#real story: i spent so much time making this and when i saved it says “a file with this name already exist”

[livingjust2beoverdramatizing]

FLU GAME: ✨PART 2✨

hey, not my fault i love this song!

part 1

[vunblr]

The Memory Remains

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

Word Count: About 13k.

note: Let’s pretend the incident with Renata never happened. Bucky's presence at Pierce’s house is a bit more lenient for the sake of this story.

The Winter Soldier moved through his assignments like a shadow. So, when he was stationed at Pierce's home for a week, he was given explicit instructions: remain masked, both arms concealed under a layer of clothing and stay out of sight as much as possible, but if seen, remain silent, a faceless piece of security.

On his first day, he heard voices down the hall before he saw them, a child’s laughter, paired with a softer, patient tone. The child -a boy around five or six- bounded into view, dragging a toy truck and blissfully oblivious to the stranger cloaked in shadows. But the woman with him was different; she immediately caught sight of him. She looked surprised but quickly cast her eyes down as she guided the boy past.

Pierce’s strict warning echoed in her mind. He explained that his guest was part of a high-security detail, trained to avoid all unnecessary contact, just another eccentric demand of his government work.

New to America, Y/n had recently left her home country after a severe burnout as a lawyer and the lingering shadow of an abusive relationship. She managed to pay a year’s rent in advance with her savings, but reality quickly slapped her in the face when she began looking for a job. Now in her late twenties, she had no experience outside a desk or courtroom with foreign laws.

This job as a nanny was the first real opportunity she’d found, and she took it. The pay was excellent, and the boy’s parents were kind. With an arrangement between Pierce and his son, she spent part of each day with the child at Pierce’s apartment after kindergarten until his parents picked him up after work, which was conveniently close by. In the two months she’d worked for the Pierces, she hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary in the house, so the appearance of a security guard was an unexpected twist.

She understood the "no interaction" rule well enough; her brother had worked in federal law enforcement before he passed, so she knew about the necessity of concealing the asset's identity and the formality of the job. Yet, habit got the best of her. She’d nod or offer a polite “good afternoon” when she arrived and a quiet “see you” when she left. Sometimes she’d even throw out a casual comment about the weather or crack a joke, knowing she wouldn’t get a response. His silence was a norm, his blue gaze drilled into an inexistent point in the horizon. By the third day, she found herself relaxing into the new routine, no longer unnerved by the silent figure lurking in the house. She resumed her usual activities while the child napped: baking small snacks for when he woke up, or sitting at the kitchen table with her crochet project in hand. She even started putting on a playlist mostly with songs from her home country, the soft, lively tunes filling the quiet rooms.

Sometimes, when she baked treats for the boy, she’d make a few extras, placing them on a surface near the man in the shadows. Her brother had told her enough stories about hours on guard, the hunger and thirst that crept in with the silence. This was her small way of saying I know the circumstances -Though she didn’t. Oh, she didn’t even scratch the surface of his circumstances.- “You can take it later when you are alone.” She had offered quietly.

The first time, the food sat untouched for hours, and she thought he’d rejected the gesture entirely. But eventually, the plate was empty, and she could swear the right pocket of his tactical pants looked slightly stuffed. Taking it as a sign, she continued doing it, sometimes offering a simple piece of fruit, or a chocolate if she hadn’t bake. Each time, the plate ended up empty, and his pocket looked just a little bulkier.

Unbeknownst to her, one song in her playlist seemed to provoke a reaction in the stoic custody. Its melody -a blend of mid-1900s music with a modern twist- stirred something faint and unreachable within him, persistent enough to catch his attention. Each time the tune played on shuffle, his gaze would flicker in her direction, his brows knitting slightly as if he were straining to recall a memory just out of reach. And yet, she remained blissfully unaware, humming along.

After a week, he was gone. The masked figure had simply vanished from Pierce’s house as if he’d never been there at all.

-----

Nearly nine years had passed since that afternoon when Bucky threw himself from the helicarrier into the water to rescue Steve, somehow re-emerging as a fugitive from Hydra’s grasp. Since then, there had been one chaotic chapter after another, ending in a shaky kind of freedom and a conditional pardon. He’d been granted the basics of a civilian life -even if he wasn’t sure what to do with it-, a place to live, and the requirement to attend therapy sessions. 

One night, after a familiar nightmare left him panting, staring hollow-eyed into the bathroom mirror, his gaze settled on his hair. It hung long and unkempt, framing his face with shadows from another life, a reminder of missions in the dead of night, of orders he’d had no choice but to follow. His reflection stared back, haunted, tethered to the past.

Cut it, a voice urged inside him, low and insistent. Shedding the hair felt like severing the ties still binding him to memories and missions he wanted gone. His hand moved instinctively, reaching for the familiar weight of his knife, the same one he’d carried for years, an extension of who he’d once been. But he hesitated, his fingers hovering over the blade. If he was serious about moving forward, this had to be more than just an impulsive cut in the dead of night. It had to be his choice, deliberate and clear, reclaiming himself one small step at a time. He’d find a hairdresser, endure the closeness, the touching, the vulnerability of someone holding sharp scissors near him, and let it be a test. A small, tangible proof that he could start anew, piece by piece.

The next morning, he stood outside a shop, the nearest to his apartment, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, wrestling with the urge to turn and walk away.

He lingered on the sidewalk, eyeing the parlor's weathered sign and chipped paint. Its old, familiar look was oddly reassuring as if the place had been untouched by time. That decided it for him. He scratched his beard and stepped forward, and as the door chimed overhead, he knew there was no going back now. Behind the chair, an old man was trimming the hair of a customer nearly as old, both with the unmistakable air of a veteran. The barber gave him a polite nod, but Bucky didn’t miss the shared look between the two: a quick, appraising glance that seemed to mutter, hippie motherfucker.

“Y/n!” the old barber called, his voice rising as he looked toward the back room. “You have a customer.”

The moment Bucky heard a woman’s name, he froze. An image of an elderly lady popped into his mind: chatty, distracted, and maybe with a knack for giving creative haircuts. He could already hear Sam’s laughter echoing in his head if he came out of this with some uneven cut or something worse.

“Well, actually…” he began, trying to backpedal, but his retreat stalled when she appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t old, far from it. And attractive. Very attractive. His mind blanked as he stood there, frozen, just staring.

The old man caught his hesitation and cast a pointed look his way, a touch more disapproving than before. The customer in the chair joined in, nodding in silent agreement.

“Well, young man?” the barber asked, his voice gruffer now. “You gonna stand there or sit?”

Bucky cleared his throat, murmuring, “I… thought you were the barber.” His voice was low, almost defensive, as he looked between the old man and the woman.

Her eyebrow quirked high, clearly amused, while the old barber scoffed. “What? because she’s a woman?” he huffed, crossing his arms. “Kid, I’m pretty sure she can handle that hippie mane of yours better than I ever could.”

The man in the chair gave a quiet chuckle, nodding in agreement, and Bucky’s mouth went dry. This was not the quick, anonymous cut he’d imagined. But there was no turning back now; he could feel three sets of eyes on him, each waiting for his move.

So, with a quick breath, he took off his jacket, walked over, and sank into the chair, stealing a glance at her reflection in the mirror.

She got closer from behind, amused by the fact that he already sat on the chair. “So, what are we doing today?” her tone was professional, though her eyes sparkled with a hint of curiosity.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly on the seat. “Just… cut it short. Something easy to manage.” He answered gruffly.

She nodded, assessing the length of his hair. “Alright, but I must wash it first since it's this long. Sprinkling it with water won’t be enough.”

He blinked, a hint of tension flashing across his face. The thought of sitting there, head tilted back, felt almost unbearably vulnerable, especially with her so close, and her hands threading through his hair. He nearly reconsidered, but the not-so-subtly narrowed gazes of the two older men lingering on him kept him in place.

With a quiet sigh, he managed to make a nod. “Fine.” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She gestured for him to follow, and he found himself standing and trailing behind her to the hair-washing station in the back. Every instinct screamed to keep his guard up, but his need to change this physical marker of his past kept him moving.

As they reached the back, Bucky’s eyes landed on her phone, resting near a small speaker that hummed with soft, melodic tunes. At first, he barely noticed the music since he was too focused on the discomfort of the situation and strengthening his resolve to not get up and leave. His shoulders stayed tense as he sat, hovering on the edge of the chair, every part of him coiled with instinctive caution.

Then, the warmth of the water broke over his scalp, and against his will, he felt the tension start to dissolve, just a little. Her touch was gentle, no sudden movements, just a calm, practiced rhythm as she applied the shampoo, working it through his hair. She didn’t say a word, either; it was as though she understood something of the guarded edge to him, or maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t welcome small talk.

A few beats into the quiet, the song changed. It was still low and unassuming, just background noise. But then the melody drifted in, a tune with an old rhythm and a foreign lyric, hauntingly familiar, and his attention flickered, drawn in by the music without him fully understanding why. His eyes closed briefly, and fragments of memory teased at the edges of his mind: a dim hallway, shadows, the scent of baking, and the quiet hum of a woman’s voice.

Before he could grasp it, the memory slipped away, leaving only the echo of familiarity, a ghost of something he almost remembered.

As she massaged his scalp, the tension that had gripped Bucky’s shoulders melted away. The steady, gentle pressure lulled him into a rare calm, his body betraying him with a warmth that crept over him like a slow wave. For the first time in a long time, he felt close to letting his guard down entirely, the comfort of her touch drawing him into an almost sleepy haze.

Then she reached for the conditioner, her hands moving with the same unhurried ease, but this time, she couldn’t quite keep from humming along to the song that played softly from the speaker nearby. Her voice was low, almost shy, as though she hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. But as she sang, each note seemed to tighten a thread in his chest, snapping him out of the drowsy trance.

Then it hit him like a punch to the gut.

The music, her voice, the way her fingers worked through his hair, it all brought him back to Pierce’s household, to those days he spent stationed in the shadows, monitoring everything in silence before the events of his escape. The faint aroma of something sweet drifting through the house, of cookies, or bread, something good, something he hadn’t expected to find. He could still feel the strange weight of those illicit treats in his pocket, things she’d left out in silent offering, her small, unspoken kindness filling a gap he hadn’t known was there.

This woman... could it be?

His breathing grew shallow, each breath catching in his chest as a faint tremor ran through him. His gloved hands twitched against the armrests, fingers curling and uncurling as he fought the urge to reach up, to pull himself upright and turn, to really look at her. He needed to see her face, to study her features and search for that glimpse of familiarity, to confirm that this wasn’t just some blurred, mismatched memory dredged up by the lull of her voice and the warmth of her hands. Worse yet, he needed to know this wasn’t some fragment of imagination, a scene conjured by his mind to taunt him with memories he couldn’t piece together. But before he could move, she stopped singing, her hands paused in his hair and he felt her hesitate, as if sensing his restlessness even though he hadn’t said a word.

“The wash is almost done,” she murmured, her voice quiet but steady, as if offering reassurance.

She inwardly groaned, mortified. Why on earth did she start singing? Way to scare off a customer, she scolded herself when she sensed his body tense beneath her hands. And of course, it happened with a handsome customer. She could feel the rush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, flooding her cheeks. Taking a steady breath, she forced herself to refocus, working to rinse the last of the conditioner as quickly as she could, her hands moving just a bit more briskly than before. Okay, finish up and keep it professional, she coached herself, feeling the sting of humiliation all over again.

As she finished rinsing the conditioner from his hair, she reached for a nearby towel. Without a second thought, still reliving the horror of exposing herself like that, she wrapped it around his head, gently pressing to soak up the excess water. Bucky barely registered the texture, just the warmth that enveloped him, and the unspoken relief of having her hands finally out of his hair.

“Alright,” she said softly, stepping back. “We’re done here. Just head back to the front, and I’ll set you up for the cut.”

He rose from the chair a bit unsteadily, as though waking from a daze, and started toward the front of the shop, acutely aware of every step. He glanced sideways at her once, catching a hint of embarrassment lingering on her face, her gaze darting away when she noticed him looking. Something about her bashful expression twisted a new thread of familiarity through his mind, but he shook it off, trying to steady himself.

As he reached the main area, he caught his reflection in the mirror opposite the chair and froze. Wrapped around his head, neatly turbaned and unmistakably bright, was a fluffy pink towel.

The old barber glanced up from the new customer he was tending to, his gaze settling on Bucky’s reflection with poorly concealed bemusement. "Good lord, Cecil, look how things have changed," he muttered dryly only for the other old man to hear, unaware of Bucky’s enhanced hearing.

The other old man, Cecil, leaned back, shaking his head with a smirk. “Used to be, folks would at least keep that kind of thing under wraps,” he muttered, his voice low but pointed. “Remember Karen’s brother? Now there was a guy who kept things to himself, blended right in,” he muttered with a knowing glance at Bucky.

Bucky gritted his teeth, faintly aware of heat climbing up his neck, but he forced himself to keep a straight face. He was determined to get through this without snapping. His reflection caught his attention again, and he let out an almost inaudible sigh.

Behind him, Y/n approached, unaware of the old men ranting. She held a bunch of hairpins in one hand and a comb in the other, gesturing toward the chair in front of the mirror. “Whenever you’re ready”.

As Bucky settled into the chair, his gaze drifted to the handful of hairpins she was holding, and cleared his throat, struggling to keep his tone steady. “Uh, I thought I asked for it short,” he murmured, nodding toward the pins and comb with a faint frown.

She didn’t miss a beat, propping a hand on her hip with a half-smile. “And I thought you might like it to look decent,” she quipped, raising a brow in the mirror. “To get it even, I’ve got to section it out first, or you’ll end up with a patchy disaster.”

She worked with quiet focus, her fingers weaving through his hair, clipping sections with colorful pins until his head was dotted with bright little half-buns. Bucky’s jaw clenched as his gaze drifted somewhere distant, the rhythmic tug of the comb stirring faint, elusive memories. He barely registered the chime of the door until the soft shuffle of footsteps and murmured greetings filled the air.

Two more elderly men ambled in, one clutching a checkers game under his arm. They greeted Frank the old barber, then his client casually, and lastly waved affectionately toward Y/n, who acknowledged them with a smile. As their eyes landed on Bucky, they paused, taking in his partially pinned-up hair, the bright clips dotting his head. They shared a wordless look of faint, unspoken disapproval, the kind only those with a few extra decades under their belts could master.

Bucky tightened his jaw again, pressing his tongue against his inner cheek, as he caught the old men’s exchanged looks. What, was this some kind of veteran association headquarters or something? He’d endured enough stares over the years, but the situation's absurdity hit a new level. If only they knew he was older than all of them. The irony almost made him laugh -or maybe just get up and walk out.- But he forced himself to stay put, keeping his gaze fixed on his reflection as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary, while she worked steadily, oblivious to the silent standoff between him and the retirement brigade.

As she started to cut with the scissors, couldn't resist trying to break the tension that clung to him like a second skin. “So, how long did it take you to grow this out?” she ventured, her tone light, eyes focused on his hair.

Bucky made a vague grunt, somewhere between polite acknowledgment and indifference. “Couple years,” he muttered, the words barely escaping his mouth as his gaze flicked to her face again.

Trying not to stare, he let his eyes drift down, but they always found their way back to her. As she moved around him, carefully and practiced, the cadence of her movements, and the subtle kindness in her tone, all painted a picture in his mind. The woman from Pierce’s household, he was certain of it now.

She tilted her head thoughtfully as she continued cutting, her eyes briefly meeting his in the mirror. “Going short can feel like a fresh start,” she remarked, her voice casual yet reassuring. “Sometimes, it’s about more than just hair, it’s like letting go of whatever it held onto. It happens a lot.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, catching her gaze in the mirror before he could stop himself. There was a beat of silence as her words seemed to settle over him, hitting a little closer than he’d expected.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low, almost as if speaking to himself. “That’s… kind of the point.”

She met his gaze again, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes, but she didn’t press him. She just nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting into a gentle smile. “Well,” she said softly, her hands resuming their steady rhythm with the scissors, “then let’s make sure we do it right.”

Eventually, she paused the trimming, assessing the hair’s new length with a critical eye. “Alright,” she said, lifting the electric clipper with a raised brow. “Any specific style you want, or…?”

Bucky met her gaze in the mirror, hesitating just for a moment. If he knew anything about styles, he might’ve had an opinion, but all he cared about was the fresh start he’d come here for. “Just… short,” he replied, his tone firm but with a hint of uncertainty.

She nodded, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Got it,” she said, setting to work. The clippers buzzed to life, and as she deftly worked them through the remaining length, Bucky let himself drift, trusting her to handle the rest. By the time she stepped back to survey her work, he barely recognized his own reflection; shorter, cleaner, a stark shift from the man he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

As she brushed his shoulders for stray hairs, the old men ambled back to the front, their voices rising in a familiar, lively argument about the weapons used in the Vietnam War.

“I’m telling you, the M16 was practically useless in those conditions,” one of them grumbled, shaking his head as if reliving the frustration.

“Oh, don’t start with that again,” the other scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “The M14 was a good rifle but couldn’t match the firepower.”

Bucky couldn’t help himself. “There were issues with both models,” he interjected, his voice steady and sure. The men turned, eyebrows raised as he continued, “M16’s jamming problems, and the M14’s recoil, that didn’t make it any easier in the jungle.”

One of them raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a slight smirk. “So, you a collector or something, son? Not many people remember those details.”

Bucky paused, weighing his words. He shot them a sideways glance, a hint of something unreadable in his expression.

“Nah,” he replied, his voice low. “Just... good memory.”

It was all he said, but the weight behind it was enough to hold their gaze for a moment longer than either man expected.

She watched them leave, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she turned back to Bucky, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well, would you look at that,” she said, amused yet curious. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you join in the shop banters so soon. Well, there you go,” she said, stepping back. “Sharp as ever.” She reached over to grab his jacket from the hook, handing it to him with a small, encouraging smile that held a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages.

Bucky gave her a faint nod and took his jacket, slipping it on. “Thanks,” he muttered, feeling her eyes on him as he reached for the door.

As Bucky left the parlor after his haircut, the chill in the evening air prickled against his skin, grounding him in the present but doing little to quiet the memories that kept surfacing. Each step felt like shaking off a shadow of something long gone, something buried. He told himself, firmly, that she was just another person from his past, a woman who once showed him kindness in a place that had none. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But over the next few days, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something unresolved. Her presence haunted him in a way, not in the sharp, painful fragments of his past but in small, lingering echoes. He remembered the sound of her quiet humming when she thought no one was listening, the soft click of plates, and the surprising warmth of the treats she’d left for him, knowing he might never touch them. She had looked at him, masked and silent, like he was a person, not just a thing covered in shadows.

A few days later, in session, his therapist caught on to his distracted state. She didn’t exactly push, but she revisited the topic they’d been circling for weeks: reconnecting with people, finding his place outside the shadows of his past. Her advice was calm, grounded, and compassionate, but it nagged at him as much as it reassured him. Connection. Yeah, right.

Then, one afternoon, his phone buzzed. It was Sam. He was doing outreach work in the neighborhood, trying to connect local veterans with PTSD resources. “Look, I could use a hand with some pamphlets,” Sam said, in a way that didn’t leave much room for negotiation. “Some old-timers hang around that parlor you mentioned. I think they’d be more open to it if you dropped these off.”

Despite his reluctance, Bucky ended up agreeing. Maybe he needed to see her again to put the memories finally to rest.

When Bucky stepped back into the parlor, pamphlets clutched in his hand, the faint scent of aftershave and coffee grounded hit him. Frank was busy with a client, and Y/n was at the counter, writing something down in a small notebook. She looked up when the door chimed, her gaze settling on him with a flicker of recognition, the kind that carries just a hint of surprise.

Bucky cleared his throat and handed some pamphlets to Frank, who glanced at them with a barely concealed frown. “What is this, some new-age help group thing?” Frank muttered though he took them anyway.

Before Bucky could respond, Sam walked in behind him, a wide grin plastered on his face. He slapped Bucky on the shoulder with an ease that Bucky envied. “Hey, pal, didn’t know you’d actually do it,” Sam said, casting a friendly nod to the old-timers who regarded him with wary interest.

The veterans, having heard the conversation, perk up. “What’s this?” one of them asked, and Sam jumped in, explaining with his usual charm about the outreach work for veterans, PTSD resources, and community support. Bucky stood back, feeling the walls around him starting to rise, the familiar urge to retreat coming over him. But then he caught her watching him. He returned her gaze, and suddenly it was as if no time had passed. She was the same woman who used to hum softly in a house that held no warmth.

Before he knew it, Frank was muttering about “newfangled therapy and pamphlets” while the veterans grumbled, though one of them eventually accepted a flyer with a shrug. The moment felt absurd, but then, with a quiet laugh, she came to Bucky’s side. “Welcome back,” she says, with a soft voice and a suspicious pink tone on her cheeks.

Bucky cleared his throat, barely meeting her gaze. "Hi. Just, uh, helping Sam here with these pamphlets." He gestured awkwardly at the handful still clutched in his grip as if that alone explained his return. But before he could slide into silence, she tilted her head, her brow creasing in curiosity.

"So… were you in the service, too?"

The question caught him off guard. His body stiffened, and for a moment, he considered deflecting. But then he took a short breath, steadying himself before speaking.

"Yeah. Sergeant… a long time ago.” The words came out almost hollow like he was not even talking about himself. “Feels like it, anyway.”

Her eyes roamed his face as if she was noticing the wear and ache behind his expression for the first time, but she didn’t press him for more.

Behind them, Frank’s sharp gaze flicked over Bucky, his usual squint softening just a touch. He straightened, nodding with something closer to respect, his gruffness replaced by a rare moment of understanding. Bucky felt it, too, the unspoken acknowledgment from one who’s seen their kind wear the years like scars. “Well,” Frank said, his voice a little less brusque, “good on you for helpin’ out.” He didn’t look directly at Bucky as he said it, but the words were meant for him all the same.

He nodded, unsure of what to say. The discomfort sat heavy, but there was a strange ease to it too, this small, unanticipated connection in a place that felt both foreign and familiar.

Her smile grew softer as she met his gaze again “Guess we’ll be seeing you around, then, visiting the boys?”

Bucky shifted, glancing down with a faint nod. “Yeah. Maybe,” he muttered. Then he glanced back at Sam, who was deep in conversation with the veterans, seemingly in no rush to leave. He noticed the way Sam’s gaze occasionally flickered their way and caught the subtle grin playing at the corner of his mouth. To anyone else, it’d seem so, so casual, but he knew better, Sam was doing it on purpose.

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam kept his focus on the other vets, though his eyes flickered with barely concealed amusement when he glanced back.

The silence stretched a little too long, and she cleared her throat, slipping behind the counter with practiced ease. “You know,” she said lightly, “if you’re waiting on your friend, might as well have a coffee. It’s on the house.”

Bucky’s eyes fell to the floor, and he hesitated just a second before nodding. “Sure. Thanks.”

As she moved to make the coffee, he leaned on the counter, his gloved hands resting awkwardly on its surface as she prepared a mug for him. Then, without warning, she reached under the counter and pulled out a green tupperware, popping the lid to reveal neatly cut slices of pasta frola. The sight caught him off guard, his brows furrowing as a faint but vivid memory flickered to life, the faint smell of jam in the kitchen, the delicate pastry offered to him wrapped in a paper napkin, so his pocket wouldn’t get stained.

She noticed his look and chuckled lightly, misreading his reaction. “Don’t worry, it’s just a family recipe. I swear it’s not poisoned.” She gave him a half-smile, nudging the container closer. “It’s filled with quince jam, it’s tangy but sweet. Hard to come by here in the States, I know. But... it’s worth a try.”

Bucky blinked, the memory lingering in his mind as he glanced from her to the slice of tart. Her familiar, easy demeanor was almost too much to brush off. “I’ve had it before,” he said quietly, more to himself than her, before reaching over and picking up a slice. The taste was startlingly similar, he didn’t realize how vividly he remembered it. “Pretty good,” he murmured, almost begrudgingly. But before he could stop himself, a flicker of raw emotion tightened in his chest, and he felt the familiar sting of tears prickling at his eyes.

He turned away quickly, bracing himself against the counter, willing for the feeling to pass. He couldn’t explain it if he tried, not to her, not even to himself. A stray laugh reached him from across the room, and he forced himself to breathe, grounding his focus back on the sound of Sam’s voice, on the distant grunting of the men, anything to steady him.

Her voice broke through the moment, her tone warm and light as she cleaned up the counter beside him. “Well, if you like it, there’s plenty more where that came from,” she said with a playful smile. “The ‘boys’ practically fight over the last slice every time. You should see them, it’s like watching kids in a schoolyard,” she laughed softly, wiping down the counter. “I swear, I’ve had to start hiding an extra plate in the back just to keep up the peace.”

She glanced over at him, still unaware of his reaction, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “So, no pressure, but if you plan on sticking around here, you’ll have to stake your claim early.” Her voice was so light and easy, almost teasing as if sharing a small, harmless secret. It was as if she’d drawn him into some familiar, warm rhythm without even realizing it.

Bucky managed to make a nod, keeping his face averted until he was sure he was composed. Only then did he turn back, giving her a quick, curt nod. “Thanks. It… brings back memories,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the weight of those memories lingered in the quiet pause that followed.

“Oh?” She tilted her head, her eyes bright with curiosity. “I hope good memories?” Her smile was warm, perhaps imagining a grandmother’s kitchen or a friendly neighbor’s table, after all, it was rare for an American to have tried this kind of tart.

Bucky’s mouth curved into a faint, thin smile as he met her gaze for a fleeting moment before looking away again. “Something like that,” he replied, with a carefully neutral tone, edged with something unreadable. He lifted the coffee mug, taking a slow sip, hoping the gesture would gently close the conversation.

Before she could respond, the door chime sounded, and a man in his late thirties strolled into the shop with an air of easy familiarity. His gaze landed on her, his expression shifting into something smug and self-assured as he greeted her by name. His eyes lingered a little too long, sliding over her outfit in a way that barely bothered to conceal his interest.

Her posture stiffened, but she managed to smile, nodding his way. “Hey, Brian. Frank will be back in a few if you’d rather wait.”

Brian chuckled dismissively as he made his way to the chair. “Nah, it’s just a maintenance cut. I don’t need Frank for that.” He settled in, leaning back with a casual grin. “Besides, I’d much rather have you take care of me. Your hands are way more skilled.”

“Right…” She gave him a thin smile. Glancing at Bucky, she excuses herself from his side and heads over to tend to Brian.

As she set up her tools, Brian leaned back in the chair, angling himself to keep her in his line of sight. “Looking good today,” he said, his tone dropping slightly as he studied her reflection in the mirror. “Gotta say, it makes my day to come in and see you here.”

She responded with a brief, neutral laugh, brushing off his comment as she began trimming his hair. “Just here to make sure you’re looking sharp.”

Bucky stayed a little longer by the counter, pretending to be absorbed in his coffee. But his eyes flicked up occasionally, catching the exchange in the mirror’s reflection.

Watching him quietly eating the last bite of tart at the counter, Brian smirked, leaning back in the chair with a lazy grin. “You know,” he drawled, gazing at her intently, “One of these days, I’ll have to get my mouth on that pie of yours.” The words were laced with an unmistakable undertone, his gaze lingering on her as if testing the waters.

Her hand stopped just for a fraction of a second before she responded, a quick, professional smile in place. “Well, I’ll let you know if I ever start taking special orders.” Her words were smooth and dismissive, sidestepping his implication with practiced ease.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his mug. Was this modern flirting? He found himself suppressing the urge to remind Brian of a little respect. But with what right exactly? Some possessive urge rooted over a long-ago act of kindness? They’d barely exchanged a handful of words, words that, by the way, he could hardly string. Still, he couldn’t shake a barely contained irritation that crept inside him, a feeling both unfamiliar and too familiar all at once.

Brian’s flirting continued, his tone growing bolder as he lounged in the chair, eyes fixed on her as she tried to maintain her professional composure. Eventually, Bucky’s patience snapped.

He placed his mug down with a soft clink, rising to his full height and striding over, casting a long shadow across the two of them.

With a calm, steely edge to his voice, he focused his gaze on her. “Well, sweetheart, I’ve got some things to take care of with Sam. But I can’t wait to see you in that dress later.”

She blinked, her scissors pausing mid-snip as she processed what he’d just said. Then, catching on to the improvisation, she broke into a warm smile, tilting her head with a look of mock apology toward Brian before turning fully to Bucky.

“Oh, of course! Can’t wait to see you too, handsome.” she replied, adding a playful lilt to her voice. And without missing a beat, she tiptoed up, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, her hand resting on his shoulder for a bit of extra effect.

Brian’s smile faltered, his expression shifting to one of discomfort as he glanced away, the bravado vanishing from his eyes.

Bucky turned smoothly, not sparing Brian a single glance as he made his way over to Sam, his steps calm and unhurried. The entire shop seemed to hold its breath, caught in the aftermath of the exchange. Sam looked at him with a quirked brow, and Frank… just narrowed his gaze. Has something been going on under his nose with this redeemed hippie and he didn’t know about it?

Meanwhile, she could barely keep her thoughts straight. Her heart pounded wildly, a thousand questions firing off in her mind as she mentally replayed what had just happened. First, the shock that Bucky had stepped in at all, with that calm authority that had left Brian squirming. Then, there was how effortlessly he’d delivered his line, so convincingly she almost believed it herself. And finally... God, the way he smelled when she leaned up to kiss him. Cedar, leather, and masculinity. She could still feel the trace warmth of his lean, muscular shoulder beneath her hand.

Had she overdone it? The kissing, the touching… she wasn’t sure, though part of her almost wished it had been real. She bit her lip, determined to focus on the task at hand as Brian shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his earlier smugness replaced by an awkward silence.

Bucky reached Sam, who glanced up with a grin as he passed over the stack of pamphlets. “So… all this time you had a girlfriend and didn’t say a word, Tinman? That is low, even for you” Sam teased under his breath, low enough that only Bucky could hear.

“No, I didn’t.” Bucky muttered; his jaw tight but the faintest hint of a smirk breaking through. He didn’t meet Sam’s gaze, he kept his eyes on the pamphlets, straightening them a bit too intently.

-----

A month had passed since that unusual afternoon in the shop. Today, with the sun warm and inviting, she had settled on a park bench, her fingers skillfully crocheting yarn into neat, colorful granny squares. The sunlight caught the vivid hues, making them seem to glow against her lap, and she was fully absorbed in her work.

Bucky was passing through the park on his way home, hands stuffed in his pockets, mind preoccupied with thoughts stirred up from a grueling therapy session. But then he saw her, sitting just across the path. The sight brought him to a sudden halt. There she was, peaceful and intent on her project, just as she’d been all those years ago. Back then, he’d only dared to steal quick, curious glances, a silent observer bound by his handler’s whims. But today, seeing her absorbed in those same small stitches, he felt an undeniable urge to bridge the distance between them. It took him a moment to remind himself that he was free to walk over, to break the silence himself. He took a breath, then walked toward her.

When his shadow fell over her work, she looked up, eyes widening with recognition. “Oh!” she said, surprised, but quickly smiled, recovering from the initial shock. “Hey, stranger.”

He felt a small, tentative smile come through despite himself. “Hey,” he murmured. His gaze flickered down to the granny squares arranged on her lap. “I’m interrupting? You just looked focused.”

She chuckled, lifting the half-formed square to show him. “Not at all; it’s my therapy, I guess. Helps me unwind.” Then, after a beat, she patted the space beside her. “Want to join me for a bit?”

He hesitated briefly before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, I’d like that.” He sat down, the air between them comfortable but charged, a quiet warmth settling over them.

For a moment, neither spoke, just content to share the quiet. Then, she glanced over at him. “You know, I never got the chance to thank you properly… for that day at the parlor, it meant a lot.”

He looked up, a hint of surprise in his expression, then shrugged slightly, a modest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t need thanking. But… you’re welcome.”

She smiled back, and that gesture eased something tense in his chest. He swallowed, gathering his thoughts, his fingers tracing the line of his glove. The moment felt right, and finally, he broke the silence, his voice a little hoarse. “There’s, uh… something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” He glanced down at his hands, his thumb stilling over his gloved palm. “If… if you’ve got some time.”

She paused, looking at him with a hint of curiosity, her hands resting on her project. “Of course.”

He sighed, the sound heavy as if exhaling years of hesitation. Slowly, deliberately, he began tugging at the glove on his left hand, peeling it off to reveal the metallic gleam beneath. The sun's soft light caught on the intricate panels and joints, giving the hand an almost otherworldly sheen.

Her hands stilled, the yarn forgotten in her lap. Her eyes widened briefly as she took it in. At first, she assumed it was just a particularly advanced prosthesis. But then he flexed his fingers, the subtle, fluid movement far too precise, too seamless for any ordinary piece of tech. And then everything clicked. She’d seen that hand -arm- before, on news reports and grainy footage, the infamous name whispered in fear, The Winter Soldier. But alongside that news had been another truth: the revelation that he’d been a victim, conditioned to act against his will. A mere puppet of Hydra’s schemes. A human pet trained to secure their darkest ambitions.

Her gaze softened, a mix of understanding and quiet sorrow replacing her initial shock. She didn’t flinch or retreat. Instead, she studied his face, the way his jaw tensed, his shoulders bracing as if he expected her to pull away. She hesitated, her hand hovering over his for a moment before gently resting on his vibranium fingers. “Why are you showing me this?”

He stared at her hand, where it lay against his as if the touch was foreign to him, something he didn’t know how to accept. Finally, he sighed, the weight of the confession evident in the way his shoulders slumped. “Because,” he began, his voice low, “almost nine years ago, you worked as a nanny for a family that went by Pierce.”

Her brow furrowed, surprised that he’d brought up something from so long ago, and puzzled by how he could possibly know. Only a handful of people had ever been in that apartment, and none of them had been a man with a metal arm.

“How… how do you know that?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, though a thousand questions began swirling in her mind.

“They told you I was security detail,” he said, watching her closely. “Some faceless bodyguard lurking in the shadows. Except it wasn’t exactly… just that.” His voice softened, a hint of remorse lacing each word.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to connect the dots. She then remembered the quiet figure who’d kept to the periphery, masked, his posture rigid and controlled, his entire presence veiled in secrecy. His silence had unnerved her at first, but soon, it had become as much a part of the background as the furniture in the apartment. “You’re… that was… you were…” The realization dawned slowly, her hand involuntarily covering her mouth as the pieces slid into place.

He nodded, not breaking eye contact. “I couldn’t say anything back then. Couldn’t even… react on my own accord. But I remember you. I remember the little things you did. The treats you left, the music… your hobby.” His gaze fell briefly to her hands, where her current project lay forgotten. “It was… one of the only kindnesses I knew, back then.”

She stared, absorbing the weight of his confession, piecing together the faint memories of that silent figure in the shadows, the one she’d tried to reach in small, gentle ways. The realization that the man in front of her, the Winter Soldier, was him left her feeling as though a veil had lifted, revealing a hidden, tragic depth.

“So… you were there, but you weren’t allowed to… be you,” she said softly, the words tumbling out as she tried to grasp it all.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost a sigh. “There’s a lot of shit I’m still sorting through, but… I couldn’t shake the thought of telling you. What you did back then,” he paused, his voice dipping to a whisper, “it meant more to me than you know.”

She looked down, her heart catching at the sincerity in his words. Before she could respond, he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a bit of hesitation.

“Look,” he started, and she noticed his ears had turned a faint shade of red. “I, uh… don’t want to scare you off here. I get it if you think I’m coming on too strong, or if this seems… creepy.” He shifted, his gaze uncertain but still holding hers. “But I wanted to ask if maybe you’d like to… if you’d want to get a coffee sometime… or, I don’t know, maybe dinner?” A hint of nervousness flickered in his blue eyes, and he broke into a self-conscious grin. “Unless that sounds like a terrible idea, in which case, we could also just… feed some ducks in the park or something,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him. ‘Feeding ducks? Do people still even do that?’

Seeing him tripping over his words made her heart skip. Smiling, she let the silence linger for just a moment before nodding. “I’d like that, whatever you’d prefer, coffee, dinner… or even feeding the ducks.”

Relief flooded his face, his shoulders relaxing. He chuckled, and for the first time, she saw a glimpse of someone who had spent far too long hidden behind walls, someone who was finally allowing himself a chance to live.

----------

Saturday’s sunset hadn’t even fully settled in when Bucky found himself pacing toward the parlor, nerves buzzing under his skin. This was his first proper date since 1943, and he felt like a high school boy. An awkward, brooding, traumatized, and scarred high school boy. Great, he thought, glancing up at the swirling clouds that promised rain, thunder echoing faintly from afar. He checked his reflection in a nearby window, adjusting his collar, brushing a hand through his hair. The frown he caught staring back only made him feel more ridiculous.

He stepped into the shop and spotted her immediately, busying herself around the place, her brow knit in concentration. She didn’t notice him at first, but when she finally looked up, her eyes lit up in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” she said, smiling wide as she took him in.

“Hey,” he replied, a little awkwardly, realizing he’d arrived early. Clearing his throat, he lifted the small bouquet he’d brought, feeling hopeful and self-conscious as he handed them over. “Uh… these are for you.”

She blinked, clearly touched. “Bucky… thank you. They’re beautiful.” She inhaled the scent, and he could have sworn he saw a soft glow in her cheeks. The simple gesture seemed to have landed, warming him from the inside out.

Frank, from behind the counter, watched the whole exchange, his usual skeptical gaze softening just a little at the sight of the flowers. For a moment, Bucky felt like he’d earned a point of approval from the old man.

Just then, another roll of thunder echoed in the distance, making her glance up at him with a teasing smile. “You think we’ll beat the storm?”

He held out his arm, “Guess we’ll find out,” he said with a lopsided grin, trying to keep his cool despite the nerves.

And with that, they headed out, stepping into the evening together, the storm chasing them as they walked to the nearby bistro.

The rain came down fast and thick, a relentless curtain that left them drenched within seconds. They huddled together under a small awning, Bucky grimacing as he realized he hadn’t even thought of bringing an umbrella -not that he owned one, anyway-. He glanced over at her, taking in the way her dress clung to her, soaked through, her hair starting to curl from the dampness. He raked a hand through his dripping hair, sighing.

“Didn’t see this coming,” he muttered, half to himself, half to her. “I’m… sorry.”

She blinked up at him, eyes wide and surprised. “Why are you apologizing for the weather?”

He shrugged, a sheepish look crossing his face. “Guess I feel like I should’ve been prepared.” He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little foolish for not planning better. “I could… call you a cab? We can try for another night.”

She gave him a tentative smile, her cheeks a little pink. “Or… if you want, my place is just upstairs from the parlor. You’re already here, and it’s warm. We could dry off and… watch a movie? Order some dinner?”

Bucky blinked, a bit taken aback. The invitation tugged at something deep and old-fashioned inside him. A woman who lived alone, inviting her date to her house at night. But then again, times had changed, and so had he. He could feel the pull, that quiet, magnetic urge to spend a little more time in her company, and really, wasn’t that the whole point of tonight?

With a flicker of a smile, he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, that sounds nice,” he said, relaxing just a bit. He followed her through the rain-drenched streets, his boots splashing lightly in the shallow puddles until they reached the stairwell beside the parlor that led up to her apartment. She fumbled with her keys, glancing over her shoulder to flash him a quick, almost conspiratorial grin.

As they stepped inside, she chuckled, eyeing his soaked clothes. “I can get you some of Frank’s stuff to change into,” she offered, giving his drenched jacket a sympathetic look. “I do his laundry, so I’m sure we’ll find something that fits you. Just… don’t tell him.” She winked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Despite the cold clothes sticking to his skin, Bucky felt a warm chuckle bubble up. “I think I can keep a secret,” he said, playing along, his gaze lingering on her smile a second longer than he meant to. There, surrounded by warm, mismatched furniture and soft, inviting blankets, he felt something uncoil, like he was being welcomed into a place that felt… real, lived on.

"Sorry about the mess," she murmured, disappearing toward a small laundry room tucked around the corner.

Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt, his gaze following her despite himself. He tried to focus on anything else, but the soaked dress clung to every inch of her, tracing her silhouette in a way that made it impossible to look away. He found himself rooted to the spot, too aware of his heartbeat drumming harder than it should. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. Get a grip, he told himself. Standing there in a small puddle, he felt more out of place than ever, and yet, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere else.

She returned a moment later with a bundle of clothes in her hands, a pair of worn pants that looked like they’d sit loose and just shy of his ankles, along with a white tank top and a blue flannel. “It’ll do for now, though, fair warning, he’s got about half your shoulders, so don’t blame me if the fit’s a bit... weird.”

Bucky accepted the clothes, glancing at the pants with a wry smile. “Weird’s fine,” he mumbled, grateful for anything dry but wondering if he’d end up looking like he’d raided a teenager’s closet.

Her laughter was light as she stepped back. “I’ll give you a minute to get changed,” she said, nodding toward a corner of the room. Then, she grabbed a set of fresh clothes for herself, giving him a quick nod before slipping off to the bathroom.

Once alone, Bucky looked down at the makeshift outfit, a mixture of humor and nerves settling in. It was strange how easy she made things feel, and stranger still how much he found himself wanting to fit, if only for this evening.

Eventually, she emerged from the bathroom with a casual skirt and a matching blouse, feeling more at ease, until her gaze landed on Bucky. He was leaning against the window, looking out at the rain-soaked street, lost in thought. The borrowed pants hung low on his hips, but it was the white tank top that made her brain stutter. It clung to him in a way that left little to the imagination, stretched taut across his broad chest, outlining every defined line of muscle. She could even make out the slight press of his nipples through the fabric, a testament to the strain his frame put on the shirt that was clearly never made for him. She noticed the blue shirt he’d left folded on the table, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Couldn’t make the flannel work?”

Bucky glanced over, the corner of his mouth lifting in a self-conscious smirk. “Yeah… tried it,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t quite fit.”

She quickly averted her gaze, trying to mask the impure thoughts racing through her mind as she gestured toward the bulky cabinet under the TV. “So… movie or board game?”

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a beat, soaking in the warmth of her place, the easy coziness of being alone here with her. He felt a soft pull again, something that made him want to take another step closer, to reach out and… “Let’s play,” he murmured, his voice a bit rough. He gave her a slight smile. “Show me what you’ve got.”

They fell into the games as if nothing else existed. The hours slipped by unnoticed, each turn they took erasing a little more of the self-consciousness they’d started with. Laughter broke through the usual stillness of her living room, punctuated by playful jabs and shameless victory dances as they bickered over the rules and accused each other of cheating with an ease that felt familiar and comfortable.

At some point, she stopped worrying about how much she was watching him. It didn’t matter if her gaze lingered on the way his shoulders hunched with focus, or if she found herself distracted by the rare, soft chuckle he let slip when she pulled a fast one on him. And Bucky, for his part, began to let go of his usual reservations. Here, in her warm, cluttered living room with mismatched furniture and board game boxes stacked by the couch, he felt no need to carry the weight of conversation or second-guess every gesture. He didn’t need to measure himself against the usual question of what was “normal” or “appropriate.” He just… existed, slipping into her rhythm like it was second nature.

As the night wore on, they were sitting on the floor, engrossed in another game, the coffee table cluttered with pieces and cards. The mood had shifted from playful to fiercely competitive. Both of them were leaning forward, so focused on the game that they barely noticed how close they’d become.

Amid a particularly tense round, she reached forward quickly to snatch one of his pieces. Bucky, acting on pure instinct, grabbed her wrist to stop her. But when doing so, his grip was a little too forceful, and before either of them could react, she lost her balance. She lurched forward, crashing into the coffee table, her hands scrambling for purchase as she toppled over, knocking the game pieces everywhere.

Bucky froze, his eyes wide with shock as he realized what had happened. His heart raced as guilt and embarrassment washed over him.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted, his voice rough with panic. His hand hovered near her, unsure whether to touch her or give her space. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t think… are you okay?”

She sat up, a little dazed but unharmed. Her face flushed with the surprise of the fall, but she managed to smile softly, trying to ease the tension. “I’m fine. Really. Just… caught off guard.”

Bucky didn’t move from his spot, his entire body taut with self-reproach. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he muttered more apologies. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” His words tumbled over each other in a hurried mess.

Her eyes softened, and she quickly tried to reassure him, though she could see the genuine discomfort in his posture. “It’s fine,” she said calmly. “I’m alright, seriously. You didn’t hurt me.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening. The self-reproach was already spiraling in his mind, the usual inner monologue of guilt and doubt taking over. “I’m a fucking mess,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I can’t even…”

She reached out slowly, touching his arm lightly to ground him. “It’s okay,” she said again, but she saw it happening, his retreat, and it made her heart sink. He was going to pull away. She could see it in his posture, the way his gaze avoided hers, the tension in his shoulders as if he was already preparing to leave.

Without thinking, without any plan, she blurted out the only thing that had been swirling around in her head since the moment they started this strange, unpredictable connection. "I really like you."

The words hung in the air, louder than anything she’d ever said before, a sudden bomb dropped in the middle of their awkward standoff. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as they left her mouth, and her heart skipped a beat, the rush of adrenaline almost as strong as the surge of fear. She could already feel her cheeks flushing, the vulnerability creeping in, but she couldn’t take it back now.

Bucky’s head snapped up at her words, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he looked at her, stunned. For a moment, all he could do was stare, as if he were trying to make sense of what she’d just said. His mind had been racing, ready to bolt, but her confession grounded him, holding him in place.

“You… like me.” he finally managed, his voice barely more than a whisper, still slightly skeptical.

She smiled in a way that was both reassuring and a bit teasing. “Well, that was the whole point of going on a date, right?” His gaze flickered up, surprised, as she continued, “Why do you think I’d say yes to your invitation in the first place? I was even down to feed ducks with you.” Her smile widened, trying to lighten the mood, and a bit of that earlier sparkle returned to his eyes.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head, a mix of relief and amusement in his expression. “I thought maybe… I don’t know. Maybe you’d just be nice, humor me a little.”

She straightened up, putting on her best impression of an old-fashioned debutante. “Excuse you, but I don’t feed ducks with just anyone, what kind of woman do you think I am?” The statement had him laughing, a deep, hearty laugh that made his eyes crinkle and his nose wrinkle in an adorably unguarded way, making her knees feel like jelly.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t realize I was asking for such an honor. Guess I’ll have to work my way up to that level of duck-feeding trust.”

Her heart pounded as she met his steady, unflinching gaze, and managed to find her voice. “So… if you’re serious about making up for that offense,” she teased, “I might be open to… one little act of apology.”

He paused, his eyes widening just a fraction as he took in her words, understanding dawning across his features. A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze softened as he reached up, almost on instinct, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear with a featherlight touch.

“I… think I can manage that,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. His thumb skimmed her cheek, his fingers brushing along her jaw as he leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. Then, finally, his lips touched hers, gentle and chaste. When they broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads nearly touching, neither quite ready to pull away. Bucky’s hand lingered on her face, his thumb still grazing her cheek as he whispered, “Is that enough to earn back your trust, or do I still have some work to do?”

She laughed softly, the sound carrying the last traces of nervousness and turning into pure warmth. “I think… that was a pretty good start.” Then she bit her lip, leaning further into his touch, “Though, maybe…” she whispered, her voice dropping to a daring, playful note, “you might have to put in a bit more effort to repair the affront on my reputation.”

He didn’t need any further invitation. His hand slipped around the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her close, capturing her mouth with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. This wasn’t the gentle, tentative kiss from before; this was raw, heated, as though he was pouring all the things he couldn’t say into the way his lips moved against hers.

His mouth parted, his tongue sliding against hers, drawing a soft, involuntary gasp from her. She melted against him, her hands finding his shoulders and gripping tight, grounding herself against the overwhelming rush of sensation. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, his thumb brushing the back of her neck as he sensually assaulted her mouth.

When he finally broke away, his breathing ragged, he kept his hand on the back of her head. His burning gaze met hers, and he managed a rough, breathless murmur, “Was that… enough effort?”

Her cheeks flushed, her voice barely a whisper. “That’ll… do.” But the playful smile on her lips told him she wasn’t entirely ready to let go either.

Bucky’s hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, whispering her name, low and reverent, as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, each warm breath sending shivers over her skin. Her fingers wove into his hair, her other hand tracing the rough line of stubble along his jaw. Slowly, she tugged him up, their lips meeting again in a heated kiss.

The world around them seemed to fade entirely, the patter of rain on the window the only sound other than their breathless murmurs. His lips were hot and demanding against hers, his hand firm on her waist as he eased them both down to the plush carpet. The scattered board game pieces were forgotten, pressing into their knees and elbows as they moved together, desperate and unrestrained.

Bucky’s vibranium fingers brushed up her side, cool and deliberate, his other hand still cupping the back of her head to angle her closer. His lips left hers, trailing down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin just above her collarbone as his hand slid beneath her blouse, fingertips tracing patterns along her skin.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders, and his back, as she tugged him closer, her nails grazing just enough to make him hiss. His breathing was uneven, as he murmured her name against her skin, reverent and raw. “Tell me,” He rasped, his voice thick with need, “Tell me you want this.”

She reached for his face, her fingers tracing the rough line of stubble along his jaw. “I do.”

Bucky’s lips crashed onto hers, urgent yet unhurried, drinking in every soft gasp she gave him. His weight pressed her down against the plush carpet as his hand slid up the curve of her thigh beneath her skirt. The soft fabric bunched under his touch, his fingers brushing higher until the cool air met her exposed skin. She shivered, but not from the chill.

His other hand, the vibranium one, moved to the delicate buttons of her blouse.

Carefully, almost reverently, he slipped each button free, his knuckles brushing against her bare skin. When the blouse finally fell open, he pulled back just enough to drink her in, his chest rising and falling heavily.

The vibranium hand moved to the buttons of her blouse, steady but reverent. One by one, the delicate closures came undone, and as the fabric fell away, his knuckles brushed against the warm skin of her chest, drawing a quiet moan from her lips. When the blouse finally opened, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his heavy-lidded eyes dark with desire as his chest heaved with ragged breaths.

“God,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of want. The hand on her thigh squeezed gently, as if grounding himself in her, while his other hand grazed her exposed collarbone, slipping beneath the straps of her bra.

Her breath hitched as his fingers teased along the edge of the fabric before slipping it down her shoulder. His lips followed, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made her arch beneath him. The scrape of his stubble against her sensitive skin only heightened the sensation. His mouth moved lower, dragging over the curve of her breast until his lips hovered above the thin lace of her bra.

She gasped as he nipped lightly through the fabric, his tongue following to soothe the sting. “Bucky,” she whispered, her voice trembling but filled with need.

His gaze flicked up to hers as his hand came up to cup her other breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple through the lace, drawing a soft, breathy moan from her and then repeating the motion, this time circling the stiffened peak with a deliberate slowness that had her squirming beneath him.

Her hips shifted instinctively, brushing against his, and that’s when she felt his hardness, pressing insistently against her thigh through the loose fabric of his borrowed pants, and she arched into him, her hands slipping beneath his tank top to trace the hard planes of his chest.

“Feel what you do to me?” he rasped, his voice breaking as her fingers trailed lower, tracing the edge of his waistband.

Her answer was a breathless kiss, open and hungry, her teeth tugging lightly at his lower lip before her tongue swept into his mouth. He groaned against her, his hips pressing down against hers in a slow, deliberate grind that made them both gasp.

The friction between them built as his hand moved from her breast, sliding down her side to grip her hip. He tugged her leg higher around his waist, pressing himself more firmly against her, the thin layers of fabric between them doing little to muffle the heat of their bodies. Her nails scraped lightly down his back as he thrust his hips again, the pressure of his cock against her clothed clit sending sparks of pleasure through her.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling, needy.

He stilled for a heartbeat, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, his lips curling into a sly smirk. “I need you to use your words, doll,” he murmured, his voice gravelly and thick with desire.

Her cheeks flushed, the weight of his gaze making her shy for a moment. But the throbbing between her thighs burned hotter than her embarrassment. She licked her lips, her voice a little bolder now. “I… want you inside me.”

His smirk vanished, replaced by something darker, hungrier. He reached behind his neck to pull off his tank top in one swift motion.

The scars on his shoulder and chest caught the dim light, jagged reminders of everything he’d endured. Her fingers stilled against his chest, her breath catching as she took him in. But there wasn’t fear or pity in her gaze, only awe, tenderness, and something that made his throat tighten.

“You’re so handsome,” she murmured, leaning forward to press her lips to his collarbone. Her kisses trailed across his skin, soft and reverent, lingering on the edge of a scar.

The last of his self-consciousness melted away at her touch, and he growled softly, pushing her back down onto the carpet. His vibranium hand wrapped around her wrists, pinning them above her head with just enough pressure to make her breath hitch.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his lips brushing her ear as his free hand slid down her body. He traced the curve of her waist, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. Her breath hitched as his hand dipped beneath the fabric teasing her, tracing slow circles over her clit with controlled and deliberate movements, as if savoring every little sound she made.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over her jaw before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “All for me, huh?”

“Bucky,” she gasped, her hips bucking against his hand.

“Patience, doll, I’m a little… rusty.” he whispered, as his fingers slid lower, parting her folds and slipping inside her. Her moan was like music to his ears, her body arching beneath him as he set a slow, maddening rhythm.

She writhed against him, her breathless gasps and whispered pleas spurring him on. He watched her intently, his gaze dark and focused, each stroke and curl inside her seeking out what made her moan, what made her gasp his name like a prayer.

Her hands twisted above her head where his metal hand kept them pinned, her thighs trembling as her body moved instinctively against his. "That's it," he murmured, his lips brushing over her neck. "Let me hear you. Tell me what feels good."

A strangled cry escaped her lips as his fingers found just the right spot, his thumb brushing over her clit in perfect tandem. Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he gave her. Her voice was breathless, broken as she moaned, "Bucky, right there… oh, God, right there."

His tongue traced the shell of her ear, and when he spoke, his voice was gravelly and thick. “Got you, sweetheart. Just let go for me.”

She shattered beneath him moments later, her head tipping back as the waves of her release washed over her. Her cries filled the room, mingling with the rhythm of the rain outside. Bucky felt the tight coil of his own restraint loosen at the sight of her coming undone. Any lingering self-doubt evaporated, replaced by the raw satisfaction of knowing he’d done that, he’d learned her, he’d given her this.

He slowed his movements, easing her down gently, his fingers still stroking her as she trembled beneath him. When her breathing steadied, he brought his hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers as he licked his fingers clean, savoring her taste with a low groan.

Her cheeks flushed, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Rusty, huh?” she murmured with a shaky laugh, her voice tinged with both awe and affection.

With a wicked grin, Bucky shifted, his hands fumbling to rid himself of his pants as the heat between them threatened to consume him whole. But as he pushed up onto his knees, something sharp jabbed into him, and he froze.

“Son of a…” He hissed, lifting his knee and finding a pointy plastic game piece stuck underneath it. He held it up between two fingers, glaring at the offending object like it had personally insulted him. “Seriously?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “That’s what happens when you’re too eager and don’t clear the battlefield first.”

“Oh, it’s a battlefield now, huh?” he grumbled, tossing the offending piece aside with a flick of his wrist. Despite his frustration, the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a suppressed grin.

He stood quickly, tugging his pants down with a low, irritated huff, but the urgency in his movements never wavered.

Her gaze lingered on him, her breath catching as her eyes traced every line of his body, every mark that told a story he didn’t always want to remember.

The heat in his expression faltered for just a second, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and his lips twitched in a self-conscious smirk. Climbing back on top of her, he didn’t hesitate as her hands slid up his arms, guiding him closer. Her lips found his pulse point, trailing lower to the curve of his collarbone. When her lips brushed over a jagged scar, he exhaled sharply, his hand catching her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he rasped, his voice a mix of awe and hunger.

Her eyes gleamed with mischief as her lips curled into a teasing smile. “I thought we’d already established this was a battlefield,” she whispered.

“Well… I’m not exactly known for doing sloppy jobs while battling sweetheart” With one swift movement he ripped the seams of her panties, then guided himself with one hand, the thick tip of his cock pressing lightly against her slick entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged it up and down her folds, catching on her clit with every pass. Her hips jerked against him, a breathless moan escaping her lips. “You’re so ready for me,” he murmured, his voice thick as he pressed himself harder against her, the friction almost too much. “Think you can take all of me, doll?”

“Well, I guess we’ll never know if you don’t-”

A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips before he eased into her slowly, inch by thick inch, her teasing interrupted with a gasp that turned into a long, broken moan as he filled her completely. He groaned, his forehead pressing to hers as he stilled for a moment, letting her adjust to his size.

He started slow, rolling his hips into hers with a deliberate rhythm, his breath hot against her neck as he groaned softly with each thrust. Her body arched beneath him, meeting him as best she could, though the stretch of him left her gasping.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured with roughed voice, as his lips brushed her temple.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and beneath her, the scattered cards and pieces dug into her back, but the discomfort was barely registered through the haze of pleasure coursing through her.

“Bucky…” she whimpered, her voice shaky, her nails scraping lightly against his skin as she clenched around him.

“Hold on, doll,” he rasped, his hand sliding behind her thigh, lifting her leg higher to hook it around his waist. The new angle sent a lightning bolt of pleasure through her, and she cried out, her head falling back as he thrust deeper, harder.

“God, look at you,” he groaned, his dog tags swaying with each movement. The faint metallic clink added to the symphony of their labored breaths and the rain tapping against the window.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t ground herself as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and the sharp tug sent a low, primal growl rumbling through his chest. He shifted, sliding his arm beneath her other thigh, resting the back of her knee on his inner elbow, thrusting deeper, harder, making her cry out, her back arching as he drove her closer to the edge. “That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough and commanding, his rhythm relentless now. Her nails scraped against the rug beneath her, trying desperately to find some kind of anchor as her body writhed beneath him. “You feel so damn good,” he muttered, his tone reverent yet hungry, his mouth finding hers in a searing kiss as he continued to take her apart.

Sensing he wouldn’t last much longer, Bucky shifted slightly, his metal hand sneaking between their bodies. The coolness of vibranium against her overheated skin sent a jolt through her, and then his fingers found her clit. He circled it with slow, deliberate strokes, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips.

But he wasn’t done. He pressed his index finger at her entrance, sliding it inside alongside his cock. The new stretch made her gasp again, her back arching against him.

“Bucky!” she cried, her voice breaking on his name.

He froze for a fraction of a second, giving her time to adjust, before driving his finger in knuckle-deep. The motion coaxed a pleasured cry from her as he curled the digit, pressing into that spot deep inside that made her see stars.

His thumb resumed its work on her clit, circling in time with the thrust of his hips and the curling of his finger.

Her cries grew louder, each sound spurring him on. The dual sensation of his cock and his finger drove her higher, her body trembling beneath him as pleasure spiraled through her in an unrelenting wave.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he muttered, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath hot and uneven as he continued to work her over. “Falling apart for me.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders, the only thing grounding her as she spiraled closer to the edge. The combination of his relentless thrusts, the pressure on her clit, and the maddening stretch inside her finally shattered her. She cried out, her entire body trembling as the climax ripped through her, pleasure blinding and all-consuming.

Bucky groaned deeply as he felt her tighten around him, her release dragging him over the edge. He withdrew his finger, his hand gripping her hip as he buried himself fully inside her with one final thrust, spilling his hot seed deep inside her. His breath came in heavy pants against her skin, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breathing and the faint patter of rain against the window. He shifted slightly, resting his forehead against hers while their bodies were still entwined.

She let out a soft, contented hum, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along his shoulder. “Again, you call this being rusty?” she murmured, her lips curling into a smile, but before she could tease him further, his expression shifted, a flicker of self-doubt breaking through the earlier confidence.

He ran a hand through his hair, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “That thing I did,” he started, his voice low, almost hesitant, “with… y’know, my finger…” He trailed off, his hand gesturing vaguely, the tension in his shoulders betraying his uncertainty. “Was that too much? Too… weird?”

Her lips parted in surprise, but then a small, warm smile curved them. “Weird? Bucky…” She leaned in, resting her hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. “It wasn’t too much. It was… creative.” She chuckled softly, her cheeks flushing at the memory. “Unexpected, yeah. But in the best way.”

His brow furrowed, still caught in his head. “I just didn’t know if I… I mean, it felt right at the moment, but-”

She interrupted him with a light kiss, her hand sliding to cup his jaw. “It was right,” she said firmly, her eyes locking onto his. “Don’t overthink it. Just… trust me when I say you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Her lips quirked into a teasing smile, the light tone of her voice breaking the intensity. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pointy things prickling at my ass.”

Bucky blinked, and then his eyes darted to the floor around them, suddenly remembering the scattered game pieces and cards beneath her. “Shit,” he muttered, immediately shifting off her. “Sorry, doll, hold on.”

He backed off her quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes darted between the scattered cards and her flushed disheveled state.

“Relax. I was a little… preoccupied before to notice.” She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow.

Still, he bent to pick up every piece around her, muttering about “pointy plastic landmines.” When he finished, he straightened and extended a hand to her, pulling her gently to her feet.

“I’ll make sure next time is on a battlefield that’s… less hazardous,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, self-conscious smile.

“Next time, huh?” she teased, brushing her fingers lightly over his chest. “Confident now, are we?”

Bucky’s grin grew, a flicker of his earlier confidence returning. “I might be. If you’re not scared off by my… tactics.”

Her fingers continued to trail lightly along his chest, stopping just above his heart. “Not scared. Intrigued.”

Bucky bit his lip, his eyes darkening with a renewed spark as he slipped his hand around the back of her head. With a gentle yet insistent pull, he drew her closer, his lips capturing hers in a sensual kiss. Outside, the rain continued with its steady rhythm, soft and unrelenting, a distant soundtrack to the quiet intimacy they shared, where nothing else mattered but the heat of their kiss.

Just in case someone is interested, this is the song that inspired the story.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[little-hermit-crab56]

I've been writing for a while so I thought I'd share some writing tips I've learned along the way.

1. Never sacrifice the flow for a quirky line.

That bit of dialogue or flowery paragraph you really like but it kinda disrupts the flow? Scrap it. I know it hurts, but you need to. If you really want to keep it, find somewhere else to put it where it actually fits in.

2. Dialogue is a dance.

Dialogue should go at the pace of an actual conversation, back and forth with little breaks and pauses. Add as little dialogue tags as possible while still making it clear who is speaking. You can also describe what is happening during a pause in the conversation rather than saying they paused, unless the pause is important.

3. Show don't tell is a guideline, not a rule.

Show don't tell is a very useful guideline, but if you're ALWAYS showing it can get exhausting to read. Skip the boring bits and just tell us what happened, then we can get to the good stuff.

4. If it's boring to write, it's probably boring to read.

If you can cut out a whole scene with little consequence to the story, you probably should. As I said before, you don't always have to show us, you can always tell us.

5. Everything needs to have a purpose.

I know there are probably lots of interesting or cute scenes where your characters are just fucking around, but if it doesn't develop character, relations, conflict, or plot, why should we care? Definitely still write them if they make you happy, but if you're gonna add it to your final draft, make sure it matters.

6. You don't need to explain everything all at once.

I know it feels tempting to put all the lore, and all the character's intentions, and reasonings into the first few chapters, but please refrain, you can reserve that for your character and worldbuilding sheets. Instead, take the time to let us get to know the characters, and the world, in the same way we'd get to know a real person. Make your exposition as seamless and natural as possible. It will take practice to know when to reveal information and when to let us wonder, but you'll get there.

7. Write in a way that comes naturally.

I know you probably have an author you wanna write just like, but that is unlikely to happen. Embrace your natural writing style and perfect it, rather than trying to be something you're not. Writing is an art, you need to find your own style and polish it as best you can.

8. Try to make us feel connected by cutting out certain words like "felt".

"Chad felt like a glass of water." Can be replaced with, "Chad was thirsty, so he reached for a glass of water." Both sentences tell us Chad wants a glass of water, but one makes us feel more connected to Chad than the other. Though both sentences have their time and place, you want to make your audience feel as close to their protagonist as possible. Make them feel like they're there, rather than just an onlooker.

9. We don't need to know every physical detail of your character.

I know you probably spent ages creating the perfect characters and you want to give us the perfect image of what they look like, but it can get monotonous and boring, why do we care that your character has brown eyes unless the colour has some sort of significance? Try to list off only the most notable features of your character and put focus only on the relevant details. Sometimes you can even not describe them at all and throw in little bits of information about their appearance for the audience to put together. We read to imagine, not to have a perfect image painted for us when we could be getting to the plot.

10. You're allowed to be vague.

Allow your audience to assume things, with some things you can just be lazy and let your audience's imagination do the work for you. Of course, don't do this with important things, but you can save so much time you might've spent researching an irrelevant topic when you can just be vague about it. You don't have to know everything you're writing about, so long as you know the bits that matter.

11. Writing is a skill that takes practice.

Don't be so hard on yourself if your writing is a bit cringe, we've all been there. The important part is that you research how to get better and keep writing those super cringe chapters. One day you'll reread something from a while ago and realize you're actually not as bad as you thought.

12. Leave your work to rest.

I know you wanna start editing right away, but once you've finished, leave it for at least a month. The longer you leave it the better, but that depends on your attention span. A month to six months is good if you're really impatient but want a good result. If you keep writing in that time your skills will continue to improve, then you'll be editing that draft with fresh eyes and fresh skills.

And if you're a fanfic author, I usually leave my chapters for a week before editing and posting.

Hope this helps anyone struggling, I thought this might be especially relevant now with nanowrimo.

I recently realized how much knowledge I've been accumulating over the years, I definitely have more but this is all I can think of for now.

I'm no writing guru, but if anyone has anything they're struggling with, I can do my best to help you out, so dont hesitate to ask questions.

[reiderwriter]

For some reason my comments don't come through on your posts, but I want to first say I absolutely love your writing and I'm so happy your requests are open!! 🥰😭 So I've had this idea of a fluff mixed with spencer angst where reader is maybe interning at Diana's facility (not a dr yet, studying) and becomes close with Diana by reading, chatting, etc and Spencer over hears it from time to time and the dialogue between spencer and reader gets too close for Spencers comfort, but Diana wants her around more. Thank you again for your hard work okay bye!

A/N: I've never written a fic with Diana in it before, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, bit I enjoyed writing it a lot! Hopefully, this is somewhat like what you wanted!! ❤️

Warnings: Spencer is a bit dense (real) and puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically, of course).

Diana Reid's son was exactly the way she described him, down to the tiny curls at the base of his neck and the glimmer of intelligence in his eye. 

After four weeks interning at the care facility while working on your medical degree, you'd spent a considerable amount of time with your favorite patient, and her stories about her son were legendary. 

At first, you weren't sure whether to believe the woman when she said her son was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs, and a job in the FBI. She wouldn't be the first schizophrenic patient to muddle up her facts, but she certainly was the sweetest. 

So when you recalled your conversation with the head nurse later that day, she laughed and confirmed every story about Doctor Spencer Reid. Your mouth hung open in shock because surely nobody that incredible could just be out walking the streets. 

Another month of conversations about the man, and you were half in love with him. He wrote his mother letters every day - hand wrote them, even - and she's shown you a few. He'd talked about his friends, his team, his jobs, and how he was saving lives. And when one of the latest ones dropped in the news that he'd be free for a visit soon, you found yourself overflowing with anticipation. 

Of course, you felt like you already knew the man. You knew what his first words were, what his favorite toy was growing up, and even about the exploits of his first date, as pitiful as it was. What you didn't know was if Diana was passing along similar information about you. 

The day Spencer Reid finally showed up, he took your breath away. You were mostly in awe of Diana's ability to describe her son perfectly, though you'd grown fond of her perfectly professional English Lecturer tone of speaking over the last few weeks. She was practically lyrical when talking her son into existence. 

“His hair curls beautifully. He's my little adonis. He keeps it too long though, I'm always telling him he needs to cut it because it hides too much of his face,” she'd told you one day before picking her book up and ignoring you for the next half hour. 

“My Spencer is delightfully tall. He's a little bit spindly like a spider. He's not the most grateful, that's for sure, we used to call him crash because he was always bumping into things. Poetic, right?” 

You knew from the second he walked through the door that this man was him. 

Tall, slightly hunched, clutching his satchel strap in his hand, terrifyingly handsome and making your hand jump into your throat. Definitely him, and definitely a problem. You'd have to check the code of conduct about falling hopelessly for a patient's beautiful son. 

If you had any doubts, this was Spencer in front of you though, when he bumped into a chair just as he was about to reach his mother, it was confirmed. 

“Diana, I believe your Crash is here,” you smiled and giggled, watching her turn quickly to greet her son. 

You, too, gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little hesitant to return it, instead greeting his mother softly and sitting with her while you retreated slightly to give them some privacy. 

You hovered in the space, as Diana had been talking about introducing the two of you all week, and you didn't want to distress her if she couldn't find you close by. 

But though Spencer was closely attentive and soft with his mother, he took brief pauses to stare almost frustratedly at you. You weren't sure what it was, but something about you was setting Spencer on edge, and that in itself was unsettling you as well. 

“Oh, Spencer, you must meet our Y/N. Y/N, come here, this is my son, Spencer.”

Slightly more apprehensive now, you held out your hand to shake his, “I've heard so much about you  it's nice to finally be seeing you in person, Doctor Reid.” 

He didn't shake your hand, though, but awkwardly waved it off quickly, leaving you to awkwardly replace it by your side. 

“Nice to meet you. Are you a new attendant? I asked all updates about my mother's companions to be confirmed and passed on to me, patient and carers included.” 

His tone was business-like and clipped, and you could see a gentle annoyance settling on his features. 

“I'm sorry, Doctor Reid, I thought Diana would have told you in a letter, or the administration would've passed it on. I'm a medical student on an internship.” You felt like you'd been chastised by an irate parent though he'd at no point raised his voice or indicated in his words any sense of anger at all. His eyes burned across your skin, though, and you felt a flame heat your skin under the weight of his stare. 

“You're mother has told me a lot about you though, she reads me your letters sometimes, between our discussions of Marjorie Kempe.” 

“My letters? Mom, we've talked about this. Those are private.” You looked at the quiet disappointment on Diana's face and felt protective over the woman all of a sudden.

“Please, I'm sorry for overstepping, but your mother is just very proud of you. She talks about you a lot actually, and your job-” 

“With all due respect, Y/N, the last time my mother talked to a new friend about me, he traveled to Virginia and shot one of my friends, so this really is a conversation I'd rather not be having.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as he turned back to his mother and started talking to her gently again about personal security, effectively dismissing you from the conversation. 

You'd had stupid hopes for Spencer Reid, and that's all they would ever be. 

Reid talked on, and you left him alone with his mother, though she seemed distracted by your departure. 

“Spencer, that wasn't nice. Look at that poor girl. She's close to tears.”

“What? Mom, are you even listening to me?” 

“No, and I likely won't until you go and apologize to Y/N. She's a pretty girl, Spencer, and she was very excited to meet you.” 

“Pretty…. Mom, please.” 

“What, do you disagree? You think I don't know you well enough to know when a girl would suit you well? Or do you think I'm blind to the fact that you were stealing glances at her before she introduced herself.” 

Spencer went quiet at having been caught, and he hated to accept that maybe his mother was right. 

It was true as well that the care facility had informed him of medical interns coming and going in the next few months, and really, she wasn't to blame for his mother being fond of him. 

He was glad, though, that neither of them had noticed the ten minutes he'd spent just outside the large sitting area watching them talk. He'd been obviously taken aback to see someone new so close to his mom and his mom similarly comfortable. He felt even worse for the fact that for a solid minute and a half, he'd stared at the girl with no other thought in his head than the sound of his heart skipping a questioning beat. 

He'd pulled himself out of it eventually, but only when another nurse had come along to ask him if he'd actually be visiting his mother today or just dropping in to check on her. 

And then he'd bumped into that infernal chair when he was so fixated on getting to them, and she'd opened her mouth and called him crash, and his heart had sank. 

He reminded himself it was neither of their faults and inwardly cursed himself for being so unfriendly with someone who'd taken such good care of his mother recently. 

He promised himself that he'd talk with his mom and then go and find the woman, and apologising for being such a brute. 

“Spencer, are you listening to me, or are you busy daydreaming about my nurse?” 

“Mom!” 

“You're plain as day, kiddo, you'll never get anything past me. Now please, leave me be, I'm reading. Come back later if you must, but for now, take this to Y/N for me, please. She left it with me to read this morning, but I'm not in the mood for Medieval Romance right now.” 

It was a blatant lie, but a dismissal nonetheless, and Spencer quietly took his chance to search for you in the halls. 

The head nurse humorously pointed him in the right direction without him asking, much to his annoyance, but he persisted and lightly tapped on your shoulder to greet you. 

“Oh, Doctor Reid, hello again.” You smiled a little smaller this time, still polite, but he watched the way it didn't reach your eyes and felt like a jackass all over again. 

“My mom told me to come return this book to you.” He held out the book, and you quietly took it, folding it into your arms and hugging it tightly against your chest as you both stood there silently after the exchange. 

“I'm sorry, as well. I wasn't exactly very friendly back there, because-” 

“It's okay, Doctor Reid, you really don't have to explain. I overstepped, it's my fault and it won't happen again.”

“Are you kidding? My mom hasn't looked that relaxed in years. Please keep overstepping.” 

Your smile widened slightly at the compliment, and Spencer's tongue kicked into hyper drive immediately at the sight, even as his brain powered off. 

“You're pretty,” he blurted out, stopping only as his brain caught up with his tongue before firing off again. “My mom said you're pretty. I agree as well, though, you have a nice smile, and it's better when you don't force it. Not that I'm telling you how to smile, though. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my mom made me come over here and talk to you, even though I'm pretty sure that's her book and not one you loaned her.” 

He took a moment to catch his breath as you blinked at him in confusion, heart beating rapidly even as you heard the blood rushing through your ears. 

“If you're free now, would you want to grab a coffee? Unless you have a boyfriend. Or husband. Or girlfriend or wife, I guess, I don't mean to presume. But if you're free, as in time, and free as in, like, relationship wise, I'd like to buy you a coffee to thank you for listening to my mom.” 

He finally stopped, and you stared wondrously at the reddened skin of his cheeks as he held his breath, waiting for your reply. 

“You want to take me out for coffee to thank me?” 

“Yes.” 

“And on a separate note, I'm pretty, and you want to know if I'm in a relationship?” 

“I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'll just see myself out. It was a stupid idea anyway-” 

“No, wait, Spencer! Let me… let me grab my coat. My lunch break is in half an hour, and I'm sure it'll be okay to take it early.” You held his arm for a second, stepping slightly too close for comfort before realising yourself and taking a tiny step back.

He stood and blinked in your direction, as though wondering seriously for a moment what your lunch break had to do with him. 

“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are we going to go out?” 

“You're serious?” 

“I guess…. I guess I am.”

“And you're… you're single.” 

Your mouth went dry as his skin finally completed its transformation from vampiric to tomato red. You desperately hoped your own embarrassment wasn't equally as readable on your face. 

“Quite single. Medical students don't have that much time to date.”

“Neither do FBI agents.” 

“Perhaps a subject we could talk more about later?” 

“Definitely.” 

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Grandparent x GN! Reader

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was monochrome and seamlessly endless. Waking up every day for the same routine, work, eat and sleep. Some socializing here and there and spending time with their family, but not feeling any sort of true happiness or enjoyment from it.

- Yandere Grandparent who simply followed what school, their parents and peers told them. Study, get a good job, marry and have a child or two.

- Yandere Grandparent who might not have been the best parental figure to their own kids, perhaps abusive? Negligent? Absent? What about their spouse? Perhaps leaving them all the housework, childcare or money making?

- They weren’t even that interested when their children married. Not really caring at that point of their lives either, just waiting for the inevitable death to come to them and, perhaps then, it would be more entertaining.

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was finally given color and light the moment their eyes landed on you, their first grandchild. They weren’t excited when they got the news, just curious. What a pay off it was to endure the nagging of their spouse and the annoying traffic to find little, chubby adorable you in their offspring’s arms.

- Yandere Grandparent who truly smiles for the first time when your eyes open and you smile at them! Their eyes watering a bit when they get to hold you for the first time, and refusing to let go when you hold one of their fingers in your soft baby hand.

- Yandere Grandparent who felt love for the first time ever and who promised that they’ll look after you, in this life and the many new ones to come.

- Yandere Grandparent who visits practically every day to visit their little niece and spoil them with affections. From treats to toys to cute clothes, they would happily spent all their savings to give you a smile.

- Yandere Grandparent who insists to their children to continue to go out for some dates with their partner! You two are so young after all! And don’t you worry about their little niece, for Yandere Grandparent will happily look after them! It doesn’t matter what their own spouse says, their opinion is irrelevant to them and they will have no problem ignoring them if necessary.

- Yandere Grandparent who secretly wishes their kids turn out to be abusive so they can be your legal guardian and keep you all for themselves! Oh, and their spouse too, of course. As long as they aren’t too much of a pain.

- Yandere Grandparent who is so, so, so happy that whatever higher deity out there gifted them a living proof that happiness is real and that they can actually love like a normal person. Well, their definition of normal, of course.

- Yandere Grandparent who is overbearing and it’s pretty much involved in every single thing you do. They attend every recital, show, competition and event that you might be involved in! Always bringing their special camera for their special album of memories of you and with your favorite drinks and snacks on their bag as a little treat.

- Yandere Grandparent who offers a heavy amount of financial support to your parents so that you can go to the best schools or have the best tutors available. They don’t want you to suffer in this horrible world like they did! So let Gran-Gran decide the best and easiest path of success for you! They know what they are doing.

- Yandere Grandparent who tells you so many stories about their lives and gives you the best advice they can offer, as well as 100% support in whatever thing you want to do or are interested in! That includes siding with you in every possible argument between you and your parents.

- Yandere Grandparent who knows that they will definitely die before you, but are willing to prolong that due date the most they can. And who will leave their entire inheritance to you, so you’ll have a happier life.

- Yandere Grandparent who, at their last moments, smiles at you while holding your hand and muttering a final “I love you, sweetie…” before peacefully dying.

- Yandere Grandparent whose soul will continue to protect you even in the afterlife, for even death itself will never be able to break the bond of love they always had for their adorable niece.

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[persephonesdreams21]

Sweet Tooth

A/N: Well let me say first and foremost. My bad guys. Lol I didn't mean to keep this rotting in my drafts for almost a year, but life got crazy. I hope you guys enjoy this

Warnings: Explicit. Oral(fem receiving) Body worship. Finger sucking. Squirting. Multiple orgasms. Willy being down bad.

Summary: You’re sweeter than any chocolate he could cook up, and Willy is all too eager to show you just how much he craves you. Your smiles, your attention…your taste.

The last few weeks of your life have been vibrant.

Filled with technicolor so unlike the dreary years you’ve spent in this town. Between the weather and the chipped cobblestone, England was so gray this time of year. Frigid and frozen over with winter winds and a constant flurry of snow.

It was on a particularly cold night that you’d found him.

Saved him, he’d argue whenever he told the story. Saved him from Bleacher and his mangy mutt.

“Don't you ever get tired of harassing people?” you'd sighed as you'd stumbled upon the scene. A familiar one- another poor soul about to get roped into Bleacher and Scrubbit’s barely concealed hoodwink. Everyone who’d grown up in this city knew better.

“Why don't you mind your business, Y/N. And leave us be. Both me and mister-” Bleacher looks to the man. The one with the sharp cheekbones and the ostentatious velvet trench coat.

“Wonka. Willy Wonka” And he’d said it with such innocence gleaming in those bright eyes that in that moment, you knew you couldn't let him fall victim to the cruel scam.

That’s how you’d ended up with an unexpected housemate.

The home you’d grown up in is nothing special and far from fancy, but you do happen to have a spare room. One with an old fold-out bed that’s more comfortable than it looks. It may have been stupid, but you couldn't help but trust him. Want to help him, feel this pull to him…

That was weeks ago. Almost a month now.

Willy living with you, under your roof, feels oddly natural. Like it had been years that the two of you had been co-existing, he fits into your space like he was destined to come to you. Like he belongs there; the two of you working together like a well oiled machine.

You cook dinner, he washes the dishes and wipes down the counters. The house has never been neater. Even though you try to deny them, every day when he returns from the Gallery Gourmet, he leaves silver shillings in the key bowl on the kitchen table.

“It’s not much…but I want to make sure I’m paying my way. I’m real appreciative of all you’ve done for me” he tells you so earnestly it makes you blush. You sneakily slip his sovereigns in the pockets of his trousers when you do his laundry.

He doesn't know it but he’s helped you too. And not just by scrubbing dishes.

You truly hadnt realized how lonely you were until he came along, and you were terrified of losing your found companion. You’d hold on to him for as long as he’d allow.

Your new favorite time of the day is the evenings; quiet ones. With a fire burning in the hearth and the radio playing softly. You and Willy curl up on the couch, warm in your respective quilts. And read. Well, you read to him. At his persistent insistence.

“Aren't you tired of me blabbing yet?” you tease as you pick up the dog eared copy of The Hobbit that the two of you had been working your way through.

Willy gives you a grin, all boyish and crooked “Never that. I adore the way you tell stories”

That makes your stomach swoop dangerously and you shake your head “You’re a flatter, Mr. Wonka”

“No, no. Your voice is more melodic than the bells of Notre Dame” and when he says things like that to you, how are you not supposed to swoon? From any other man it would make you scoff, but from Willy his compliments always feel different.

Like maybe he’s telling the truth…

You ignore it and change the subject to something that feels safer “One day i'm gonna put you in front of a map and make you show me all the places you’ve been”

“Honestly, It would probably be easier to mark off the few places I haven't been-”

“Oh ho ho ho. How modest of you, great explorer” You tease around a laugh and his ears redden a bit at your ribbing.

“It's not like that and you know it” Willy defends “It was a lot less glamorous than it sounds. I spent seven years under the deck scrubbing pots and then collecting ingredients for my chocolate whenever we made port”

“And wooing girls on every continent?” I ask and that blush on his ears spreads to the high apples of his cheeks.

He’s a pretty one and you know even though he pretends to be demure, might come off as innocent, he’s anything but.

You’d gotten a small taste of it, and hadn't thought of anything else since. But neither of you had quite mustered the bravery to talk about that yet.

The two of you settle in on the old worn couch with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, courtesy of Willy. He’d spoiled you rotten, made you develop a terrible sweet tooth. Any cavities you develop, you’re completely blaming on him.

“Willy” you whine.

“Just try it, please. I made this recipe especially for you”

You take a sip.

The first rush of flavor over your taste buds has your eyes fluttering.

“Mmm, oh my god” you can't help but moan. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever tasted. Truly. He’s outdone himself- cinnamon and warmth.The kind that feels like a a lovers embrace. Sweet milk chocolate. Is that a hit of rose? “This is insane, what’s in this?”

At your praise Willy smiles like the cat that caught the canary “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka, Wild roses from China. Coconut milk”

You look over at him, appraising. Trying to figure out why his voice has taken on that husk. Why his eyes are boring into so intensely.

“What a peculiar combination of flavors” you whisper and Willy bites his lip.

“Its become my favorite combination lately” he admits “but I can't seem to get it quite right. You see, I was allowed to taste it only once, and its tormented me since”

Your breath hitches. Flashes of tangling tongues tongues and his lips pressed against yours. It had only been one kiss but it had wreaked havoc on you since.

You eyeball the mug in your hands. Maybe you weren't the only one suffering with the after effects after all.

“Is this chocolate supposed to taste like?...”

“You. Yes. Your kiss. Your tongue and your lips” Willy nods. “I don't know if anything can come close to the real thing, but I tried”

Your heart thunders behind your ribcage. The longing in his voice matches the one within your gut, the need that had been brewing.

“I’ve spent hours. Thinking of you, trying to imitate your taste so that I could have it one more time. Spicy, but not quite. More warm. Sweet…the floral note from your lipstick. I’ve been nearly everywhere and i’ve never sampled anything quite like it”

With his confession, the thin thread of control snaps.

You’d been trying, so hard. Trying not to scare him away. Trying to keep the intensity of your feelings at bay so that he’d stay, even after he secured his shop. That he wouldnt leave you when he found success-

You place the mug down on the old wood of the side table-

“Please” Willy’s pathetic as he grabs at your arm “Don't go, I understand if this was too much but I- I didn't know how else to show you”

You lean into his touch, not away and that seems to calm him if only just.

Of course this sweet silly man couldn't just tell you that he cared for you. That was not his style. He was bad with words, so much better with his hands. To him, he’d shown you the most sincere form of devotion, crafted your portrait with his most loved medium.

“I feel the same” you say, voice quivering just the tiniest bit. His eyes melt and he comes in close, forehead knocking against yours.

When you kiss him its hot from the start. It’s wet and electric, charged with emotion. With desperation. Willy’s sinewy hands are all over you, cupping your chin, squeezing your waist, so much more bold this time. The waiting had lowered any inhibitions he might have had.

It’s frantic, him unbuttoning your blouse and you tugging at his trousers.

You need more. Need to feel his dark silky hair between your fingers, his pale skin under your palms.

Nothing feels like enough. Not when he mouths at your garment covered breasts or when you wiggle out of your skirt.

You reach into his boxers, wanting to palm at the blood hot hardness you’ll find there-

He groans and pulls his mouth away from your neck, where he’d been suckling marks into the delicate skin. “Wait, don’t”

“Why?” you’re confused, you can feel him. Firm and needy under the cloth.

“Because I want to take care of you first. With my mouth. If you’ll let me”

And oh. Oh.

All you can do is nod. Lay back and let him take what he needs, you feel more vulnerable than ever before. When he blankets you with his body, you realize that you also feel safer. Adored by this man, by this odd beautiful man.

Willy is a tactile person. He wants to touch and taste. And so that is what he does.

There’s so much to feel. Your heavy breasts, peaked with hard little nipples that he swirls his tongue round. Your belly and wide hips, so soft, so much give, he watches his fingers dig in and indent. Your thighs, so plush.

He buries his head between them. And inhales, deeply.

“Willy!” you exclaim, scandalized, trying to close your legs, but he shoulders his way deeper.

“You smell so good” Willy reassures you, his nose pressed against the wet patch on your knickers. Groaning like it’s the best scent in the world.

He takes his time, savors the moment as he peels the damp fabric away. His eyes locked on how the strings of slick stretch and shine in the low fire light. You’re so wet, the puffy lips of your cunt sopping already. And when he takes his first tentative lap, he knows that he could do this for hours and there's no way he’d ever be able to replicate it.

Nectar from the gods. Earthy and sour sweet.

You whimper as he feasts, as he gorges greedily. The sight of his dark head bobbing between your thighs makes you shudder. It’s almost unreal. That he’s doing this, that he wants you. His arms are wrapped around the back of your thighs, holding them up, holding you open.

You come for the first time with your fingers buried in his hair, pressing his face deep into you. Riding his nose and tongue.

For the second time you’re arching away from the sharp pleasure.

“Willy” you choke on your whines as his fingers reach deep into you, hitting that sensitive place inside over and over. You’re shaking with overstimulation, but hes groaning like he’s the one being brought to orgasm over and over.

He pulls his wet mouth away every so often. To tell you how beautiful you are. How good you taste.

“I can’t” you whisper, warningly.

“Please” Willy insists, his breath against your clit “One more, one more for me”

You can't deny him anything, can you?

You arch right up from the couch cushions, squealing as you hit that peak again. But this time is different, this time something inside you bursts, pushing wetness out in a flood.

Willy lets out a gutted sound from where he’s smothered by your thighs, that have tightened vice like around his head during your orgasm.

Coming down from it is almost painful and you’ve never sobbed from pleasure but well. There’s a first time for everything. While you shake and shiver Willy’s gentle, petting your thighs and tummy in soothing circles. Pulling away from your over sensitive flesh.

He stares up at you, his gaze heavy and his tongue poking out every few seconds. Swiping at his wet lips. Like he can't stop tasting you. It’s debauched. Beautiful.

“You are the best thing i’ve ever tasted” Willy pants out the vow, raw with honesty. Drunk on the flavor of you.

Wryly, you wonder if he’ll try to manufacture it into a truffle. A fancy bon bon.

You smile as he climbs back fully on top of you, your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. You kiss the shell of his ear before whispering-

“My turn to taste you”

🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬

I never thought I’d be writing Willy Wonka smut but well. Here I am lol

[bengals-barnesbabe]

There’s Something You Should Know

Pair: Dad!Joe Burrow x OC , Dad!Joe Burrow x ExFianćee!Reader

Desc: Joe’s new girlfriend is in for a big surprise when she drops by unexpectedly.

TW: Jealousy, Toxic Gf, talks of divorce, childhood trauma

a/n: just a little idea I had and worked on for 2 weeks :)

Main Masterlist

WC: 4.9k

┊┊┊┊ ➶ 𓆉｡˚ ✧

August weekends are some of Joe’s favorites, not because he goes out with friends or showers his girlfriend with the attention she desires. No, he loves days like this. Days where his living room doesn’t stay clean for more than a few hours, mornings filled with cute giggles and sticky-syrupy little fingers, and nights controlled by a little girl with beautiful hazel brown eyes and a head full of dark tight curls, who picks the same bedtime story every night. These are his favorite moments.

Like now as he picks up the pink and purple lego sets off his living room floor while his little girl is off playing with some other toys in her playroom. From down the hall, he can hear all the make-believe scenarios the stuffies are going through. Currently, Who Dey the tiger and Joey the kangaroo were shopping for skirts but there was only one pink sparkly one left, it was a heavy debacle that Joe couldn't help but chuckle at while putting away the rest of the legos. 

Elliana, or Ellie for short, is the no doubt most important person (albeit little person) in his life. From the day she was born, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his little girl. Now at 4 years old, the bubbly and charismatic girl is taking in some of his interests, hence the immense collection of Lego sets that decorate his home. Sure this hobby came back to bite him in the rear when he would fall to victim of said legos by stepping on them, but the time they spent together just playing around was worth all the lego injuries in the world. But they also have house slippers now, to protect both of their feet.

Joe moved to tidy up the kitchen after double checking that all legos were in their rightful spots, not that he was actually going to count every single lego. To prepare for his 4 day weekend with Ellie, he made sure to restock on all her favorite meals and snacks but also ingredients to make the Bengals-themed cookies that she hadn’t stop talking about since she saw them on a commercial for a grocery store they don’t even have in Ohio. Joe wasn’t much of a baker, he only began cooking real meals when Ellie started staying over for multiple nights. Give him a box of Kraft Mac N Cheese and some dino nuggets and he’d turn it gourmet for his daughter, but for now that’s as far as he could go. So he called in reinforcements for this mission.

*ding dong*

His saving grace, Ja’Marr Chase. Joe was forever grateful to have a best friend that loved and cared for his daughter like she was his own. Ja’Marr was a great uncle and Ellie thought so too.

“Daddy, daddy! It’s Uncle Marr, he’s here to make cookies!” He smiles as the squeaky voiced girl comes running down the hall. Before she passes the kitchen, he sneakily pulls her into his arms before she could notice him. “Daddy!”

“What did I say about running in the house? I know you’re excited but you might fall and hurt yourself and that would make daddy really sad.” He lightly scolds bending down to her height.

“I’m sorry daddy. No more running.” Ellie cutely nods and places her small hands on his cheeks to lift his faux frown.  A grin quickly returns to his face and he kisses her forehead. 

“That’s my good girl, how about you go wash your hands so you and Uncle Marr can get started?” Her face beams as she wraps her arms around his neck. He returns the hug almost as tightly to take in the warm sense of comfort that having her in his arms brings. His arms could probably wrap around the young girl twice, but the contentment of having her little ones squeezing onto him so tightly is a feelings he never wants to forget. When she finally lets go, she kisses his cheek then skips down the hall in her fluffy pink slippers.

The door bell ringing again brings Joe back to his full height, but his brows furrow when he doesn’t hear his friend do his usual call out. ‘He’s probably on the phone.’ He thinks walking over to front door. He opens the door wide with a smile to greet one of his best friends, but gets replaced with his eyes widening and mouth dropping in shock.

“Hi babe!” 

Joe blinks then narrows the door’s opening to only fit half his body. “What are you doing here?” He asks the woman he’s been seeing for 6 months.

“I thought we could spend some time together. I know you said you’d be busy this weekend, but you’re busy every weekend. But since you’re actually home, we could watch a movie or something.” She smiles trying to peak inside. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Joe can hear the faucet in the first floor bathroom turn off and another car pull into his driveway. He looks behind him and zeroes in on every detail in his house that screams ‘this is my little princess’ castle’ then turns back to his curious girlfriend. “Um, now’s not a great time Kate.”

The short brunette’s jaw clenches and just as she’s about to respond, Ja’Marr walks up behind her. “Wow- so what, Saturdays are for the boys?” She barks. Actually they’re for the girls, little girls.

“Kate-

Loud giggles erupt from behind him. “UNCLE MARR! Daddy he’s right there I see him!” 

His teammate breaks out in a smile and waves to Ellie. “Hey babygirl.” Ja’Marr excuses himself from behind the woman and Joe lets him in the house.

Kate stands in front of him now dumbfounded. “You have a daughter?”

When Joe met Katelyn, he hadn’t had a long term girlfriend in a while, not since you. So he didn’t have to introduce anyone to his daughter. His team already knew her, his friends were great with her and she had a mom and dad who would do anything for her. Joe didn’t even feel like dating after your engagement ended two years ago. He had some hookups here and there, but getting into a relationship was not on his mind. Funnily that’s how this ‘relationship’ started, she was just someone he could call and was cool about it. Then he took her out to dinner to test the waters and half a year later he’s here.

When you broke up, you and Joe agreed not introduce your daughter to anybody without the other’s consent. You both wanted to make sure that she was your priority and her safety always came first. Then Joe implemented the rule to not introduce Elliana to romantic interests until at least 9 months into the relationship, he said it was him being protective but it was also so he didn’t have to see you without anyone else until it was serious. You also didn’t broadcast your daughter to the world like other parents, so not many knew that he did have a daughter unless they watched his every move. 

So long story short, Katelyn did not know.

“We should talk.” He said as she shoved his body to the side and stomped into his home. “I guess I deserve that.” He shook his head and shut the door.

Thankfully, the kitchen and the living room were a decent distance from each other so when she plopped down on the farthest end of the sofa, he could relax knowing Ellie wouldn’t hear any distinct words the woman might start throwing his way. Kate sat facing the blank tv screen, he took the spot in front of her so he could still see some of the movements in the kitchen through a wall cut out.

“Listen Kate.”

“No me first.” She cuts him off with a hand in front of his face. He just nods and allows her to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is she actually yours? Where’s her mother? How come no one knows about her? Why didn’t you fucking tell me? I thought I was your girlfriend, do I mean nothing to you? Who keeps this kind of giant fucking secret? Fucking talk!” She huffs.

“I was letting you go off- whatever. Yes, Elliana is mine. She just looks exactly like her mother” He mumbles the last part, combing his fingers through his hair, a nervous tick he’s had since he was little.

“She’s 4 and I have dual custody over her, so I mostly get her during the weekends. I didn’t tell you because her mother and I have an arrangement and I would have to talk to her about it first. Her mom lives here- well not here here, she lives in the city. You know I don’t like the attention the spotlight gives so it was easy for us to decide to leave her out of it as much as possible. I guess was going to tell you at some point.”

“What do you mean, you guess? I’m your girlfriend! Don’t you think I have the right to know that the guy I’m seeing has a kid?” She crosses her arms red faced.

“Calm down, we haven’t been seeing each other that long. We were never that serious.” 

“Of course not, every time I want to spend time with you there’s a new excuse. Oh you have a game, or practice that evidently takes all fucking day. Maybe you’re hiding me because there’s someone else.”

“I promise the only other girl in my life right now is my daughter. And everything you just said is a valid excuse, I have a job and child that require all my attention.”

“Why can’t she just stay with her mother? Do you have this stupid arrangement so she can come by and give you what you’ve been missing? I bet you’ve been fucking her this whole time.”

Joe scoffs, her words starting to make his blood boil. “Katelyn, what do you not understand about us co-parenting our daughter? I barely have time to spend with you, so what makes you think I have time to cheat? If you have a problem with me being a father, then you should leave.”

“I don’t have a problem with you being a dad, I have a problem with you not talking about your ex. What, was she so special that it hurts to talk about her? Was she the one, Joe? What exactly is your relationship like with her now?”

“I told you, we co parent. There’s nothing going on with me and her mother, that’s all in the past. Can we stop talking about her now, she’s not going to just pop up out of nowhere?” He rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not convinced, you’d only hide her if there was still something between you.” 

“Yea her name is Elliana, the four year old making cookies in my kitchen right now.”

Before Katelyn can come back with another complaint, the doorbell rings, again. Joe sighs and looks out the window to see another very familiar car. Spoke too soon Joe.

He opens the door to see another one of his close teammates and the very woman he was just talking about. 

“Tee, Y/n what are you doing here?” His eyes lazily flicker between the pair and you send him a sheepish smile.

“Oh you know, we were just in the neighborhood.” Tee nods very nonchalantly. You nudge his side with a chuckle.

“I got a 911 call from Ellie, she said there was an emergency.” 

“Really?” He starts to pat down his pockets and realizes his phone is missing. He turns around and spots a smiling little girl with two long braids neatly done with purple bows in her hair. “Ellie…”

“Yes daddy.”

“Did you call mommy with my phone without telling me?” 

“Yep!”

You stop the laugh from bursting out your mouth when he sends you a pointed look. Taking that as a sign to go ‘confront’ your daughter. “Elliana why did you call me saying there was an emergency?

“There is an emergency momma! Uncle Jay is eating all the cookies!” Ja’Marr turns around shocked at his little partner. 

“Ellie, what did I tell you about snitches?”

“Snitches get stitches.” She relays matter factly. Joe shakes his head in confusion because clearly he wasn’t aware she knew about snitches yet. While you chuckle and run in to snatch up your girl.

“Ellie what did I tell you about taking advice from Uncle J?” You ask placing her on the counter.

“You said to tell you when he teaches me something new. He just did momma, see I told you!”

“Wow, Joe see what your friends have done to my sweet little girl.” She giggles wrapping her arms around your neck.

“They’re your friends too. How is it my fault, I had no idea?”

“There’s your answer.” You smirk. “Now Ms. Ellie Dae Burrow, is there any other emergency I need to know about?”

Freeing herself from your grasp she nods her head. “We don’t know how to ice cookies mommy.” Then takes your face in her hands and turns you towards the powdered sugar mess next to her baking buddy.

“Ellie, did you touch the cookies before touching mommy’s face?”

“Um yes?”

“Did you wash your hands after touching the cookies?” The young girl looks at her flour caked hands curiously. 

“No mommy.”

“Remember what I said about touching your toys with dirty hands?” Ellie nods her head. “Well that goes for people too, cause now I’m covered in flour.”

“Oh, sorry mommy. I’ll go wash my hands now.”

You go off to get washed up then Ellie returns to the kitchen to continue helping with the cookies while you join Joe in the living room.

“I hope you guys didn’t have anything planned, Ellie clearly has a mind of her own.” Joe jokes with the couple.

“Not much, we were just going to pick up some lunch and maybe catch a movie.” Tee shrugs.

“That’s what we were going to do, how funny.” Kate perks up with hidden mischief in her eyes. This is when you realize you have no clue where this woman came from nor who she is. 

“Joe?”

“Oh how rude of me. I’m Katelyn, Joe’s girlfriend and I assume you’re his baby mama.” She fake smiles holding her hand out.

The eyes of the men in the room widen at her bold choice of words. You smirk and shake the woman’s hand. “Yep, that’s me. The mother of his only child, you must know how great of a dad he is right? Whenever he has any time off, he’s always picking her up or coming over to see her. Truly father of the decade and she isn’t even 5 yet.”

Tee sits next the father hiding his face in his hands and chuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted this to go.” He whispers to him. Joe just groans in his hands.

“Well, you should have a seat.” Kate invites.

“Oh I will, thank you for the hospitality in the house that my ex fiance asked me my opinion on over a year ago.” You grin and sit on the other side of Tee.

Katelyn’s kind demeanor shifts with a fake smile wide on her cheeks as she sits next to Joe. “So why’d you break up?”

“We are not starting here!” Joe’s eyes go wide and he straightens up. “Ask anything else please.”

“Joseph, your girlfriend wants to know why we’re not married right now. Why don’t you tell her?” You say forgetting how the whole thing happened for a bit. Thankfully those cherished memories come floating back to your mind and you hoped he decided to change the subject to cover your mishap.

“You just met, aren’t you supposed to be doing the making sure she’s safe for Ellie to be around thing?” You let out a muted sigh before replying.

“Oh please, and you haven’t?”

“No.” He mutters.

Your face hardens as you kiss your teth. “You let this woman around my daughter without screening her first? Joseph what the hell?”

He throws his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t think it was going to last this long, I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“Then why is she here?” You question turning your body completely towards him.

“Your guess is as good as mine!”

Katelyn scoffs, “excuse me, I’m sitting right here!”

“Unfortunately we see that too. How long have you been together anyway?” You hope that their explanation has to do with the restrictions you came up with to keep your daughter safe.

“7 mont-

“6 months- They say at the same time.

“Damn, this is awkward. I’m gonna go.” Tee announces. “I’ll text you.” Then he leaves.

“Looks like that didn’t last, maybe that’s why Joe left you. You attract drama everywhere you go.” Joe grimaces at her just wanting her to stop talking.

“Oh no hun, I left him. Not like it’s any of your damn business cause you don’t know me or him that well either. But let me guess, he told you he was busy but you showed up anyway hoping he’d let you in and give you whatever you want. I wouldn’t stress about him not making enough time for you, there’s a lot of worst ways he could be treating you. Just remember that at the end of the day, I’m that little girl’s mom and he’s her dad. I’ll always have a key in the door, when you won’t even get to see the open house.” Then you got up and went to the kitchen. Joe watched in amusement as Katelyn seethed. Then peaked behind him to catch a glimpse of you and your daughter baking together.

“You need to talk to her, she needs to know that I’m your future and she needs to make room.” Joe rolls his eyes.

“She’s right. They’re my past, present and my future. You were just a distraction and now I don’t need you anymore. I’m going to have to ask you need to leave my daughter’s house.” 

She shakes her head. “Joe, we can have our own family. You don’t need them. I can do that for you.”

“Katelyn I want them, not you. It’s time for you to go.” He stands and walks over to the door.

“You’re going to miss me and regret this, but I wont open the door for you. When you want me back I’ll have someone way better than you. Please don’t do this, don’t break up with me.” Rolling his eyes at the quick change in behavior he unlocks the door for her.

“Joey, I thought we were having fun. You don’t want to throw that away do you?” She asks as a final strand of hope glistens in her eyes.

Joe sighs, “it was fun, but I’d rather play with flower shop legos and bake cookies.”

“Fuck you Joe!” She stomps out with expletives shooting from her mouth. 

⍣ ೋ

“Daddy was your friend crying because you hurt her feelings?” Ellie asks with frosting covering her mouth when he arrives in the kitchen. He picks her up and kisses her sugary cheeks.

“No bub, she hurt her own feelings.” 

“Joey hurt my feelings when left to join the circus.” She pouts talking about her stuffie and licking her sticky fingers.

“Are you eating the icing before we can put it on the cookies?” He asks the orange dye covered girl.

“Nyooo.” She chuckles.

“What are we going to do with you?”

“Mommy said we’re all going to the park to feed the ducks.” She smiles. You turn around with wide eyes and an amused smirk, halting your current task of making more orange frosting.

“I did not say that. Ellie Dae why are you telling your father stories?”

“I think she wants to go feed the ducks.” Ja’Marr snorts while eating some of the cookie dough.

“Uncle Marrrr, you can’t eat more cookies! It’s for the ducks.”

“Ellie ducks don’t eat cookies.” Joe chuckles putting her on a part of the counter that’s not covered in sugar.

“Kaia said they do.” Your daughter yawns mentioning your next door neighbor’s teenage daughter that likes to babysit her.

“Well you’re going to have to ask Kaia where she found the cookies made for ducks.” Glancing over at the oven clock you hum realizing its 2pm. Naptime. Looking back over at your ex, you watch him wrap his arms around your daughter as her eyelids struggle to stay open. “Joe.” You whisper. He looks up at you then the time and nods.

“Come on babygirl, let’s go upstairs.” She whines as he lifts her, but still wraps her arms around his neck.

“But daddy, I’m not tired. Cookies.” She yawns laying her head on his chest. He smiles and kisses her head.

“I promise the cookies will be there when you wake up, and maybe we’ll even take some to the ducks.” You can’t help but smile as the pair climb the staircase up to her room. You always knew Joe would be a great father, especially when the you were surprised by the idea of having a baby so young and so early in your relationship. But he only stepped up in ways you couldn't have imagined, watching him become a father felt like one of life’s greatest privileges. It’s one of the things you love loved about him. Joe’s caring nature was unlike any other, in those 4 years together you’d never felt so loved and cherished by anyone like him.

Turning around to go back to your icing duties, you’re faced with a smirking Ja’Marr Chase. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous.” He chuckles setting a timer for the cookies that you now notice are in the oven. 

“I don’t understand.”

“You look at him the same way he looks at you, which is the exact same way when you were engaged. You just need to put the ring back on and plan the damn wedding at this point. I mean he broke up with his fling for you.”

You just shake your head at his nonsense, there was no way you and Joe would ever get back together after how it ended- after how you ended it. “No, I’m with Tee. They just had a mild disagreement, the second Ellie comes home with me he’ll be calling her back over.”

“You’re fucking with me right?” He scoffs. “You and Tee are not together.”

“How would you know?”

“He texted me the minute you got here. The only reason you two were out together was because we’re all still friends. Don’t try and bullshit me. You’ve been trying to make Joe jealous for weeks.”

“I have not, lower your voice. If you think he would ever take me back after the shit I said that night, then you’re delusional. I already fucked up with Joe.”

“But you want him to though.” He tilts his head with a soft smile. “I bet you still have the ring on you.” Your eyes go straight to the floor.

“You didn’t give it back because he wouldn’t take it. You can’t put it away because of who it reminds you of and you won’t sell it because you still care. In fact Ellie said you put it on a necklace and kept it in the smallest pocket of your purse.” When you look up, he’s somehow produced the same ring Joe proposed to you with on that beach date when Ellie was 8 months old.

“She really is a little blabber mouth.” You sniffle taking the chain.

“She’s smart and a thief. She showed it to me after you went to go clean your face. She knows how much it means to you and whether she understands it or not, she wants her mom and dad back together.”

“Oh please, this is the same little girl that wants to feed ducks sugar cookies.”

“All I’m saying is you should think about why you’re still carrying that nice ass ring around and talk to him. Alright I’m gonna head out, you got this right?” You nod and share a friendly hug.

“Remember what I said.” He says as the front door opens then shuts.

You lean over the counter with your hands on your face and let out a groan. There’s no possible way for Joe to ever take you back. You don’t even know why you still carry the ring around, but somehow leaving the house without it makes you feel untethered to reality.

“I doubt the cookies are that bad.” You gasp startled by the man leaning on the entryway to the kitchen.

“Goodness, Joe.” Your right hand covers your eyes while still clutching the gold chain. 

“Wow,” you drop your hand remembering what you were holding. “That’s something I haven’t seen in a while.”

“Yea- um. I was having it cleaned.” You bite the inside of your lip, then replace it with a pout when his face tells you he knows the full story. “Joe-

“Put it on.”

“Listen- wait what?”

You want to believe he’s joking, but the look in his eyes is all seriousness. “I want you to put the ring back on.”

“I can’t, not after the way I ended things. It wouldn’t be right.”

“You can, because I want you to. I need you to put the ring on.”

“Joe there’s something you should know.”

He sighs and takes the chain from you. “I know you and Tee hooked up once, I’m still debating on if I need to sucker punch him for it.” Then unclasps the chain and releases the 7 karat diamond into his hand. “I know that we spent the last 2 years trying to forget everything that went down between us only to remind each other every weekend when Ellie is dropped off.” He begins to fiddle with the ring between his fingers. “I also know that nothing you said that night was true.”

You gulp locking eyes with the man you’ve always wanted to call your husband. “Joe.”

“On April 10th, your mom called you and said ‘never get married’ because she had finalized her divorce with your father after spending 25 years in an unhappy marriage, that without a doubt gave you enough trauma in itself. April 11th, I came home from a night out where I drank way too much and reminded you of a part of your childhood you tried to run away from, which is something I’m extremely sorry for. April 12th, we spent the entire day arguing about the dumbest shit because I couldn’t see the pain you were harboring. Then you said ‘I can’t spend the rest of my life with a man that doesn’t care how he comes home to his family. I won’t let you run me into the mud like he did to her, I want to be happy. I can’t marry you.’ And took your ring off.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your face as he recalls the last night you spent together as a couple. A night you’ve regretted since it happened.

“Joey, don’t let me do this to you. You don’t deserve this, you could do so much better better than a damaged bitch with trust issues.” With one hand he wipes your tears and with the other he takes your left hand. “Joe think about this.”

“I think there’s something you should know.” He repeats your words with a more lighthearted tone, then gets down on one knee. 

‘There’s no way, no way. Nope, he’s not doing this.’ You echo to yourself while shaking your head.

“I spent two years thinking about this. Two years driving back and forth so we could have equal time with our little girl. Two years of wondering if I’d ever have you back in my arms the way I dream of at night. Even spent one in this house thinking about how hollow it feels without you living in it. I bought it for you, so we could raise our family here together. I know this probably won’t top the first one and I don’t have a new ring yet.” He winks causing another wave of tears to fall, this time happy tears. 

“I can’t see myself happier with anyone except this damaged woman in front of me with trust issues. Shit I’m not that happy now, cause every time I look in our little girl’s eyes all I see is her beautiful mother. She’s a constant reminder of the woman I miss more than anything. I thought we could do this co-parenting thing and stay friends so Ellie could have a happy childhood, but I spend more time with you than I do without you. I don’t want to wake up with anyone else in my bed that isn’t the woman right in front of me. And I’m thanking Elliana for bringing you here, because I need you. I want you back more than anything in the world.” 

His voice starts to tremble. “I’d step on a million legos for you, bake and burn a thousand dinners for you, miss hundreds of games for you- fucking anything. Anything you want, it’s yours. Just say yes.” 

You can feel the way your heart breaks for him, just proving how much you don’t deserve him. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?”

You can’t look him in the eye and break him again. You try to suck in the sob but there’s no use.

“I’m pregnant with Tee’s baby.”

.

.

.

SIKE

.

.

.

i'm sorry that was childish, don’t hate me lol here’s the real ending

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

“I can’t,” You giggle when his pout deepens. “You haven’t asked the question yet.”

A bright smile breaks out on his face as he sighs in relief. “You need to stop scaring me. Y/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes I’ll marry you, Joey. I'll marry you a hundred times if I have to.” You beam as he slips the ring back in its rightful spot then stands and pulls you into the most passionate kiss. 

After two years, you’re back in the arms you love, felt the most comfortable and cherished in. You feel so lucky to have found a man, a fiance so caring, thoughtful, and understanding. Lucky that every time you pushed him away, he just pulled you in harder. And you can’t wait to finally marry him and give him everything he’s ever wanted. Including a bigger family.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

so any critiques, comments, concerns. i'm open to any and everything🫶🏾 oh and don't forget to reblog for more :)

[lottiies]

one of his many journal entries about you

arthur morgan x fem!reader and male!reader <33

i won’t lie…i have 45 hours on the game and i’m not even past chapter 2 (っ- ‸ – ς) why progress when i can save myself the pending heartbreak and instead admire this pretty man and his journal sketches?

anyways…love all you arthur morgan kissers ♡

“my body doesn’t feel right as of late. my hands are too rough, my face is all wrinkled up, and my voice isn’t all that pleasant. if only i could sound as smooth as i write.

never been the most confident of men, but well, this body’s what i’m stuck with. used to go months on end without shaving until i realized my beard looked like bills. how embarrassing. miss grimshaw, the strong-headed woman she is, knocked some sense into me too. well…more like slapped me.

shaving makes me look more approachable, and that’s not really a good thing with my reputation. but, i did it anyway and spent a pretty penny on the barber up in valentine’s…had to pay a bit extra because of the drunken ruckus lenny and i caused there last time.

if my heart hadn’t been captured, maybe these worries of mine wouldn’t even exist.

oh, the ridiculous things love does to a man…”

꒰ fem!reader ꒱

“about as beautiful as the stars above; a woman so otherworldly that sometimes I have to look away. she shines too brightly for these tired eyes of mine. i suppose that’s for the best, ain’t it? a man like me, the walking embodiment of sin, isn’t worthy of such a loving lady.

but that doesn’t keep her away. she often asks me to recount some of my adventures, and i hesitantly do so, fearful she’ll think me a bad man. craziest thing is, she looks more worried than anything else whenever i do as told. telling me to be more careful with that honey-like voice of hers. could listen to it all day. it’s like a balm to the soul.

can’t keep myself away from her either. doesn’t matter what she’s doing, i always find myself wandering over to her. i don’t usually have trouble sleeping, i’m like some rock when it comes to it. but she’s occupied my mind too much lately, falling asleep is difficult. like right now. should be sleeping, but i’m not. just up wondering about the ifs and hows.

i’ve been saving up some money so i can go get her something real nice, maybe a pretty dangly necklace. could just steal one, but i want to prove myself to her. she deserves the best, not something that belonged to some other stranger.

god knows i’d do whatever i can to keep her safe and sound. i’d die for her. funny thing is, i considered myself to be a selfish man before breathing the same air as her.

i can say with absolute certainty that i would give up everything for a future with her.

if she’d have me.

…

now, this fool’s about to try and sketch her.

not sure if i can encapsulate her beauty onto a page, though.”

꒰ male!reader ꒱

“i fear I’m going mad. i never thought i’d feel this way about a man before. then again, pursuit of romance has never been a priority in my life. he’s one of a kind, something about him makes my palms feel all clammy.

he never leaves my head, every inch of this brain of mine is consumed with thoughts of him. his grin, the way his hat perches on his head, the stories he shares ‘round the campfire.

i’ve come across many men on all my journeys, but his handsomeness is unmatched. and he’s different. doesn’t nag me like dutch or get on my nerves like micah, but he isn’t just a brother like some of the other folks here.

i’ve been a bit too scared to drink these days. you know me, i spill my guts out and say stupid things like a damn fool when i get like that. wouldn’t know what to do if i were to sputter out how fine of a fella i think he is, or how grateful i am for him. is this only a special friendship? no, i don’t know how to describe this.

well, yes i do, actually.

love.

my fingers trembled while writing that.

some may call this spark a sin, but going down an altar with him would be a taste of heaven itself. that wish is too far-fetched though.

all i ask for is a sign. just one. maybe i’m misreading the glimmer in his eye, or the way the bastard slings his arm over my shoulder and sings after he downs some moonshine.

weird how life works, isn’t it?”

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Fifteen

Words: 6.4k 18+ Minors DNI

Shauna may finally be gone, but now the real work begins: healing.

Chapter warnings: Angst, smut (yes *finally*, not me saving it to the last chapter lol), I dunno if it's even really smut because there are also feels tbh but nevertheless minors DNI, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, oh my god we got there

A/N: Ok wow, I feel emotional. We've arrived at the final chapter. I just want to say an enormous thank you to all of you for your support of this story, your mutual and hilarious hatred of Shauna, and your patience with our girl Teach. I hope you find this ending satisfying, and I would absolutely LOVE to hear your thoughts - good or bad. I wrote this story over the course of many months, over the course of many life changes and a life-altering loss, and injury. You kept me going, and I thank you so much for that. Thank you, thank you, thank you x

Fourteen | Series Masterlist | Epilogue

A/N 2: actually….after some sleep and some very fair and generous feedback I’m going to pop an epilogue on this guy. I can’t say goodbye to these three.

The front windows were dark, but as he pushed open the door he could hear the soft murmurs of Ellie and Tommy, felt along the corridor to the back room where they sat, huddled over a lantern, a loose blanket over Ellie’s shoulders. They stilled when he came in, Ellie giving him the once over.

‘Where is she?’ Joel murmured, his voice rough from the cold.

‘Put her upstairs, she was dead on ‘er feet,’ Tommy said. He watched the furrow of Joel’s brow lessen only slightly. ‘I wrapped her up tight and warm, brother,’ he said, grinning a little.

‘She spent all day with her,’ Ellie explained, her face impassive but the venom behind the word. ‘She deserved a rest.’

Joel nodded, considering this. He wanted to head up the stairs and stick his head in, check that you were warm enough, that you were still there. Tommy watched as Joel clenched and unclenched his fist.

‘Where is she?’ Tommy asked, and Joel quickly shook his head.

‘Didn’t find her, she took the horse and the gun. But I got the third one, brought it back here, put it in the garage with the others.’

‘We’ll have enough to get back, easy,’ Tommy calculated, and Joel agreed. He gazed back at Ellie, saw the way she was staring down at the tabletop as if it had secrets printed in the wood.

‘I might hit the hay,’ Tommy said, standing quietly and, catching Joel’s eye, nodding towards Ellie. ‘I’ll check in on Teach, make sure she’s restin’ easy.’

Joel’s shoulders finally fell, some of the tension leaking out of him. Suddenly he was so tired, his bones aching in the cold. He wavered a little as Tommy practically shouldered him into the chair beside Ellie, who watched him sit. In the lamplight her pale skin glowed, ethereal.

For a moment the two sat in silence, listening as Tommy’s footfalls quieted up the stairs.

‘M’sorry-‘

‘-sorry,’ Ellie said at the same time, the two of them stopping to smile nervously at the other.

‘What you sorry for, kiddo?’ Joel asked, reaching up to rub at his shoulder, the band of muscles tight all the way up to his jaw.

‘Comin’ out here, believing Shauna. Then Teach coming out, nearly getting…’

‘Stop,’ Joel said, moving forward to rest his hand on Ellie’s, turning it palm-up and gripping it. ‘This is on me, all of it. I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘I heard what you said,’ Ellie said, her eyes still cast down. ‘This morning, that you thought I shouldn’t see Teach anymore. That I should spend more time with Shauna.’

Joel felt heat on his cheeks, a bubbling of something ugly and accusing in his belly.

‘I was trying to…keep the peace.’ He watched as Ellie scoffed, withdrawing her hand from him. ‘I was wrong,’ he said, quickly, hoping to catch her before she retreated from him entirely. ‘I was…weak. I was scared, I dunno. I shouldn’t have let her…’

At this, Joel trailed off. He wasn’t sure where to start, where exactly it had all truly begun. Was it when she pushed Ellie out into the studio? Was it when she essentially forced the Town Council to execute Steve and Wren? Was it when she arrived at the gates, injured and scared, having apparently scorched the earth here and running out of bridges to burn?

Was it when she left, the first time. When it was just him and Sarah, and he did his best not to show the anger, the hurt, for what he thought at the time was the sake of his little girl. Let her go on believin’ her mama might come back, let her go on leavin’ presents under the Christmas tree even years later. Didn’t really tell her what was goin’ on, just let her guess. Let her believe her mama might one day come for her, because he was too chicken shit to tell her the truth: Shauna never loved either of them, never had any capacity for love other than when it served her.

And he’d let her do it, let her leave and come back just to repeat the same shit twenty-five years later. Knew all that she was, knew what she was capable of, and kept her secrets just the same.

‘I should have protected you from her, and what she was doing…but I didn’t let myself see it, because I wasn’t strong enough to believe it for m’self,’ he said, eventually. He watched Ellie’s eyes go wide.

‘Woah,’ she muttered, and for a moment he just stared at her, the entirety of his circulatory system on display, his skin fleyed away. ‘That’s some serious honesty, man,’ she said, and then grinned at him. ‘Proud of you.’

Joel felt relief swirl light and cool in his belly, a huffed out little laugh escaping him.

‘Thank you, only took me a coupla decades,’ he said.

Ellie let her grin wane a little. ‘I thought I was gonna have to explain it to ya stupid ass,’ she said, and giggled with him.

Ellie rubbed at her eyes, the exhaustion suddenly plain on her face. Joel stilled, concern overtaking him.

‘Y’should sleep, Babygirl,’ he said, but Ellie was shaking her head.

‘Need to talk t’you,’ she said, shimmying her shoulders a little as if she could force the sleepiness off them.

Joel swallowed. ‘Wait…’ he said, because suddenly he was seeing visions of her telling him she wasn’t going back to Jackson, visions of her saying she was heading over the horizon to Salt Lake, to Washington, to some other QZ to try and find another nest of fireflies, a nightmare of her telling him she didn’t love him anymore after all that he did. ‘Wait, babygirl…I gotta tell you something,’ he said, watching her to make sure she’d let him.

She settled, uneasy, on her chair. Joel took a big breath. ‘When Shauna came back, and I first looked into her eyes, y’know what I saw?’

‘Sarah,’ Ellie said, easily, and Joel smiled a little. Of course she knew.

‘Yeah, Sarah.’

‘Y’told Tommy,’ Ellie said, casually throwing his younger brother under the bus, ‘and Tommy told me. I think he was worried I was mad at you.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yeah…but not for that part,’ she replied, with that honesty that could devastate him.

‘I kept her around, ignored all her shit, because…I felt like, I had to. I felt like Sarah was in there somewhere, like I could do her right somehow if I took in her mama.’

Ellie nodded, listening intently.

‘I was wrong, Babygirl,’ Joel said, his voice thickening under the strain of trying to get the words out before she abandoned him. ‘I see more of Sarah in you then I ever saw in those two eyes.’

Ellie blinked at him, reaching out to take Joel’s hand again, and he saw for the first time that it was trembling. He braced, took a breath. ‘See her in you when you’re givin’ me shit, when you make me eat m’breakfast…when you remind me to dress right for the cold. For so long I couldn’t even stand it, the way you reminded me of her.’

He swallowed. ‘The both of you…so smart, so funny. The way you do what’s right, always wanna do what’s right. Fix shit. Try to save people. Try to protect ‘em. She was like that. I loved that about her. I love that about you, too.’

He watched as Ellie’s eyes grew wet, mirroring his own. He wanted to reach up and wipe away the tear tracking down his cheek, but it would mean letting her go. ‘I saw you up there on that roof protectin’ Teach, trying to call them off ‘er.’ He tasted sour over the back of his throat, his heart beating wild in his chest, the image of you with your eyes shut tight wailing for them to come for you instead still seared onto the back of his eyelids. ‘Sarah was a smart girl, but that was brave, Babygirl. That was strong.’

He sucked in a breath, exhaling it long and slow out of his nose. ‘All this time I made you feel like you were matchin’ up to her, didn’t I?’ he asked, and his heart broke a little as she nodded. ‘You went out to that damn studio in the garage because you thought I didn’t need ya anymore, didn’t wantya now I had my old family back. Some of it, anyway.’ Again, Ellie nodded. Joel bit down on his bottom lip to stop it wobbling, wondering if he would draw blood. ‘I’ll never forgive m’self for making ya feel that way,’ he said. ‘Because she would have loved you, Babygirl. She woulda looked up t’ya, woulda done anythin’ she could to be a badass like her sister.’

At this, Ellie gasped, and Joel realised, for the first time, he’d said it out loud. Her sister.

‘Know I hurt ya, you and Teach.’ He had to remind himself not to grip her hand so hard he might break it, purposefully loosening his knuckles. ‘Just please…’ he said, a little gasped sob stopping him for a second. ‘Please…don’t give up on me.’

Ellie let his hand go, sliding back into the chair. Joel righted himself, wiping his face and mirroring her, trying to tamp down the panic washing up over the shore of his belly.

‘I don’t wanna stay in the studio,’ Ellie said, picking at the skin on her fingers.

‘You can come right back home…’ Joel agreed, but Ellie held her hand up to stop him and he trailed away. This was it. She was going to march off to meet her death on the side of some mountain, at the bottom of some ravine, at the end of a raider’s gun, and it would be as if he was the one that did it, slid the rocks out from under her feet, pushed her head under the water, pulled the trigger and painted her blood on the wall.

‘I want to stay with Teach,’ she rushed out, seeing that he was panicking, the way he was lifting his hand to his chest.

At this, Joel blinked, struggling to hear with one bad ear and the other full of blood and terror.

‘I…what?’ he asked.

‘I checked with her, she said it was OK if you said it was OK. She said…she could give me her spare room.’

Joel tried to digest this, tried not let the panic overtake him, the beast just behind his breastbone chanting under my roof, under my roof.

‘Did she?’ he asked, stupidly.

‘It’s not about…it’s not out of anger,’ Ellie said, her voice wavering a little. Later he would reflect on how hard this must have been for her, when he was able to assemble his thoughts into a line again. ‘I just…I need space. For a while. To get passed it all.’

‘You got space in the studio…’

‘Not there,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Doesn’t feel right, now. Maybe one day but…now it just feels like that place is all about…her.’

He knew he couldn’t protest, knew he had no right to howl in anguish or fury at the idea. Even in the studio she’d been too far away, but now this…

But she was staying in Jackson. And you would care for her, like she was your own.

‘M’so sorry, Babygirl…’ he said, the weight of the day suddenly pressing on him. ‘You go wherever y’feel comfortable, I don’t want you to feel like ya can’t be…yourself, where you are.’ The guilt was heavy on his back, and he shifted in his seat to try and ease the pressure of it, failing almost immediately.

‘It won’t be forever…’ Ellie said, and he realised she was consoling him, something he never wanted her to be in the position to have to do.

‘No, you take as long as you need,’ he said. ‘I’ll be alright, will give me time to practice my guitar without…judgement,’ he said, mustering enough courage to wink a little on the last word just in the hope it would make her smile. To his relief, it did.

‘Can burn all the mac and cheese you want,’ she grinned.

‘Whole place will smell like burnt noodles 24 hours a day,’ he said, feigning pride and puffing out his chest. She giggled at this, and he felt some of it brush up against the sharp edges, debride some of the scorched flesh.

‘Listen, you and Teach…’ Ellie said, and he grimaced.

‘We don’t have to…’

‘You and Teach,’ Ellie repeated, talking over him, and he quieted immediately, ‘I don’t need to know details, but you nearly fucked that up too, man,’ she reported.

‘She hate me?’ he asked her, and Ellie pretended to think for a second before she shook her head.

‘Hate’s a strong word,’ she smiled, ‘but she and I talked and…I mean, I’m fine, but you gotta…’

‘I know I gotta,’ he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling, imagining you tucked up on a mattress made of sagging springs and rotting cotton.

‘She’s good for you,’ Ellie said, and Joel let his eyes snap back to her. ‘Before Shauna, and all of that…you were doin’ better. I could see it in you.’

Joel smiled at this, the fatigue pulling hard now at his shoulders. ‘She was a badass today,’ Ellie said, and Joel nodded.

‘She gave you her gun, huh?’ he asked, and Ellie nodded.

‘Tch…stupid,’ Joel muttered, pretending to disapprove, braced for the whack Ellie immediately sent his way.

For a moment they both stilled. ‘I dunno, she just…she feels so warm, y’know?’ Ellie said.

Joel nodded. All this time he’d been worried he would steal that very same warmth for himself, when you’d been trying to give it to him, willingly.

‘Yeah, I know,’ he agreed.

--

You woke with a gasp, the tattered curtains doing nothing to shield against the dawn. You squinted, your body wound tight like a spring, your mind racing to catch up. Ellie on the roof, Wren meandering towards you, then up in Joel’s arms, your face pressed into his neck as you whimpered. Your sense-memories kicked in before the images played in your mind, your heart thrumming against the walls of your chest while you fought to get your bearings.  

Joel’s arms around you, holding you to him, up and into safety. Tight and strong. You could still feel them banded around your waist.

A soft little snore behind you made you freeze. You ran your hands under the blankets to feel the arms bracketing you, holding you again to him.

His warm breath pushed at the back of your neck, your legs tangled with his under the blankets. For a long moment you lay still, your eyes travelling passed the curtain to the vista beyond it, the snow-capped mountain where you had sent your gaze the night before, as you had prepared yourself to see Rose again, to be again with your parents. Knowing Ellie would be safe, to rest.

As the sun set last night over the trees, now the dawn broke across them. You let you a long breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, felt the pull of the muscles under your jaw, a hot little tear threading its way down your cheek to the bare pillow beneath you.

‘Hey…’ you heard behind you, your little sniffles enough to wake such a light sleeper.

‘Sorry…’ you immediately started apologising, even as he turned you in his arms, pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and cocooned you in it, slipped his hand underneath your neck to cradle your head against the warmth of his skin. You gasped into him, feeling his pulse just beneath the skin as he pressed you to his throat.

‘Easy…easy…’ he whispered, and you sucked in a breath just to let it sob out of you.

‘M’sorry…’ you tried again, but he was having none of it, cooing to you with his lips to your brow, shushing you gently as you whimpered.

‘I thought I was going to…’ you stuttered, and he stilled, letting you get it out. ‘I was ready to, Joel. I was going to see Rose.’

He felt the weight of the words settle over his shoulders, felt the little tickle of heat behind his eyes.

‘Oh, my sweet girl,’ he whispered as you brought your hand to your face to shield yourself from him, from the sweetness of it, from the fault line emerging jagged and burning down your middle.

‘I got ready,’ you said, as he rolled to his back, pulling you with him and securing you fast to his chest. You cried into his neck, your face tucked away under his jaw.

‘No, not yet, baby,’ he cooed. ‘Not ready for that, yet.’

You felt the strength of his arms around you, the tightness of his hold, the tension in your muscles melting away under the press of him. Gradually you stilled, your gasping sobs simmering back into hiccupped little sniffles. Eventually you realised Joel had been speaking to you.

‘So brave…my smart, brave girl,’ he said, his mouth pressed again to your forehead. You closed your eyes, remembered the thundering of the horse as he rode to you, the world tilting as he pulled you to him, his whispered words as Tommy got Ellie off the roof.

Remembered the moment you saw her, had needed to pull her into your arms, to let your body feel her safe and sound, pressed her into your chest in the hope that your nervous system might finally start to believe.

You reached up and pushed your fingers through the buttonholes of Joel’s shirt, entwining yourself in him, weaving yourself into the fabric. You stilled as his hand came to rest on yours.

‘You found her, you got her back to me,’ he said, his voice thick. You raised your head and watched a tear track down his cheek. ‘Thank you, baby,’ he choked out.

The tear tracked a silver line down his skin, glowing in the light of the dawn. You pressed your lips to it, felt the moisture absorb into your skin, down into your bloodstream, where it mingled with yours.

‘She wants to live with me,’ you said, exhaustion pulling your head back down to rest on his cheek. ‘I won’t take her unless you say so.’

‘I know you’ll take good care of her,’ he said, earnest, to the peeling paint above your heads.

‘Do we go back to Jackson, now?’ you asked, your voice quiet.

‘I guess we do,’ Joel agreed, shifting his gaze to the window, eyeing up the cold. ‘Maybe when we’ve got the warmth of the day.’

You nodded, sniffling, still. You were hungry, and you were so tired, and you felt more exposed than you had in years, out beyond the walls. But Joel had you tucked up under his chin, wrapped in threadbare blankets on a lumpy mattress, and for the moment this was all you wanted, this moment to stretch out long and languid into the afternoon, this man beneath you and around you, before the world got so much harder all over again.

‘M’not ready to go back,’ you mumbled and he stilled, his hand suddenly gripping yours.

Panic seized him, commenced burrowing sharp claws into his chest. He knew he had hurt you, knew there was so much still to say, but he had thought Jackson was your home, had been yours before it had been his, and if either of you should choose to exile themselves due to the devastation he’d brought down upon you, it should surely be him.

‘…what?’ he gasped, letting his eyes track the blooming water stain in the ceiling to distract from the maw opening in his chest.

You raised your head to look at him properly, your tears dry on your cheeks. He gazed down at you, his heart beating so wildly in his chest he was sure you could hear it.

‘Please, Joel…’ you whispered, your eyes dropping to his lips as he felt them quiver. ‘I don’t want to go back to real life yet. I need to…I need…’

You trailed off, your cheeks pinking up in the gentle purple light breaking over the mountain.

He understood, then, pulling you up and over him so that he could properly crash his lips to yours. You reached up, pushing your fingers into his hair, feeling him shiver when you raked your nails over his scalp.

‘Oh, fuck…’ he whimpered into the cavern of your mouth, shifting his hips to seat you, straddled, above him.

‘Please…’ you whispered again, ‘I need to feel good.’  

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he muttered, cradling you to him as he stripped your shirt from your body, peppering kisses over every inch of skin as he exposed it.

‘Need to feel you…’ you huffed, reaching down to pull his own shirt over his head, seeking out the heat of his skin, feeling the muscles taut and shivering as he hissed at your touch on him. His chest, so impossibly broad, marred with scars from years of conflict. His arms, so strong and firm when he circled you in them. His knuckles, split and pink from the cold, rough against your skin as you pressed them to your lips.

You felt the ache in your core, the sudden feeling of emptiness enough to have you keen into the air above your head.

‘Ssh…’ Joel whispered, reaching up to pull you back down to him, kissing you deep and slow to swallow your groans. ‘Need to be quiet, baby, can’t wake up the whole house.’

You nodded, concentrating hard to try and make sense of what he was saying to you, distracted as you were by his hard length now nestled between your thighs. You rolled your hips, pushing down on him just enough to elicit a gasp from him and you smiled, then, victorious. You watched the dimple on his right cheek emerge as gave you a lopsided grin. ‘Cheeky girl,’ he said, as you rolled again.

You kissed him again, tasting him in your mouth, grasping his bottom lip between your teeth. How many nights had you spent imagining his beneath you like this, writhing and groaning?

‘God, baby, so beautiful,’ he muttered, grasping at your hip and pushing his clothed cock up to your mound. ‘I was so selfish when I had you on that damn couch,’ he gritted out, taking a second to gasp and regain his ability to speak. ‘Just took from ya…’

He pushed one foot into the mattress as he flipped you, catching your yelp in his palm over your mouth as he positioned you underneath him, reaching down to pull your pants and your underwear off and down your legs.

‘Wanna give now, baby, just like you deserve,’ he promised as you let your eyes fall closed, his words a soothing balm over your frayed nerves.

You fumbled for his waistband, fumbling fingers in the way of his as you pulled at him. He grinned, removing his hand from over your mouth to slip the fabric free of his hips. You allowed yourself a single glance.

He was beautiful, like he’d been carved out of marble just for your eyes. His cock, hard and thrumming as it was, thick and almost purple he was so hard. You swallowed a moan, turning your head to sink your teeth into his forearm to keep yourself from making a sound. He let our a surprised laugh.

‘Been thinking about this pretty little cunt ever since I tasted her,’ he informed you, his eyes roaming over your body as you lay beneath him, panting and your chest red. He leant down, unable to resist, to slip a nipple between his lips and tugged gently at the bud between his teeth. Your hands automatically went to his hair, turning his curls over in your fingers as you whimpered above him. ‘This beautiful little cunt all spread open for me on that fuckin’ couch,’ he said, using his free hand to trace his way down your body to tease, gently, between your thighs. You felt his fingers trace your slit, gently ghosting up and down over the skin and you keened for him, rolled your hips as if you could grasp him and bring him into yourself through sheer force of will.

‘Thought about you…’ you confessed, suddenly emboldened by your overwhelming need for him, by the pulsing of your cunt so close to his touch. ‘About your mouth on me, about your fingers.’

‘Bout my cock?’ he asked, and you nodded, your eyes finding his as he slipped his fingertip to your clit, finding the little bundle of nerves straining for him. You gasped as he made tight little circles, played you like an instrument made just for his hands.

‘Oh…!’ you gasped as he descended, lay his body on you and captured your lips in a searing kiss. He kept his mouth clamped as he slid his fingers between your folds, his weight pressing you into the mattress and enrobing you in him. He bit back a groan as he explored you, felt your slick gathering at the peak of your thighs.

‘Please…’ you whimpered into his mouth, bring your face to the side to again bring your mouth to his bicep, whispering pleas into his skin. ‘Please, need you, please don’t tease me…’ you begged.

He shifted, settling between your thighs, watching your face as you opened your eyes to follow him as he moved above you.

‘God, baby…’ he said, and you nodded at him, agreeing wholeheartedly with all the things in this moment he couldn’t find the words to say.

Joel took a second to breathe, to record this moment in his mind, so unsure if he would ever get another one like it. He shook himself, sliding a shaking hand over his length and pushing to notch at your entrance.

He watched your face as he found his home in you. Saw the way your face relaxed, from saddled brows and gasping pleas to closed eyes, slack jaw, your mouth hanging open as he stretched you. He leant forward to take your chin in his hand, nibbling little kisses to your chin as he hitched your leg over his hips to sink himself in, deeper.

Heaven. Maybe he had died down on that street after all. He shivered as you raised your hands to his back, cradling him to you, your sweet little whimpers hot in his ear.

‘So big…’ you gasped, as he stole your lips in another kiss.

‘M’sorry, baby,’ he started, the pleasure running rampant over his brain stem, words suddenly bubbling up from deep inside. ‘M’so sorry, I just took…I just took…’ he said, sorrow melding with white hot joy. ‘Wanna give it all back, everythin’ anyone ever took from ya,’ he choked out, half out of his mind now, feeling a crack appearing in a long-held dam. ‘Wanna love you, baby, like you should be.’

You were gasping, taking fast, shallow breaths as he pushed impossibly deeper inside you, whimpering as tears gathered again on your cheeks.  

‘Joel…’ you mewled, and he sobbed out your name to pair it.

‘Will never hurt you again,’ he promised, cradling your head in his hands as he went up on his elbows above you, kissed the tears where they ran. ‘Will only love you, baby, I promise. I promise.’

You fluttered around him, and he thought as long as he lived he’d never feel peace as this, never feel so at home as he was buried inside your beautiful, warm body.

He ground against you, his pubic bone pushed hard and unforgiving into your clit. You lifted your head to Joel’s shoulder, sinking your mouth into the muscle to stop yourself from crying out at the burning pleasure of it, the building ache.

‘I can’t…’ you whined, ‘I can’t hold it back, Joel…’

‘Don’t you dare hold it back, wanna see you come’ he gritted out, purposefully grinding harder on your clit just to watch your brows arch.

You shook your head. No, no, not that. Couldn’t hold the world back, couldn’t hold back the encroaching dark. Couldn’t hold the love back, rushing up to meet you as you crashed, as you fell all the way down.

You took his face in your hands, desperate to get him to understand. He dipped his hips, his pace slowing as he ground deeper into you, his eyes searching yours. You shook your head again, scared to speak lest you let it all go.  

You knew after this it wasn’t going to be easy. That after this there would be hard conversations, long-healing wounds. That after this the sharp edges would reappear, the hardness of the world encroaching again. But in this moment, Joel nestled deep inside you, his skin between your teeth and his arms wrapped so tight against you. In this moment you were safe, in this moment the cold and the darkness could never get to you. In this moment your salvation and your forgiveness, in this moment your acceptance of his flaws and of yours. In this moment, well beyond the walls to protect you, freer than you had ever been.

You couldn’t contain it. The tremorous fear, the scorch of it, the aching. Couldn’t let it go, terrified to let it consume you.

You watched realisation dawn across his face.

‘Oh baby, I know,’ he said, resting his forehead on yours as he felt the wildfire begin at the base of his spine. ‘S’OK, baby,’ he assured you as you writhed beneath him. ‘We’ll go together, we’ll go together, my sweet girl.’  

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

No one in Jackson had a lot of stuff, so Ellie fit quite nicely into your spare bedroom, and into your life. As soon as she’d settled into her new space you settled into your new routine of waking her in the morning, ignoring her grumbling, making her eat some oats or some toast and packing her off to walk with you to school. Of an afternoon she’d go off with Dina or her group of steadily solidifying friends, returning to your doorstep for dinner just as the sun dipped low over the horizon.

Some nights she’d help you cook, cutting the potatoes with a steady hand, her concentration poking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth. Other days you would send her down to the mess hall to bring back something, holding the leftovers in the fridge for the morning.

Before bed you’d get her to read to you for a little bit, and her pompous English accent was coming along. It had worked especially well for Persuasion, but less so for The Great Gatsby.

‘I don’t see what was so great about this Gatsby guy,’ she proclaimed, screwing up her face in distaste.

‘Mmm,’ you agreed, non-committal. ‘Let’s see how that plays out.’

You kept telling yourself she was your roommate, so you resisted the urge to tutor her, to parent her, in the times when you weren’t at school. You had stumbled upon a somewhat motivating phrase one afternoon when she was feeling restless, talking about sneaking Dina out of her house past curfew to go and hang out with some of the younger patrolmen behind the Bison, asking her with a patient tone ‘What would Joel say?’. She’d stayed tucked up in bed that night, and every night the rest of that week.

And some afternoons you knew that she left school and went to stand on the wall with him, chatting to him and keeping him entertained until his shift was over and she came back home. You resisted the urge to ask about him, wanting to give her the time with him, to give yourself the time just the same.

When you’d returned to Jackson you hadn’t had to ask him, knew that he sensed it anyway, in that way that he had. You cooled things off with Jonah, kept your head down thinking about the next year’s curriculum, considering whether you could safely incorporate some kind of field trips beyond the wall so the kids could be safe if they ever got stuck out there. The Town Council were considering the idea, even though Billy wasn’t keen.

And you kept clear of Joel, letting the wound settle a little before you poked it, parts of your life still feeling purple and bruised where he had been. Sometimes you and Rose discussed it of a nighttime, and you were surprised to find she was on your side. She counselled not guarding your heart too closely, when the time was right that you felt you could let him in. When you were ready. Until then, you knew he was there.

--

Joel worked the wall, his eyes on the horizon and on the streets beneath him. If he got up early enough, started his shift a little early, he could be up in time to see you and Ellie make your morning pilgrimage to your little schoolhouse on the hill. He wouldn’t feel settled until he saw it, your two figures disappearing around the corner, wrapped up against the cold.

He filled his time. He was getting better at guitar, remembering some old tunes he hadn’t thought of for a long time, some of Sarah’s favourites if he remembered properly. Of a nighttime he would come down off the wall and make his way to Tommy’s, have a quick bite for dinner and head back home before Robin got too grizzly. He probably wouldn’t ever be able to tell him, but he was proud of the father Tommy was becoming, of the leaders he and Maria were for Jackson. He’d never be able to say how grateful he was to his brother for helping him secure this second chance.

And then there were his favourite afternoons, the ones where Ellie would amble down the hill just as the light started fading, vault up the ladder and keep him company ‘til shift change. The first time she’d done it he’d stood, his hands in his pockets and almost too scared to turn to her, keeping his back stiff and upright looking out over the treeline. She’d settled beside him, resting against a pillar and gazing out and up over the mountain. She hadn’t said anything of any consequence, nothing of any meaning, her presence there just enough for him.

The second time he’d asked her if she liked her new place and she agreed that she did, even though you were always trying to teach her things. He grinned at that, his mind conjuring up an image of you, exasperated, trying to make Ellie concentrate on a twenty-year old textbook.

‘She makes me do the accents,’ Ellie complained to him, and he huffed out a laugh into the grimy light of the late afternoon.

‘I know you well enough to know no-one can make you do anythin’, kiddo,’ he deadpanned and watched as the blush spread over her cheeks.

‘Next week we’re starting our new unit,’ she informed him, and his ears perked up at this.

‘Yeah, what she gotcha doing?’ he asked.

‘The Middle Evils,’ Ellie replied, and Joel grinned, not correcting her. That was a battle you could fight just fine on yer own.

After Ellie disappeared down your street for dinner he contemplated following her, seeing if you’d let him in. He held himself back, knowing that was selfish, that he needed to be patient for you. That he’d earned this penance, this atonement. Knew that he would wait for you, until the world’s very last dawn, even if he secretly hoped it would be sooner than that. Until then, he knew you were there.

--

Ellie called out from the front door, pushing her boots off so as not to track in the snow.

‘There’s another one!’ she called, and you felt a little bubble of something in your chest.

‘What is it this time?’ you called back, your hands busy as you sat at the kitchen table.

‘It’s a guy…umm…he’s got a helmet on, and a little sword?’

You thought for a second.

‘A knight?’ you asked.

She entered the room, dropping the carefully carved figure on the table in front of you. He even had a little shield.

‘Were they like…the Middle Evil soldiers or something?’ Ellie asked and you sighed, having corrected her enough times to know she was now doing it on purpose.

‘Like…ancient FEDRA,’ you said, and she screwed up her nose.

‘Ugh, gross,’ she said. She settled beside you, picking up a coloured sheet of paper and a pair of scissors you’d borrowed from the seamstress in town.

Thoughtfully, she started cutting.

‘I saw him this time,’ she said, and you felt your hands shake a little as you made the final snip to your paper star.

‘He’s normally so sneaky,’ you said, and she huffed in agreement.

‘I think maybe he wanted to be seen,’ Ellie said, matter-of-factly.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked, but Ellie didn’t answer, now fully engrossed in cutting the stars. You were giving Prom another go, hoping for no further interruptions this time. The theme was Winter Wonderland, which just so happened to necessitate the triumphant return of Ellie’s decorational genius.

‘I wondered about inviting him in,’ she said, after a while.

‘Is he good with scissors?’ you asked, trying to massage some feeling back into your hand.

‘One way to find out,’ Ellie said. You saw her watching you, carefully, out of the corner of your eye.

‘You think you’re ready for that?’ you asked her, and she levelled you with an honest gaze.

‘I am if you are,’ she said. You felt a little flip in your stomach, a traitorous little spark of something that could have been excitement, could have been fear.

‘Umm…’ you said. Out of the corner of your eye Rose smiled warmly at you, nodding slowly, always so kind, so calm. You'd try to be more like her.

‘I mean, there’s still so many of these to cut,’ you said, after a while. Ellie grinned, jumping up from the table and down the hall, flinging the door open hard enough to whack it into the wall.

Not for the first time, Ellie’s enormous voice rang out, clear as a bell and knocking the wind from you.

‘COME IN, JOEL! SHE SAID YES!’ she called.

Taglist (and extra special thank you list)

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

@millersamour

@delicatetrashtree

@wand-erer5

@somedayheaven

@maryrhodalouandted

@casssiopeia

@atorturedpoetatmidnight

[serafilms]

song 24! message in a bottle (taylor swift) + aang requested by @fylithia (spotify wrapped event)

but now you’re so far away and i’m down, feeling like a face in the crowd, i’m reaching for you, terrified

It’s been years now since the war ended. Years since you and your friends saved the world, defeated Zuko’s father and brought peace to the four nations once more. Ever since, everyone’s been busy trying to piece the world back together. Katara’s been staging a feminist revolution in the water tribes, Toph has been reinventing Earth bending, Suki taking the Kyoshi Warriors all over and recruiting, Sokka inventing, Zuko rebuilding a nation and Aang flitting all over the place.

You, on the other hand… What have you achieved? You went back to your village and spent some time telling stories of your adventures to children, then picking up odd jobs on fishing boats and cargo ships to hitch a ride to wherever your friends are off making history. You tell yourself you like the simplicity, like not having to worry about the fate of the world, but you feel like about as insignificant as a speck of dust at your biannual (twice a year) catch ups.

I’m like an old lady telling stories to relive her glory days, you think bitterly.

But you like reliving them. You miss adventuring and seeing the world with your friends. You miss when you were all just kids and there were no real titles or duties in the way (aside from your common goal of ending the war, of course). You miss when Aang looked at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky, when he was just a boy who liked you but never said it, and when you liked him but refused to show it. Now you feel like you’re miles apart, like he’s on the top of the mountain and you’re left waiting at the base.

You still all write each other, Aang more than the rest but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s out of pity; it’s an obligation to you as an old friend. They’re busy now and that’s not their fault, and you all really would have no reason to go back to camping out. In fact, with the Avatar and Fire Lord especially, it was probably a security risk.

You’re too busy drowning in your own misery to notice Katara until she’s already nudging you in the arm. “Hey, why aren’t you over there with everyone else?”

Starting a little in surprise, you stare at her for a second before sighing as you kick your foot into the dirt and watch the dust rise.

“No reason,” you lie. Because I don’t want to talk to you guys. Especially Aang.

Your time alone has dulled your social skills, because Katara stares at you for a good seven seconds before you realise she expects you to keep talking.

“I think it’s just a little overwhelming to be around many people when I’m usually by myself.”

Her face softens and she reaches out to put her hand on your knee. “But it’s us. We want to make you comfortable and be around you. You know that, right?”

You nod, and she squeezes then releases you. “Let’s start small. Aang!”

Your chest flickers with panic as his bright eyes locate you instantly and he leaves his conversation with Zuko without a second thought. Katara takes his place, striding back up to the group as Aang stops right in front of you.

You feel your heart lurch at finally seeing him up close after spirits knows how many months. He's taller than you now, so it's not hard to avoid his gaze, but you can't tear your eyes away yet. His eyes sparkle at you and you feel yourself flush at how cute he looks with faint freckles dusting the upper part of his cheeks.

"Hey," he greets you softly, taking a seat beside you. "How are you?"

"I'm good," you find yourself saying, despite your mind being devoid of any thought that's not of him. His smile that's as sweet as ever, his eyes, his pink lips. How he's so, so out of your league.

Much like Katara, Aang seems unsatisfied with your short reply. "What have you been up to?"

Thinking about how much I love you. You can't say that, of course, so you babble on about the courier job you did a few months ago, which was great because you helped find a few new Kyoshi Warriors for Suki. When you look back at him once more, Aang has a soft look on his face, and a smile that seems to be there without his knowledge. Your face flushes, stomach flips and something akin to hope rises within you.

His cheeks turn pink when you've trailed off and he realises you're looking at him.

"Wow," he says. "That sounds really great."

You roll your eyes a little, feeling a sense of familiarity. "It's fine, you don't have to pretend you're interested. I know it's all boring compared to the work of the great Avatar."

"No, really," he insists, and there's an urgency in his voice, as if he needs you to know how genuine he is. "I think everything you do is amazing."

You smile. "Really?"

Aang nods down at you, eyes wide. "Well, yeah. I mean, it's you."

Embarrassed but pleased, you look down at your shoes before looking back up at him. "Thanks, Aang."

He grins at you, before glancing over to the others. "Wanna go catch up with everyone else?"

You take a look over at your friends. They look normal now, like a group of friends laughing, instead of the incredible figures they are. You nod at him and he extends a hand out to help you up. You take it.

You can't tell him how much he means to you, but you feel closer now. All you can do now is hope that one day, he gets the message.

[ooffmlsorry]

Getting Drunk with One Piece Men

sabo, ace, law, zoro, sanji

A/n: Ngl writing drunk characters is my bread and butter. Idk man. It's just how I am.

Content: gender neutral except female pet names in Zoro's

SABO

Y'all become idiot 1 and idiot 2, honestly you might even fight over who gets to be idiot 1

Koala's so tired of y'all omg this poor woman deserves a vacation from the two of you

You can drink him under the table, he's such a lightweight

I'm so sorry to tell you your man's a wanderer. At least once you're going to turn around and say "where'd Sabo go????" Half of your night might be spent looking for him

Despite being drunk Sabo's still a gentleman, you two are gonna stumble down the street arm and arm, he'll walk on the outside of the sidewalk closer to the street to keep you safe, and he likes getting your drinks for you

He drinks sugary drinks and will have a HORRIBLE hangover in the morning

He's not necessarily an angry drunk but he is a loud argumentative one, when he inevitably wanders off you're going to find him loudly arguing on behalf of the revolution and shit talking the world government to anyone that listens and to anyone who won't

You're also going to give each other increasingly stupid dares and stunts throughout the night

Gets affectionate as the drunkness gets closer to tiredness and then he turns into a cuddly man baby

Y'all also both crash pretty unceremoniously. Hack is going to find you two curled up in a coat closet together with a random dog and a dick drawn on your face???

ACE

two words: GOOFBALL ALERT!! He's unserious normally but when he's drunk unless something really, really bad is going down, don't expect a serious response out of him

So LOUD!!

"Ace, why are you yelling? I'm right here."

"I'M YELLING???"

You're all of his impulse control for the night and if you don't have any either than good luck to Marco...

Will loudly brag about you to anyone who listens. Probably does a toast just because you exist and will probably say something he shouldn't

Please stay near him, he just wants you to be right next to him. If you're a wanderer you're gonna stress him out real bad and he's gonna start spiraling. He's just physically clingy, he's got his arms wrapped around you, his head resting on your shoulder, sitting on his lap would make him very happy. -10 personal space.

Lights a shot of liquor on fire and drinks it to impress you. Every. Single. Time.

Speaking of that he repeats SO MANY of the same stories he's told you before

Also wants to dance with you, you've got no option unless you absolutely hate it

Tells you he loves you once every 2 minutes. please say it back. Don't be surprise if he proposes to you a couple of times when he's drunk

Inevitably starts crying...the later it is the more likely it is to happen. Just be prepared to coddle him and be covered in snot before morning.

LAW

First of all, it's gonna take a lot to get this man to actually drink. He's not a fan of being out of control. But he would do it, especially if someone told him he couldn't or told him not to

He also doesn't have the highest tolerance, the fact that he's tall is the only thing saving him from being a lightweight

You know he's drunk because he gets really expressive and talks with his hands a lot more.

I'm telling you this man is going to start talking about his coins. Fucking coins. And Sora. He's gonna out himself as a huge fucking nerd.

He's the most self aware drunk you've ever met. For the entire night he's fully aware of the things he shouldn't be doing/saying and still does them.

"I've had way too much, Y/N-ya. This is going to be awful."

*Gets another drink*

This also includes being all over you. If your relationship was a secret it's not anymore because he can't stop staring at you and keeps finding his way back to your side. And he does this thing where he keeps inspecting your hands and fingers??? He's captivated by them. You think he's trying to hold your hand without looking like he's holding your hand??? But it's kind of unclear????

The more I think about it the more I'm certain that drunk Law turns into a little weirdo.

If you touch him at all he's going to turn into putty, like his face is just gonna look like 🥴

Might start telling you secret dumb thoughts that he has or recalling good memories with Cora.

If Luffy or Kid is there he won't say no to a challenge, he doesn't say no anyway but it's so. much. worse.

He's gonna have to drink enough to put him to sleep or he's going to sober up and recall the horror of what drunk!Law was like

Please act like none of it ever happened. Please.

ZORO

This man is gonna fall asleep.

Can Zoro even get drunk???

Well, hell froze over and he did. Somehow.

Drunk Zoro is surprisingly friendly, he even almost compliments Sanji which is WILD

Like he kind of has something nice to say about everyone worth saying something nice about

There's still something really intimidating about him especially if anyone makes you uncomfortable

Suddenly Zoro can't remember your name and only refers to you as "my girl" or "woman"

Honestly, he can't believe you're actually dating him and he'll tell you several times

Will probably say something like "damn, I keep forgetting how pretty you are. 'S fucking weird."

Teases you a lot. He's like a kid pulling your pigtails because he likes you. As soon as you do it back you're going to get a big reaction out of him though

"OI! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR???"

"NOT SO FUNNY NOW IS IT!!"

He might play fight with you lmao, be prepared to be manhandled because he's rough around the edges but man does he love you

Like I said...this man is inevitably going to fall asleep, hopefully you were done partying by that point because he's not letting go of you. You're stuck. Sorry. You're his new nighttime plushie.

SANJI

Oh Sanji *long sigh*

He thinks he's being smooth but he's boderline incoherent when he's really drunk

He's gonna hype you up!! A LOT!!!!

Probably the most normal drunk because he's already a perv and being drunk doesn't make it that much worse

He can be a little petty though lol, not towards you but you might hear him muttering something here or there

Wants to take a bunch of pictures with you

Unfortunately over half of them are gonna be a blurry mess

Absolutely wants to dance with you

He's not drinking nasty alcohol

Honestly, he's kind of giving Brittany Broski in the sense that depending on what drink he has he's gonna gag

Sidenote: he could theoretically stomach it, Zeff didn't raise no bitch(/j) but why torture him??

So excited you exist??? Like for a moment he's gonna get philosophical and be in complete awe that the two of you exist at the same time and met??? How lucky can he be!!!?

Actually, drunk Sanji gets kind of deep after a while, especially when the two of you are alone

He's not gonna cook drunk. Big no-no. That's a hazard. But if you were drunk and hungry or wanted to sober up he'll make you a cup of coffee and something that doesn't require fire or a lot of knife skills

Would rather whisk you away somewhere quiet to be alone with you after a while. Like, he's not a wanderer per se, but he wants to be alone with you

Leans on you a lot when he's drunk

He might definitely be the little spoon that night, he gets so soft by the end of the night just hold him, okay?

[aihoshiino]

chapter 165 thoughts

Aqua Hoshigan Status: It's Officially Hoshinover

Chapters Until The Story Ends Without The 143 Kiss Being Addressed Or Acknowledged: 1

damn i guess they really did just kill his ass

I'm gonna be so real with you gamers, I kind of don't have a lot to say about this one either lol. Which I acknowledge sounds completely wild given the Everything that happens in it, but most of my meat and potatoes analysis in these reviews comes from breaking down characterization and we're flying through everything at such breakneck pace that we're barely getting any characterization.

It continues to drive me bugfuck insane that Ai is completely absent from this finale despite the importance of 15 Year Lie. Its imagery is plastered all over but whenever we return to it, we just see Aqua. Not only that, but Gotanda is the one who insists on pushing the movie through for Aqua. 15YL as a story about Ai's true self and her tragedy is now officially taking a backseat to being about Aqua's tragic death and legacy. It was already bad enough that we spent so much time in the Movie Arc not actually focusing on Ai to the extent that, as everyone pointed out, based on what we saw on-page it was basically a Sad Kamiki Movie, but this really is just pissing right in the wound at this point lmao.

The funeral scene also serves as the final nail in the coffin for any Secretly Alive Aqua copes, which is kind of a relief. I still don't like how Aqua's death played out, but I think dragging it out for four chapters then going "sorry you thought i was /srs when i was just /jk" would have been infinitely more insulting. I don't like this ending, but I can respect that Akasaka seems to be sticking to his guns on it, even if we still do have like a whole chapter left for him to whip around and go "I WAS /JK ALL ALONG!!!!" but I don't see it happening.

Anyway, yeah! The funeral! Uh. Is it gonna sound weird if I say I felt kind of like… grossed out reading this the first time? Like, I really don't know how else to explain the visceral "why the fuck is the author making me read this" reaction I had to it. I think it's just because Kana is so fucking distraught here and the drama is just so hammy and so over the top that it feels kind of… ech. I dunno. I just really didn't vibe.

It doesn't help that this is part of a much broader pattern in the back half of OnK of Aka getting us right up close into the gory details of a character's complete mental breakdown and suffering and then spend zero time or focus on their recovery. This happened with Ruby all over the Movie Arc and this many times and with this little runway to the end of the series, it just starts to feel exploitative, like a way to cheaply pull at our heartstrings without doing the work to build everyone back up after tearing them down.

also pre-emptively dreading all the fuel this is going to add to the fires of People Who Are Weird And Misogynistic About Kana but she could die saving innocent children from a burning building and people would find reasons to be shitty about her lmao

we really are not seeing ruby's reaction to finding out her brother was dead huh lol

I will say the one thing I didn't Actively Dislike about this chapter was Ruby, though. I was honestly starting to get pretty skeeved out with how many people were gleefully predicting or actively wishing for her immediate suicide purely for ship motivated reasons and I was also worrying that the story was going to pretend that Ruby doesn't like. Have a life and support system outside of Aqua. Yes, she should absolutely be affected by his death but this period of her shutting down only to drag herself back onto her feet that we seem to be getting feels way more in line with pre-Movie Arc flanderization Ruby and I'll take that W where I can get it.

god. I haven't even talked about Kamiki's supposed serial killer cult. I just don't have the strength. Like… that's self-evidently stupid, right? I don't need to explain to you why that's ridiculous and unbelievable? You don't need me to tell you why it's fucking crazy that we're getting this information about the alleged overarching antagonist of the series not only in the second-to-last chapter of the entire series but after he was already dead, right? We can just move on? Ok good. jesus christ.

FINAL CHAPTER NEXT WEEK…

[linktotheheart]

I feel like so many people misunderstand BOTW/TOTK Link especially (Zelda too, but that's another topic entirely)

His lack of expressiveness IS a personality trait. It's a direct result of the pressure on his soldiers to be a perfect soldier, hero, and savior. No, he's not Skyward Sword Link, and never will be, because his story is completely different.

"But [other Link] hugged Zelda when he got her back!" and this Link maintained a respectful distance as his princess's subordinate - but ALSO out of respect for Zelda as a person, because she spent her whole childhood having her agency denied and he wants to let her initiate even something as simple as platonic contact whenever possible. He's being kind!

(And yes, I know that primarily only the "he is a knight and she is a princess" part is directly supported in the actual game, but I'll remind the people making comparisons that the dynamic was COMPLETELY different in their favorite comparison game, Skyward Sword. But also... look at the gentleness with which Link interacts with Zelda, the tenderness that he shows so few other characters - Mipha probably being the closest example. Look at the way he looks to her first to see what to do in every scene they're in together, unless he's protecting her from an immediate threat to her life. Notice how outside of that, Zelda IS usually the one to initiate any physical contact)

I also personally hate it when people describe quiet, not very expressive people as "lacking personality" because... my partner IRL is like that. If she expressed herself at all around most people, it's in a very flat, reserved way. I've seen how it hurts her that people treat her like she doesn't have a personality, like she isn't even a full person - and I know that's real life and Zelda is fiction, but come on, do you think all the people that aren't highly expressive and extroverted don't hear that about very popular characters and internalize it?

Being reserved is a personality trait. Being cautious and not impulsive is a personality trait. In fact, I'd even say just because you as an expressive, extroverted person see Link as a blank slate to project your own personality onto, doesn't mean he actually is or was even intended that way.

(I also think this is a very US-centric point of view, honestly. There's plenty of cultures where even BOTW Link would be considered at least close to average - Finnish culture specifically comes to mind, even if he's still slightly exaggerated in that regard as, y'know, a character.)

Idk, this is as much a silly little vent post as anything, it's not that serious, etc, but whatever

(and don't get me started on "oh Zelda got no agency in TOTK and she learned the powers she was struggling overnight". No, it's called a time skip, and just because she learned her powers before the 13th hour this time - which yeah, she would get them easier this time with a mentor who could actually use the same powers, and having already learned to use her light powers - doesn't mean it just "happened overnight". And... she didn't express agency? She was actively influencing the entire flow of the timeline, changing the actions of her ancestors by convincing her ancestors to act, learning to control her powers and fighting Ganondorf, and finally expressing the ultimate form of autonomy in choosing to sacrifice herself to save the world. Some of the criticisms of TOTK didn't even seem to play the same game. Just because a heroine isn't a pop feminist badass who *gasp* wears pants and easily and perfectly kicks every villain's ass, doesn't mean she "has no agency" and is being sidelined. Like, a princess engaging in courtly politics is neither powerless nor "doing nothing")

[bangaveragewhitewine]

Pinch Me

After your first date with a familiar face from home, waking up next to Steve feels like something out of a dream. 

or

This is a follow on from Clean Slate but can be read as standalone fic. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Content: Both you and Steve are in your late-twenties and were in school together; you met again on a blind date almost ten years later. This is an 18+ fic; oral (reader receiving), penetrative sex. Spoiler but use of ‘good girl’ in a sexy content. Steve Harrington being a smooth mf comes with it's own warning.

I have tried to leave physical descriptions as neutral and inclusive as possible! Some mentions of anxiety and insecurity. Plenty of kissing to make up for that! 

Author’s Note: Clean Slate was intended to be a one off fic but here we are! This is my first attempt at smut in a fic, so hopefully it’s not horrendous! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

Thank you to my lovely @specialagentmonkey for beta reading for me💖

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not do any AI fuckery with my work or repost on other sites.

(divider by me)

Ever since you were little, your bed had been one of your favourite places. Soft sheets, books on the bedside table and a perfectly curated stack of pillows all topped off with the quilt you had made with your grandma before her arthritis got too bad. 

In your mom’s photo albums there was more than one snapshot of you as a sleepy toddler with a wild bed head peeking up from your pillow on Christmas morning. Another few of you reading Nancy Drew in a pillow nest with a gap toothed smile. 

By now, you had made your own little nest out in the big bad world now; a surprisingly roomy studio with big windows and noisy neighbours on one side. You had bought new sheets and a duvet printed with dusty pink roses on porcelain white cotton, curated a new stack of pillows and added too many decorative cushions on top of the same quilt that had made the move with you to Indianapolis and on to Chicago. There were still books on your bedside,  a little dish for your jewellery to sit in while you slept, and an accumulation of lip balms, pillow mist and a candle or two to set the mood. 

After long shifts and bad dates, your bed was still your haven. When you were particularly anxious, you could still hear the shrill of your old alarm blaring in your ears; the sound of that clock that had dragged you from sweet dreams in your beloved bed on chilly winter mornings. Some mornings, as you rode the subway to work, you swore you could hear your bed’s own siren song calling you to get off at the next stop, come home to read and nap the day away. 

The sanctuary was for you alone, save for an occasional sleepover with your best friend Annie. Your dates were never invited to stay and make themselves comfortable. But this morning, waking up with Steve Harrington in your bed? That was new. 

It was safe to say that your blind date went well. Really well. 

You had resolutely avoided talking about school, only mentioning people each other might have remembered in the context of a story about your lives outside Hawkins. Steve was still in touch with a lot of people from home. You recognised some of their names; Robin who grew up a street away from you, Eddie Munson who you knew from art class and the occasional house party in your youth, even Nancy Wheeler. The way he lit up with so much fondness for ‘his kids’ who weren’t kids anymore made your face ache from smiling.

And Steve had listened, wanted to hear how you had liked Indianapolis for college (he had spent some time there too before making the move to Chicago with Robin after Eddie had sussed the place out and found an apartment near his own for them that they still shared). He had asked about your job, your life in the city, and took a real interest in you. 

His attention had stayed on you, never straying to see who else was around or looking for an escape route. His honeyed gaze had stayed focused, watching how you used your hands when you spoke and dipped occasionally to look at your lips. Steve’s hand had stayed close by when his fingers weren’t outright intertwined with yours. He did this thing with his thumb, stroking it across the bone of your wrist, and a few times he had squeezed your hand while you spoke as if to say ‘go on, I’m listening’ - it was so centering for your often anxious mind.

You had a few more drinks, picked a few songs on the jukebox, kept talking and talking until you were sitting close enough to hear Steve’s stomach growl, making his cheeks flush pink. 

“I know a pizza spot close by if you’re hungry?” you suggested. 

“DiFontaines?” Steve smiled a little, nodding at your suggestion. “Yeah I love it. Let’s go.”

Neither of you wanted to end the night yet, say goodbye. So you didn’t. Instead you headed hand in hand into the warm night air, nicely buzzed and in search of hot pizza and crispy cold sodas. 

The sun had dipped in the sky, taking the worst of the heat with it, but the night stayed humid and sticky. Despite the warmth, Steve held your hand and between stories, as you walked down the next block, he lifted his arm to twirl you when you passed a bar blaring Achy Breaky Heart onto the street; Billy Ray’s crooning was eclipsed by your laughter. 

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, pushing him gently before Steve quickly hugged you against his side again. Never had you felt so comfortable on a first date - but this wasn’t just any blind first date. 

“Dork?! You been talkin’ to Robin?” Steve smiled down at you, sparking heat in your belly. 

“Guess your reputation precedes you, Harrington.” With a burst of bravery, owing it to your younger self, you bounced up on your toes to peck his cheek before taking off a few steps ahead, turning to grin back at him as he jogged to catch up before you swerved into the pizza place. 

You joined the line of late night pizza lovers and Steve had slipped an arm around you, leaned his chin on your head as your heart pounded hard. “So, what’re we getting?” he asked.

The familiarity of it all made you feel fuzzy around the edges, his thumb stroking your shoulder, the heat of him pressed against your side. 

“It’s probably sacrilegious but the New York style slice, veggie or… artichoke.” Feeling brave again you cover his hand with yours and squeezed. “You?”

“Okay so we’re both sinners then.” He hummed, considering his options. “You’re vegetarian right?”

“Yeah, I try to be.” You liked how he had remembered a tiny detail from a story told hours ago.

“Okay. Four cheese then.”

“You sure?” Your interest piqued. 

“Yeah, ‘course. You might not want a goodnight kiss if I have pepperoni breath.”

You swear your jaw dropped as Steve schooled his smile, watching the group of tipsy tourists ahead of you order their slices before his eyes darted back to you. 

Steve was more timid, his voice quieter as he filled the silence between you when you had been too stunned to answer. “It’s also totally fine if you don’t want to kiss me, sweetheart. I know I can lay it on ki-“ 

Instead you rocked up to close the gap between you, ignoring the pinch of your sandals to lay a kiss onto his lips. Steve was quick to cup your cheek, keeping you there to kiss you back just as sweetly. 

His nose has nudged against yours before he let you go, gazing into each other’s eyes until your attention was pulled to ‘order or get out’. His arm had stayed around you as you placed your orders, splitting a third classic deep dish slice between you so you wouldn't be run out of town with torches and pitchforks. 

Full of pizza and soda and bravery, you had taken Steve’s hand again and strolled through the sticky Chicago night, steering him toward your apartment with the guise of proving that the same pink scrunchie you wore in high school was in fact on your bedside table. You both knew what you were really suggesting. 

Part of you niggled away, expecting him to make a polite excuse to head home instead. But Steve only had eyes for you and sealed the deal with another kiss. You lost yourselves in each other, feeling younger together, and made out with Steve’s back against the shutters of somewhere long closed for the night as he squeezed your hips and you toyed with the ends of his hair. It was with regret that he had to tear himself away from your lips to hail a cab for you both, where you did your best to behave on the way to your apartment.

As you lay in bed that next morning, watching how Steve’s chest rose and fell with breath, how soft he looked in sleep, you felt warm and happy. His golden glow was just as dazzling in the morning light.  

Your night together had been unrushed. Steve hadn’t just hit it and quit it with you. No, instead you had kissed and kissed, making out and letting your hands roam like two teenagers except there was no hurry; no seven minute deadline or someone pounding on a guest room door to see if it was occupied. The rumours in school had been true; Steve Harrington was an amazing kisser. You had listened to a friend of a friend rave about his soft lips after a lucky spin the bottle in junior year; now you had tasted him for yourself, you understood why she had brought it up so much. But Steve was in your bed now, not hers, you thought smugly. 

On the way from the couch to your bed, he had unzipped your dress and you made sure his powdery blue shirt wouldn’t be too creased in the morning, draping it over the back of a chair instead of leaving it balled up on the ground. 

Steve had made sure you knew how beautiful he thought you were, kissed you everywhere before taking his time with you and spent an age between your legs as he worked you open for him. Lying there the next morning, you could feel your face heat up when you remembered how his touch set you on fire. The pleasant all over ache weighed you down into your mattress. 

With a messy bed-head, Steve woke a little after you and saw you smiling dreamily to yourself. He reached out to pull you closer, tucking his face into your neck. 

“Mornin’.” His voice was gravelly and deep. 

“Morning.” You brush his hair back gently and dot a kiss to his forehead before stroking your fingers over his shoulders soothingly, dragging them down his arm.  

“S’nice,” he said, lips moving against your neck before he pressed a few kisses there. 

Lying face to face on your pillow, your fingers played with the fine gold chain that settled around his throat, dipping lower into the thick hair on his chest. 

“I had a really good time last night.” Steve’s fingers walk up your arm, before twirling your hair around one carefully. 

When you look up at him, he’s got this little smile on his face. He inches closer, letting his gaze drop to your own smiling mouth before you share a slow morning kiss. 

“Me too,” you whisper, settling your hand on the side of his neck before returning his kiss again. Your fingers skate across and behind the lobe of his ear, the underside of his jaw and the shade of stubble there. 

With his large soft hands, he drags you closer still, pressing you right up against him. The t-shirt you had pulled on after the sweat on your body had started to cool last night was rucked up over your hip as Steve’s thumb strokes the dip there. 

You sigh into his mouth, feeling warm all over despite the chill of your box fan to cool the room down. This morning you're warmed by the heat and glow that radiates from Steve Harrington, hotter than the sun itself. 

“You’re really beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, shifting his weight so you’re on your back again with one of his thighs slotted between yours. Steve brushes your hair back, fanning it out over the pillow before dipping down to kiss you again. He leaves you breathless before his lips trail lower to your jaw and neck. 

It’s an intimacy you hadn’t had with anyone in a long time, feeling safe enough with Steve to let yourself be loved on like this. You will yourself to be present with him, bask in his glow as it warms you, but barbs of anxiety have crept in to distract you.

Last night was amazing, slow and syrupy and tender. If that had been the last time you ever saw Steve Harrington you could have probably died happy - happier than before anyway. But instead he stayed, and as he kisses you again (morning breath ignored and forgotten). Steve didn’t care that you had faded into the background of your shared high school halls, he had loved how you had the bravery to break out of Hawkins and be you now. 

Steve notices you tensing up and peels himself back, thumbing your cheek again as he says your name. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, concern in his eyes. It makes your heart ache. 

You shake your head and cover the hand on your cheek. “No. Never.” You pull him to you again and relish the weight of him on top, your hands over his shoulders. “I’m getting in my head. You’re straight out of a dream, Steve. I feel like asking you to pinch me.”

You feel a little embarrassed about being quite so honest with him like this, but he oozes a magnetism and calmness that makes you want to tell him everything. But you don’t want to scare him away, be left waiting for another call that’s not coming, or hear him say ‘that was fun but I’m not looking for anything serious right now’. 

He smiles and leans his weight on one strong arm so he’s not totally crushing you. “I can, if you want. But I promise I’m real. And I’m just some guy.” 

You laugh. “Some guy? Nah Steve, I think you might be some sort of apparition. Or like, a Greek god.” You squeeze his bicep for emphasis. “Definitely dreaming.”

Steve rolls his eyes, playful, and pinches your cheek lightly. “See? Silly.” He presses a kiss to where he pinched before going in for another on your smiling mouth. Steve was not shy or stingy with his kisses, you had learned. You liked that a lot. 

“I think you’re pretty amazing, y’know. If you’re not sick of me yet, would you wanna go for breakfast with me?” Steve kneels up between your thighs, the sheets pooling around his hips. Your eyes go right to the white Calvin’s pulled tight over the thickness of him. Your eyes rake up over his body until you’re caught staring, ogling, and Steve smiles when you pull a pillow over your face. You certainly hadn’t been so shy last night; he laughs and lifts it away to gaze down at you, hoping you will say yes. 

“C’mere. Then you can take me for breakfast.” You coax him back down, hooking one leg over his hip. “Prove to me again that you’re not just in my imagination?”

Steve grins and rolls himself down over you. “You been imagining me like this? Scandalous,” he teases before resuming his kisses from earlier, which you are eager to return. Your bodies move together, hips tilting toward each other seeking out that pressure that makes your tummy sizzle. As Steve’s hands slip under your sized-up sleep shirt again, your own dips down to cup him through his underwear. His breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Baby…” 

Baby. 

You smile and repeat the movement firmer this time before beginning to coax him to hardness, breaking your hold on him only to help him remove your tshirt. It’s lost to the floor along with Steve’s briefs. His breath is hot against your mouth as your bodies press together. The feeling of Steve’s hands on your breasts draws out a whine that’s swallowed by another kiss; his hands are so big and they feel like they are everywhere, like Steve is everywhere. His mouth and hands trail lower, spreading you out for him on your dusty rose bedsheets. He cups you there, thumb swiping in a delicious rhythm that has you gasping against his shoulder. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, kissing the tops of your breasts. “Let me hear those pretty noises again, baby. Please?” 

You whimper as his fingers ease you open, so gentle like the polite ‘please’. Steve had proven he was a talker already last night, his words making you feel hot all over as he had pushed so carefully inside, turning tipsy giggles into needy gasps. You felt the same heat engulf you now as he lay wet kisses to your tummy, your hips, pausing only so that he could lie comfortably between your thighs after shouldering his way between them. 

He’s looking up at you, his cheek against the meat of your thigh. Lips curve into a smile when you meet his gaze, and he closes his eyes when you stroke his hair back. One of his hands takes yours and rests together on your belly as he dips to kiss you where you need him, humming against you when you gasp his name. 

Your eyes drop closed, fireworks bursting behind them as he makes you feel so good. The once or twice any other man had done this was lacklustre in skill and enthusiasm, which Steve possessed in every cell of his being. When you chance looking at him you spot his hips shifting against the mattress, chasing relief for his own ache which makes you moan louder. His whispered “good girl” sends your eyes rolling back into your skull. 

Steve brings you to your peak quicker than anyone ever had before. Mindful that you might be a little tender from the night before as he presses one long and thick finger inside before a second joins it a few moments later, gentle but with a purpose of making you forget your own name. His shoulder presses firm against your thigh, spreading you wider as his fingers pump steadily, keeping the pace and press against the spot inside you that makes you feel fit to explode. 

You squeeze his arm while your capacity for coherent speech vanishes, focusing only on the swirl and suck of his mouth and the crook and curl of his fingers. It’s so sudden, and you swear you’ve never made a noise so loud as you moan for him, trembling all over. He whispers his praise against your thigh before bringing his mouth back to where you’re weeping for him and doesn’t stop until your thighs are crushing his ears, muffling your voice. 

Chest heaving, you feel him move up to check on you. He brings you close, holding you as you glow with him and presses feathery kisses to your hairline. “You still with me? Not still dreaming about me?” 

“Mm, think I died,” you manage, peeking up at him with teary eyes. Another tender kiss to the dopey smile on your lips. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.” 

His grin is deservedly cocky, earning himself the warm grasp of your hand around his length. The prettiest frown graces his face as you squeeze and slowly pump your hand, your lips moving to his neck. 

Steve’s gaze moves from your face, dragging down your body to where your hand holds him. His size makes your hand look small and you feel the kick of his arousal on your palm. You manage to swing one wobbly leg over him, sitting on the breadth of his thighs with new confidence as he holds you steady. 

You lean across him, earning kisses to your chest as you fish for a condom to rip open and roll on to him before lowering yourself down into his lap. 

Sinking your teeth into the fat of your lower lip at the stretch of him, Steve huffs out a breathy swear against your chest. His hands settle on your hip and thigh, grounding and never rushing as you breathe into the feeling of him inside you before beginning to move. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching you in awe. “So pretty f’me.”

That spurs you on, chasing the tingle deep in your abdomen. Your fingers lace with Steve’s on your thigh, the other hand braced against the wall behind his shoulder. 

His head leans back by your hand, turning to kiss your wrist as you move in his lap. You curl your arm around him, bringing each other close as his hips hitch up to meet you. 

“So good, baby,” he murmurs, kissing you again as his breath comes quicker now. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Gasping his name, you hold him tight to you as you move together. He can’t take his eyes off of you, “Good girl, so gorgeous.” 

Messy kisses broken by gasps and Steve’s praise are traded back and forth. His hands feel huge where they hold you at your waist. 

The cord of pleasure deep in your pelvis winds tighter. Steve’s jaw twitches as he holds on to you, and you kiss the tense muscle before whispering, “You make me feel so good.” The sound he makes is almost a whimper and he squeezes the meat of your ass. Your hips continue their rise and roll, you feel like every cell of your body is aflame. 

Steve watches you, praising words fanning the fire low in your belly. The burn in your thighs makes you pause and he takes the chance to kiss you stupid again. 

“Feel good? Yeah?” When you nod, feeling spaced out, he pecks your swollen lips and whispers, “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.” You wonder if he lets anyone take care of him, return his generosity and affections. 

He is so gentle as he holds you to his chest and slouches lower on the bed. You close your eyes at the feeling of being held like this, cheek to his broad shoulder. His feet are flat and firm on the bed and the experimental thrust up into you makes you sigh his name. Steve sweeps your hair to one side so that he can kiss your neck again, checking in with you before continuing. 

His name echoes on your bedroom walls as he grazes the elusive spot inside of you; the way you press right against his pelvis gives a rub of friction that makes lightning zing through your limbs. “That’s it. Huh? Right there?” His voice is tight as he drives up into you again, faster now with the new angle. 

You can hardly summon the sense to make a sentence, babbling now with how good he’s making you feel, the occasional broken curse or plea. After last night and this morning, the neighbours won’t be happy or forget Steve’s name anytime soon - not that you give a fuck. 

You kiss him again, though now you’re both so far gone it’s messy and needy, hot breaths against each other’s cheeks. The lick of his tongue against yours makes you shiver. You feel ready to burst, pleasure building as his hips drive up hard into you

With the feeling of him so deep inside of you, you fall over the edge again. The feeling of your orgasm, clenching and fluttering and soaking, drags him with you, groaning against your neck when his hips slam and stutter still. His arms are tight around you, both heaving deep breaths together. 

Steve eases you both down onto your sides, tangled together. You feel dazed and heavy but the stroke of Steve’s fingers on your hip, his hot breath on your collarbone grounds you until the sounds of Chicago on a Saturday morning remind you that this wasn’t a dream. 

“You okay? That.. Jesus…” Steve’s voice is breathy, but you hear his smile. 

“Yeah. I’m…amazing.”

“Yeah, you are.” 

There’s comfortable silence as you both come back to earth. 

After a few moments Steve dots kisses to your cheeks, forehead and nose before he eases out of you to bin the full condom. Soon you’re back in bed with him, held safe in his arms. His cheeks are pink and you want to squeeze them. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Steve.” Your fingers brush over the moles dotted along his cheekbone, and he catches your hand to kiss your fingers sweetly in distraction. “Hey. Look at me, Harrington.”

“Back to Harrington?” he teases, looking into your eyes with faux intensity to make you giggle. “M’lookin’.”

“Steve. Steven.” You match his teasing with pretend-seriousness.

“Not Steven. Please, baby.” His mouth turns down, exaggerating his unhappiness with you, but the stroke of his fingers on your hip say otherwise.

“Ms O’Donnell called you Steven.”

“Please don’t bring O’Donnell up while my dick is still out.”

You both dissolve into giggles, pressing your face against the chain on his chest. “Shut up, she had that much of an effect on you?! Calling you Steven gets you all worked up? Okay perv, good to know.”

“You’re sick in the head.” His voice is shaky with laughter against your hair. “S’a good thing you’re cute.”

“Mhm. Definitely a sicko. Two cute sickos.” You take his face in your hands again. “You’re a great date Steve Harrington.”

He smiles, but it falls a little - you just about catch it. It makes your heart hurt. Your inability to just say that you don’t want this to be a one time thing makes you want to pull your own hair out. 

“I do my best. I had so much fun with you. I’m just kinda… sick of first dates though. Yknow?” 

“I do know. But that’s not how last night felt.” 

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes as he nods. 

“Definitely helped that we had a bit of a head start on the ‘where are you from?’ shit..” There’s a twinkle of playfulness in his heart wrenching sincerity. 

“I hate that part.” You look into his eyes. It makes your chest flutter, how he looks at you.

“I know we didn’t know each other all that well in school..”

“Since kindergarten.” Your shrug is tiny, you smile playfully as he groans. 

“Since kindergarten. Shit. What’ve I been doing all this time…” he asks the ceiling.

“Same as me. Getting out of Hawkins. Going on crappy dates...” 

“Mm, true. Growing up, I guess.” He’s quiet for a moment, “Last night wasn’t crappy. Best date I’ve been on in a long long time.”

“Me too. I think I’ll let you take me out again, if you want to…” you say, whispering bravely as you act all playful despite your hammering heart. 

The smile on Steve’s face makes the butterflies in your stomach swoop again. You weren’t the only one who felt so dimmed by dating around, having your heart broken. There’s a beat of silence, charged electric as Steve looks at your lips and you touch his chain again. 

“You like pancakes, or waffles?” Steve’s eyes twinkle. 

You squeeze the bulk of his bicep. “French toast.”

His head tips back in laugh, showing off his delicious throat. “Oh she’s fancy?”

“She is.” 

He leans in to kiss you in more time. “I can do fancy, baby.” 

“You’ve done fancy twice. Fancy is hungry, Steve.”

Your laughter echoes in the golden morning light that fills your room as his fingers skate over your ribs, finding the ticklish spots before he hauls you as close as possible again. 

Steve’s nose presses against your cheek, smooching one more kiss there before sitting up to find his pants. As you stargaze at the constellation on his broad back, you think this might just be the start of something really amazing.

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[leavemebetosleep]

Alright here's a short version of how I'd fix Bride of Discord. As a sort of mental editing exercise.

While not really a good fic for a lot of reasons, Bride of Discord actually has a lot of potential as a story. There's a lot of great imagery, and it has a lot of fic tropes I like and are fun to read. I actually would probably change less than some people would. (If your "rewrite" doesn't keep any of the original anything, it's not actually a rewrite babes)

It's just that a lot of stuff in it is maybe played from the wrong angle.

Also there's no saving the Applejack/Spike thing. That's just gross. I think you could keep a similar subplot, just change it so AJ's crushing on someone else. I like AppleDash, but RariJack would probably work the best here. Maybe in this version she's afraid to confess bc she thinks Rarity is straight since she's so femme.

As for the main couple, I think you could actually make the demanding a wife thing work, just have it play out differently.

Like, Discord is old. He spent a lot of time as a statue, and might not be up to date on modern society. Maybe instead of it being a VERY creepy request that screams "sex slavery" make his request explicitly a somewhat less creepy political marriage.

That was common back in his day, and he IS trying to make a peace treaty with Twilight. Being married to one of her people is a show of good faith, that she won't go back on her word, and he won't go back on his, as well as metaphorically uniting their kingdoms.

He doesn't care who it is, because he's not intending to fall in love with them. At best they're gonna be an extended house guest.

They can even point out that's dated and weird, but he can also counter he doesn't know how else to get a proper show of trust. He doesn't trust them with his own safety, but he does trust they won't go after one of their own.

That could also play into why he's so insistent they get married already. Fluttershy trying to avoid the marriage once she's in his kingdom makes it feel like he's being set up, and like the treaty is tenuous. Or maybe he's even suspicious that she's avoiding because the ponies don't plan to stick to their deal.

That could even factor int the climax, but I'll get there.*

Discord can be lonely, and he can still also be a little desperate for companionship, but I don't think that should be his reason for the marriage. Otherwise he could've just asked for a companion, not a wife. Plus, I feel like per-reformation Discord would be in denial about being lonely. I think he'd only start to realize how much he's been missing out on until AFTER he's gotten to know Flutters.

*So in the climax, Fluttershy declares she doesn't love him bc her friends are badgering her, and he gets creepy possessive and tries to hypnotize her and there's a fight and what-not.

Yeah, instead of that what if it's his paranoia that she's avoiding getting married because they plan to betray him coming to a head?

He hears Fluttershy say something to her friends that out of context sounds like they're going to blast him back into stone after all. So he's think she's a traitor who played him for a fool.

I'd nix the hypnotism, just have him and the six fight it out, and then he kicks everyone out before Fluttershy can explain because he's heartbroken and doesn't want anyone to see.

Lot of minor fixes I'd throw in too, cutting out plot threads that go nowhere. Less heteronormativity. Fixing a LOT of OOC-ness. A LOT.

Oh and I'd change Discord's backstory too. The Megamind rip off thing is meh, and I think Discord's a character you could do a lot more interesting things with that that.

As for Fluttershy, a huge problem I have with this fic is she lacks real agency. I want her to choose to go with Discord, not out of the weird sense of feeling she has to sacrifice herself. (It comes off, for lack of a better word, suicidal.)

Maybe instead, she chooses to go because despite her shyness, she's bold when it matters. She will stand up to him. She's not going to be afraid of him anymore. She's gonna tame him like every other wild animal she's had to deal with, and save her home in the process. She's going to come back. He can't keep her there if she really decided to leave.

Have her be the Fluttershy who tried and failed to use her stare on him.

Also, in the original I never at any point felt like she fell in love with him. Just that she gave up resisting his advances. She's always wary and hesitant to do anything with him. That's fine for the beginning of their relationship, but for this to be a good love story that has to change at some point.

Where's the moment she realizes she finds him a little attractive actually? He's weird looking, but he's so confident and funny and fun and that's really appealing. Where's the part where she's having fun and forgets she's a prisoner? Where's the real bonding? Setting boundaries?

Maybe she convinced Discord to let her friends visit, not because she's marrying him already, but because she convinces him to try to make other friends. And he does it, because he loves her already at this point. And she thinks if he and her friends could get along, they could work thing out. Maybe she was hoping things would go well so she could tell him she wanted to marry him after all.

Maybe she really did want her friends at her wedding, but also to be able to have her parents, her brother.

This last bit has nothing to do with the author's writing. This fic was originally written before the show ended, and we got a lot of lore afterwards she couldn't have known about. That's not her fault she couldn't see the future. But just for my sanity, I'd add in more cannon lore.

And uh. I guess that's all got with what I remember of it. Yeah.