it seems that you’re giving him a lot of surprises tonight — and his thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating. “So—you want me to read it? All?” he asks, voice slightly incredulous.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “A lot of the things I wanna say is on there, so it’s a good start, right?”

He nods, chewing his bottom lip pensively. “I dunno if I can read it with you here, doll,” Bucky says shyly, a little blush colouring the tops of his cheekbones.

“Oh, right, uh…” you look around the room, wondering what you could do to disappear for a bit and give him some privacy. To be honest, you don’t want to watch him read it, either. “How ‘bout I go to the bathroom for a bit? And I’ll catch up with Scott, too?” you suggest.

Bucky smiles at you gratefully, “Yeah, that’d be great,”.

You get out of your chair and are about to slip past him when Bucky catches hold of your sleeve. “You’re coming back, right?” he asks, a note of desperation in his voice. “I got so much I need to say to you, please don’t leave before I say it all,” he pleads.

Your heart softens at his panicked look and, running completely on instinct, you caress his cheek with the tops of your fingers. “Of course I’m coming back, love,” you murmur, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone, “I won’t be a moment,”.

Almost unthinkingly, he nuzzles his cheek into your touch, eyes fluttering shut on instinct. He turns his face into your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your palm. Immediately though, he freezes and his eyes flash open. Bucky pulls back with a sheepish grin on his face, “Sorry,” he mumbles, “Don’t think we’re there yet,”.

Bucky looks somewhat appalled by his actions, so you give him a small smile to ease his nerves. “I’ll be back in a few,” you tell him, as you turn sharply on your heel and stride to the back of the diner.

You dawdle in the bathroom, trying to waste as much time in there as you possibly can. You’re not entirely sure how long it’ll take him to read everything you’ve written — mostly because you yourself don’t even know how much you wrote — but you imagine he’ll need some time alone to process everything. Once you’re done relieving yourself, you come out of the stall and wash your hands in the sink. When you catch your reflection in the mirror, you let out a soft groan.

To say that you look like shit is probably a euphemism.

It’s very apparent that you’ve had one hell of a day. There are dark bags under your bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes, your hair is a ratty mess and your skin has a sickly pallor to it. You look like you could do with about a thousand years of sleep. With a resigned sigh, you turn on the tap and scoop some water in your hands to wash your face with. The cold water instantly makes you feel more alert. There’s not much you can do about your hair, so you settle on raking your fingers through your locks, trying to tame the stray strands as best as possible.

Scott is busy mopping behind the counter when you go back outside. You glance over at Bucky and try to gauge how he’s doing. His shoulders are hunched over and his head is bowed, both elbows on the table. Apart from that, there’s no aspect of his body language that suggests that something is wrong, so you just leave him to it. You prop an elbow on top of the counter, chin resting in your palm.

“So Scott,” you drawl. He glances up from his cleaning and flashes you a tired smile.

“‘’Sup, Y/N?” he returns, straightening up and wiping the sweat from his brow. Scott balances his mop in the bucket, then comes over to talk to you.

“You’re not cooking tonight?”

Scott grins at you, like he’s got some sort of secret. “I got me a new cook,” he says proudly.

“Really? That’s great!”. You hold your hand up for him to high-five. The search for a new cook for his diner has been going on for several months now, and you knew that Scott had just about lost all hope. “So who’s the lucky person?” you ask excitedly.

Scott glances over his shoulder, as if to make sure that no one’s listening in and gestures for you to lean in closer. “Between you and me, it’s nobody,” he whispers.

You frown in confusion. “Scott, what the hell are you on about?” you ask.

“Shh! Keep it down,” he hisses, glaring at you pointedly. “Okay, so I’m not technically allowed to hire him, ‘cause he’s got a criminal record, alright?”.

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “What for?”

“Guy won’t tell me. Decided not to push it,” Scott grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. You nod, figuring that he must have his reasons to trust the guy. You understand his sympathy towards this man, as Scott had been in a similar situation himself. Once upon a time, he’d found himself wrongly accused of breaking and entering, leaving him with a criminal record that made finding a job, and more importantly, keeping said job nigh impossible. Luckily, he only had to suffer for two years, before new evidence was found to prove his innocence.

“So who is he?” you ask.

“His name’s Vision,” Scott replies. At your amused look, he elaborates, “That’s what he told me to call him, anyway. I’m assuming it’s a nickname, though. Swanky British dude, wears a mask on the lower half of his face. Guess that’s kinda sketch, but he’s a good man. Decent cook, willing to put up with the long hours and god-awful pay, so…” he trails off with an indifferent shrug. “Can’t complain, can I?”

“Guess not,” you agree, eyes travelling once again to Bucky. His shoulders seem more tense now, so you can only assume that he’s gotten to a part that’s particularly gritty.

Scott follows your line of sight and makes a small noise of interest. “Who’s your friend?” he asks quietly, crouching down to arrange some boxes behind the counter.

“He’s…well, actually, he and I have a lot of talking to do,” you say slowly, “Lots of things we need to say to clear the air, things to figure out, all that lovely stuff,”.

Scott nods wisely. “So it’s that kind of night, huh? Or—I guess, morning?”

“Yeah, I guess,”, you murmur absentmindedly.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone then,” Scott declares, clapping his hands decisively, “Give you a whole pot of coffee too, you guys look like you could use some,”.

You whirl to face him, “Oh no, you don’t have to—,”

“Please,” he says, a tiny smile gracing his lips. Scott holds his hands up, “It’s on the house,”. He doesn’t look like he’s going to take no for an answer, no matter how much of a protest you might put up, so you just give him a smile in thanks.

“I’d best get back to him,” you say, pushing off from the counter, “Lots to talk about,”.

Scott gives you a look of encouragement. “Good luck. I think you might need it,”.

“Thanks,”.

As you draw nearer to your table, you realise that, what at a distance had looked like tense shoulders are in fact, shoulders that are minutely shaking. Hesitatingly, you slide back into your chair. “Oh, love,” you breathe, taking in the sight. There are wet trails on his cheeks and Bucky’s eyes shine with yet more tears. His luscious bottom lip is quivering so much, you have to fight the urge to press your thumb — hell, press your lips — to it. Barely-audible sobs wrench their way out of his throat every now and then, and they’re doing a number on your heart. Bucky’s gloved metal hand is clenched into a tight fist, whilst he uses the flesh one to scroll. You note that there is an almost imperceptible tremble to his fingers.

With a heaving breath, Bucky switches your phone off and slides it back towards you. You push it to the side of the table, out of the way. He’s watching you intently whilst trying to reign himself in, gain some control over his breathing.

“Buck?” you ask softly.

“Just—gimme a minute,” he whispers, clasping his hands together and resting his forehead on top of them. Bucky takes a few deep breaths and with each one, his breathing evens out, becomes less shaky on the exhale. “Okay,” he breathes, flicking his eyes up to look at you. The sorrow and heartbreak evident in his gaze makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and never let go.

Scott dashes over just then, both your plates balanced precariously on one arm, a tray with the coffee held in his other had. Without a word, he swiftly sets everything on the table, and offers you a quick wink of solace before he goes back to the counter.

Bucky swallows nervously and uses his sleeve to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. “Doll,” he begins, cutting himself off immediately when his voice cracks. He laughs wetly, “Y/N, that was—wow,” he sighs, looking at you with an unplaceable expression on his face. “I still love you too, you know?” he says urgently, “I’ve never stopped loving you, either,”.

You school your face to remain neutral as you shove a forkful of pancake into your mouth.

Bucky nods in understanding and continues, “Okay, well. I—I have no idea what to say now, really, I mean—,” he makes a vague gesture to your phone with his hand, “How am I supposed to top that? If you ever get sick of being a psychiatrist, I think you could be a fucking writer, doll,”.

You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head in amusement. “Of course you’d say that,” you mutter fondly. You tilt your head to the side, “I guess I just got one more question to ask before I let you talk, Buck,”.

He nods, taking a bite out of one of his sausages. “Shoot,” he says, the word coming out garbled because of the food in his mouth.

You scrunch you nose up in mock disgust and stick your tongue out at him. Bucky chortles, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably as he laughs. You shake your head and focus on putting on your serious face, because, goddammit, the two of you are supposed to be having an adult conversation, right now.

When you’ve pulled yourself together, you stare pointedly at your fork, unwilling to face him as you ask the question that has been plaguing you for the better part of the year. “Bucky…why’d you do it?”, your voice coming out barely louder than a whisper.

My lover, my liar

Bucky sighs tiredly, takes an enormous mouthful of pancake and sausage — seriously, you wonder how the hell he can open his mouth so wide — then sets his cutlery down. He chews with a thoughtful look on his face, so you allow him time to think, knowing that he’ll tell you when he’s got things phrased right in his head. You wistfully remember how Bucky had been very particular about that during his therapy sessions.

“I guess I owe you the full story, huh?” he says, after a drawn-out moment of silence, “After all the shit I’ve put you through, you deserve it,”.

You don’t say anything, just focus on chewing your pancakes with as much of a stoic expression as you can.

Bucky scratches his jaw pensively. “Okay, what I’m gonna say probably won’t make sense, at first, but you gotta hear me out, alright? No interruptions. You’ll get things once I’ve told you the full story,” he says. You want to scream at him for being so cryptic. Bucky leans in closer and lowers his volume, as if he’s about to tell you state secrets. “I’m probably breaking about a dozen different rules telling you all this, but hell, if there’s anyone worth breaking rules for, it’s you, doll,”. He winks mischievously, then sits back in his chair and tips his head back to look at the ceiling. Bucky blows out a long breath through his mouth.

“Right, well, the most important thing for you to know is that things between Natasha and I were never serious,” he begins slowly. You can tell by the slight furrow in his brow that he’s treading with utmost caution, picking his words carefully. “I guess it makes sense to start at the beginning, right?” Bucky continues, “Natalia and I have history, this is true. I don’t just mean that in the sense that I was one of her trainers in the Red Room, but also that when she started working in the field, we went on a couple of covert missions together,”.

Your eyebrows quirk up in surprise. As the Avengers’ private therapist, you had of course picked up on the unusually companionable relationship between Bucky and Nat. You’d found this surprising, as Bucky didn’t seem to be very trusting of very many people at the time, least of all ex-spies. You suspected that they had had some kind of contact with each other during his time as the Soldier, your theories further bolstered when Nat had hinted at having a personal connection with HYDRA’s greatest weapon.

Bucky assesses your reaction, before continuing tentatively. “We crossed paths a few times, actually. I don’t know how it happened…but I think she fell for me. Sweetheart, she saw me as the Soldier, a cold-blooded, brainwashed killer, and somehow, she managed to find the capacity to love me,”.

Your stomach churns at his words, and Bucky seems to pick up on this, so he hastily adds, “It was brief, and I can wholly assure you that it was one-sided, doll. HYDRA pumped me full of all sorts of chemicals to suppress those urges in me,”. He gives you a wry smile, “I think her feelings might have changed when I tried to kill her that one time, though,”.

“What?” you gasp, fork poised in mid-air. Bucky chuckles at your astonishment.

“Well, it was just after she’d switched allegiances, from the KGB to SHIELD,” he explains, “My handlers sent me after her, to sort her out,”.

“So…what, she’s forgiven you? Like, the two of you are okay with that? I don’t see how…” your voice trails off as you frown in confusion. Their relationship — or supposed relationship, if you’re going to believe Bucky’s words and accept that they were never actually together — doesn’t make sense. If Bucky tried to kill her, why would Nat allow him to get that close again?

Bucky shrugs his metal shoulder. “I think we’ve just agreed to let the past be the past,” he muses, “But then again, she is Natalia, and a completely different creature altogether. I don’t pretend to understand her. I mean, she had feelings for the Soldier, of all people, so maybe…”, he leaves the sentence unfinished and makes circular gestures with his hands as if to say well, you know what she’s like.

“Okay, so…that was before, what now?” you ask.

He hesitates, pushing a scrap of pancake around his plate as he thinks. “Well, when I went away, after…after DC,” Bucky’s face contorts into a grimace at the unpleasant memory, “A lot of my memories started to come back. And her face was in there. So when I came to the compound, and saw her in person, I kinda knew who she was,”.

Bucky’s next exhale comes out in a quick whoosh. “I—she was drunk, one night, after one of Tony’s parties, and came to my room. Mind you, this was well before anything happened between you and I, doll; this must’ve been…three months? After I came back, that is,”. The words trip over themselves in his haste to get them out. He’s obviously uncomfortable, like it’s a struggle trying to get the words out.

“What happened?” you ask quietly, almost unsure if you want to hear the answer yourseld.

“She was drunk,” he repeats, “And…threw herself at me. She showed up at my door and literally launched herself at me. I didn’t particularly want to be with her, but I…wanted to remember what it was to feel human again,”. A sad little smile flickers across his mouth. When he looks into your eyes, Bucky’s gaze is so mournful, you have to fight down your irrational urge to kiss him. “I felt horrible, just using her like that, but—I hadn’t had sex in 70 years, doll!”. He laughs dejectedly.

“That’s no excuse, of course, but can you imagine what hell my body was going through, trying to remember what it was to be human again? To have urges, and needs, and desires? I hadn’t been allowed to do things like that with HYDRA, and here was a warm body presenting herself to me, and I took the opportunity! I’m not proud of it,” Bucky adds defensively, the vein in his neck twitching from annoyance.

“You never mentioned any of this to me,” you murmur, “During our sessions, that is,”.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours for a split second. “I…I was ashamed, doll. I thought, there were so many problems about me that you had to deal with, I didn’t want to add to the list. And besides, I didn’t really want to jeopardise her position on the team, or anything like that,”.

You have a million things to say to that, but decide to drop the issue, because there’s nothing you can do to rectify the situation. Besides, there are more important things to be discussing. “Was that the only time things got—,” you hesitate, wanting to choose the right word, “Intimate, between you two?”

Bucky shakes his head morosely, and your heart sinks. “Well, depends what you mean by ‘intimate’, doll,” he sighs, “‘Cause in a way, yes, because that’s the only time we ever had sex—,”

“Really?”, you interrupt, your eyebrows nearly disappearing into your hairline.

“—Yes, really, but I’ll—okay,” he huffs frustratedly at the disbelieving look on your face, “If you don’t believe me, remember what I said? You gotta hear the full story. But yes, it was the only time we slept together,”.

“…So how else were you intimate?” you ask timidly, deathly afraid of what he might say.

“There were a few times where we kissed or…went a little further,” says Bucky hesitatingly, “Six, at most. After a mission, usually,”.

“Did she force herself on you again, or…”.

Bucky grimaces again. “Don’t get the wrong picture, doll. We—I wasn’t in the right headspace for a relationship, and Nat thought she was helping. I wanted to make it work, but at the same time, I didn’t. I was so messed up. And—and sometimes, yes, she would initiate, but sometimes I would,”. He laughs softly, but there’s no joy behind it, “I was always the one to put a stop to it, though. Whatever was going on between us couldn’t go on anymore. My conscience kicked in,”.

“Did you put a stop to things when we got together, or before…or after?”

Bucky holds up one finger as if to say wait. He takes a sip of his coffee, another bite of his — now cold — pancakes and chews thoughtfully, for a little. “We’re not there yet, doll,” he says, “First, I need to talk about how I fell in love with you,”.

You can’t ignore the way your cheeks flush hotly, or the way your heart flutters excitedly at the thought.

--------------------------------- Condensed tags: @feelmyroarrrr​ @valkyeries​ @hollycornish​ @buckingoffthebed​ @moonbeambucky​ @sanjariti​ @in-winchester-we-trust​ @badassbaker​ @retroasgardian​ @lostinspace33​ @waywardpumpkin​ @jurassicbarnes​ @buchonians​ @katielu-blog​ @alohabucky​ @sarahmatthews7​ @i-should-probably-be-asleep-rn​ @toongtii  @barnesdeservestheworld​ @amrita31199​ @amour-quinn​ @ugh-supersoldiers​

[yourslovinglecter]

The Duchess - Part 7

The Duchess - Part 7

Summary: She hated him, for everything he had done to them, the damage he had caused, the suffering and pain he had left behind. She hated him… Didn’t she? Emilia comes face to face with the leader of the Saviours and is confronted with his true nature, which in turn has her questioning her own.

Warning/s: Eventual smut, slow burner, profanity/swearing, graphic descriptions of violence.

Pairing: Negan/OC

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5  | Part 6

No gifs are made by me unless otherwise stated. All credit goes to the original creators.

Her mouth dropped open as she realised he held Judith in his arms, his eyes alight with tenderness and he leant in a placed a kiss on her nose. 

She stood there gaping, wondering if she had hit her head at any point last night before those dark eyes captured hers and drifted down briefly to her cleavage before tracing the rest of her outline.

"Look Judith, it's the second most beautiful lady in my life! Come on up Duchess." He winked and stood with Judith on his hip he approached Emilia whilst she made her way up the steps.

Judith stretched her arms out to Emilia and she complied, holding her arms out and raising an eyebrow at Negan who seemed reluctant to hand the infant over, but did. 

Judith buried her head in Emilia's neck as her chubby fist scrunched into the fabric of her tank top, hiking it up leaving a small stretch of stomach open to the elements. She felt the cool air on her lower abdomen but refused to show him it bothered her as his eyes memorised the bare skin.

He ran a hand over his bearded chin before he held his arms out to his side, his white tshirt stretching over his torso. She noted a few tattoos which she had never seen before, he had always been in his leather jacket.

“Just in time sweetheart, I was just tellin’ Carl here I think I could get me a house here in the suburbs.” He chucked darkly and stepped closer, his eyes dropped to Judith momentarily who had fallen asleep with her face pressed against Emilia’s shoulder. “Whaddya say Duchess, shall we settle down, maybe there’ll be the pitter patter of tiny feet on our porch… Hell we already got the dog!” 

His smirk stretched up one side of his mouth slowly as he grinned and leaned closer, his eyes flicking to Logan who watched him carefully before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. She felt heat warm her face even though she was cold.

"You smell good enough to fucking eat darlin’, that for me?" He loomed over her, his hand raising to tug at a damp brunette curl.

"Don't flatter yourself." She replied sarcastically before walking past him to take a seat in the chair he had occupied. Only realising her error when she leant back into the warm leather of his jacket and his musky, spicy scent filled her nose.

Negan turned and smiled widely as he watched her cradle Judith, trying to unfist the infant’s hand from the thin fabric of her tank top.

“Hey kid, come with me. I’m gonna show you how to shave! Your dad gone through that with you yet? No? Of fucking course he hasn’t. Lets go!” 

He winked at her as Carl stood and made his way inside, she thought he would head in too but instead he leant toward her with his arms outstretched. He tugged the leather jacket up and thinking he wanted it back she leaned forwards, cradling Judith close. 

Instead of him stepping away however he lowered the jacket around her shoulders and pulled it tight around them both before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on Judith's brow. He raised his head, his face was a hairs breadth away from hers as he spoke. 

“Wouldn’t want my girls catchin’ a cold now. I’ll be right back darlin’, just gonna go freshen up before dinner.” Then before she knew what had happened he leant in and placed a kiss on her cheek. His beard scratched her skin contrasting with the softness of his lips. She froze in place, gritting her teeth as she let him play out his little scenario. He breathed deeply again, clearly enjoying the scent of her soap before he stood and followed Carl into the house. 

She released a breath in a woosh of air and Logan tilted his head at her, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Traitor” she whispered to him, but he was thoroughly uninteresting in her childishness and laid his head upon his paws. “I used to think you were a good judge of character!” She accused. 

“Emilia?” The shaking voice interrupted her berating her dog and she looked up to see Olivia trembling, clutching powdered lemonade to her chest. “Oh, thank god.”

She rushed forward, her worried eyes landing on Judith as she spoke quickly, trying to explain. “He had Judith and told me to go, I couldn’t, I didn’t want to leave her but I couldn’t stay, he wouldn’t take no for an answer and I-”

“Olivia.” Emilia calmly interrupted. “It’s okay, i’ve got Judith, go home. No don’t argue, give me the damn lemonade and go home I’ll cover for you. He doesn’t frighten me.” 

Olivia looked at her with wide, grateful eyes. Her gaze darted to the house momentarily before she handed over the lemonade. “You’re so brave… Are you sure you can- will you be alright?”

Emilia nodded and smiled softly. “I’ll be fine, here just help me a moment.” She passed back the lemonade for a moment whilst she stood, noticing as Olivia’s eyes flickered to the jacket over her shoulders while she shifted Judith into a more comfortable position and extended her free hand to take the lemonade. 

“Is that his…?” She asked, her lower lip trembling as Emilia nodded. “I slapped him you know… I thought he’d kill me.” 

Emilia looked up in surprise and smiled widely. “You didn't?” She asked rhetorically but Olivia nodded anyway, a slight smile on her mouth. “Well done you, i’m sure he deserved it. Now go on, get home.” 

She didn’t need telling again and was gone before Emilia had even turned to make her way indoors, Logan followed her despite her scolding and settled down on the rug in the entryway as she paced the floor, glancing at the staircase repeatedly and hoping Carl was okay.

When they finally appeared she had to double take and wished she hadn’t because the large grin that spread across Negan’s now cleanly shaven face told her he’d gotten the reaction he was looking for. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he ran his hand over his beard free chin, his smile never budged. 

"Whaddya think, Sweetheart?" 

She feigned ignorance and merely quipped. "Of?"

He chucked darkly and stepped closer, his eyes dropped to Judith momentarily who had fallen asleep with her face pressed against Emilia’s shoulder. 

"You preferred the beard, is that it? I can grow it back darlin' don't you worry." 

"It makes no difference to me." She shrugged her shoulders gently, mindful of the sleeping baby. 

His smile stretched even wider and his dark chuckle told her he didn’t believe a word of it, she didn’t care, let him think she was attracted to him, she wasn’t. 

“I am hungry! Lets go see what’s for dinner kid!” Carl followed behind Negan, again she wondered why his eye was exposed but didn’t broach the delicate subject and instead followed them to the kitchen, shrugging the jacket off and laying it over the back of a chair.

Emilia and Carl stood and watched as Negan pulled spaghetti from the cupboard as well as tinned tomatoes and pots of dried herbs. 

"Spaghetti it is!" He pronounced as he pulled the apron which hung from the door hook over his head and secured it around his waist.

She'd never met a man who could pull off such an action with such masculine aplomb but kept her face neutral as he winked at her and lit the stove, setting a pan of water atop it to boil. 

“Carl you get to makin’ the rolls and Duchess is that the Lemonade I sent dear Olivia out for, where is she?” He turned to Emilia, his smile wide as the cheshire cats. 

“I sent her home.” She said, well aware of the dangerous glint in his eye as he stepped up to her. 

“You did, did you? I’d asked her to do somethin’ Duchess and you overruled my fuckin’ authority over your people. That’s a pretty fuckin’ big deal to me darlin’ cause I need everyone on board… Now what am I gonna get in return for lettin’ this slide, hmm?” He leaned toward her, his height eclipsing hers.

“You’ve got me here instead of her. Unless you’d rather I go get her and go back home which i’m more than happy to do.” She stood toe to toe with him, her chin raised in defiance only wishing she didn’t have Judith on her hip somewhat lessening the effect. 

“Oh you play dirty.” His deep chuckle felt as though it vibrated through her. “Okay Duchess, for the pleasure of your fuckin’ company I’ll let Olivia go. But for future reference Darlin’ you’ll do well to remember that a Duchess doesn’t outrank the King and I am most assuredly King of this motherfuckin’ castle.” His dark espresso eyes held hers, along with a challenge almost daring her to contradict him. “You’re on lemonade duty.” 

With that he span away and set to work at the stove. She clenched her jaw rhythmically and shot a wistful glance at Lucille, who sat propped against a cupboard. Instead she moved over to the opposite counter top and with Judith on her hip set to work on the lemonade.

It seemed Negan was in his element, thoroughly enjoying himself as he stirred at the sauce he had created. He held the spoon aloft and tasted, vocalising his enjoyment before he offered it to Emilia.

“Come taste this Darlin’.” 

She was about to refuse but caught the warning in his eye and so stepped forward and moved to take the spoon. 

“Nuh-uh open.” He held the spoon out, his hand cupped beneath it to catch spillages and pressed it gently to her closed lips. 

She swallowed once before opening and tasting the sauce. Her tongue flicked over her upper lip to catch the remaining before it dripped and his eyes watched her mouth with a breathtaking intensity. 

“Mm, I coulda got that for you sweetheart.” 

“Drop dead.” She replied mimicking him in the same sweet tone and he smirked widely at her daring. 

“The rolls are ready to go in.” Carl interrupted and the muscle in Negan’s jaw jumped in irritation.

“Then put the damn things in the oven kid, we were having a fuckin’ moment here!”

“No, we weren’t.” She clarified, shifting Judith before going to get the lemonade and bringing it to the table.

Soon they were all sat at the table, Negan at the head with Emilia to his right and Carl  next to her, there was a fourth place set for Rick to his left which remained empty as they waited. Emilia had some mashed potatoes for Judith which she’d fed to her whilst they waited, now however she had fallen asleep and Negan had lost his patience. 

“I’m not waiting for your dad anymore.” He sighed in irritation. “I don’t know where the hell he is but Lucille… is hungry.” He picked Lucille up from her place resting against his knee and placed her in the empty place setting. “Carl, pass the rolls.” 

Carl passed the rolls to her which she passed to Negan, he winked at her as he took one and stood to place a serving of spaghetti on each of their plates. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eating it but as she hadn’t eaten since her granola bar from the night before her stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation. 

She held Judith to her chest as she picked up a fork and spun the pasta around it. Carl was picking absent mindedly at the pasta and Negan was digging in, clearly enjoying his own culinary expertise. She raised the fork to her mouth aware of his gaze and chewed slowly, stroking Judith’s hair gently as she swallowed. 

“Ever thought about having kids Duchess?” His question was a surprise, she was expecting him to ask if she liked the food and had the word ‘yes’ already on her lips before she paused and frowned at him. 

“What? You must be joking?” She looked at him as if he’d grown a second head and he chucked softly, his eyes darting down to Judith who snored softly whilst cradled to her front.

“In a place this safe it could be an option.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “You seem to be a natural. If Carl here hadn’t already told me their Mom was dead I’d suspect she was yours.” 

“No. I haven’t thought about it.” She answered and ate more pasta, hoping he might leave her in peace if she was eating his food.

“Huh.” He said thoughtfully, that grin on his face before he once again turned his attention to his plate.

Once she had finished she stood, his eyes raised to her in question. “I’m going to put Judith down, she’s exhausted.” 

The corner of his mouth turned upward and now he was clean shaven a dimple was clearly visible as he showed his perfect white teeth. He nodded once and tapped his cheek with his index finger, leaning out toward her, freshly shaven cheek presented. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She said, looking at him in disbelief. 

He pointed to her, his finger pressing lightly against her sternum. “Duchess.” He stated as if it were her name and then turned his finger, pressing it into his own chest. “King.”

She growled under her breath and he seemed thoroughly delighted with this as he presented his cheek again, with a somewhat boyish grin. She bent down quickly and barely touched a kiss to his cheek, then she fled before he could protest and she was in Judith’s room with the door closed against her back, breathing deeply to try and rid the smell of musk and spice from her nose. 

She placed the baby down in the crib and gripped the wood hard, as if she was trying to anchor herself. How he could be so damn charming and infuriating at the same time she didn’t know but she took a calming breath before making her way back downstairs.

She could see a black shape outside the front door which meant Logan had taken up watch on the porch. She sighed as she placed her hand on the door frame to swing back through to the dining room where she collided with a hard chest and that spicy scent filled her noise again. Large hands came either side of her waist, burning through the thin fabric as he steadied her. 

“Watch where you’re going darlin! Or don’t…” His voice was rough and gravelled as he leaned toward her, his dark eyes having captured hers. “I fucking prefer it when you don't if this is where we end up.” 

Her hands had moved to his chest without her permission when they had collided, to steady herself maybe, or reach for something to stop her fall, it just so happened it had to be him. She was sure he’d timed it deliberately. 

This close to him she felt vulnerable as she craned her neck back to meet his eyes, his height and strength almost making her shrink before him. 

“You’re an arsehole.” She whispered and he smirked in delight at her British pronunciation before leaning closer, his breath ghosted across her lips as he whispered back. 

“I know.”

Part 8

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