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storiesofsvu · 11 days ago

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Secrets Among Siblings

Olivia Benson x fem!reader Warnings: language, fluff, smut, teasing, sexting, secret dating, caught in the act. 5 times Elliot wished he knew who his sister was dating + 1 time he really wished he didn't know. 6.1k. I'm so not sorry? Lol. This was requested AGES ago and once I finally figured out *how* to do it, it all came flying out in one afternoon. Hope you enjoy! <3

Living with your brother had its downsides, you were well aware of that. Especially when your brother happened to be the older one, the very much overprotective one who wasn’t afraid to use his authority as a member of NYPD to keep you safe. He meant well, but it was more than a little annoying now that you were a fully grown adult with a big girl job you’d worked hard to achieve and move up the ranks to the point where you could afford your own, nice apartment in Manhattan. You would have understood it if you were freshly twenty one, or fighting your way through college, but you were the same age he was when he got married, then again, that’s how you had ended up in this living situation in the first place. A string of disagreements, a trial separation, Elliot needing a place to stay and your empty guest room being halfway between his precinct and family home.

There were some great benefits, Elliot was used to routine, no snoozing the alarm in the morning meant the coffee was brewed and there was breakfast on the table by the time you got up, or you had a morning workout partner for once. You didn’t have to plan every single bite of food that you were going to consume; groceries would just appear in the fridge, you’d swap off the cooking, dishes and cleaning. It was nice to have someone else around to help share the load for once, you’d nearly forgotten what that was like. You enjoyed your sibling dinners, especially on Friday evenings, getting to wind down from the week, hearing the wild stories of his hours spent with NYPD while you could vent your heart out about your terribly annoying coworkers.

Elliot had come to rely on them, a nice distraction from the work week and any lingering family tension, it was his debrief of the week before shifting into Dad mode over the weekend that he spent with the kids. Family time was important to him; it always had been which is why he was a little bit bummed when the text came into his phone halfway through a Friday afternoon.

‘Gonna miss dinner tonight, sorry. How about I treat you and the kids to pizza and a movie Sunday?’

He countered that while you may have had other obligations, you hadn’t mentioned what they were, they were likely work, maybe a friend’s birthday, and most importantly you’d offered up extra family time to make up for it. Getting to spend time with your nephew and nieces was just as good.

Between the camouflaged cover ups and his extra long hours at the precinct, he didn’t notice how the hours the apartment was empty seemed to be increasing. You had mentioned a big project at work, a busy time of year for tutoring on your side gig, it made total sense when he was the second to wake up in the morning or the first one home. Apparently the days of business lunches were over, he assumed fancier business dinners were the norm now, catching glimpses of you dressed up leaving the apartment in the early evening or slipping back in after the lights were all out.

The first time he thought anything of it was when he got up to an empty apartment on a Saturday morning, early enough the sun was just starting to stream through the curtains. The sounds of birds chirping and garbage trucks in the alley accompanied his morning shower and mental preparation for the day. It was only on his way out to the kitchen that he noticed your bedroom door wide open, bed still made from yesterday, half empty coffee mug on your makeup table where you regularly drank it while getting ready. A few pieces of make up were still scattered across the table, your curling iron out yet unplugged, a couple pairs of high heels beside it as if you were trying to decide what matched your outfit. It wasn’t like he was snooping; he couldn’t help but scope out the scene a little bit, eyes darting around your room to try and get any clue if you had been home between Friday morning and now.

He shrugged it off; you must’ve just taken off already for brunch or something and not bothered to tidy up, it was the weekend after all. His stomach grumbled and he went on his way, meandering into the kitchen to start the coffee pot. After a summary of what was in the fridge, he pulled out eggs, cheese, turkey sausage and the loaf of bread from the counter. Sausage and eggs were sizzling away in the frying pan when his ears picked up another sound, his head swiveling around until he realized it was the deadbolt slowly creaking its way open from the front door.

You crept around the door, bracing two gentle hands against it as you slowly and quietly shut it behind you, wincing when the deadbolt whined as you locked it. You were wearing a cute dress, heels dangling from your fingers, hair swept up into a topknot, your work bag and a small purse in the crook of your elbow. A gasp escaped your lips and you jumped, your hand flying to your chest when you turned around to find your brother watching you.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Hey, language.” He scolded and you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t realize you’d be up so early.” You ducked your gaze, gently placing the heels down on the shoe rack before slipping out of your coat.

“Are you…” his brow furrowed, a teasing grin on his face, “sneaking in?”

“No.” You scoffed, your nose crinkling. “I thought you were still asleep, I was trying to be nice and not wake you up.”

“You sure about that?” He asked, eyes glancing over your appearance again.

“Oh what’re doing? Trying to be Mom? I had a late meeting, met a friend for dinner right after. We hadn’t seen each other in a while; I ended up crashing there.”

“I didn’t realize people in their thirties ‘crashed’ at their friends.” He teased and you shot him a glare.

“They do when said friends have guest rooms, which I no longer do, thanks to someone.” You moved through the apartment, coming close enough to punch his shoulder, “otherwise I would have hosted.”

“Sorry to cramp your style. You must’ve been out late to be too tired to come home.”

“We’d been drinking.” You shrugged a shoulder, “didn’t think my big brother would be too happy to find out I’d been wandering the streets of Manhattan alone at three in the morning. Or worse, getting behind the wheel. I’d like to be spared from either of those lectures, thank you.”

“Fine, fine.” He held up the spatula in his hand in surrender, “you can text me next time you know? I’ll always come pick you up.”

“Thanks, but I had my car. No point in leaving it if I’d have to come back and get it in the morning, just makes more work.”

“Work smarter not harder.”

“Exactly.” You mock saluted him as you backed down the hallway, “enough coffee for me?”

“Yeah, food should be ready soon too.”

“Keep a plate for me? I’m gonna shower really quick.”

“Sure.” Elliot turned back to the stove and as soon as his eyes were off you, you darted into your room, attempting not to slam the door behind you.

Palms flat against the wood you lightly banged your forehead against it chastising yourself as your heart raced a mile a minute, pounding against your chest. You thought you had better time management that morning, an alarm set for an ungodly hour to actually tear yourself away from Olivia and have time to get home before Elliot was awake. Unfortunately, it appeared Olivia was both too distracting and convincing to get away from in a timely manner. You’d have to come up with a better excuse next time or face the fact that your brother would find out you were the one secretly dating his partner.

You slipped into the apartment midday on a Sunday, a laugh echoing from your lips,

“I know. I had fun too.”

“You should have come back to my place.” Olivia replied, her voice dropping and you couldn’t help but feel your body already tingling.

“I can’t do Sundays, family dinner nights, remember?”

“Oh, I know.” She chuckled, “I was invited this time.”

“What did you RSVP?” You asked, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“That I had way too much laundry to get done before the work week.” She replied, “I figured it would be a little too difficult to keep my hands off you.”

“Oh, did you now?” The grin spread across your lips as you moved through the apartment, placing your bag and keys down on the breakfast bar, leaning against it. “And what exactly, prey tell would those hands be doing?”

“Well for starters I’d have to sneak you away to the bathroom, can’t risk anyone seeing or walking in.”

“Mhmm…” you started twirling a piece of hair around your finger.

“Start out by holding your waist, grabbing your ass while I kiss you, gently pinning you to the door. Then things might get a little sneaky, start exploring under your dress, trying to see if you were a good girl who wore panties or not.”

“Christ Liv.” You stuttered out a laugh, your cheeks heating as she chuckled through the phone.

“Well, which would it be sweet girl?”

“I always want to be good for you.” You cooed into your phone, “I know how much you like that. But what if I wanted to play for once? Want to pretend I’m your naughty girl instead? Make you think I’ve got panties on but the surprise you’d find is that they’re crotchless and your fingers are—” your head shot up at the sound of the deadbolt creaking open and your entire body jolted upright, “yeah, thanks again for calling me back. I really wanted a chance to read over the preliminary before Monday.”

Olivia let out a huff of a laugh on the other end of the line, “I take it your house is no longer empty.”

“Correct.” You replied, “I’ll see you soon. Thanks.”

“Bye my sweet girl. Don’t forget what I was saying.”

“Definitely won’t.”

You hung up the phone, tossing it deep inside your purse, praying your cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt as Elliot approached the counter.

“We gotta get some WD-40 on that thing.” He gestured toward the door, “who you talking to?”

“Crystal. From work.” You replied, instantly turning to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water.

“You’ve been on the phone a lot this weekend.”

“I’ve got a lot going on.” You shrugged as he eyed you for a minute.

“Okay… don’t let work stress you out, you need to actually enjoy your weekends.”

“Says you.” You shot back, grabbing your purse off the island before disappearing down the hallway.

Sitting on the kitchen counter you were tucked in the corner by the window, coffee mug beside you while you were distracted on your phone.

‘Thank you again, you really didn’t have to.’

‘Sweetheart please, you couldn’t stop staring at that necklace. Even from across the store you kept going back to it, what was I supposed to do, not buy it for you?’

‘It’s not even a special occasion.’

‘Everyday with you is a special occasion.’

It was hard to bite back the smile on your cheeks at that, so distracted with your girlfriend you didn’t even hear your brother come into the kitchen.

Elliot took one look at you, the dopey smile on your face, the way your feet were swinging back and forth, they were very telltale signs.

“Good news this morning?” He prompted, picking up the coffee pot.

“What?” You were suddenly yanked out of your trance, your entire body tensing as you looked up at him with wide eyes. In one brisk movement you had locked your phone, tossing it to the counter, replacing it with your mug of now chilled coffee.

“Looked like you were in good spirits is all.”

“Got good news about work.” You fibbed.

“About time.” He replied, eyeing you over the rim of his coffee.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been working insane hours the last couple of months.” He pointed out, confusion washing over his face at the way your brow furrowed, “at least I assumed that’s why I’ve barely seen you.”

“Yeah.” You ran a hand through your hair, “crazy amount of OT.” Your phone buzzed on the counter and this time it actually was a work-related text, “speaking of. Gotta run.” Scooping up the device you hopped off the counter, squeezing his shoulder as you moved past him, “I was thinking chicken stir fry for dinner, thoughts?”

“Sounds good.” Elliot watched as you grabbed your bag and scurried out of the apartment. He was a detective, he knew whatever you had been texting about had nothing to do with work.

After a long day of work, a few glasses of wine in as you winded down for bed you were sprawled across the couch, tv playing in the background. Though your attention was on your phone, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you read the last message Liv had sent.

‘God, I really wish you were here tonight. I could use your help with something.’

‘Oh?’

‘Bored.’ ‘It’s annoying to have to think of ways to occupy myself.’

You grinned at her innuendos, your breath catching in your throat when the next message was an array of pictures. The first one her tits pushed up in a deep blue, lacy bra and your mouth practically watered. The second only her arm was covering her chest and the third made your skin prickle with heat. One of her hands sliding down her bare torso, sneaking under the waistband of matching blue lace panties.

‘Thoughts?’

‘I can definitely help with that.’

‘Yeah? Tell me sweet girl, how should I kill some time?’

‘Pretend I’m there, sitting in your lap playing with your tits while your fingers are buried inside me.’

‘You’d like that wouldn’t you? All cute and riled up, grinding down onto my hand. Your fingers sneaking between my legs.’

‘Baby I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands away from you. I want to feel every inch of you, all wet and warm for me.’

An audible gasp left your lips the next time your phone buzzed it was a video, her fingers moving underneath the lace, soft moans and whimpers coming from her lips.

‘Like that sweet girl?’

‘Just like that.’ ‘Fuck, Liv.’ ‘Keep going for me. You know I wouldn’t stop until I’ve made you come. And if I was actually there, I would make you come over and over again.’

‘You really know how to earn a good reward.’ A little smirking emoji accompanied that text.

‘It wouldn’t just be my hands either. You know I adore having my mouth on you, tasting your pussy on my tongue, the noises you always make are so fucking hot.’

‘Can I sit on your face?’

Your entire body tensed, your pussy fluttering and you nearly dropped your phone. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’

‘Good girl.’ ‘I picked something up today, something new and just for you, wanna see?’

‘Of course.’

You let out an audible groan when the next picture came in. Olivia was wearing a strap on, her pussy puffy and slick under it, with a new, large purple dildo attached.

‘Wow.’

‘You like it?’

‘I love it.’

‘Shame you’re not here. I’ll just have to wait ‘til the weekend to fuck you with it.’

‘Now you’re just being mean.’

‘Only a tease baby and you know I always follow through on my promises.’

‘So Friday or Saturday?’

‘Lol. Someone’s eager. I’m working late Friday, but off the rest of the weekend.’

‘Perfect. I cannot fucking wait.’

‘Me neither. But not just for the sex, I do honestly really miss you.’

Your heart warmed at her words, a soft smile breaking onto your cheeks as your thought process moved away from the naughty side. Olivia was always so sweet, she made sure you knew how much she cared about you, how much she wanted to be around you all the time, even if things like work were hoarding all her time. You were special to her, and she wanted to make sure you never forgot that.

‘It really does feel like the days have been dragging recently.’

‘Unless I’m with you then the hours fly by.’

‘You’re turning into a sap, you know that?’

“Who’re you talking to?” Elliot’s voice suddenly came from behind you, and you jumped, bolting upright as you locked your phone. You were so incredibly thankful that all the pictures and sexts had been far enough up they weren’t on the screen anymore.

“No one.”

“Yeah right.” He chuckled, snagging the tv remote to change the channel to something he liked as he dropped down onto the couch beside you. “You’re not hiding it well anymore kid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“So, spill, who’s the lucky guy?” He nudged at you with his shoulder and you grumbled.

“I’m not saying a word.”

“C’mon, just give me a name. I need to run him through the system.”

“El, stop it. No.”

“I’m not gonna let you date someone with a record! You deserve better than that.”

“Thank you, but I can guarantee you they do not have a single flag on their file. Hell, their file doesn’t even exist!”

“Perfect! So, you can give me a name.”

You rolled your eyes again and just as you opened your mouth to redirect him, your phone buzzed on the couch with an incoming message. Elliot managed to grab it before you could, and you let out a frustrated groan. At the very least, you’d saved Olivia’s contact as only an ‘L’ with a kissy faced emoji beside it.

“Knew it was a guy.” He grinned at you, finally giving the device back when you started physically fighting to get it back. “L… hmm… Liam? Landon? Lucas?” He tapped his chin as he hummed, “you’ve gotta tell me when I get it. What about…. Leonard!”

“Fuck off Elliot.”

With your phone safely in hand, you shoved off the couch, retreating to your bedroom where you could continue to text your girlfriend in peace.

Olivia absolutely despised the precinct coffee. It was a well-known fact that it was crappy drip coffee provided to them, meaning it was probably the cheapest brand on the shelf. She’d been told that she would simply get used to it over time, but that time was definitely not anytime this decade. She wasn’t aware just how much she actually complained about it until she looked up from her desk to see your smiling face walking into the bull pen.

You dropped a bag of treats off with the desk sergeant, waving hello to the other few detectives that you knew before approaching her desk, leaning against it with your hip as you placed the tray in your hand down.

“Hey.” You greeted with a smile, squeezing at her hand. While some of the squad did know you were together, you still opted for professionalism, especially if it wasn’t your workplace.

“What are you doing here?”

“Brought you the good stuff.” You gestured to the tray, plucking one out to hand to her, “figured you could use a little pick me up.”

“What were you planning on doing if your brother was here?” She asked quietly, a small grin on her face at the thought that you were still more than willing to show up to surprise her.

“I’d come up with something.” You shrugged, “besides isn’t he in court today? He had the fancy tie on when he left for work.”

Olivia laughed, Fin snorted from beside you, saying a quick hi before he dug through the bag of goodies and you handed him a paper mug.

“You should stop by more often. Whenever you want.” He insisted, groaning over a sip of luxurious in comparison coffee, “you’re the better Stabler anyways.”

“Aww… flattery will get you everywhere Detective Tutuola.”

“What’s this?” A voice rang out from behind you and you tensed, the feeling becoming all too familiar, “surprise visit, one of those better be for me.”

You swiped the coffee from Fin’s hand as you turned around, bright smile on your face, “was just waiting for you! I didn’t realize you were in court today and I thought you could use a pick me up.”

“Thanks.” Elliot took the coffee from it, taking a swig and as he swallowed his eyes narrowed in Liv’s direction. You glanced from your brother to where his gaze landed, gulping nervously. “Why does hers have a heart on it?”

Liv glanced to the side of the cup, smiling at the hand drawn heart in a different colour than your name scrawled across the cup and shrugged, “barista must’ve thought she was cute.”

“Barista…” he turned back to you, small grin on his lips, “is that the mystery? Are you dating a barista?”

You glanced at your watch, “shit, would you look at that, my lunch break’s over. Gotta run, I’ll see you at home.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Elliot beamed as you glanced back to your girlfriend with apologetic eyes before scurrying from the bull pen. “Oh, come on! That’s how you’ve been affording the expensive beans isn’t it?” He was practically chasing you out of the room as you made a beeline for the elevator doors, trying to get in before they slid shut, unfortunately, Elliot was just as fast as you.

Back at her desk, Liv and Fin watched the whole thing while she shook her head at Elliot’s antics. Fin let out a sad sigh, his eyes lingering on where the other man had disappeared into the elevator.

“I was drinkin’ that…”

Olivia laughed, handing over her coffee.

“Fuck baby… don’t stop.” You groaned, your fingers twisting Liv’s hair tighter around them as her tongue swept through your pussy.

She simply moaned against you in return; there was no way in hell she was letting up until you were coming undone under her. Your hips rocked up off the bed when you gasped and her mouth suctioned around your clit, tongue flicking it in various patterns. One of her hands snuck between your legs, two fingers sinking into your heat and you bit back a louder moan.

“Shit…” you moaned, your body shivering, “feels, s-so good.”

Her fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot just right and your thighs trembled around her.

“C’mon baby.” She murmured, lips brushing against your cunt, “let go for me. I wanna see how many times I can make you come tonight.”

You nodded furiously as her fingers picked up the pace and her mouth returned to your swollen nub, it only took a few more strokes before she brought you to your peak, your body arching up off the bed. With a small chuckle and a wicked grin Liv kissed her way up your body, still palming between your legs.

“A promise is a promise; I’m far from done with you.”

“Good.” You grinned, tugging her down to you for a kiss, your tongue surging into her mouth, “but my turn first.”

In one swift movement you wrapped your leg around her waist and flipped her onto her back, your lips mapping out every inch of her skin while your hand sunk between her legs.

At the other end of the apartment, the door opened, swinging shut behind Elliot as he turned to lock it. The first thing he registered was a thunk echoing from down the hallway. His natural instinct was to go check it out, make sure you were okay and hadn’t broken or spilt anything. Then he noticed the second pair of shoes sitting beside yours that definitely weren’t your style, there was a plate of half-eaten cheesecake on the coffee table and two empty glasses of wine alongside it. The next sound he heard was your giggle, followed by a swear that morphed into a moan and he made the correct choice to not even go look down the hallway.

‘Good for her.’ He thought, picking up a pair of headphones to drown out whatever other noises might end up coming from your bedroom. Maybe now he’d be able to solve the mystery of the barista, name starting with an L.

“Christ, you are relentless.” Olivia chuckled breathlessly, collapsing into the pillows of your bed. Her entire body felt like jelly, exhausted with pleasure and satisfied with how many orgasms she’d managed to pull from you.

“You started it.” You grumbled softly, dropping onto her chest as her arm wrapped around you and she left a kiss on the top of your head.

“Maybe we should place bets more often.”

“I like your style detective.” You smirked, shifting up to kiss her, “you’ve left me absolutely parched, you want a water?”

“Please.” Smiling, she watched you slip from the covers, eyes raking over your naked body before you covered it with a robe and slipped out the bedroom door.

Out of habit you closed it behind you and boy were you glad you did when you rounded the bend into the kitchen to spot Elliot over the breakfast bar on the couch. A heat of embarrassment shot up the back of your neck and into your cheeks, heart pounding again but for a totally different reason as you sidestepped to the cupboard. He nearly jumped at the sudden movement when you swung the cupboard open, yanking off the headphones.

“Hey.” You grimaced, quickly turning your back to him as you filled up the glasses, “sorry.”

“You’re an adult.” He replied with a shrug, “do I get an introduction?”

“Now?” You snorted, “yeah right.”

Picking up the glasses you raced back down the hallway before he could interrogate you any further, whipping the door shut behind you. Liv took one look at your face as you put down the water glasses and her eyes widened,

“Was that El?”

“Yup.” You nodded, your voice a hoarse whisper, hissing through the air. “I thought he was working tonight! He said he was gonna sleep at the precinct!”

“Shit.” She muttered, dropping back onto the bed and running a hand over her face. “I can’t stay tonight…”

“If you want to walk right past him to the door, be my guest!”

“Are you suggesting I go down the fire escape?!”

“No!” You let out an exasperated sigh, dropping down onto the edge of the bed, “fuck…”

“He really has no idea?” She asked, sitting up as she reached for your hand, stopping you from picking at your nails.

“No. He’s still as clueless as the day I dropped you off coffee.”

“Still thinks it’s a barista?”

“Yeah.” A puff of air left your lips as you looked up at her, “Liv I’m so sorry. I never should have convinced you into this.”

“It’s okay, we never get to spend time at your place.”

“No, I meant this whole fucking mess.”

She stalled, eyes darting around your face, “sweetheart… I asked you out. I was the one doing the pursuing, and this isn’t a mess.” Her hand slid up your arm, squeezing at your shoulder, “besides, what was I supposed to do? Let Elliot stop me from dating you? Fat chance. You outrank him any day.”

You cast her a small smile and she tapped her finger on the tip of your nose. “You sound like Fin.”

She laughed, quickly moving her hand to cover her mouth and your smile quickly reached your eyes. With a quick glance at the clock you did the mental math,

“It’s late. He always showers before bed; we can sneak you out of here then.”

“God, I feel like I’m sixteen again.” She laughed softly as you raised a brow at her, “it’s exhilarating.”

You swatted her arm, “okay, but next time we’re at your place.”

“Agreed.” She leant in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

You and Olivia were twisted in her bedsheets in the late Sunday afternoon, the sun lowering in the horizon casting her bedroom in golden hue. You’d been at it most of the day, movies playing in the background while you went round for round between naps entangled in each other’s arms. It was safe to say that you’d both worked up quite the appetite, ordering in for what would be acting as dinner. Her lips brushed against yours again as they curved up into a grin, lazily kissing you as there was nowhere else either of you would rather be. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand and she blindly reached for it, hitting the button to buzz the driver upstairs.

You let out a loud groan, attempting to roll away from her but her arm tightened around your center.

“Nope.”

“Liv,” you laughed tickling at her arm, “I need to pay the man, and I can’t answer the door naked.”

“Fine.”

Reluctantly she let you slip from between the sheets, so you could tug on your panties and an oversized shirt she usually wore to bed. You dug through your purse for your wallet and padded through her apartment, getting to the door right as it was knocked on. Quickly unlatching the chain, you swung it open, only problem was the guy standing in front of you didn’t have any pizza in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” You asked your brother, taking a wary step back from the doorway.

“I’m here to see Liv.” He replied, not even recognizing the state of undress you were in, “what’re you doing here?”

“Waiting for my pizza.”

“Babe?” Liv called from the bedroom, “what’s the hold up? You need more cash?” She stepped into the living room tightening her robe with one hand while the other clutched her wallet, “I—” She froze at the sight of Elliot in her doorway. The realization finally fully crashed over you and your body tensed, glancing between the two of them, “El. Shit, hey.”

“You didn’t pick up your phone.” He said plainly, looking right past you.

“Yeah… I was a little busy.”

He glanced around the living room, as if he’d lost all of his years of experience as a detective and had no possible way of putting things together right now.

“Movie night?” He asked, his voice creeping up in an unsure way.

You couldn’t help it, bursting out into laughter, “yeah, okay. You are not that dumb.” You turned to your girlfriend, a hand wrapping around her waist as you pulled her to you and planted a kiss on her lips, lingering longer than you normally would in a PDA situation, “let me know when the food’s here?”

“Yeah.” She murmured, flustered with heated cheeks.

Elliot shook his head as if coming back to life, “wait a minute. What the hell!?” He called after you, stepping into the apartment as you attempted to disappear into the bedroom, “hey! You get back here!”

“Can I at least put on some fucking pants?” You yelled back, yanking some shorts up your legs before returning back to the living room.

“What is going on here?” He asked, looking between the two of you, “I thought you were dating that barista.”

Olivia laughed and you dropped your face into your palm, muttering to yourself, “oh my god. There is no barista! There never was a barista.”

“What about the heart on the coffee cup?” He asked.

“I drew that… for Liv.” You gestured towards her and she smiled sheepishly.

“You had a guy in your room a week ago!”

It was your turn to blush as Olivia let out a small chuckle, “wasn’t a guy…”

Elliot’s eyes widened for a second as it finally dawned on him, “how long has this been going on?”

You and Liv glanced at each other before you spoke, “like… six months.”

“Six… six months?” He dropped down onto the couch behind him, “so all those late nights? You sneaking back in?”

“I was… with her.” You shrugged.

Elliot turned to Olivia, “every time you opted out of drinks? Took off early…”

“I was defiling your little sister, correct.” She smirked; you barked out a laugh and Elliot pulled a face.

“Listen, El…” you started, “could you spare us the lecture, at least until Monday?”

“Lecture?” He looked up at you and you raised your hands.

“The lecture you give me anytime I date someone, the ‘I’m a cop I’ll hunt you down’ threats you give my partners….”

“I mean they are kinda redundant now. I’ve got my own gun.” Liv commented, now completely free of any embarrassment she was totally ready to tease the hell out of her partner.

“I think I’m just… shocked.” He stated, slowly piecing together his words, “I spend every single day with the two of you, how the hell did I not pick up on it?”

“We were careful.” You suggested, “I didn’t want you getting pissed, doing something stupid that made us fight and you be a total ass to Liv at work.”

“Something stupid?”

“Like forbid us from seeing each other?” Liv offered.

“I, eugh, no.” He shook his head, “even if I tried…”

“Wouldn’t be possible.” The two of you finished in tandem.

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing both hands over his face before he leant back into the couch, taking a second to think things over. He looked to you first,

“Are you happy?”

“Inescapably.” You couldn’t help the giant smile that took over your face.

He nodded, glancing over to Liv, “and you’re treating her right?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, she deserves the world.” She replied, unable to tear her eyes away from you as she spoke with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Elliot hummed, sitting forward, “okay, fine.” He shrugged, “it’s not like I have any say anyways.”

“Okay, great.” You lunged forward, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him up to standing, “now would you get out of here so we can enjoy the rest of our weekend?”

He was almost considering protesting but there was another knock on the door and he was well aware it was the takeout you’d been expecting. With a final sigh he glanced between the two of you,

“Fine. But you keep it down at our place, I don’t want to hear anything to see any gross PDA.”

“That will literally never happen again as long as you keep the calendar updated with your actual schedule!” You pointed out.

“And you’re coming to family dinner next week.” He pointed to Olivia, “no more excuses, no more hiding.” His eyes landed back on you as you slowly backed him toward the door, “and no more secrets, okay? There shouldn’t be any reason you have to lie to me.”

“Okay.” You nodded, pulling open the door and he stalled one more time in front of the very confused delivery guy.

“And one more thing.”

“Elliot!” Olivia groaned with an eye roll, stepping forward to usher him out of the apartment.

“You two take this,” he handed over the boxes, “I’m paying, an apology for barging in on your night.”

He swung the door shut before either of you had any time to protest, finally leaving you in peace. Liv flicked the lock to make sure he wouldn’t have any last-minute interjections and took your hand.

“Well… that’s that.”

“Yeah.” You lifted your head, smiling brightly at her.

“Could’ve been worse.”

“Definitely.” You laughed, “he could’ve come home extra early last week and caught us on the couch.”

“Remind me to never take my clothes off anywhere but your bedroom ever again.”

“What about the shower?” You raised a brow and she grinned at you.

“Is that a question or a request?”

“I’m a sucker for hacks on how to save on my water bill.”

“Suggestion heard and granted.” Liv wrapped her arm around your waist, the takeout left forgotten on the coffee table as her lips captured yours in a kiss, a low growl coming from her throat as she started backing you down the hallway.

It didn’t matter what Elliot thought, it didn’t matter what anyone thought. As long as the two of you were happy and having a good time, everything was wonderful. And when you finally collapsed into her bed that night, bodies aching in the best way possible as you tangled your limbs together, soft ‘I love you-s’ whispered in the dark, you knew there was no place more meant for you to be.

____________

@red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl @lesbianspacecowboy @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @venablemayfairgoode @mysticfalls01 @beccabarba @littlegaybabe @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @wosoimagines @solemnnova @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @wandas-wife @lawandorderuswnt @wandasbrat @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @sia2raw @ladysc @narvaldetierra @dxtery @poisonedcrowns @momlifebehard @holycrapraewth @alexxavicry @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @temp0rary-bliss @gamma-rae-bursts @oliviasgayvibe @cabotnovak24 @schemmentisimpasours

#Olivia benson #Olivia benson x reader #Olivia benson x fem!reader #law and order svu #svu #law and order #law and order special victims unit #Olivia benson x fem!stabler!reader

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khunwriting · 2 months ago

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[Pretty Little Baby]

Synopsis: Grim thinks back on how he got to NRC with you next to him.

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort (?), Songfic: Pretty Little Baby by Connie Francis

Notes: Spoilers for book 1 through 6. Doesn't go into specifics, but it does say who overblots. GN! Yuu! Reader

Pairing: Platonic! Grim x Reader

Grim doesn’t remember where he came from or much about anything from his past. It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on, cause, frankly, it was rather uncomfortable and it made his stomach churn at the little he did remember.

After all, who would like remembering being all alone, starving, and freezing?

Instead, Grim wants to find something to fill in that gaping void in his memory. And what better way to prove his worth than by being a great mage, and the best way to do that is going to Night Raven College, one of the most prestigious schools for mages!

So he waits, patiently waiting for the day the black carriage picks him up. Though as days turned into weeks, he can’t help but feel antsy. Perhaps the carriage got lost on the way to him! No matter, Grim the Great can wait.

Then the weeks turn into months and that bad feeling creeps into his body once more, and he doesn’t feel too good anymore.

Pretty little baby Pretty little baby

But no matter! He wasn’t going to let that get him down, so he’ll just have to find a way to get to Night Raven College.

It took a while to figure out how to get to the school. For starters, it was really far away and there was no mirror he could jump through. So he had to physically walk there. It was hard getting anywhere with his small legs, and he found himself getting tired a lot.

Sometimes he tried to ask for directions or for some food, but most people either ignored him or were scared of him. There were more times than not that he had to dig through the garbage or snag some treats when a vendor wasn’t looking to get some food in his belly.

Those days where people caught him in the act and chased after him were the most exhausting.

It wasn’t too bad though. He could find an occasional car to hitch a ride on, and some days, he’d find some really good food lying about. The canned tuna he grabbed from that little shop in that small town was one of the best finds he had during his journey.

And though it took a very long time, he did find a ferry that took him to Isle of Sages. Slipping off of the ship, he could see the school in the far distance. Grim would never tell a soul about how vision grew watery at the sight.

Pretty little baby, you say that maybe You'll be thinkin' of me, and try to love me Pretty little baby, I'm hoping that you do Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, yeah

It was rather easy to sneak onto campus, not that he had to sneak in! He was going to be a student after all. Now all he needed was a robe to blend in, and the rest should easily fall into lap. So off he went to find where all the new students were at.

It was a massive school, and Grim did find himself turned around a few times. Eventually, he found himself in a room full of floating coffins and he knew he had hit the jackpot. Now, all he had to do was pry open one of those bad boys and he’ll be set!

Though he never anticipated meeting you.

Right out of the gate, you were jumpy and wide-eyed. Almost as if you had no idea what was going on, but Grim didn’t have time for theatrics. Time was ticking and he needed to get the robes that adorned your body.

Yet you didn’t give in so easily. Instead, you ran and ran until the headmaster, Crowley, caught the both of you and treated him like some random house cat that had gone astray. It was ridiculous and insulting to be treated as such, but the older man was quick to silence him before he had a chance to really lay into him.

Then the whole fiasco at the orientation ceremony happened. All he did was try to show that he deserved to be at that school, but it only ended up getting kicked out of the school and shooed away like some troublesome animal. His stomach started to hurt at this point, and the bad feeling felt worse the moment it started to rain.

So he ran back onto campus cause he wasn’t gonna give up so easily, you know! He’ll find shelter for the night and he’ll continue showing them that he deserves a spot in their classrooms. Just you wait!

You can ask the flowers, I sit for hours Tellin' all the bluebirds, the bill and coo birds Pretty little baby, I'm so in love with you Ooh-ooh-ooh

Though that’s when Grim saw you again in that dingy building outside of the castle. You looked just as surprised as he felt, but he wasn’t going to admit it. You were just a magicless human anyways.

Yet you kept surprising him. You were actually helping him out. When the ghosts came, you told him where to send his spells. When Crowley showed up, you did the same thing again. You convinced the headmaster to let him stay. Granted as a janitor, but that was a work in progress!

When that jerk of a redhead called the Great Grim a weasel, you were quick to scold him for his rude words—Weirdly, that had left a different feeling in his tummy.

But since meeting that kid, Ace, things spiraled. The Great Sevens statues were scorched, they got assigned to clean windows, Ace tried ditching and with the help of another freshman, Deuce, the chandelier in the cafeteria shattered, and they were on the verge of being expelled.

By some miracle, Crowley promised them a chance if they found a magestone from the dwarfs’ mine. It seemed like an easy job, but the four of them were quick to find that it wasn’t.

There was a terrifying monster lingering behind, guarding the key thing that kept him at Night Raven College. The monster was big and scary, and it had Grim shivering as it loomed over his small body.

But again, you surprised him. You swept him up, ran out there, and somehow managed to get the two idiots to work together to defeat the monster. Maybe you really were a beast-tamer or whatever Crowley called you.

Because of what you did, you somehow got all four of them to not get expelled. And most importantly, you managed to make yourself and him actual students enrolled at the school.

Perhaps, it wasn’t so bad to keep you around as a hench-human.

Now is just the time, while both of us are young Puppy love must have its day Don't you know it's much more fun to love While the heart is young and gay?

You weren’t from this world. That’s what you told the three of them the next day, and it would explain the panic you had the first time Grim met you. He’s quick to push that thought to the back of his mind as his stomach churned at the memory.

You didn’t get a chance to adjust once you became a student. The both of you were thrown into classes right off the bat, and it was awful. As first-years, they don’t give you a lot of chances to use actual magic, not that you could, but it was still incredibly boring.

Despite that, you took everything in stride, even when he tried to run from classes, and soaked up all the new information like a sponge. You were checking out books in the library to learn more about Twisted Wonderland and read it in the little time you found.

Unfortunately, Ace wrapped the two of you in his problems again. Stealing a slice of a tart had landed him with a collar from the Heartslabyul housewarden, Riddle. So many things happened in such a short amount of time, but it ultimately ended up with Riddle overblotting.

That day was terrifying. Blot oozed everywhere like sickly black ink and clung onto the ground where the housewarden stood. His attacks were strong and harsh, nearly hitting Grim a few times. He was lucky you were there to warn him and guide him and everyone else.

Because of you, they beat Riddle and he went back to normal. And as much as Grim wished it was the last of it, trouble seemed to follow the two of you like a shadow.

Cause there was another overblot with Leona, the housewarden of Savanaclaw.

Then, the next overblot was Azul, the housewarden of Octavinelle.

One more overblot with Jamil, vice-housewarden of Scarabia.

Again. It was Vil, housewarden from Pomefiore.

Yet there you stood, helping everyone by telling them where to send their spells and calling out incoming attacks with each overblot. You never got angry and you didn’t shun anyone out after that. You treated every person you met with kindness, even those who overblotted or those that put you in harm's way. You never blamed them.

You never blamed him.

You didn’t yell at Grim for signing a contract with Azul to get a good exam score. You didn’t shout when you had to give up Ramshackle to try to set him free. You didn’t scold him when he was exhausted from walking to the oasis and you had to silently scooped him into your arms, even when he was sure you were tired as well. You didn’t chase him away for scratching you after the events of the VDC.

Even after Idia from Ignihyde overblotted and you both went back to the privacy of the broken-down Ramshackle dorm, you didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, you bent down and wrapped your arms around his small body and sobbed. You kept saying things like, “I’m so happy to see you again!” and “I was so worried about you!”

Grim couldn’t help but wept right there with you. And he vowed to try not to make you worry anymore.

Meet me at the car hop or at the pop shop Meet me in the moonlight or in the daylight Pretty little baby, I'm so in love with you

Among those hectic days, you sometimes talked about your home. Sometimes you talked about it at great lengths, telling memories of your previous life or about something that isn’t familiar in Twisted Wonderland. Other times, you sneak in a reference or a word that isn’t in the common language—That especially gets Ace, Deuce, and Epel trying to get you to teach them slang or jokes, most of which goes over Grim’s head.

Though sometimes, you don’t bring up memories. You don’t bring up funny jokes in your world or neat little facts that could only exist in your world. No, you don’t even speak at these times.

Instead, your world comes out in little songs. The songs you sing vary in style. One moment you could be singing a pop song about partying, then the next a ballad about a loved one. There are few you come back to often as they were your favorites.

He doesn’t know if you notice it, but your voice easily carries out in the broken-down dorm. For example, he could be downstairs, playing with the ghosts and he could hear you singing upstairs as you clean up some of the abandoned rooms in case any guests decide to stay over.

Funnily enough, there are other students that do take up some rooms. Mostly it is the first years, though other students from the other years come and go. Grim has seen Leona sneak in occasionally and Silver when he can’t quite make his way back to Diasomnia. The nights that the look-alike brothers decide to crash in the dorm for whatever reason makes his fur stand on edge the most though.

But he likes it most when it’s just you, him, and the ghosts. You don’t sing when there’s other people around.

Now is just the time, while both of us are young Puppy love must have its day Don't you know it's much more fun to love While the heart is young and gay?

Luckily, today was one of those days where there was no Ace, no Deuce, no housewarden, no vice-warden or any in between. It was just you, Grim, and the ghosts—And you were singing one of your favorite songs.

Grim had just finished an assignment from Professor Trein and the smells from the kitchen were wafting up the stairs with your singing accompanying it. His stomach was already grumbling and he caught the scent of tuna in the air. Nearly drooling, Grim bounds out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Your singing grows louder, your voice bouncing with a cheery lilt. Grim can’t keep the smile off his chubby face as he peeks into the kitchen. The rice cooker has 10 minutes left on the rice, there’s shredded cabbage washed and draining in the sink, there’s a pot of hot soup simmering on the stove, and you have a jar of pickled veggies that are ready to be plated once the food is done.

In the midst of it all was you, dressed in an apron that Trey gifted to you. You’re standing in front of the stove with a spatula in hand and looking down at a pan of sizzling oil with half-cooked tuna patties you promised to make for Grim. Your mouth moves to form the lyrics and you’re doing a little dance in your spot, never keeping your eyes off the pan.

Not wanting to hide away anymore, Grim steps into the room and your eyes easily tear away from the stove to meet his gaze. There’s a bright smile adorning your face as you turn to face him while setting down the spatula. He jumps into your open arms and you hug him close to your chest, still singing sweetly.

There, you nuzzle into his furry cheeks, cooing, “Pretty little baby!”

Grim thinks this one is his favorite song too.

Meet me at the car hop or at the pop shop Meet me in the moonlight or in the daylight Pretty little baby, I'm so in love with you Ooh-ooh-ooh

The food was delicious, and, though he ate a lot, you always made sure to make extras in case he wanted more tomorrow. Sometimes, you bring it with you so he could snack on it between classes. Ace says you spoil Grim too much, but you always disagree.

Still, now that it was late and his tummy was full, he was getting really sleepy. But he couldn’t sleep just yet because you always made him brush his teeth thoroughly while you were getting ready for bed. Even though he groans about how tired he was, he waited for you every night.

Why? He realized he didn’t like sleeping without you since he was by himself at S.T.Y.X.

When you stepped out of the bathroom in pajamas and freshly brushed teeth, Grim was quick to usher you into bed. You only giggled in response, making sure to turn off the light before following him into your shared bed. You slipped underneath the cover, and, like every night, you pulled Grim in and curled him against your body.

“Goodnight, Grim,” You said softly, pressing a kiss against his forehead. With a small purr slipping out without him meaning to, Grim could feel the sleepiness seep into his mind. With your humming a soft lullaby in his ear, he can’t help but snuggle closer to you.

Compared to his quiet and sad life that he lived before…This life in Ramshackle was different.

Better, he would say.

Pretty little baby I said pretty little baby Oh, now, pretty little baby

Here, with your arms wrapped around his smaller body, Grim can feel the coldness slip away and turn into warmth.

Here, with your cooking filling his tummy with amazing and piping hot meals, Grim can feel his hunger fade away.

Here, with you at his side, Grim can feel his loneliness disappear.

He can’t wait for tomorrow to come.

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #Grim #Twst Grim #Twst x reader #Scenario #Khunwriting #This song has been stuck in my mind #And I can only think about giving Grim a big smooch on his little head

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whenmemorydies · 5 days ago

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White supremacist capitalist patriarchy and season 4 of The Bear

I hear folks who are absolutely pissed that it looks like season 4 of The Bear ended with a petulant Carmy who got knocked off his pedestal, running cos now he doesn't know what to do with himself. I hear the anger. I also viscerally raged as I binge watched last night. For me, a lot of this had to do with the idea that this white man who is so used to being excellent, now has to deal with maybe not being excellent. But instead of dealing, it looks like he's vanishing. Like his dad did. Repeating old patterns.

But on a very rough night's sleep worth of reflection, I've come to the conclusion that this is probably a legerdemain. Let me explain.

Carmy is part of a system - white supremacist capitalist patriarchy to be exact. And that system ascribes roles and expectations on everyone that gets subjected to it. Including white folks. I've talked about Carmy's racialisation here but the TLDR of it is that Carmy is part of the Italian-American community that has been assimilated into whiteness over time in America. As a white man he sits at the top of a racial hieriarchy with a history and current reality of horrendous violence and control. He grew up and worked in cultures that valorised a toxic, violent, white masculinity that expected him to perform excellence, dominate and control everything around him as a result.

The rest of us - particularly racialised women (I'm a non-Black, diasporic woman of colour so I can't speak to Syd's specific experience but I think this holds true for all WOC) - we are never expected to dominate. We are often expected to be excellent because of the time and resources invested in us by our parents and communities and because of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy's insistence that mediocrity is a luxury that only white folks get to enjoy without being penalised. This garbage catch-22 is most starkly articulated by Syd during her nightmare in 4x08 Green:

Syd: And then, you're gonna take a perfect little sliver of chive, put that all on top, and it'll be great. And of course, if your dish fails, its no worry at all, no trouble, really. You'll just be a complete waste of space and a failure and a disappointment to anybody who's devoted any time or energy to you.

So how does a white man like Carmy - who was never socialised to be of service in community, who was raised throughout childhood and his career to smoke others, to prove that he could smoke others ("fuck you, watch this") - how does that white man navigate a world where he's no longer the best? Where he's no longer in control?

If that white man was integrated and mature? Well he wouldn't have been trying to dominate in the first place. But for argument's sake and in this context, if this hypothetical white man was those things - integrated and mature - maybe, he might take a step back and let others lead.

But Carmy isn't integrated. He's not there yet. Realistically, he does have to unlearn a lifetime of abuse, socialisation, racialisation and his own dysfunctional coping strategies so that he doesn't keep hurting people. He does have to figure out who he is without all of this bullshit. Honestly, as infuriating as this was to watch...I get it?

The frustration is that we, the viewers, have seen all the characteristics that Carmy identifies in Syd in that fight from 4x10, in him too. In 4x10, Carmy tells Syd:

You are considerate. You...You allow yourself to feel things, right? You allow yourself to care. You are a natural leader and teacher.

Across this show, we have seen Carmy be considerate of others, most significantly of the BIPOC people in his life (bringing all the crew at The Beef over with him to The Bear, giving his chef's knife to Tina, making Sydney The Bear's captain), we have seen him deeply feel (see Carmy's long overdue confrontation of his abuser, Chef David Fields in 3x10), we have seen him care (see Carmy's incessant checking in with Syd throughout this show), and we've seen him lead and teach his team (see Carmy walking the crew through how to make chicken piccata in season 1).

We know that Carmy is good. We know that he's deserving of Syd's love and that she is more than deserving of his. We know that folks can chew gum and walk at the same fucking time and so we - I mean most definitely me - yell at the TV screen (and on this platform lol): WHAT THE FUCK MAN? GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND BE THERE FOR SYDNEY, THE OTHER HALF OF YOUR HEART!!!!

But Carmy, and a lot of other straight, white men (and white women, quite frankly), probably don't know this about themselves. They probably don't know that its not being a soft shitty bitch when you're considerate of others, that you can feel hurt and pain and survive it, that you can care about others and have that be a strength, and that you can lead quietly and consistently without swinging your dick and trying to smoke motherfuckers.

I mean, America. Look at who the majority of white voters - that's white men and white women - elected to lead your country, for fucks sake.

This is white supremacy culture at work. This is the Berzatto's intergenerational, racialised trauma at work. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy facilitates the conditions for white people to not know themselves in their wholeness. To not know who they are in relation to others and the world. In fact, it invites everyone into this condition (via assimilation). So how do you resist it?

Integration time

How will Carmy fix it? How will he integrate?

Carmy will need to learn about himself. In 4x09 Tonnato, Donna tells him that she doesn't know him and he doesn't know her. This is true.

There is work to be done here in terms of understanding his lineage and the history that makes up Carmy's very skin and bones. But he has already begun doing this: Carmy knowing about tonnato because of his culinary training and imparting that cultural knowledge to his Italian-American mother because she's lost that knowledge or never had it to begin with made me tear up because THIS is the work of integration. Of reclaiming your history. Of resisting assimilation. It fucking hit me in the chest, right in my displaced, diasporic heart.

If Carmy was paying attention, he would have also seen Richie doing this throughout season 2. Recall his basement chat with Carmy in 2x01:

Richie: You know, um, I'm trying really hard to be on board with all this new shit, cousin. I'm, uh, I'm reading a lot. I'm trying to learn about who am I to my history.

Likewise, Sydney spent all of season 2 studying and integrating her past trauma into effective leadership for her team. I know for certain that we are going to learn and see more about Sydney's history in season 5 (if the show gets picked up again) and how this has influenced her professionally and personally.

But then what? What will Carmy do after he's undertaken that work?

This is where Luca's plotline is crucial and not just as a vehicle for us to gush over him and Marcus (which, yes, I gushed. I'm still gushing. They're adorable, supportive of one another and an indecently attractive couple).

Recall the conversation between Luca and Tina in 4x08 Green:

Luca: Pressure.

Tina: How do you get rid of it?

Luca: I think you get to a point where you don't want to. Like, at first the pressure sucks, right? Its the pressure that makes you feel shitty at what you do. And actually, thats just the pressure getting in the way. You learn to live with it. And then, next thing you know, you thrive on it. And before you know it, you can't fucking wait to get rocked. Like, you want that pressure, you need that pressure to be able to perform.

Tina: *looks dubious* (me and you both my Queen lmao)

Luca: So, then, the challenge actually becomes, can you live without that pressure?

Tina: Can you?

Luca: I guess not. 'Cause I'm back here working for Carmy again, so...I'm probably not the person to ask, but you let me know if you find out, Chef.

What Luca is describing, a state of not being able to wait to get rocked? That might be fine every now and then for motivation's sake. But what Luca is describing is a state of mind that folks are expected to be in for the duration of their working lives. He's telling Tina how to survive if she wants to remain working in this system. Wanting to get rocked, learning to live with getting rocked sounds the tagline for any ad selling white supremacist capitalist patriarchy to the masses: With our centuries-old system, you too can learn how to tolerate getting fucked, regularly!

Problem is, we are humans, not replicants (shout out to Richie and Phillip K Dick), and we don't take kindly to being fucked every day of our working lives. The Bear knows this too. Recall Mikey answering Tina's question about whether he likes his work, in 3x06 Napkins: "I definitely do not like never not being fucked."

So the question is, once you become accustomed to this way of life, like Carmy has, like Luca was, like many of us are, can you conceive of a different world? A different way of being?

I know Luca tells Tina in the above convo that he isn't there yet but truthfully, he is. Luca comes back to Chicago to "address things and not run away from things" as he tells Marcus in 4x08 Green. Those things involve his family, namely his sister. He's there to address something to do with his roots. In doing so, he says its made him appreciate the city. He, like Richie, is doing the work of learning about who he is to his history.

To give himself the space to do this, he's come to The Bear to work as a stage - one of the lowest level staff in the hierarchy of a restaurant. This is someone who once worked as a sous at Ever - ranked the best restaurant in the world at one point. He's using the skills he has acquired in the course of his pretty decorated career to support others who have not yet had the same opportunities as him.

Luca is at The Bear, doing the quiet, consistent work I've previously talked about: that work that creates the safe space for inspiration, creativity and dreams to thrive. This is the work of being in community. Luca is in community with Marcus, with Tina, with Gary, with Carmy, with Sydney. He is - without ego - supporting and mentoring Tina and Marcus. Luca is resisting (whether consciously or unconsciously) a white supremacist capitalist patriarchal system that would ordinarily demand that he dominate The Bear's kitchen. In doing so, he's being a good culinary ancestor. Next season, should we get it, it will be Carmy's turn: to come back integrated, sure in himself and without ego, to be there to support (in any way she requires it) Sydney.

And by the way, for the record:

In a world where Black women were the single biggest voting block consistently and overwhelmingly using their generations-long-fought right to vote to protect America from itself fascism in 2016 and 2024, this statement from Carmy:

[A]ny chance of any kind of good in this building, it started when you walked in. And any possibility of it surviving? Its with you.

….is as much about the salvation of The Original Beef of Chicagoland's soul by Sydney, as it is about the United States of America’s by Black women.

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alynwrench · 21 days ago

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Something Old, Something New: The World Around Us

Hi everyone, its AlynWrench! I don't normally write fanfics or drabbles but I participated in a writing sprint with some pals and cooked this up This is for my DCA X YN Oddity Shop AU Something Old, Something New! A story taking place in a thrift/oddity shop ran by an old lady named Mildred who took in the daycare attendant as an employee and hired you in after requesting a position. I don't post about it a lot so here's some art for visual purposes, then you can get to reading!

721 words, no warnings. Feel free to enjoy!

"Why are the kids clothes cleaner than the adult clothing in this bag?" You mutter.

"Excuse me?"

You look up to eclipse after folding a set of frilly girls shorts, embroidered with butterflies and sequins. "You ever think that says something about like, their relationship? The responsibility of the parents?"

You can see the gears turning in his motherboard, optics darting between your own eyes as if trying to figure out what exactly is going on in your mind.

"Okay, so- Typically kids run around, they get into messes." You grab another piece, this time a pink girls shirt with some cartoon you recall airing recent, not quite remembering the name. "And I get these days kids don't go outside as much but they're still clumsy, they still spill ice-cream and slip on ice and all that stuff. But these clothes are spotless."

"Okay…?" You feel a sense of humor coming from his voicebox, like he's not sure where this is going. As you speak you watch him examine a painting that was also donated to the store, scanning it for imperfections or grime.

"But now look at this" You lift up an adult sized shirt, stained by the collar and ripped at the edge. "Or this." A woman's dress, the edges of the straps where your arms poke through ruined with deodorant and some sort of yellowing on the white, imperfections spotted around.

Eclipse stands up from the small circle you both were sitting in and heads to a wall, hanging the painting and then placing a price sticker on it. "Oh, I see! You're suggesting that the parents let the child wear their clothes?"

"No, not at all. I'm just saying-" you wave your hands in a small circle, trying to get your own thoughts turning in a way that's easy to explain. "- It makes me wonder what the dynamic at home is like, you know? There's so many possibilities." You toss the dirty clothes into a nearby bin for recycling. "Are the parents immature, has the child taken on an older role than she'd like? Or maybe the parents don't have the means to keep their own clothes neat so they just make sure the child is cared for first."

"Why are you worried about all of that? It doesn't affect you in any way." He adjusts the picture then rotates his faceplate towards you, body following with a slight delay.

"Maybe not.. I just.. You don't think about why people donate this stuff, why its in the condition it's in?"

He seems to freeze in place, trying to generate a decent answer to give. "… No, not particularly."

You give a small hum, standing up to throw away the garbage bag you'd been searching through. In a way it made you feel a little crazy, but you also remind yourself it's not surprising he doesn't understand. After all his thoughts are more programmed than anything.

But that's when he finally responds.

"I sometimes wonder, why they donated me."

His tone is quieter than you're used to, like when he's speaking to Mildred's cat or talking to himself in the few times you've caught him doing so.

"You do?"

"I do."

He leans on the wall, tugging on his sleeve while he looks everywhere except towards you.

"Why not throw me away? Especially with the state I was found in. Shattered plastic and metal, in a state of trying to destroy myself- in a state of delirium where two of my defaults… Were fighting. I don't like thinking about how I was acting when I was in that place."

You had only learned certain aspects of his past, let alone found him in those defaults he mentioned very rarely. Sun and Moon, he called them. And each time you did find him in those states, it was always on accident. He hated you seeing him like that. But at the end of the day, you never really minded.

"I'm glad they sent you here." You murmur. "I'm glad I met you. I'm glad Mildred hired me here. I- I'm glad you don't mind talking to me about, you know. This stuff."

Eclipse finally turns to you, astonished you can safely assume. A soft chuckle escapes his body. "As long as you feel that way, I guess… That relieves me."

#something old something new #sosn au #fnaf au #yn x eclipse #yn x dca #dca x yn #dca #daycare attendant #eclipse fnaf #oddity shop #thrift store #drabble #alynwrench writes

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rainroses45 · 7 months ago

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My Niece is a Goldfish?

۶ৎ description: Imagine when Dean goes to go pick up Sam from college, not only is the news of John being missing brought up but another little surprise was on its way. Dean Winchester x fem! reader ۶ৎ a/n: I have like 4 different incomplete stories in my notes app rn and I'm just so lazy because who the hell wants to read my garbage when people want smut but oh well i tried…not my best not my worst idc (Not edited) ۶ৎ song inspiration: Back to the Basics - Lana Del Rey ۶ৎ Warnings: ZIP ZERO NONE NADA

“Woah dude, why is there a car seat in the back?” Sam stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at the floral pink booster.

Dean had just broken into his apartment like a serial killer in the middle of night, dragged Sam out into the street after somehow convincing him to join him on trying to locate their dead beat father, and now there is a missing infant.

“Great.” Sam thought, “Dean caused an Amber alert.”

“Shit!” Dean scurried to the impala, hoping - no, praying that his brother developed cataracts or something. “I told them not to leave the car.”

“Them?!” Sam followed Dean around the impala. “What are you talking about?!”

“I told her not to leave,” Dean angrily said while dialing your number, “and what does she do,” he puts the flip phone to his ear, “she leaves.”

“Dean,” Sam walked over to him, still being completely ignored, “hellloooo??” He waved his hands in front of his older brother. “Who are you talking about?”

“Pick up, pick up,” Dean ignore him, anxiously tapped his thigh looking around, waiting for the phone to stop ringing, and your voice to answer.

“Okay if you are about done now with your little tap routine, I’m going back-“ Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt pulling him back like a dog on a leash.

“They couldn’t have gone far-” He shoved the flip phone in his pocket, frantically searching the area with worried eyes. “Dean let go man…” “You take that direction and I’ll check this side, maybe if we..”

“Dean, sweetie did you find Sam?”

And is if the lights from heaven sent a giant satellite beam on you, Dean turned around blindly searching for your voice.

“Oh my dear cream of tartar where have you been?!” Dean flared his hands down looking at you like you’ve been missing for months.

“Okay what the actual fuck is going on?” Sam was close to just throwing his duffle bag at the window, heading back into bed, and taking a melatonin.

Dean waved him off unfortunately to his demise. “Not right now bowl head I just saw all of my lives flash before me.”

“You’re such a baby.” You commented. You held what looked like to sam a tiny sack of potatoes with a pink blanket covering it from the winds.

“Does that mean I get to-“

“NO!” Both you and Sam scream - both for different reasons but the same sense of warning nonetheless.

“Okay can someone explain to me what is happening right now?”Sam ran his hands through his hair desperately trying to contain a forming headache from all this mojo of chaos.

“Well my dear Sammy, while you went off to college I decided to adopt the brady brunch- what the fuck do you think happened?” Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance walking over to you and the baby.

Sam now able to adjust his eyes realized the sack of potatoes turned out to be a little baby with the rosiest checks ever.

“I didn’t think you would end up with child.” Dean groaned at Sam’s comment.

“What are we the England Monarch? No of course I didn’t plan on bringing a baby into this world but stuff happens..” Dean trailed off, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal. Sam on the other hand was having a whole mental gymnastics session trying to figure out how the hell things changed so fast.

“How is my little precious princess doing,” your husband pulled the blank down gently to see his daughter’s beautiful eyes peak out. She had the same sparkle and shape as yours to the point he could even see the tiny hew surrounding the pupil - she was beautiful.

“Sorry for leaving sweetheart,” you said to Dean, watching his cute reaction to his daughter gazing up at him. “She was getting fussy in the car waiting so I decided to take her on a little stroll.” You moved her down to your arms, cradling her into your chest.

“Would it have killed you to answer the phone at least?” Dean sighed as the rate of his heart finally matched his breathing.

“Sorry my phone died.” You knew your husband would be worrying about you but by the time you thought to call, you phone screen turned black with a red battery sign on.

“That’s okay just- I don’t know, shoot a flare gun or something just please don’t leave without telling me.”

“I won’t.” You smiled. He in return left a soft kiss to your check and a butterfly kiss to your daughter. She smiled at her father’s touch, making you both smile back; hearts so full with love, before the moment was ruined.

“So I have a niece?”

“No you have a pet goldfish, suprise!” Dean sparkled his hands around annoyingly, if he had known picking up his brother would be this tiring he might have just let Sam be stuck in his cob web filled books. . “How the hell you got into Stanford is beyond me.”

“That’s enough Dean,” you snickered as your husband rolled his eyes. “I think it’s nice to see you again Sam, although on different circumstances would have been nice.” You walked towards the impala, Dean already opened the back door for you as you hopped in with your little princess.

“Wow I just- I never took you as a father figure,” Sam looked down shocked, “I mean I didn’t even see you as one to settle down - no offense Y/n.”

“Umm very much taken Samuel.” You had been dating Dean since you both were 15, so to say he wouldn’t stick around after the shit show of high school was highly offensive.

“Everyone buckle up,” Dean readjusted his review mirror starring at you, as you buckled in your seven month old daughter. His whole life in the back of his car.

Sam clipped in his seatbelt, “Soooo am I going to have to interrogate the baby for answers orrr..”

“This is going to be a long car ride.” You smiled as Dean groaned.

“Well it all started when…”

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean winchester/reader #sam winchester #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x fem reader #FLUFF #sam winchester confused #john winchester being a dick #dean winchester x wife reader #dean winchester x wife who happens to have his child reader #IM TIRED #short cute imagine #no smut #lina writes

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forthebrokenheartedthings · 13 days ago

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Right Then, Wrong Time (One Shot)

Pairing: Thunderbolts Bucky x Thunderbolts Reader

WC: 7k +

Summary: You’re a Thunderbolt now. Bucky Barnes is your teammate, your rival, your biggest mistake—and your best friend’s other best friend. You were never supposed to fall for him. And he was never supposed to let you.

TW: Fighting, Blood, Angst, Bucky

Your knuckles are bleeding again. You hadn’t noticed until the third punch landed, knuckle-deep in the guy’s throat, and came back slick.

You shift your weight, duck, pivot—fist meets jaw, and he crumples. That makes five.

Behind you, glass shatters and someone yells in Russian. The alley stinks of garbage and cordite. Somewhere overhead, a drone buzzes, circling. You don’t look up.

Instead, you roll your eyes and shout, "Could really use that arm right about now, Barnes!"

From the rooftop above, Bucky swears. “Give me two seconds—!”

You don’t have two seconds.

Another rounds the corner with a stun baton crackling blue. He grins like he’s got you figured out. You grin back harder, duck the first swing, grab his wrist, and ram his own weapon into his ribcage. He screams. You don’t flinch.

"One second would've been better," you mutter, straightening as the body drops.

Bucky finally lands beside you, silent as sin, black tactical gear smeared in ash and blood. He looks at the bodies. Then at you.

His mouth twitches.

"You always leave me the fun ones, (Y/N)."

"Try moving faster next time," you say, brushing hair from your face. Your hands are shaking. You hope he doesn’t notice.

He does. Of course he does.

"You alright?" he asks, low, a crackle under his breath like he doesn’t really want to ask.

"I'm great," you lie. Then, more sharply, “The intel?”

He reaches into his vest, tosses you a drive. You catch it one-handed.

"We got it. Ghost is already exfil. Yelena’s covering the rear.”

You nod once, stuffing the drive into your belt. The two of you start walking—silent, in step. It’s weird, how easy that part is. The rest? Not so much.

As you cross the empty street, sirens start up in the distance. Prague police. Military maybe. No time to linger.

"Good job back there," he says finally.

You glance at him. “Trying to be nice now?”

"Trying to not get stabbed again,” he mutters.

That makes you snort, despite yourself.

"One time," you say.

"You broke two ribs."

"Should’ve kept your hands to yourself."

He glances sideways at you, half a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, eyes shadowed in a way that makes your stomach pull tight. You hate that smirk. You hate what it does to you.

You hate how close you came to missing him when he didn’t show up for the last mission.

The two of you duck into a side street, headed for the safe house.

You don’t say another word. You don’t have to. You can feel his eyes on you the whole way there.

The safe house is an old hotel, gutted down to barebones. One flickering hallway light, one working shower, and a couch that might’ve witnessed a war crime or two.

You head straight for the kitchen—if you can call a chipped kettle and an expired protein bar stash a kitchen.

Behind you, the door slams. You don’t look back.

You dig through a drawer until you find gauze and disinfectant. The sting distracts you, just enough.

You're bruised and bleeding. And doing a shit job at hiding it.

Bucky looks at and tries to take a calming breath. It doesn't work.

“Jesus, you’re really just gonna keep pretending that was fine?” Bucky’s voice behind you, low and pissed.

You don’t answer.

He keeps going. “You almost got gutted out there. If I hadn’t—”

“If you hadn’t what?” you snap, turning. “Showed up late? Stood there posturing like it’s still 1943?”

His jaw flexes. “You’re reckless.”

“You’re slow.”

“You’re impossible.”

You throw the gauze roll on the counter. “Don’t pretend this is about the mission.”

“Oh, so it’s about you dragging your ass into every suicide job on the roster like you’ve got a death wish?”

You stiffen.

Bucky sees it. Regrets it. Doesn’t back down.

“I’m not trying to die,” you say, flat. “I’m trying to do the job. Not everyone gets to make amends by petting stray cats and going on apology tours.”

His eyes narrow.

You lean in. “Some of us still bleed for it.”

That hits. You watch it land—just for a second, the way his mouth tightens, the flicker in his eyes before he puts the walls back up.

He steps forward. Too close.

“You don’t get it,” he says, voice lower now, more dangerous. “You think you’re the only one still bleeding? You think this is easy for me?”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

He stares at you.

You stare back.

It’s always like this—rage that circles something else. Something worse. Something neither of you wants to name.

You break first. You always do.

“I’m going to shower,” you say. Cold. Final.

He lets you walk away.

But his eyes stay on you the whole time.

You’re drying your hair with a towel when the knock hits the door.

Three sharp raps. Familiar rhythm.

You groan. “Go away, Barnes, I swear to god—”

“It’s me,” comes Sam’s voice.

You pause. Wrap the towel tighter and crack the door open.

He’s standing there in jeans, a bomber jacket, and a grin that tells you this is not a business trip.

“Miss me?” he asks.

“Like a rash,” you reply, and he laughs like he missed that.

You let him in. The place still smells like smoke and bruises. He eyes the busted coffee table and mutters, “Jesus, you guys still decorating with trauma?”

“Homey, right?”

He glances toward the hallway. “Where’s your emotional support war criminal?”

“Pouting, probably,” you say. “He’ll come out when he smells attention.”

Right on cue, Bucky rounds the corner in a black t-shirt, looking like a regrettable dream.

“Wilson,” he says, mildly surprised.

“Barnes,” Sam replies, nodding. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Thank your girl for that.”

You roll your eyes and head for the kitchen. “We’re not doing this.”

Sam follows, tossing a takeout bag on the counter. “I brought dumplings.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You trying to bribe us into a therapy session?”

“No,” he says. Then, “Yes.”

Bucky mutters something under his breath. You hear "hell" and "nope."

But the food smells good, and it’s been a long time since you sat at a table with someone who didn’t want something from you.

So you let Sam talk. He fills the silence like he always does—smart, soft-edged, pretending not to notice how far apart you and Bucky sit.

“You two always this fun now?” he asks after a beat.

“Define fun,” you say.

“Define you two,” he says back.

There’s a pause.

You sip your drink. Bucky doesn’t look up.

Sam doesn’t press. He just leans back in the chair and tells a story about some mission that ended with him stuck in an elevator with three goats and a crying baby.

You laugh. For real.

It’s the first time you’ve seen Bucky look at you without a shield up in days.

Just for a second, his eyes soften. Just for a second, he looks like he wants to say something.

He doesn’t.

But Sam sees it. Of course he does.

Sam’s long gone. Took the last of the dumplings and the warmth with him.

The safe house is quiet now, humming low with distant traffic and the occasional creak of old pipes. You're perched on the counter, knees pulled up, a chipped mug of tea warming your hands. It’s weak and bitter. You sip it anyway.

Bucky’s at the sink, rinsing plates like it matters.

You watch him for a while. Not saying anything. You don’t really need to.

He finally speaks, voice quiet.

“You always drink that garbage?”

You shrug. “Helps me sleep.”

“That’s what whiskey’s for.”

You glance at him. “Thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t. But if I did, it wouldn’t be that tea.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the feedback, grandpa.”

His mouth quirks.

You catch it. That tiny smile. The rare kind. The dangerous kind.

“You and Sam seem good,” he says after a beat.

“Yeah. He checks in.”

He nods, gaze dropping to the counter. “You need that.”

There’s a pause.

You tilt your head. “You checking in too?”

His eyes flick back up. “You make it really hard to care, you know that?”

You slide off the counter, slow, setting the mug down with a soft clink.

“I make it hard?” you echo, voice low.

He watches you come closer. Doesn’t move.

“You throw yourself into every fight like you’ve got nothing to lose,” he says.

You’re close now. Inches. “Maybe I don’t.”

His jaw tightens. His voice drops. “You do.”

The air is thick. The kind that crackles just before lightning.

You should walk away. You don’t.

He leans in a little. Just slightly. “(Y/N)...”

Your breath catches.

His hand twitches, like it might reach for your waist, your arm, your anything—but he doesn’t touch you.

You tilt your face up. Not breathing.

The moment stretches. Long enough to break.

Then—he pulls back.

Barely. Just enough to ruin it.

You laugh once, sharp and joyless. “That’s what I thought.”

You brush past him.

Your boots slam the hallway floor harder than you intend.

You should go to bed. You should lock the door and shut your mouth and stop giving a damn about a man who only ever pulls away when it counts.

But you're halfway to your room when you hear him behind you.

"(Y/N)."

You don’t stop walking.

"(Y/N), wait—"

You spin. "What, Bucky?"

He's standing there, hands clenched, mouth tight, that same infuriating wounded expression like you’re the one who did this to him.

"You can’t just run every time something gets—"

"Gets what? Real?"

He doesn’t answer.

"You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me?" you demand. "You think I don’t feel it, every goddamn time we get too close and you disappear like a coward?"

His jaw ticks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

"No?" You step toward him. “Then say it. Say it’s nothing. That this is all in my head.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You shake your head. “Right. Because you can fight Hydra soldiers, take a bullet for me, rip someone's spine out if I blink wrong—but god forbid you deal with an emotion.”

He steps forward, voice rising. “You think it’s easy for me? You think I want to feel this—this—”

You shove him, hard. “Then do something about it!”

He shoves back. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to hold his ground.

“I’m not the one crawling into bed with strangers every time I get scared.”

You flinch. Just slightly.

He sees it. Regrets it. Immediately.

But it’s too late.

Your voice drops to ice. “At least I’m not dragging someone through hell with me because I’m too fucking scared to admit I care.”

You stare at each other. Breathing hard.

If someone fired a gun, neither of you would blink.

You whisper, “You don’t get to do this, Bucky.”

And then you turn.

And this time, you don’t stop.

The bar’s too bright. Or maybe you're just too tired.

You’re slouched in a booth across from Sam, nursing a whiskey you don’t want. Your hair’s still damp from the post-mission shower. You didn’t want to come out tonight, but Sam insisted. “You need to stop sulking in shadows,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “Come out. Eat fries. Pretend to like people.” You agreed. Not for the fries. Not even for Sam. You agreed because you knew he might show up. You didn’t expect him to bring someone. You spot them the second they walk in. She’s tall. Blonde. Probably a model. Definitely not someone who’s ever seen a war zone. She laughs at something Bucky says as he helps her out of her coat. You stiffen. Sam notices. “You alright?” he asks, voice low. You force a shrug. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Sam doesn’t answer, but his eyes follow yours across the room. He sighs. “Again?” he mutters. “Again.” You watch as Bucky leads her to the bar, hand resting low on her back. It’s casual. Thoughtless. Cruel. Because it’s not about her. It never is. It’s about you. About what he doesn’t say. About what he won’t do. He looks good, of course. Black jacket, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back. Smirking like he doesn’t know exactly what he's doing to you. Or maybe he does. You turn away. Sip your drink. Try not to taste the bitterness. Sam leans forward. “You know he’s not serious.” “That makes it worse.” Sam’s quiet for a moment. Then: “You want me to start a bar fight?” You smirk, barely. “You really think you’d win?” “Not a chance,” he grins. You clink your glass against his. “Thanks, though.” You don’t look back at Bucky again. But you feel his eyes on you for the rest of the night.

The morning hits hard. You’d blame the whiskey, but it’s not the hangover that’s making your stomach ache.

It’s the image—Bucky leaning in close, murmuring something to that girl. Her laugh. His hand on her knee. Like it costs him nothing.

You left before midnight. Told Sam you had a headache.

Now it’s noon, and you’re crouched next to your beat-up SUV on a quiet D.C. side street, staring at a tire that’s flatter than your love life. You curse under your breath and kick the rubber, accomplishing absolutely nothing.

“You need a hand?”

The voice is warm. Smooth. Unthreatening in a way that makes your body instantly lower its guard.

You glance up.

He’s crouching a few feet away. Worn jeans, paint on his sleeves, coffee in one hand. Smile like it comes easy.

You narrow your eyes. “Unless your name is ‘Spare Tire,’ I’m good.”

He grins. “Close. Jesse.”

You stare for a beat.

He holds up his hands, placating. “I work across the street. I’m not a serial killer. I do, however, have a jack and an unreasonable sense of chivalry.”

You sigh. “Fine. But if you kill me, I’m haunting your plumbing.”

“Deal.”

He gets to work beside you, competent and quiet. You hand him tools without needing to ask. He doesn’t ask about your day, or your bruised knuckles, or why you look like you haven’t slept. He just hums a bit as he works.

When he’s done, you straighten up and wipe your hands on your pants.

“You do this for all the sad girls with tire problems?” you ask.

“Only the ones who look like they could snap my spine if I said the wrong thing.”

That earns a real smile out of you.

“You wanna grab lunch?” he asks, almost shyly. “There’s a taco truck nearby that doesn’t totally suck.”

You glance toward the sky. You could say no. Should say no.

But something about Jesse feels like a quiet place to rest. Like maybe he doesn’t need to be anything but kind.

And for once, maybe you want that.

“Yeah,” you say. “Sure.”

Jesse doesn’t push.

He texts you good mornings and doesn’t double-text when you don’t answer for eight hours. He learns your order at the Thai place on 7th. When you show up at his door with a busted lip and the wrong kind of silence in your eyes, he doesn’t ask. He just puts on a movie, hands you a hoodie, and lets you borrow the stillness of his world for a while.

You start to like that. Too much.

Yelena notices first.

“He looks like a baby deer,” she says, squinting at a photo of him on your phone. “Soft. No instincts. You will eat him alive.”

You don’t disagree.

Wanda, of course, just smiles. “He’s sweet,” she says, stirring her tea. “But you’re not in love.”

“Give it a minute,” you say. “He’s growing on me.”

Sam? He just raises his eyebrows and says, “Well, damn. You’re dating someone with zero trauma. Are you okay?”

You fake a punch. He laughs. You’re starting to.

The real test comes a few weeks later—team debrief. You show up late, coffee in hand, wearing Jesse’s jacket.

Bucky’s already there. Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, scowl locked in.

You try not to look at him.

He definitely looks at you.

Ghost gives the rundown. You nod along, toss out a few strategic corrections, keep it strictly professional.

Until the mission file closes and the tension in the room shifts from tactical to personal.

“So,” Yelena says, leaning her chin on her fist, “how’s civilian boy?”

You smirk. “Still alive. Still tolerating me.”

“That’s an achievement,” Ava mutters.

You roll your eyes. “He’s nice.”

You feel it before you see it—Bucky stiffening across the room. Like the word nice is a bullet.

“He got a name?” John asks.

“Jesse.” You say it soft, but clear.

Bucky says nothing. Doesn’t move. Just keeps his arms folded like his chest might break open if he breathes wrong.

Later, in the hallway, he corners you.

Not close enough to touch.

But close enough to hurt.

“Jesse,” he says, like the word tastes sour.

“Yeah?” you bite back. “Got something to say?”

He hesitates. Just for a second.

“No,” he says.

You nod once. Cold.

You walk away before he can watch your hands shake.

The team dinner is Sam’s idea.

He calls it "casual bonding," which is code for: "I’m trying to keep you psychos from emotionally combusting."

You don’t tell Jesse it’s a test. Just say it’s a friendly dinner with work people, mostly harmless. He agrees without hesitation. Wears a button-down and brings a bottle of wine.

The second he steps into the restaurant, you know Bucky’s already clocked him.

Yelena spots Jesse first. “Oh, no,” she whispers dramatically. “He’s adorable.”

You shoot her a look.

Wanda gives Jesse a warm hello. Ava nods. Sam claps him on the back and says, “Welcome to the circus.”

Bucky just looks at him.

Not says hello. Not offers a handshake.

Just looks.

Jesse doesn’t notice. He’s too busy pulling out your chair, resting his hand on your lower back, saying something that makes you laugh.

Bucky notices that.

The meal’s decent. The conversation is light. Jesse holds his own—asks questions, makes them laugh, doesn’t flinch when Yelena tells a story that ends with three bodies and a flaming dumpster.

But Bucky?

He doesn’t smile once. He barely eats. Every time Jesse reaches for your hand, every time your shoulders brush, Bucky’s jaw tightens like it’s wired shut.

When Jesse excuses himself to take a call, the table goes quiet.

Bucky stares down his drink.

Then says, to no one in particular, “Guy’s got no idea what you really do, huh?”

You stiffen. “That supposed to mean something?”

He shrugs. “Just funny. Watching you play house.”

You laugh once, hard and cold. “Funny, coming from a guy who plays dead inside every time someone touches him.”

That earns you a look. The kind that could level buildings.

Jesse returns. You smile like everything’s fine.

When you leave, he kisses you on the sidewalk—soft, easy, nothing dramatic.

You let him.

Behind you, Bucky doesn’t move. Just stands there, watching, like something in him is calcifying.

That night, you find him at the bar two blocks down. Alone. Whiskey in hand.

You slide onto the stool beside him.

“You’re drunk,” you say.

“Maybe,” he answers.

There’s a beat.

“Just say it,” he mutters.

“Say what?”

“That it’s fake.”

You stare at him. “You think I’m pretending?”

His eyes meet yours. Glassy, but sharp. “You don’t look at him the way you used to look at me.”

You say nothing.

He leans in, voice low and slurred. “You don’t laugh like you mean it. Not with him.”

You stare back.

And then you leave.

Because if you stay, you’ll say something you can’t unsay.

The ring is simple. Gold, understated, no stones. Something you could wear on a mission without breaking it. He picked it with you in mind—practical, smart, subtle.

He asks you on a Wednesday.

You're both barefoot in his apartment, the one with creaky floorboards and plants that won’t stop growing. He’s cooking pasta, badly, and laughing because he burned the garlic again.

You’re leaning on the counter when he turns around, suddenly serious.

“I love you,” he says.

You blink, surprised by the shift in tone. “I love you too.”

He takes a step forward. Then another. Then—

Drops to one knee.

You stare.

Your heart isn’t racing. That’s what gets you first.

Jesse smiles, small and sure. “(Y/N), I know your life is chaos. I know it’s dangerous, and messy, and full of secrets. But when you’re with me... it’s not.”

You blink again.

He opens the box. It’s the exact kind of ring you would’ve picked for yourself.

“I want to be that part of your life. The quiet part. The safe one. Marry me?”

And then—

Bucky.

His face crashes through your head like a bomb.

Your throat goes tight. Your hands start to sweat. Jesse’s still smiling, still waiting.

You try to picture a future. You try to see it clearly.

But Bucky’s shadow is everywhere.

Still—this man loves you. This man has done nothing wrong.

So you force the word out, soft and hollow.

“Yes.”

Jesse exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. Pulls you into a hug.

You hold him back.

But your eyes are wide open over his shoulder.

You don’t tell anyone.

Not right away. Not Sam. Not Yelena. Definitely not Bucky.

You wear the ring on a chain around your neck instead of your finger. Tell Jesse it’s because of the work. The missions. You don’t say it's because of the man you can’t stop thinking about.

You stare at it sometimes in the mirror. Like it might blink back.

A week passes.

Sam invites everyone to a low-stakes rooftop hangout. Pizza, cheap beer, folding chairs. The air smells like summer. Bucky's there, sitting on the edge of the railing like he doesn’t care if he falls.

You keep your distance. Try to laugh at Yelena’s nonsense. Try to focus on Wanda talking about weird wedding traditions in Sokovia.

It’s fine. It’s all fine.

Until Jesse shows up.

You didn’t invite him. Sam did. Thought he was being sweet. Thought he was helping.

Jesse shows up smiling, carrying a six-pack and a bag of tortilla chips. You meet him halfway down the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper.

He laughs, confused. “Sam invited me. Is it okay?”

You smile too fast. “Yeah. Of course. Just surprised.”

He kisses your cheek. You flinch. Barely.

But Bucky sees it.

Of course he does.

You stay on opposite sides of the roof the entire night.

Until Jesse—sweet, oblivious, not him Jesse—pulls the chain from your collar and says, “You should wear it properly.”

And slides the ring onto your finger.

The whole roof goes silent.

You feel the shift in the air. Wanda’s hand tightens around her cup. Sam’s jaw tenses.

Bucky?

Bucky stares.

Not at the ring. At you.

And then he stands up.

Walks straight past you.

Down the stairs.

Gone.

You don’t hear from him for a week.

No texts. No missions. No sarcastic jabs over breakfast. Just... nothing.

It’s worse than the fights.

Worse than the silence that used to mean not now but never never again.

This silence feels like absence. Like abandonment. Like punishment.

You try not to care. Try to focus on Jesse, on the venue his sister recommended, on the absurd number of cake samples you pretend to enjoy. You nod. You smile. You say “whatever you want” a lot.

You don’t tell him you’re checking your phone under the table between bites.

Sam corners you three days into Bucky’s disappearance.

It’s early. You’re at a training facility. You’ve just knocked a combat dummy flat on its ass.

He walks in holding coffee. Tosses one to you.

“You and Barnes planning on speaking again this decade?”

You wipe sweat off your neck. “Don’t know. Ask him.”

“He won’t answer my calls either.”

You sip your coffee. “Maybe he’s just done.”

Sam raises a brow. “You really believe that?”

You stare at the wall. “He found out about the engagement. What else is there to say?”

Sam shakes his head. “He’s a disaster with feelings. Doesn’t mean he wants you gone.”

“He’s had plenty of chances to say that.”

“You’ve had chances too.”

You don’t respond.

Sam sets his coffee down. Looks at you like he’s deciding how much of the truth to offer.

“You think Jesse’s the one because he’s safe. Because he won’t wreck you.”

You stiffen.

“But that’s not love,” Sam says gently. “That’s avoidance.”

You toss the coffee in the bin and walk away.

You don’t cry until you’re alone in the locker room.

It starts with the missions.

The Thunderbolts are back on rotation—low-risk cleanup, mostly. You and Bucky get paired again. It’s inevitable. You’re too efficient together. Too good at pretending none of it hurts.

The first mission back, you don’t speak until someone’s already bleeding. The comms are dead quiet until Sam’s voice crackles in: “Y’all good down there?”

You answer with a clipped, “Clear.”

Bucky just grunts.

At base, it’s worse.

He acts normal. Too normal.

Makes coffee. Offers you a cup.

Doesn’t look at your hand when you take it.

Doesn’t flinch when Jesse drops by to pick you up in his sensible car with his nice smile and his “Hey, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky just nods. “Hey, Jesse.”

Jesse doesn’t notice the tension. Or maybe he does and chalks it up to Cold War trauma. Either way, he kisses your cheek and wraps an arm around your shoulder, and Bucky—

Bucky doesn’t blink.

But when you glance back, his knuckles are white around his coffee mug.

You try not to let it mean anything.

Later, Jesse asks you if Bucky’s okay. “He’s… intense,” he says.

You laugh. Too sharp.

“He’s fine,” you say.

You want to believe it.

But that night, you dream about Bucky.

Not the broken one. Not the one who left.

The one who almost kissed you in a kitchen once.

And when you wake up, Jesse’s hand is warm around yours, and you feel like a liar.

It’s a celebration.

Mission success. Minor op, but everyone made it out un-broken, which is rare enough to count as a win.

Sam drags everyone out for drinks—some no-name dive bar with sticky tables and an aggressively nostalgic jukebox. Yelena’s already hustling pool games. Ava is silently nursing tequila.

You’re leaning against the bar with Jesse, sipping something too sweet, laughing at something he said that you already forgot.

Then Jesse kisses you.

Not deep. Not needy.

Just simple. Public.

Bucky walks in two seconds later.

Stops in the doorway like he’s hit a wall.

You don’t see him at first.

You’re still smiling when your eyes land on him.

And he’s looking at you like you just pulled a trigger.

The air shifts. Your stomach drops. The warmth of Jesse’s hand on your waist goes cold.

Bucky doesn’t say a word.

Just turns and walks straight to the back booth. Orders a drink. Down it in one go.

You make your way to him half an hour later, after Jesse disappears to chat with Yelena and your nerves start crawling under your skin.

He doesn’t look at you when you slide into the booth.

“Drink?” he asks, not bothering to hide the bite.

“You okay?”

He laughs. Short. Ugly. “I’m great. Love watching you play house with your little boyfriend.”

You stiffen. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he sneers. “Tell the truth?”

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not judging,” he says, voice rising. “I’m mourning.”

That stops you.

He’s drunk. Slurring just slightly. But the way he looks at you—sharp, haunted—he’s never been clearer.

“You don’t look at him like you used to look at me,” he says again. “You smile, but your eyes don’t follow.”

You stand.

“Go to hell, Barnes.”

“Already there” he says quietly.

You leave before he can see your hands shake again.

He finds you on a bench outside the training center.

You’re in workout gear, but you haven’t moved in twenty minutes. The sky’s overcast. Your coffee’s cold. You don’t care.

Sam doesn’t say anything right away. Just sits beside you, stretches his legs out in front of him, watches a squirrel attack a granola bar wrapper.

Then, quietly: “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, or do I have to guess?”

You glance at him. “I’m fine.”

He snorts. “Right. You’re getting married. To a nice guy. Who loves you. And you look like you’re mourning a homicide.”

You exhale, slow. “It’s complicated.”

“Uh-huh. Well, lucky for you, I’m fluent in ‘complicated.I've got you AND Barnes as best friends.”

You shake your head. “He’s good to me, Sam.”

“I know.”

“He makes me feel safe.”

“I know that too.”

You stare at the pavement. “So what the hell is wrong with me?”

Sam doesn’t answer right away.

Then he leans forward, elbows on knees, voice calm and devastating. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

You glance at him.

“You keep saying Jesse makes you feel safe,” he says. “But have you ever asked yourself if you’re happy?”

The silence sits heavy between you.

Finally, you whisper, “I don’t know.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

He stands.

Before walking away, he turns back.

“For what it’s worth,” he says gently, “if you were happy... I don’t think Bucky would still have this much power over you.”

He leaves you there, staring at your hands.

You don’t move for a long time.

The bachelorette party was Sam’s idea. That should’ve been your first red flag.

“It’ll be low-key,” he promised. “Just some drinks. Some food. Minimal emotional trauma.”

Liar.

The Airbnb is too nice for this crowd—glassware that’s definitely going to get broken, a rooftop hot tub, mood lighting. Yelena arrives first with three bottles of questionable vodka and zero intention of behaving.

Wanda floats in next, already sipping from a travel mug you’re certain contains something ancient and dangerous.

Ava shows up last. No gift. Just a long, appraising look at your ring and a muttered, “Huh.”

And then there’s you.

Nursing a cocktail, grinning on autopilot, cheeks already sore from fake smiling.

They’re mid-toast when Bucky arrives.

Late, of course. In all black, of course. And looking like he hasn’t slept in days, which—also on brand.

You catch your breath and immediately hate yourself for it.

He gives you a nod. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t say anything about the dress you’re wearing, even though it’s the kind of thing he used to joke about stealing from your closet just to piss you off.

The room shifts around him. Everyone feels it.

Sam breaks the tension. “Alright, alright—who’s ready to embarrass the bride?”

Yelena yells, “Shot time!” and begins pouring with terrifying enthusiasm.

You shoot back one. Then another. Then a third.

Bucky watches. Doesn’t drink. Just stays perched on the edge of the couch, eyes always on you, like he’s waiting for you to crack.

You don’t. Not yet.

But it’s coming.

You’re three shots past sensible and one tequila away from emotional disaster when Yelena puts on music that definitely wasn't in the original playlist. Something loud. Pulsing. A little too sexual.

You don’t protest. You grab Wanda’s hand and start dancing like it doesn’t feel like your whole life is a countdown.

Wanda twirls you. Ava doesn’t dance, but she watches. Sam claps off-beat.

But your eyes keep drifting to Bucky.

He’s not drinking. Still.

But he’s watching.

God, he’s watching.

You lose count of how many times your gaze meets his. How many times you look away first. How many times your chest tightens like he’s got a string wrapped around your ribs and he’s just sitting there, pulling.

Someone spins you. Someone else hands you a mystery drink. You’re warm, flushed, laughing. And then—

He’s in front of you.

Bucky.

Not close. Not touching.

Just standing in your orbit. Watching you sway. Eyes unreadable. Hands in his pockets like if he moves wrong, he’ll break something.

“You’re gonna fall over,” he says, barely audible over the music.

You smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “You offering to catch me?”

He shrugs, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “You’d claw my face off if I tried.”

“Probably.”

Another beat.

“You’re drunk,” he mutters.

“You’re observant.”

“You’re engaged.”

You stop moving.

His voice is too steady. Too quiet. Too full of all the things he’s not allowed to say.

You look at him.

Really look.

His eyes are glassy. Not from booze.

From everything he’s been swallowing for months.

“I’m not doing this,” you whisper.

He doesn’t step back. “You already are.”

And suddenly, the room’s too loud. Too bright. Too full of people who don’t know what’s really happening here.

You walk away.

He lets you go.

Again.

But not for long.

It starts the same way—in the hallway, low lights flickering, the echo of bass-heavy music thumping through the floorboards.

You turn the corner and nearly slam into him. Bucky. Leaning against the wall like gravity doesn’t apply when he’s angry.

He doesn’t even blink.

“You always do this,” he says, voice low and ragged.

You try to keep walking. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yes, you fucking are.”

You stop. “What do you want from me, Bucky?”

His voice cracks. “Something real.”

You laugh, sharp and mean. “Real? This?” You gesture between you. “This is just pain on a loop.”

“You think I like this?” he snaps. “Watching you with him? Pretending it doesn’t kill me?”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” Your voice rises. “Why didn’t you stop me when I was slipping away and begging for you to say something?”

He steps forward. “Because I thought you were better off without me.”

“Then why are you here?”

You’re toe to toe now. Both of you shaking. Breathing like it hurts.

His voice drops to a whisper. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

And then it happens.

The kiss.

No build-up. No hesitation.

Just your mouth on his, like punishment. Like relief. Like every missed moment between you is clawing to the surface and demanding to be felt.

His hand finds your waist. Yours fists in his shirt. He kisses you like he’s drowning and you’re air. You kiss him like you’re falling and he’s the only thing that ever caught you.

It’s everything.

It’s years of tension snapping like glass.

It’s perfect.

And it’s so, so wrong.

You pull back first, gasping, eyes wide.

His hand lingers on your cheek, but the look in your eyes stops him cold.

“No,” you whisper. “We don’t do this. We can’t.”

He flinches. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You did.”

He looks gutted.

You take a step back. Then another.

“You’re not a mistake,” you say, soft. “But this? Was.”

And you’re gone.

Just like that.

Not because you want to be.

Because it’s safer than what would come next.

The first thing you feel is your throat—dry, raw, like you swallowed glass.

The second is your chest.

Not pain. Not exactly. Just pressure. Like someone’s pressing their palm against your sternum and whispering, you did this.

You don’t remember falling asleep. Don’t remember getting back to Jesse’s place. But you’re here now—lying in his bed, hair tangled, wearing a t-shirt that doesn’t smell like him.

You slide out from under the sheets like a thief.

In the bathroom, the mirror confirms everything: mascara smeared, bruised lip, and eyes that look too much like truth.

You kissed Bucky.

You kissed him like it was your last breath.

And then you ran.

The ring on your finger glints under the harsh light. You almost yank it off.

You don’t.

Jesse knocks once. “You up, babe?”

You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

He walks in with coffee and a grin. The kind that says he’s planning your whole damn life already.

“I was thinking we should check out that florist my sister mentioned. The one with the stupid name—Petal to the Metal? You said you liked their colors.”

You nod.

Smile. Small. Fragile.

“Sure,” you say.

He kisses your forehead.

And you feel like a liar.

You check your phone when he leaves the room.

No messages from Bucky.

You’re not surprised.

You wouldn’t have messaged you either.

You don’t remember putting the dress on.

Someone zipped you up. Wanda, maybe. Maybe Ava. Yelena made a joke about combat boots and garters, but you were somewhere else.

The mirror shows you a woman in white.

You don’t recognize her.

The ring on your finger feels heavier today. It presses into your skin like a bruise.

Voices murmur beyond the door—Jesse’s mom asking about seating. Someone laughing. Sam trying to keep things moving.

You sit still, perfectly still.

Like if you move, the whole thing will break.

And then—

A knock.

Soft. Three raps.

You look up.

Wanda stands by the door. She opens it two inches, peeks, then turns to you.

“It’s him,” she says.

You don’t need to ask who.

Your stomach drops. Your heartbeat forgets its job. For a second, you just sit there.

Then you nod. “Send everyone out.”

She doesn’t argue. Just moves.

Two minutes later, the room is empty.

Except for you.

And him.

Bucky steps in like he’s afraid to break something. Maybe he is.

His eyes land on you—and you swear he forgets how to breathe.

He stops walking.

His mouth parts. Just slightly.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

Because the moment he sees you in the dress—

He dies a little inside.

He doesn’t speak at first.

He just stands there, staring at you like he’s trying to memorize everything—your hair, the dress, the trembling of your hands.

You shift under the weight of it. "Bucky—"

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The words drop out of him. Soft. Reverent. Like he didn’t mean to say them aloud.

You go still.

He takes one slow step forward. Then another. Stops when he’s just out of reach.

“But the dress...” he says, almost to himself, “it’s a lie, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard. “I said yes.”

“Yeah.” He nods once. Swallows harder. “You did.”

“But the second he asked... you were the first thing in my head.”

His eyes shut. Briefly. Like it hurts to hear it.

Then he exhales. “Don’t marry him.”

Your heart stops.

He steps closer. “Don’t marry someone safe because I didn’t have the guts to tell you what you meant to me.”

You whisper, “You think it’s that simple?”

“I think it’s always been that simple.”

He looks at you like he’s falling apart in real time. Voice shaking. “I have never wanted anything more in my life than you. Not redemption. Not peace. Not even my goddamn freedom.”

You close your eyes.

“Run,” he says, desperate now. “Run with me. We’ll figure the rest out.”

You look up. And the look in his eyes? It’s real.

No games. No fear.

Just Bucky.

Finally.

And you—(Y/N)—you’ve never wanted anything more than this moment.

But the next move?

It’s yours.

You don’t remember your feet moving.

One second you’re in the bridal suite, ring still on your finger, veil slipping from your hair.

The next, you’re slipping it off, tossing it on the counter and you're running.

Down the stairs. Through the corridor. Past Sam, whose eyes widen but doesn’t stop you. He just smiles and nods, once.

He knew.

Out the front doors.

Into the light.

And there he is.

Bucky Barnes.

Leather jacket. Helmet in one hand. Motorcycle rumbling behind him like thunder on the edge of something new.

He sees you.

You’re breathless. Wild-eyed. The dress hitched in one hand, train dragging in the gravel, heart about to detonate.

His lips part, stunned. “You really—?”

You crash into him.

You don’t say yes.

You say everything with your mouth on his. A kiss like ignition. Like every wrong turn finally snapping back into place.

He drops the helmet. Wraps both arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You clutch his jacket, the leather creaking, his heart pounding like yours.

When you break apart, gasping, you whisper, “Drive.”

He doesn’t ask where.

He just swings a leg over, kicks the engine into gear.

You hitch your dress up, climb on, wrap your arms around him.

And together, you leave everything else behind.

The bike cools behind you, ticking in the hush of pine trees and wind.

You’re on the dock. The lake’s so still it looks painted on.

You hear his boots on the wood before you feel him beside you.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Just stands there, looking out at the water like it holds the answers.

Then—

“I almost told you once.”

You turn your head.

He’s still staring straight ahead. “Back when we were in Prague. After that alley. You had blood on your knuckles and fire in your eyes. And I thought—God, this is it. This is the moment I say it.”

You wait.

He doesn’t look at you, but his voice softens. He runs his fingers up and down your spine.

“But I didn’t. I got scared. Of what it meant. Of what I am. Of not being enough. So I let you walk away. Again.”

You swallow hard. The wind brushes your hair back from your face.

He finally looks at you.

“You’re not safe. You’re not easy. You’re everything.”

You blink.

“You don’t make me feel calm, (Y/N). You make me feel alive. Like the world’s not just something I survived—but something I still want to be part of.”

He steps closer.

“I’ve loved you since the day you called me out in front of Fury and didn’t flinch when I growled at you.”

You let out a breath. Wet, shaky.

“I love you now. More than I know what to do with. And if you give me the chance—if you stay—I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I should’ve said it sooner.”

You whisper, “What makes you think I’m staying?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Because you ran to me. And I’ll never let you run alone again.”

You stare at him.

Your voice cracks. “You’re an idiot.”

He nods. “For you? Always.”

You grab his jacket and pull him into a kiss that tastes like absolution.

When you pull back, you press your forehead to his.

“I’m staying.”

His hands tighten around your waist. “Good.”

And there, by the lake, with your past still behind and your future in his arms—

You breathe.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes

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revelboo · 7 months ago

Note

Perchance could we get some more Waspinator? our sweet boy Waspinator? I'm addicted to the way you write him

Worker Bee Pt 4

Waspinator x Reader

• “What’s this?” Before you can even turn around, there’s a crash and a very small ‘oh, no.’ And you can’t even muster the energy to get angry as you find coffee grounds and your now broken coffee maker and carafe on the floor with Waspinator clasping his hands together, optics wide. Because everything he touches he accidentally destroys. It’s like having a new puppy, but instead of chewing the furniture, he can reach everything. Get into everything. When you grab the broom to clean the mess, he drops to sit in the middle of the floor and covers his head with his clawed hands. Expecting to be punished and that kills any annoyance you have with him.

• “We’ve been over this,” you tell him as you start sweeping up the broken glass and damp, smelly dirt. “I’m not going to hit you.” Pausing you reach out to gently touch his servos. Limbs trembling faintly, he slowly lowers his hands and watches you. Cleaning up his mistake without lashing out. Again. Dumping the mess in the garbage can and reluctantly adding the rest of the plastic thing. And he wants to reach for you, cling to you and safety. Feeling welcome is something wholly new, like having an actual friend. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. What are you exactly?”

• “Waspinator is Waspinator,” he replies, antenna perking up slightly and you sigh. You’d already decided that not only did his elevator not reach the top floor, you’re almost positive the shaft is empty. But getting angry at him, giving in and smacking him with the broom, would be like hitting a puppy. Though, you’re almost certain you could probably just brandish the broom at him and shoo him out of your house and your life without even touching him as skittish as he is.

• “No, see. I’m a human, but that’s not my name,” you say, leaning the broom against the counter. Bending slightly to grip his arm and tug until he obligingly stands up for you and even mass shifted, you’re so much smaller than he is. You’re close enough that he’s reminded l that he likes the way you smell and how soft you are. “You remember my name, right?”

• “Small friend.” Yeah, the elevator was never installed at all. Raking your fingers through your hair, you’re not sure if it’s worth the bothering of correcting him, when all you really care about is figuring out what he is, if there’s more of him, and if they’re dangerous. Though, from the way he acts, it’s entirely possible his own kind just ditched him here. Maybe dumping him on earth like an unwanted kitten.

• Small human friend is frowning at him again, and his wings flutter slightly. Unhappy with him? Or worried? “Waspinator protect small friend from bad Decepticons,” he reassures you, pulling you into him ignoring as you startle and almost missing your soft ‘I’m sorry, what now?’ Because this is all he needs, home and warmth. Someone who wants him nearby, who doesn’t think he’s a burden or a fool. He’ll do anything to protect this. Even fight against the other Decepticons. Stand up instead of cowering, because he has something that’s his. Something worth protecting. Resting his head on top of yours, he toys with your hair with his mandibles.

#transformers x reader #waspinator x reader #waspinator

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ladyrosemone · 4 months ago

Text

Smile

At first, when I see you cry, yeah, it makes me smile, yeah, it makes me smile. - Lily Allen.

Using Google Translate here! Sorry it took me so long! College got heavy and blocked all my imagination, but I'm back and hopefully more often!

Tags: @tsuniio, @simpingpandas, @dakotali, @softycheol, @cristy-101.

"Are you sure it's here?"

They all thought about it, Tim said it; the road in the batmobile was silent, each vigilante thinking about the possibilities of the call, who had made it and how they had done it, how they had passed under their noses and cornered them in their own territory.

Alfred couldn't help this time, he was as in the dark as the heroes themselves, Barbara didn't find any useful information besides the contract that was already half empty, Stephenie and Duke were looking from outside for some extra clue at the crime scene and Cassandra protected the mansion in her absence. The rest of them are guided by the little they found, and they found that there is something waiting in that abandoned house.

The surroundings fade with each passing kilometer; the buildings are replaced by mountains of garbage, which were reduced to empty sand and salty winds. Jason travels beside them on his motorcycle, alert for any surprise attack, intrigued by the location they are heading to; Why on the outskirts of Gotham? Why a house half-collapsed? Why only now after months of anonymity? Why, why, why?

Dusk falls when they reach their destination; desolate but peaceful, the low tide sings to them like sirens and the seagulls shout ignored warnings to the wind. The car's engine turns off and the motorcycle parks beside them.

They all go downstairs and look suspiciously at the rotten wooden door, the broken windows covered with black plastic bags and the moldy walls outside. Batman (as usual) was the first to enter with his guard up, he tried to push the door gently but with the slightest touch it fell to the ground breaking into pieces.

"Well, we already announced our arrival" even Dick's joking whisper did little to calm the tense atmosphere; they split up to inspect the few rooms the shack has, a kitchen with a small living room right there, two bedrooms and a patio that looked out onto the beach.

They all looked empty, few pieces of furniture with tattered or torn clothing and just an old bed, it seems like homeless people spend their nights here or come to get high, they bet that one or two crimes happened between the walls based on the dried blood stains on...well, all the floors.

"This is a waste of time" Robin complains, kicking a rock "We tear this place down, maybe we'll find something or get rid of it, either is better than this"

"We should search everything first" Batman orders.

"It's not that big of a deal" Jason snorts, slamming a kitchen cabinet shut; it's broken "We already did and there's just trash"

"There's something we're not seeing" Tim was (after Bruce) the most eager to discover the identity of this 'Savior', the figure behind the advantage and difficulties in the underworld of Gotham, where not even the bat goes down. This house was the key to discover it, had sent them here for a reason, there is always a reason in his tracks and he will not leave until he discovers it "It must be around here but we can't see it"

Jason tries to turn on the lights, obviously it doesn't work and the evening light runs out, not that there was too much coming in through the covered windows; the reddish tone of the Sun hits the broken parts of the lining hitting the black and damp walls, A cracked path stands out from the old paint, linear and somewhat wobbly throughout the hallway to the end where, on the far wall, a broken mirror hangs. Tim realizes this as he feels the walls, his fingers brush the mark and follows it like a hypnotized person until he reaches the mirror; there are rusty pieces scattered on the floor, others still hang from the mirror.

With his metal rod he feels the bottom, it sounds hollow, there is definitely something behind. He removes the glass, and behind one is a handle that, unlike literally everything else, doesn't look rusty, I could even say it's brand new.

Batman took his place, in case something is waiting for them, he won't let his son take the first hit.

The five of them walk in silence down a hallway warmly lit by lamps, the stairs lined with black velvet muffling their footsteps and the walls painted an exquisite wine red are decorated with paintings of robins. One by one, until they reach a closed door, the paintings reflect more and more of these flocking birds perched on an oak tree, the last painting however, has something different from the others.

Above the painting is a black spray-painted shield, the shield of the bat.

A soft humming noise passes through the door, imperceptible to other people, loud and clear to them. Cautiously they open the door; the first thing that greets them is a room empty of furniture or windows, illuminated by a whitish light among the dark tones.

But it is not entirely empty, not with the seated figure with his back to them, humming and painting on a canvas unaware of their presence.

But is it?

"I thought they'd get here sooner" you say calmly, as if you were talking to an old acquaintance. Maybe that's how it is "You took your time"

"No more riddles" Batman -Bruce- cuts him off with a slash "Give yourself up, it's over"

"Did it?" You laugh at that, the dramatic manner he usually uses with his victims "You still underestimate me if you think that"

"You sound pretty confident for someone who's surrounded" Red Hood mocks, playing with the handle of his gun, waiting for an opportunity, a reason, whatever.

"What shade of red is your helmet?" You ask boredly "I'm not sure if it's scarlet or carmine red" You hear the draw of a gun "I guess we're about to find out"

Dick grabs his arm, stopping him, pointing his head to the corners of the room where there are small surveillance cameras. Below them an ejection device is pointed at them, probably a heavily loaded gun.

"I didn't bring you two together to fight" You begin to speak, tracing the outline of the wings "The Penguin is usually a good customer, he doesn't cause trouble and pays for his purchases, but lately he's forgotten his place and he's bothering me"

"What do we care about that?" Robin bellows, his hand ready to pull out his trusty Katana.

"Your research is stuck, isn't it?" You say, and his lack of response makes you smile "I have the piece you're missing, and you can send a message for me, it's a win-win"

"Why would I accept?" Batman questions, always suspicious.

"My principles are clear and my values sacred, I am governed by loyalty and honesty, it is the key to any successful business" your businesses are turbulent and unethical, most, if not all, threaten human life or profit from it. But you are not cruel, they are there by choice, you only care for your people animals enough to stay where you are. Batman takes a step closer to you "No no no" you sing, pointing at the camera.

Wisely he pauses.

“Now, shall we agree on terms?” You laugh, painting the leaves of the tree a nice shade of green. Reluctantly, and knowing they were at a disadvantage this time, Batman grunts, a growl of approval probably.

"One second" Nightwing interrupts "What assures us that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"The Penguin is ruining a good deal for me in one of my biggest districts" you explain calmly, though there may be a bit of irritation in your tone "I'm doing my best to stop him, but the runt bastard knows how to play this game, so I'll cheat a little and use you two"

"That's not honest" he sneers, countering what you said about your values "Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty" is all you say; the truth is you use what suits you, so what? "Are you going to interrupt me again?"

It seems like you are, but you ignore him.

"I give you locations, plans, and agents to arrest him, what you do with him afterwards doesn't matter much to me, just leave him conscious, in exchange for that I want you to spend time with me"

"What?"

Your painting is finished; Nine robins and a bat in the middle of them, perched on a tree branch, trapped in a golden cage.

Then you turn around and the air freezes, because they recognize you; the first is bewildered, the second is scared, the third understands, the fourth denies it, and the one leading them takes off his mask revealing a delicious shock and panic at the sight of you.

"Hello Bruce, long time, don't you think?" You smile, turning to look at him; two drops of water, two almost perfect reflections, past and present face him suddenly.

And you won the battle.

#batboy!reader #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #yandere x reader #abandoned reader #batbros x reader #batfamily x reader #batsis!reader #dc x reader #yandere batfam

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elfwreck · 1 year ago

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I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

#Anonymous #ao3

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meganwhalenturner · 1 year ago

Text

Somebody wrote to ask me for advice on writing. This is what I told them:

I'm terrible at giving writing advice. I know that the best advice for one person can be the very worst for another, so feel free to ignore all of this except for the very first bit:

There are a lot of people who will tell you they can help you write better, get your manuscript edited, get your book published. A lot of them just want your money. As a general rule, don't give people your money for what you write -- make people give you THEIR money for what you write. I've heard this called Yog's Law: Money Should Flow to the Author.

Check out the Writer Beware site run by SFWA.

Not every writing program is a scam, but don't think you have to have an MFA or attend a famous writing workshop to be taken seriously as a writer. You don't.

Decide who you are writing for before you start. It's okay to write for yourself. It's okay to write for that one person in high school with whom you shared fanfiction. (I did that, it was The Thief). It's okay to aim for a worldwide audience and it's okay to write for the three people in the entire world who will appreciate your story. When you run into criticism (and you will) you want to be able to ask yourself if the criticism is coming from your audience. If it's not, take it with a big grain of salt.

Writing can be hard work and it feels good to work hard, but it's okay to do it for fun. Maybe you just want to write craptastic fanfiction -- you should do that and I hope you enjoy yourself. Don't let other people dictate what "worthwhile" writing is.

Don't be afraid to write badly. Don't be afraid you'll "waste" that really good idea you have because you couldn't write well enough to do it justice. You'll have another good idea.

You have to write to be a writer. That sounds obvious, but you have to figure out for yourself what makes writing happen and then you have to do it. Some people will tell you their way of writing is guaranteed to work. Do not believe them. Some people can set themselves goals -- they write 2,000 words a day and they are good words! Some set themselves a goal and they waste an entire day squeezing out 2,000 garbage words. Sometimes the conditions that you need in order to work will seem silly. Friederich Von Schiller kept rotting apples around to sniff while he wrote. I don't know if that would work for you. Only you know the way for you.

Good luck,

~mwt

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daisyvisions · 9 months ago

Text

What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? | Octoberfest Day 1

➺ Pairing - ghostface!Jacob x neighbor! reader

➺ Drink - Cosmopolitan with a shot of schnapps (aka Neighbor!au x roleplaying)

➺ Summary - When an innocent prank goes wrong, what better way than to play along right?

➺ Word Count - 2.2K

➺ Warnings - Smut (18+, minors DNI), roleplaying, mask kink (obviously) masturbation (f! receiving), body worship, mirror sex, allusions to oral (m! receiving), cnc (there is a part where consent is seen but will still tag as such!), groping, dry humping, knife play? (it’s a plastic knife but yeah), pet name (sweetheart), friends to lovers (in a way), Scream movie references, let me know if I missed anything!

➺ Author’s note - Happy kinktober y’all! I never expected to write a Ghostface fic for Jacob but here I am and I am more than excited with how it turned out! Proofread once, hope you enjoy day 1 of our Octoberfest!

➺ Taglist - @deoboyznet @snowflakewhispers @midnightfantasiez

@momhwa-agenda @nyu-topia @jaminthemiddle

➺ OctoberFest Masterlist

"Uhm, are you sure you're doing okay over there?"

"Yeahp! Super. Doing j-just fine here," you mumble. Jacob raises his eyebrow, unconvinced by your response.

"Are you sure? Because if you want, we can totally change the movi—"

"No!" you impulsively shout, clearing your throat before composing yourself.

"We can watch. I'm not scared at all, trust me." You put on a fake smile before quickly turning your attention back to the movie.

"Okay then…" Jacob replies, his eyebrows subtly scrunched together as he tries to figure out why you've been acting weird ever since the movie started.

Jacob had invited you over tonight to watch Scream. Not only was it a tradition for the two of you since you've been long-time neighbors, but also to get into the Halloween spirit for your party tomorrow night. Usually, if you didn't like the movie or weren't in the mood, you would voice it out immediately. But for some reason, you couldn't sit still, as if something in your mind was troubling you.

Truth be told, you weren't scared of horror movies at all! In fact, Scream wasn't the first horror movie you've watched with Jacob. You've seen far scarier films than this. But there was a deep secret you had that you swore to yourself you would never tell any living soul… You had a crush on Ghostface.

It's not that you wanted to have a crush on him, okay? It just happened! The way his deep voice sounded over the phone, the whole prey and predator thing going on, and not to mention the mask… oh god, that mask. It was the anonymity of it all that made your knees turn into jelly. The thought of not knowing who was under the mask doing loads of naughty things to you.

It was making you incredibly hot and bothered. And Jacob seemed to notice that eventually as the movie played out. The way your thighs would press together when Ghostface would appear on screen, how you kept shifting your position too, and the way your cheeks blushed throughout the film?

Oh, you were definitely getting turned on by Ghostface, and Jacob had just the perfect idea in mind for tomorrow to get you to reveal your secret…

As soon as your Halloween party ended the next day, Jacob had offered to stay and help you clean up until everything was sorted out.

"Hey, I'm just gonna grab a few more plastic bags at mine. We ran out of some," Jacob says as you busy yourself with washing a few dishes.

"Sure! I'll be here," you reply.

"Great! I'll be back in a bit. Give me a moment." You hear your back door close as you continue cleaning up. A few minutes go by and you start to wonder where Jacob had gone. Since you live right next to each other, it wouldn't take that long to just get a couple of plastic bags for the garbage, right?

By the time you finish washing the dishes, you decide to go ahead and take a shower while waiting for Jacob to come back. Maybe he decided to shower too before coming back? Or maybe he couldn't find the plastic bags suddenly? Your thoughts are interrupted as you hear the phone downstairs ring.

Odd… Who could be calling this late at night? You think to yourself as you dry yourself off before wrapping a towel around your body and heading down. The phone doesn't stop ringing until you pick up to answer it.

"Hello?" you answer cautiously.

"Heard you had a great party tonight. Why wasn't I invited?" the deep male voice asks. At first, you're a little weirded out, but for some reason, the voice sounds familiar to you.

"Maybe you should've asked me to invite you. I would've said yes." You play along.

"Shame. It was that easy, huh?" The male voice chuckles. "Say, what's your favorite scary movie?" he asks you. Your eyes widen as the unknown caller's familiar question sinks into your head.

"W-well, I like Scream. You know, the guy with the white mask that goes slashing people left and right?" You slowly answer as you try to calm your heart from nearly beating out of your chest.

"Interesting…" The voice drops an octave lower. "Well, I hope you have a good night, sweetheart." The voice on the other line hangs up.

You take a moment to steady your breathing as you process what the fuck just happened. Maybe it was one of your party guests just trying to mess around with you; it is Halloween, after all. But suddenly, a loud clang of a pan ringing from the kitchen interrupts your thoughts, making your heart beat much faster than it did earlier.

You slowly walk over towards the kitchen, clutching your towel in your hands as you slowly peek into the room. The rush of adrenaline is not only pumping through your veins but also right down to your core.

This is ridiculous—you can't be turned on right now. What if this is a serious matter? You shake your ill-timed horny thoughts out of your mind as you keep walking. Maybe Jacob finally came back with those plastic bags. But when you enter the room, Jacob is nowhere to be found.

Okay, this is starting to get a bit creepy now. You start to back away from the kitchen door and run back upstairs to your room for safety. You stare at your door for a moment right after locking it shut, trying to assess the current situation. You’re too caught up in your own head you didn’t even notice the dark figure looming behind you.

"Gonna scream for me now?" The same voice from the phone whispers in your ear as you suddenly feel a fake plastic knife pressed against your neck and a hand covers your mouth. He was expecting to hear you shout out of fear but was met with an entirely unexpected reaction… Instead, you let out a loud whiny moan.

A long silence fills the room. You don't know if you want to dig a hole in the ground and bury yourself there or turn around to see who was behind you. But you're too embarrassed by what just happened, so you just stay frozen in place.

"I—uh. I can—" You can feel your throat drying up as you try to speak.

"Fuck… is that why you couldn't stay still last night?" his voice muffled through the mask. The question alone already telling you who it was behind the costume.

The thought of sweet Jacob under the mask, pretending to be Ghostface in this moment stirred a dark lustful desire within you in seconds. You wanted to see how far he was willing to take this, so you decided to play the part you've always dreamed of.

"No, p-please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface. I wanna be in the sequel—" you innocently reply as you lean your body against Jacob's, feeling his manhood pressed up between your ass. You hear a faint groan coming from beneath the mask before Jacob wraps his arm around your waist, pressing your body further into his.

"Yeah?" Jacob whispers in your ear. "And what are you gonna do about it?" His hand snakes beneath your towel, groping the doughy flesh of your ass.

Thank god you couldn't hear the rapid heartbeat happening within Jacob's chest. This prank was never meant to go this far. But the moment you moaned like that? Your moan was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, not to mention the way your eyes were looking at his mask through the reflection of the mirror nearby.

The way your mouth hung slightly open, your knees slowly buckling as you pressed your thighs together? He nearly wanted to faint on the spot. It didn't help either that you were wearing nothing but a small towel, ready to fall off at any given moment. Jacob was more than ready to play along with you if it meant hearing you moan for him once more.

"I'll do anything you want! I swear, just please let me live." You look directly at the mask's mesh eye cutouts as you pretend to plead for your life. The pout on your lips was enough for Jacob to let out a small hum of approval. You always knew how to get him to do things for you.

"Alright, I'll let you live." Jacob unwraps his arms from around you. "First, I want you to face the mirror." You immediately follow his command.

"Good girl—" His praise sends shockwaves down to your core.

"Now drop the towel." At first, you're hesitant, and Jacob notices this immediately. "Is that okay?" You blush at the thought of Jacob breaking character just to make sure you're still alright with this. At the end of the day, he's still the sweet Jacob you've come to know and love.

You slowly nod your head in response and unfasten your towel, letting the damp material fall onto the ground as you look at your fully exposed body through the mirror. You wish you could see Jacob's reaction in real-time, but instead are met with Ghostface's unmoving mask.

"Just keep looking at the mirror. Alright?"

"I promise."

"Good." Jacob steps closer to your naked form, pressing your body against his again as his hands hold onto your shoulders first. Your mouth hangs open as you both watch his hands slowly touch the different parts of your body, waiting for his fingers to touch your most sensitive parts.

"So beautiful…" He mumbles as his hands start to grope your breasts, fiddling with your sensitive buds as you press your bare ass against his hard-on. He groans at the sensation, pinching your nipples before his hands start traveling down to your core.

He stops right above your core, enjoying the way you whine at his teasing before begging a "please" for him to continue. Jacob then dips his middle finger between your folds, already feeling the glove he’s wearing become damp with how wet you’ve become.

He continues to glide his finger until your body suddenly jolts in pleasure, indicating that he had found your throbbing clit. Jacob brings another finger in as he circles your sweet spot, watching how your eyes start to droop as you try to keep yourself from melting into his touch. Jacob couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know what you felt like otherwise he’d turn into an actual madman.

“Fuck this-” He stops rubbing your clit for a moment to remove the glove on his hand. He sees you’re about to protest against his action but beats you to it.

“For another time, wanna feel you come on my fingers okay?” Another time. You blush even further at the thought of having more intimate moments like this with him.

Jacob pockets the glove and immediately dives right back, collecting your wetness as he vigorously circles his fingers around your oh so pretty bundle of nerves before inserting his fingers in your tight entrance. He wastes no time curling and pumping his digits in and out of you, watching you struggle to keep yourself upright as the wet sounds of your cunt alone with your insatiable moans echo through the room.

You velvety walls start the clamp onto his fingers, gripping them like there’s no tomorrow as your high approaches fast. You suddenly feel Jacob’s other hand hold onto your hips as he rubs his covered cock between your ass.

You scream the moment you feel that rope in your abdomen snap violently as you reach your high, your body spasming from how hard you’ve just came on his fingers. You hear a loud grunt from beneath the mask as Jacob’s thrust still, his heavy breathing that he too had reached his own high.

As you both catch your breath, you finally turn around to face Jacob, caressing his mask before leaving a light kiss on the plastic covering his face. You look down for a moment and spot a wet patch appearing onto his costume, making you giggle at the sight.

“Do you need help with that?” You look up at Jacob with heavy lidded eyes.

“No, it’s alright.” His normal voice reassuring you this time. You take a step closer towards him, placing your hand on his chest and slowly gliding it down until your fingertips graze his semi-hard member. His breath hitches at the touch, his dick pulsating against your hand as looks into your eyes.

“You sure? I mean… there’s still a sequel that I’m part of right?” You tease as you tighten your grip on his cock. Jacob lets out a small whimper, now finding himself struggling to stand still as you touch him in return.

“Y-yeah, there is…” he gulps down as you continue to touch him.

“Good.” You push him down onto the edge of your bed as you kneel in front of him, your eyes becoming dark with lust as you smirk.

“Now sit back and watch me. I wanna hear you scream for me once I'm done with you.”

#🍸— octoberfest #deoboyznet #dbn: boyz who bite #jacob bae #jacob bae smut #tbz smut #tbz fics #tbz scenarios #tbz hard hours #the boyz drabbles #the boyz hard hours #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fic #the boyz smut #kpop smut #Jacob bae scenarios #the boyz fanfic

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