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teeramoonlover · 1 year ago

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Knock, Knock

Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader x Stu Macher

(NSFW)

This is my first time writing oneshot, let alone smut. English is not my first language so bear with me.

Warning: Reader is a Virgin, Cussing, alot of cursing, knife play, mask kink, bondage, fingering, cunnilingus, deep throat, anal, threesome, and double penetration.

*Bold - Voice modulator, Italic - inner voice

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't recognize this deep voice talking to you.

“Who’s this?” Instead of hanging up, your gut feeling tells you to continue the conversation with this stranger. Maybe you’ll get something out of it.

“You don’t need to know about me. I just want to talk to you.”

“Now why should I do that? Stranger danger. Didn’t your parents teach you that?” You saunter around the kitchen counter and stare at the sets of kitchen knives. You pull out a cleaver and wait for them to reply.

The stranger chuckled, amused with your response.

“Just want to call you so I get to know you better.”

You poked your tongue inside your cheek. You put the knife back in its place, humming to yourself.

“Alright, Mr Stranger. You got my attention and I'm bored as hell. Shoot your million dollar question.” You leaned your back on the counter, hand in pocket while another's still holding the phone.

“Tell me, do you like scary movies?”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Does The Addams Family count? 1991 is the best.” You shrugged, checking your nails. The voice grumbled, annoyed with your movie choice.

“That’s not even a scary movie. And it’s a kid show.”

“Excuse me, that movie is my fave and you don’t get to judge my beloved Morticia Addams just because I watch a ‘kid show’. Besides, that movie is still considered horror okay. Take examples like Tim Burton’s production. Even though most of his movies are suitable for children, he still wants to insert horror elements so they could find comfort and won’t make them feel scared anymore. You should try Nightmare before Christmas or maybe Edward Scissorhand for starters.” you jested.

“Not my kind of style. Edward is weird as fuck.”

“Oh now you’re crossing the line Mr. Nobody. Fun fact for you, Johnny Deep with or without heavy makeup is hot as fuck. Hell, if there’s any Johnny copycat out there, I’ll ride his dick straight away.” you mused. The audacity of this guy.

The stranger hummed.

Is it creepy that I can see him smiling through the phone?

“You should be careful what you wish for. It might come true.”

“Then, Amen for that. I ain’t regret what I said so if you have a problem with it, you jerked your tiny dick somewhere else.”

He chuckled darkly.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

"What if I have one? Or maybe a girlfriend? What ya gonna do about it?” You rolled your eyes.

The phone went dead silent until a deep growl came out on the line. His voice changed to menacing.

“You don’t have a boyfriend. You’re not even lesbian.”

“Slow down tiger. I can change my preference wherever I want. Anyway, congratulations! You’re successful become from a total stranger to a fucking creep. Now no more games with me. What do you want?” You huffed, getting annoyed and a little creep out with his manic voice.

“Oh baby, you think this is a game? I’ll play a real game for ya. Knock, Knock.”

You yelped when you heard someone banging on your front door.

Shit. Wrong move.

You pull out a metal bat under the counter like you knew this would gonna happen and check around, especially every closed door inside the house. You already watched too many horror movies with Randy that you even know where the killer always comes out from.

“I ask you want more time. What the hell do you want from me?”

“You wanna know, you have to play the game with me.”

You jumped when you heard another banging. And this time, at your backyard.

“Knock. Knock.”

You gulped and took a glimpse at your back. As you saw nobody's there, you pressed your back on the wall and focused on the front door.

“Who’s there?”

You make sure all the doors and windows are already locked as your father went out training with his buddies. He says he will be coming home late.

Double. Shit.

“Johnny.”

You innerly scoffed. Oh he likes this game too much.

“Johnny where?”

“Clever girl. Guess.”

You rushed to the front door and took a look outside from the window. No one was there. You blurted out the answer.

“The backyard.”

“Wrong.”

You shrieked as the sound of a crash came out from the living room. You ran there to see a big gape hole at your now shattered window. You scanned the whole room. Only one wooden chair and shattered glass all over the floor.

He couldn’t make it inside that fast. You raised the phone as you heard his voice.

“I give you a second chance. Knock, knock.”

“Oh fuck you with your knock knock shit game! What do you want from me?!”

“I want you…to ride me.”

You inhaled sharply at his answer as you turned around with a bat raised in front of you.

“You’re messing with the wrong person here.” You spitted. He chuckled mockingly, amazed that you still have a bit of spite even though you know you're about to lose the game.

“You should be asking where I am, (Y/N).” He enunciated your name deeply.

Sweat trickle down your temple as you took a step back one at the time. This stranger knowing your name just shot up your nerve haywire.

“Where the fuck are you shithead.”

“Behind you.”

You turned around and hit the phone right to the side of his face.

His Ghostface leather mask to be exact.

He covered his head from the hit with his gloved hand and you took that opportunity to bash his head with your metal bat. He doubles in pain as you hit his back with more force and knocks his feet to the floor. He lay on his back, gripping his back painfully as you stepped on his body.

“Now let’s see who's behind the mask.”

Before you could bend down to grab his mask, the air got knocked out from you as someone rammed from your side. Your head got slam on the floor hard followed by a body that stumbled right above you.

There’s two of them?!

You tried to pry him off from you but it was no use. You could see from your blurred vision that two masked men were now crowded right in front of you.

The first guy above your head took both of your hands and held them tight, giving out a painful moan from you, while the other one sat on top of your low waist between his thighs, securing your legs from moving.

You tried to trash your body only to feel a sharp knife under your throat. You looked up to see the second guy shaking his head.

A warning.

“Looks like you lost the game.” Second ghostface seems satisfied seeing you beneath him. The knife in his hand trailed lower and lower to your neck. You could feel a prick of pain as the knife cut deep at your collarbone.

“Losers need to pay the price.” The first ghostface giggled, bringing out a rope from his black robe and tied your hand above your head.

“Two against one? Really fair, does it?” You gritted your teeth. Even though you’re already at their mercy, your mouth still runs like a goddamn sailor.

“Didn’t know this should be a fair game.” Second ghostface shrugged, still lingering his knife around your neck area.

“So what? You gonna kill me?”

“Careful, you shouldn’t challenge a killer with a knife. Now you said it, that does sound tempting.” The killer dragged down his knife to your waist. The cold of his blade sent chills down your spine as it put pressure on your stomach, emphasizing his words.

You gulped as you eyed the two ghostface. The one that sat on top of you seems like a person you don’t want to mess with. The way his voice held authority, meaning if he wants to kill you, he’ll make sure you’re good as dead. Even though he’s wearing a mask, you could feel his hot gaze on your throat to your collarbone that already bleed out from the small cut. His gloved hand reached out, smearing your oozing blood with his thumb. He loves it, you can tell.

Another one above your head, however he's a different kind of persona. He seems to like goofing around and having fun stabbing his victim. More sadistic, more of an unhinged bastard. If he takes his mask off, you bet he'll be that funny, easy going guy. His head tilted to the side, staring at your body in awe. Like you'll become his biggest meal tonight.

"But since you beat my friend here, I'll give you a chance. If you want to live, you need to do something for me." He hinted at the end of his sentence. The first Ghostface started to laugh hysterically.

Somehow you know what he meant, knowing what they're gonna do to you.

"What do you mean?" You shuddered.

In a split second, he pulled your body and switched position, making you on top of him. You could feel the bulge between your legs as his hands gripped your waist.

"You know what I meant."

Your whole body shivered in fear and excitement. You don’t know why your body react that way. Fear, yes but also excites you?

You already soaked in your panties, though it was the adrenaline of the chase.

You subtly rubbed yourself on his groin. He sighed in content as you kept rubbing his hard on.

“That’s it, babe.” His breath ragged as both his hands moved your hips and pressed deeper to his crotch. His hips thrust to your core, making you let out a soft moan.

You feel someone's hand held the back of your head, turning you to meet the first Ghostface. His gloves were already gone from both hands, as he’s working on to half-done his zipper jeans.

“Open your mouth, kitten." He slipped his thumb, pressing your lips to open. He inserted two fingers in and out as you swirl your tongue around his fingers. They were so long that you gagged as it reached at the back of your throat. When he pulled out his fingers, a string of saliva coated them.

“I’ve never done this before.” Your face was red, embarrassing to admit that you never had sex before.

“We know you’re a virgin.” He whispered. His thumb stroking your lower lip, his mask titled to the side.

“Don't worry about that. We promise to make you feel good, m'okay?" The Ghostface under you sat up, his hand tugged teasingly at your waistband while the other one caressed your cheek. His deep voice is surprisingly tender, luring you in like a moth to his flame.

Without thinking, you nodded at his words.

Beneath those masks, their smirk grew wider, finally getting you hooked with them.

"Lift your hips for me, baby."

He tore his gloves from his hands and guided your hips upward. As you stand on your knees, he tugged down your shorts and panties in one go. You gasped at how rough, desperate he wanted to strip you naked.

He took out his knife and started to rip them in half. You shiver from the cold as your clothes discard aside.

A pair of hands from behind reach out to your breast and fondle them. You whimpered as he pulled and squeezed your nipples. Another hand slipped to your wet cunt, thumb circling your clit.

"Gosh, your pussy is so wet for us. We're just getting started." He mused. Slowly, he inserted two fingers inside you, thumb still rubbing your clit. You shuddered, your back laid on someone's chest, who still continued grasping your breast.

"Look at you, seeking pleasure from two psychotic serial killers. Ain't ya a dirty little slut." The one from behind cackled in manic, enjoying seeing you completely vulnerable for him.

You subconsciously ride your hips with his fingers inside you, reaching your high. Your tied arms pressed in front of his chest as his friend from behind starts to dry hump your ass. You could imagine how big their dicks are, one pressing from the back while the other one underneath your pussy, still finger fuck you.

As if they knew you're about to come, he pulled out his fingers. You let out a small whine, feeling the loss of your pussy to be filled. He dip his finger beneath his mask, groaning in pleasure as he tasted your juices with a mix of blood.

Your hair got clutched from behind and dived you to his tent. When he pulled down his boxer, you were awestruck at how thick and veiny his hard rod is. He tapped his dick on your mouth, precum smeared at your lower lips.

"Like what you see?" He chuckled, seeing you looking at his cock like that got him more turned on.

You flustered, eyeing the two black holes resemble eyes staring at you, silently to gain his permission. He nodded, pushing his tip further into your lips.

You subtly open your mouth, licking his precum and heard his deep groan in return. This made you sucked and licked his tip and moved your hand up and down his length.

He tilted his head back. Though you couldn't see with his mask on, a sense of pride grew in you, pleased to see him feel that way.

"You're sure this is your first time? Fuck, this feels amazing." He bucked his hips in your mouth.

"Open your mouth wide open, tongue down. I'm a deep throat till you swallow all of my cum." You do as he said. He thrust his dick deep in your throat, making you gagged but you held it in.

He fucked your mouth relentless, both his hands keeping you in place. Tears pooling down your face as saliva spilling from your mouth until your nose touches his pelvis. You tapped his thigh, coughing up when he pulled out his dick from your swollen lips.

You're too focused on the man in front of you, that your ass was raised in the air and gasped as you felt a tongue licking at your entrance.

"Damn I can eat this pussy all day." He growled from behind, licking and biting your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his tongue does wonders to you.

You gagged as he pounds in and out of your mouth, while from behind a tongue lick deep in your entrance. His nose teasing your clit, earning you a moan vibrating through the dick in your mouth. Both of them release low moans, reaching their high.

You tap his thigh, pull you away from his dick as you feel a knot in your stomach.

"I-I some-something d-down there." You cried out, feel his friend's wet tongue thrust in and out of your cunt. You gasped from sensation, as he's licked your rim hole.

"Then cum all over his mouth, princess. Let him taste every drop." He strokes his dick as you stick your tongue out to his tip. You feel your release as the man behind lapping your juices clean.

"God, she tastes so good. I wanna fuck her wet cunt till she's scream."

The killer in front of you didn't say a word, staring at his friend

"You can't have her. She beat you up, remember?"

"The fuck that's supposed to mean? We won, she lost."

"Correction, you get beat to a pulp and I'm the one stopping it. So, I get the prize and you just, I don't know. Enjoy the show?"

"I'm already hard and you’re telling me just to watch you all over her? Hell no man!"

They way they're talking about you like you aren't there bothers you, but at the same time kind of hot.

You could tell his friend was frustrated, agitated while him with you on his lap stroking his tip to your folds. You whimpered as he nudged his face mask closer to your neck. You could feel his wet tongue licking and sucking at the cut he gave you.

Deep down you know your choice terrifies you but you don't want his friend left behind.

"There's two holes for a reason, ya know." You mumbled low, but somehow both killers caught on to what you said. They both were stunned. Not long after, the one you sit on his lap snickered darkly.

"You're one dirty little virgin. Didn't know you're into that." He gripped your hips closer to his already hard crotch. You blushed at his indication.

Truth is, you stumbled upon a porn magazine from Stu's wardrobe, asking you for his sweatpants as he was in the bathroom. Curiosity kills you when you open the magazine, the page showed a blond woman penetrated by two men, dick in her cunt while another in her ass.

The image haunted you yet deep down you want to know how it feels like, to get banged by two. As you stare at her lustful face, you jump when you hear Billy's voice from outside Stu's room. So, you threw away the magazine and hastily grabbed his shorts. When Billy enters the room, he stares at you intensely. He always does every time you're in his sight. He raised an eyebrow as you gave the shorts, muttered, "Give it to Stu, he wants it." and you made a mad dash out of his room.

You know for the fact that the chances you're getting DP is slim to none. But seeing as of now, your fuzzy brain was like why not.

"You're an angel, you know that? That's why you're perfect for us." The frustrated Ghostface was now like he's in cloud nine when you told him that, hugging you from behind.

"You're meant for us, (Y/N). Remember that." The one with you on his lap was now laying down on the floor, bringing you with him so that your pussy was placed right on his outstretched cock. As his tip penetrated your entrance, you whimpered as the slight discomfort got you. As your tied arms gripped the black cloth of his front, his hand teasing your clit, trying to distract you from the pain.

As he is completely inside you, the discomfort was replaced slowly with pleasure, fullness from his thick length. His sighed in relief, loving his dick snug deep in your pussy like a vice.

"Fuck you're so tight, baby." He rasped as he helped adjust his length inside you. When he felt you ready, he slowly thrust in and out of you, making you moan.

"You like that? You like riding this cock?" His slow thrust became erratic as he rammed your throbbing cunt. Your mouth gaped open, couldn't reform words when he hit you at the right spot.

"Y-yes, right there. Shit! You're so big." You uttered breathlessly, bouncing his dick as he thrust deeper in you.

As you ride him, you feel another one trying to penetrate your asshole. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, stopping you as he continued to push in, hissing at your shoulder.

"S-shit! My cock gonna cut in half if you keep squeezing me like that." He buried his face on your neck as he roughly thrust you in one go, making you scream.

"M'sorry babe. Can't help it."

You try to glare at his face, or more precisely his mask. You could imagine his stupid grin, staring at you adoringly.

This is too much. For you, a virgin and never been fuck let alone anal, this is a lot to take in. You could feel their dicks stretched inside every hole of you down there. You try adjusting to this new stimulation. They’re both moving in sync, in and out of you, feeling both of their dicks rubbing your wall one at the time. It makes you see stars as they fasten their phase.

Skin slapping filled the room, with your moan and their groan in a mix.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’mma cum!” You feel his hand gripping your hips as his thrust turns sloppy. Your body started to shake as the one beneath encircled his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest as he slammed you hard on your g-spot.

You nearly scream from pleasure as orgasm washed over you, followed by the one behind, pumping his seed into your throbbing asshole. Your pussy tightens is all it needs from the one beneath you to paint his cum on your walls.

He gave his one hard, second thrust at your asshole then pulled out his softened cock. The way he stared at his cum spilling from your ass stirred something inside him.

His fingers subconsciously slipped his overflow cum inside your hole. For some reason, he doesn’t want a single drop of his seed leaking out of you.

You take a deep inhale as your eyes flutter close, trying to calm from your euphoric state. You could hear his heartbeat thumping as your head laid on his chest, with him too catching his breath.

The only thing you remember is feeling a peck on your forehead and a kiss from your nape, with a deep raspy voice you manage to hear before exhaustion overtook your body.

“That’s my good girl.”

After you pass out…

“Man, that’s the best thing happen in my life!” Stu sighed, satisfied as he pulled off his Ghostface mask and slipped in his now soft dick in his pants. He looked over at his friend who was still lying on the ground with their favorite girl on top of him.

“You're lucky I came up with this plan. Knew it our girl had same fantasies like us.” He grinned, smiling like an idiot, while Billy too slowly took off the mask.

“If you didn’t pull out that porn magazine, she wouldn’t even think about it, genius.” He murmured as he stroked your arm. He sighed in relief with his eyes closed, hearing your soft snores calmed him.

Maybe they could pay you another visit, and it will be on nice bed this time.

And sure as hell he'll make sure of that.

#billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #ghostface x reader #poly ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x stu macher x reader #scream 1996 #scream fanfic

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reareaotaku · 1 year ago

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No Fun Babysitting

Summary: Greg's mother gets him and Manny a babysitter, because Rodrick is 'too busy' with Band practice, and she wants a reliable sitter while her and Frank go out. Though, Rodrick's plans change when he finds out who the babysitter is. Pairings: Rodrick x Fem! Reader [Since my Rodrick posts always tend to do well, here's another you Rodrick lovers!] God this probably so dumb lol. So sorry if it's bad lol

"A babysitter?" Greg looked at his mother like she was crazy. He was 13, he didn't need a babysitter! Maybe Manny, but certainly not him. "Why do I need a babysitter?"

His mother, Susan, finishes drying off a plate, before turning towards him, "Well, Rodrick," She gestures to Rodrick who was sitting at the dining room table eating a bowl of cereal, "has a gig and I need someone reliable to watch you and Manny while me and your father are out."

"Doesn't Gramma usually watch Manny?" Rodrick asked, since they had never offered to pay HIM to watch the kids.

"She's busy."

"Why can't I watch Manny?"

Susan laughs, causing Greg to frown and roll his eyes.

"Oh, Greg. You have not shown me you are responsible enough to care for a goldfish, much less your little brother. Besides, she's supposed to be really good, her name is Y/n."

Rodrick almost spit out his food when he heard the name of Y/n and he was very quick to clarify, "Y/n? Like Y/n L/n, Y/n?"

Susan hums, before rubbing her chin and nodding, "Yes I believe so."

"She's going to be here?"

"Why do you care?" Greg quick asked, suspicious.

"I don't," Rodrick quickly justifies, trying to cover up his previous excitement. He quickly gets up and heads to his room, completely forgetting about the food.

Susan and Greg watched as he left, while the latter grew suspicious.

---

"Thank you so much for coming at such late notice," Susan hands you Manny, who wiggled in her grasp.

"It's really no problem, Mrs. Heffley. I hope you and your husband have a good night out."

"Me, too," She jokes, before shaking her head, "Our numbers are on the fridge and if we don't answer, there's the number of the restaurant...."

You nod your head, listening as she goes on and on about safety and such. When she finally left, you waved her off before carrying Manny into the living room. "So, what do you like to do, Manny?"

Before he could answer, Rodrick quickly rushes in, his guitar hanging off his back. He was covered in sweat and his hair was dismayed/a mess. He pushes his hand through his hair, before looking at you in feigned confusion.

"Oh, Y/n right? I didn't know you were going to be here."

"What are you talking about? Mom sai-"

Rodrick quickly got his shoe and threw it at Greg, hitting him smack in the face. He [Rodrick] pushes inbetween you and Manny, leaning on his hand, "Hey."

"Hi?" You looked past him, towards Manny, who was pushing on Rodrick's back.

"What.. uh, brings you around?"

"Um... What do you mean?"

He turns to face forward , leaning back on his hands, "Uh, you know, ummm...." He clicks his tongue, before looking back at you, "You like music, right?"

"Everyone likes music."

"Right!" He stands up pointing to you, Manny finally looking relieved that Rodrick had moved from his spot.

Manny gets down from the seat and pulls out a puzzle from under the table. You watch him closely as Rodrick still continues to talk.

"I'm in a band, you should come listen."

"Uhuh... Band?" You now looked at him when registering his words.

"Oh, yeah. We're called the Loaded Diaper [Löded Diper]."

"Loaded Diaper?"

"Yeah."

"When you hear them, you'll understand the name," Greg jokes, before hiding under the table when seeing Rodrick's glare.

You look at Greg, before humming and nodding, "I see. Ummm... What kind of music do you guys play?"

"Rock."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense... Um... Maybe I can come some time."

"Yeah, you should. Just let me know when you're free."

"Yeah, will do."

He walks away from the living room and out the front door, but not before fist bumping, thrilled to have a 'date' kind of.

#diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick rules #rodrick x reader #rodrick x y/n #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley x y/n #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick heffley #doawk rodrick #doawk #doawk rodrick x reader

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sceletaflores · 7 months ago

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Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you.

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone.

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you.

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you.

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.”

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller.

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey.

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands.

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure, "Just try to relax.”

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter.

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything.

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings."

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done.

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up.

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you.

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back.

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house.

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things.

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.”

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience.

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to.

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing.

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold.

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again.

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything.

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now.

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him.

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over.

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly.

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest.

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,” he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room.

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying.

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it.

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you.

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself.

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you. Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets.

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit.

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter.

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining.

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips.

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan.

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks.

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

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sheep-from-rad · 4 days ago

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About the Reader who became Jason's roommate and all. I wonder what if they were so cold and distant with the family, they made sure for them to know that they are not a family. (They already closed their heart).

It can be things like, in class they won't talk with Tim unless they have to, like having a project together and if they do they'll only talk about the project if he tries to talk about something else she changes the subject or shut it down. All with a smile on their face, the way they talk is too professional and they won't let him involve emotions. "We are only talking about what needs to be talked about" they say.

The less subtle with Dick, Bruce and Damian because they come to them as vigilantes. Waking up to Batman and Robin cuddling them. They snap at them. Because first, "when did dressing as a furry and making kids fight crime with you turned to doing that to stalking civilians? And you claim to be my 'family' yet what family breaks into the house of someone and touches them in their sleep? That's not like family behavior but one of creeps!!"

They also snap at Dick for coming to them in his Nightwing costume. "Are you trying to put me in danger by associating me with your vigilant persona? What a good hero- what a good 'brother' you are."

With Jason, what if the reader didn't snap at him till now and told him about the three show up as vigilantes to a civilian, using his protectiveness against them in that way.

I don't know how may readers treat Jason but I can imagine that they don't cook for him and they don't eat what he cooks for them. They keep personal stuff like tooth brush and all of the personal things in their room. If he comes with injuries they will give him a first aid kit and clean the mess he made but mostly won't help him unless it is something he really needs help in like bandaging his back. Stay in their room for most of the time they are in the apartment.

I can imagine reader apartment hunting after Bruce by there's and stuff but also what if Reader got a better job that can help in that? What if the Reader decided that they will pay Bruce rent because to them he is nothing but their landlord? What if Reader managed to find another place to live in and became the roommate of a friend?

If the fam asked them to hang out or visit the manor they'd use the same words who were used against them when they were in the manor like "not now" "I have more important stuff to do" "don't you have other things to do?" "Go bother someone else" "stop nagging me". So it's like how they used to treat the reader at the manor.

I also feel like what they are trying to do is swipe things under the rug so, I can imagine them reaching the point where they try to confront reader and they just say "after treating me like nothing in my most valuable times of my life you think you can waltz back in my life and play family and I'd welcome you whit open arms? What kind of delusion is this?" "You are not my family and made it clear from day one. You can't just take it back, not after all the damage you've done."

Original fic: Jason's sidecar (Yandere Batfam x Neglected!Reader)

Titling this as 'Batfam trying to reintegrate themselves back to reader's life'

Masterlist

Jason had anticipated it. He was a child of neglect as well not just from his original parents but also partly from Bruce. He blames himself too when it comes to you. He’s the smart one next to Tim and he had read a lot of books on how to end the cycles of neglect and emotional abuse and yet he wasn’t able to help you. He may not say it but he feels like he deserves the current treatment he’s getting from you. And honestly, he’s fine with it. He’s fine with the coldness, he’s fine with the emotional distance. He’s fine by just being the shadow in your apartment who tucks you in your sleep at night whenever Bruce and Damian are out.

Tim is not satisfied with it. He will pull strings to make sure that you and him will always be on the same assignments and projects. If he’s not in the same group with you then he will quickly bribe the weakest link in your group to swap with him. Tim would also use his bad sleep habits as a weapon. It started with him passing out of the class and the professor having to call you to get him home and now the professor has you on speed dial (do people still use speed dial) whenever it happens. Most of the time it’s just a ploy for you to go home to the mansion because sometimes you can’t just say no to Alfred.

Bruce and Dick were hurt but it makes sense. The cowl and the masks protect the cities but too much attention is just as dangerous. At the end of the day even when they are tired, they have made it a habit to change clothes before coming to see you. Bruce is saddened over the fact that his relationship with you became transactional but much like Tim he would find ways to outsmart you. Whenever you pay him rent every month, he would slip back a hundred or two in the less conspicuous places. Most of the time you end up thinking it’s just money you forgot about. If you have those physical piggy banks, he will surely slip the rent back little by little. Dick would make it a part of his routine to be on constant lookout on Gotham’s apartment rent and leasing. Everytime an apartment lowers its initial rent, he would immediately book it and give it to a poor citizen (he’ll do it in secret and help citizens pay for the rent and even find a stable job to keep the apartment). He is also on the constant lookout in other cities as well with help of his other friends.

Damian hates it. He thinks you’re being a brat and that you’re doing it for attention. The estate is the safest place in Gotham and you left it for independence? Why would you ever gamble your life for it? He wasn’t in the whole ‘get you back home’ plan and he respects your decision on leaving even though he hates it. He wasn’t on it until he found his fist clenching hard as he stood inside your now empty room at the estate. He knows of emptiness and yet the feeling of you being missing in that very room felt like he’s falling down the abyss. Bruce holds you two tight every night but Damian will hold you tighter. Arms tight on your midsection and head on your chest. He’s partly glad those grip training worked off.

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the-winter-spider · 2 months ago

Text

Mine | One Shot

Parings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: Probably the fluffiest thing ive ever written, of course angst.

A/N: Yall this AU bucky branch ive extended has been life changing for me lmaoooo

The first time you meet Bucky Barnes, he’s already looking at you, a soft, open look in his eyes that sends a jolt through you. You’ve just started a new job in town and ended up here at a cozy, dimly lit bar one night after work. You sit down a few stools away, glancing over at him—he’s warm, approachable, not exactly the type you’d expect to find sitting alone.

You look away quickly, heart suddenly racing, though you’re not sure why. He’s a stranger, just someone you’ll see tonight and probably never again, but something about him feels safe in a way you haven’t felt in years.

A few minutes later, he moves closer, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Rough day?” he asks, voice gentle, as if he’s been waiting for you to say something first.

You nod, a little surprised by both his forwardness and the kindness in his tone. You’re used to handling things on your own, keeping walls up that no one’s ever bothered to climb. But something about Bucky makes you want to drop your guard, if only for a moment.

You offer Bucky a small smile, feeling strangely at ease under his gaze. “Yeah, you could say that,” you reply, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s been… a long week. Just finished my first week at a new job, and I’m still finding my footing. Everything’s just a bit overwhelming, you know?”

Bucky nods, understanding flashing in his eyes. “New job, new town?” he asks, his tone inviting, like he genuinely wants to know, not just make conversation.

You nod, surprised at how easy it feels to open up. “Yeah, both, actually. I just moved here, so it’s been a lot of… adjustment.”

He tilts his head, his expression warm and reassuring. “That’s a lot to take on. I remember when I first moved here… let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a smooth transition.” He chuckles softly, the sound low and comforting, and you can’t help but smile.

“Really?” you ask, curious despite yourself. “What brought you here?”

His gaze softens as he considers the question, as though he’s debating just how much to share. “Needed a fresh start,” he says simply, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes. “Figured this was a good place to do that.”

You feel a pang of recognition—you understand that need to start over, to build something new. “I get that,” you murmur. “Sometimes… sometimes you just need a change to get things back on track.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his eyes brightening as he leans a little closer. “Sounds like we might have a bit in common, then.”

There’s a brief silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s like the two of you are sharing something without needing to say it outright. You feel your usual guardedness slipping, replaced by a warmth that’s both thrilling and unsettling. It’s strange—he’s still a stranger, and yet he feels familiar, like someone you could trust, someone who understands.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his voice gentle, his gaze steady. “Just to celebrate surviving the first week. It’s no small thing.”

You smile, nodding as a rush of gratitude fills you. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bucky signals to the bartender, ordering two drinks and settling back beside you, his posture relaxed. Bucky leans in, a warm smile lighting up his face as he listens, his full attention on you. It’s like he’s hanging on every word, nodding and chuckling at all the right moments, his eyes crinkling at the corners every time you say something that amuses him.

“So, then,” you continue, trying to hold back a laugh as you recall the memory, “I walked into what I thought was the meeting room, you know, just trying to make a good first impression… only to realize it was the break room. And everyone just kind of stared at me like I was some intruder there to steal their coffee.”

Bucky lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. “Oh no! And you didn’t just play it cool?”

You grin, rolling your eyes. “Nope, not at all. I panicked and mumbled something about being ‘lost’—in the most literal sense. And then, to top it off, I nearly backed into a coffee machine trying to escape!"

He laughs harder, the sound warm and genuine, filling the space between you. “I think that’s endearing,” he says, his tone sincere. “Bet they thought you were charming.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say sarcastically, unable to hide your smile. “If by ‘charming’ you mean they think I’m the odd one in the office now, then yeah, absolutely. As if being the 'new girl' wasnt enough"

He smirks, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches you, that mischievous glint still in his eyes. “Hey, at least you’re memorable. It’s not every day people meet someone with personality.”

You laugh, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, so I have ‘personality’ now?”

“Definitely,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re… different. In a good way.” His gaze softens, and for a moment, you see something more serious flicker in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

Trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest, you shake your head, focusing on lightening the mood. “So,” you say, grinning, “what about you? Any embarrassing first-day stories?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, way too many,” he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “When I started at my last job, they had this big company lunch. I was so nervous that I accidentally grabbed the CEO’s sandwich off his plate, thinking it was from the catering table.”

Your jaw drops. “No! What did you do?”

He laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “Honestly? I didn’t even realize until I’d taken the first bite. The CEO looked at me, just stunned, and I kind of just froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth. I thought for sure I was going to get fired on the spot.”

You’re laughing so hard you nearly spill your drink. “So, did he say anything?”

“Oh, he said plenty,” Bucky says, chuckling along with you. “But, somehow, he found it funny. Or maybe he just took pity on me, who knows? Either way, I survived, but I don’t think I’ll ever live it down.”

You both sit there, laughter fading into comfortable silence as you sip your drinks, sharing those lighthearted moments and embarrassing stories that somehow make you feel closer. After a few beats, he glances at you, his expression softening.

“It’s nice, you know… hearing all this,” he says quietly. “Feels like I’m getting to know the real you.”

Your cheeks flush, but his words make you feel seen in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. “Yeah… I think maybe you are,” you say softly.

His gaze holds yours, an unspoken understanding passing between you. And as you sit together, in the dim light of the bar with laughter still lingering in the air, you realize that this—this feeling of being understood, of being truly known—is something you didn’t even know you were missing. And with Bucky, it feels like you’re finally finding it.

By the time you’re finishing your second drink, you’re feeling lighter, the weight of the past week fading away, replaced by a warmth that seems to linger between you and Bucky.

“Well,” he says after a moment, glancing at his watch but making no move to leave. “Thank you for letting me share your first-week celebration. I don’t know about you, but I’d say this is the best part of any first week—meeting someone you didn’t expect to.”

You blush, looking down with a shy smile. “Yeah… me too.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, and in the back of your mind, you realize you’re hoping this won’t be the last time you see him. Maybe he feels the same way, because as you gather your things to leave, he clears his throat, a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes.

“So, listen… if you ever want some company after work or need someone to talk to about the craziness of starting over, I’d be happy to be that person,” he says, his voice soft, a little uncertain.

Your heart skips a beat, and you smile, feeling that warmth spread through you again. “I’d like that, Bucky. I’d really like that.”

With one last shared smile, you both exchange numbers, a quiet promise lingering in the air that this, whatever it is, isn’t just a fleeting moment.

“You know,” he says, after a quiet moment, “if you’re free tomorrow, i can show you the best place for coffee in the morning.”

For reasons you can’t explain, you say yes. And it’s the first of many yeses you’ll say to him, even if you can’t shake the feeling that opening up to someone can only lead to getting hurt.

The next morning, you meet Bucky outside a quaint little café, the kind with mismatched chairs and hanging plants that give it a cozy, lived-in feel. Sunlight spills across the sidewalk, and there’s a crispness in the air that makes everything feel brighter, more hopeful.

You both order coffee and pastries and find a table outside. As you settle in, he looks over at you with that same soft, open smile that feels like a balm to your heart. You’re not sure if it’s the warmth of the coffee or his presence, but somehow you feel yourself letting go, leaning into the morning with him as if it’s a part of something bigger.

“So, did you always know you wanted to be here?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving yours.

You shake your head with a little laugh. “Not exactly. Moving here was… spontaneous. I just needed a change, I guess. I don’t know if it’s where I want to end up, but it feels like a good place to be, at least for now.”

He nods thoughtfully, a smile tugging at his lips. “I get that. Change is… good sometimes. Scary, but good.”

There’s a brief silence before you turn the question back on him. “What about you? Have you always been here?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I bounced around a lot before I landed here. I’m from Brooklyn, actually. Grew up in a small apartment with my mom and sister, Rebecca. It wasn’t much, but it was home.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting, and you can see a fondness there, mingled with nostalgia. “My sister used to make me these ridiculous lunches for school. You know those sandwiches where it’s way too much peanut butter, like it’d practically glue your mouth shut?”

You laugh, picturing a young Bucky struggling with a lopsided sandwich. “So what, she was trying to get you to stop talking?”

“Maybe! It probably worked a few times,” he says with a grin. “She was older than me, and she loved teasing me. But she’d also defend me to the ends of the earth if I needed it. She was tough but loyal—still is. We used to spend summers playing stickball in the streets or riding our bikes down to the pier until the sun set. Those were good days.”

You find yourself smiling, caught up in the warmth of his stories. There’s something about the way he talks about his sister and his childhood that feels so genuine, so open, and it makes you feel safe somehow, like you could share parts of yourself that you usually keep hidden.

“Sounds like you were close,” you say softly.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “We still are, even though we don’t see each other as much these days. But you know how it is. Life gets busy, people drift….” He trails off, looking a little pensive, but then he catches your gaze and offers a reassuring smile. “But we still check in. She likes to give me a hard time about how I’ve ‘softened up’ over the years.”

“Oh, so you used to be a real troublemaker, huh?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe a little,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But only in the fun ways. My friends and I—especially my best friend, Steve—always found ways to keep things interesting. Steve was the wild one, though, always dragging me into things. He’d get these ideas—like, one summer, he convinced me we could make a raft and take it out on the East River.”

“Wait, you didn’t actually try that, did you?” you ask, laughing as you imagine two boys clinging to a makeshift raft.

“Oh, we tried,” Bucky says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “It was a disaster. We were out there for maybe ten minutes before the whole thing started falling apart, and we ended up soaking wet, half-drowning, while everyone on the shore was just watching and laughing. My mom nearly had a heart attack when she found out.”

You laugh, clutching your coffee cup as you picture the scene. “So, I guess you didn’t end up the next great explorers of Brooklyn?”

“Nope, that dream died real fast,” he says, grinning. “But that was Steve for you—big dreams, no plans. I think that’s why we were close, though. He’d always push me to do things I wouldn’t even think about trying. He’d challenge me in ways that I didn’t know I needed. Kind of made me who I am today.”

You see a glimmer of nostalgia and perhaps a little sadness in his eyes as he talks about Steve, and you wonder if they’re still close. But before you can ask, he leans forward, his expression softening as he looks at you.

“So, how about you?” he asks, changing the subject. “Any siblings?”

You nod, taking a small sip of your coffee. “Yeah, an older brother. We were close growing up, but life kind of… pulled us in different directions. He was the one who kept me out of trouble, actually. He fled home as soon as he was old enough” You chuckle sadly “Always thought he was the responsible one, and I was the daydreamer. Guess some things never change.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, as if he’s seeing a new side of you. “Daydreamer, huh? What kind of dreams?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. But then you feel that familiar warmth between you, the kind that feels safe, inviting you to share a little more of yourself.

“Honestly, I don’t know anymore,” you admit softly. “I guess that’s part of why I moved here. Trying to figure it out, trying to find something that feels… real.”

He nods, his gaze understanding, as if he sees right through you in a way that’s both comforting and a little terrifying. “Well, I think that’s brave,” he says quietly. “Taking a leap, starting fresh… not everyone has the guts to do that.”

The way he says it, so genuine and reassuring, makes you feel like maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, like maybe the path isn’t as uncertain as it once felt.

The conversation drifts into comfortable silence, and you both take a moment to sip your coffee and enjoy the warmth of the sun. After a while, he leans back, his expression thoughtful as he looks over at you.

“You know, meeting someone like you… it’s kind of a rare thing,” he says, his voice soft but full of a sincerity that takes you by surprise. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels… right.”

His words settle into your heart, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, a connection that feels deeper than anything you expected to find in a new town, with a man you’ve only just met. And in that moment, with the sunlight catching in his eyes, you feel a quiet certainty that this—whatever this is—might be the beginning of something real.

Over the next few weeks, life begins to settle into a new rhythm. Days are marked by coffee dates that turn into long walks down the quiet streets, and those walks stretch into late-night conversations on park benches under streetlights. Bucky has quickly become your favorite part of the day, and even though neither of you has spoken about how you feel, there’s a growing closeness—a feeling of inevitability that’s hard to ignore.

One night, after a cozy dinner together, you find yourselves lingering on a quiet bench, watching the lights of the city reflected on the river. The silence between you is easy, comfortable, but there’s an unspoken tension there, too—something that hovers in the space between words, in the quiet glances you both share.

Bucky looks over at you, a warm smile playing at his lips. “I can’t believe it’s only been a few weeks,” he says, his voice soft. “Feels like I’ve known you… longer.”

You nod, feeling your heart race at the sincerity in his eyes. “I know what you mean,” you murmur, glancing down to hide your own smile. “I don’t usually… open up to people like this. But with you, it just feels easy.”

He grins, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “So you’re saying I’m easy to talk to?”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Don’t get too cocky, Barnes. I’m just saying you have… potential.”

“Oh, potential, huh?” he teases, giving you a mock-hurt look. “Wow. Just when I thought I was doing well.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in a long time. Somehow, Bucky has a way of making you feel like yourself, like you don’t have to be anything other than exactly who you are.

As the night deepens, you both head home, reluctantly parting with lingering glances and unspoken words hanging in the air. But when you finally get home, your phone lights up with a text, and you feel a thrill run through you as you see Bucky’s name.

Bucky: So, I’m not getting cocky, but… any chance I passed the “potential” test?

You laugh, typing out a reply.

You: I’d say you’re doing okay… so far.

Almost immediately, he texts back.

Bucky: Just okay? You’re killing me here. I might have to try harder.

You: I think I can handle that.

There’s a pause, and you watch as the typing bubble pops up again, wondering what he’ll say next.

Bucky: Just so we’re clear, I’m pretty sure you’re the highlight of my day. Don’t tell anyone—I’ve got a reputation to maintain.

You feel your cheeks warm, smiling at your phone. It’s strange how quickly he’s managed to find his way into your heart, and even stranger how natural it feels to be talking to him like this.

You: Highlight of your day, huh? That’s some big talk, Barnes.

Bucky: It’s not just talk, sweet girl....I mean it.

You pause, taking in the sincerity of his words. For a second, you wonder if he can feel the same pull you do, the same feeling that this could be something real.

You: Guess I’ll see what you come up with next time.

Bucky: Oh, so now I’m being challenged? I’ll have to think of something special.

You: Good luck with that, I’m a tough critic.

Bucky: Challenge accepted, darling.

His use of the word “darling” sends a thrill through you, and you feel yourself blush, biting your lip as you smile at the screen. The lighthearted back-and-forth carries on into the night, each text feeling like another step closer to something you’re both tiptoeing around, something you’re both afraid to fully acknowledge yet.

And as you finally say goodnight, you feel a contented warmth settle over you, the kind that promises there’s something real here, something waiting to unfold. But for now, the unspoken words, the quiet glances, and the sweet, flirty texts are more than enough, leaving you falling asleep with a smile on your face.

One night, you’re both walking through a nearby park, the cool evening air wrapping around you. It’s late enough that the world feels almost empty, like the two of you are the only ones who know this quiet part of the city. You’re talking about your favorite childhood movies, laughing over memories, and you feel a lightness in you, a happiness that’s been dormant for so long you’d nearly forgotten it was there.

“So you’re telling me,” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow as he glances over at you, “that you actually dressed up as an elf for three Halloweens in a row because of Lord of the Rings?”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks flush. “Yes! I was obsessed. It was all I wanted to do for years. I think I had pointy ears stashed in every drawer.”

Bucky grins, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe I missed out on that... bet you made a cute elf.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, trying to stifle a laugh. “It was… an intense phase. I still cringe a little thinking about it.”

“I don’t know,” he says, nudging you playfully. “I think it sounds perfect. I used to dress up as a knight when I was a kid. One time, I even convinced Steve to be the dragon.”

You laugh, picturing a younger version of him, full of life and laughter. “Please tell me there’s photographic evidence of that.”

“There might be,” he teases, smirking. “But I think you’re going to have to stick around a little longer before I start sharing the embarrassing childhood photos.”

Something in his tone, playful yet sincere, makes your heart skip a beat. You realize how much you look forward to these moments, how he’s become a part of your life in a way you never saw coming. There’s a softness about him that pulls you in, a kindness that makes you feel safe, and the thought of seeing where this goes fills you with a quiet excitement.

You walk a bit further, the silence between you comfortable, and he glances over, a question lingering in his eyes. “So,” he starts, a little hesitant. “Are you… happy here? I mean, you said you needed a change. Do you feel like this is it?”

You think about his question, about how you arrived here hoping to find a fresh start, not knowing if it would ever feel like home. But now, as you stand beside him, there’s a sense of belonging that surprises you.

“Honestly?” you say, your voice soft. “I think I am. It’s strange, but being here… it’s like I can breathe again. Like maybe I can finally be myself, without all the expectations I left behind.”

Bucky nods, his expression thoughtful, and he stops walking for a moment, turning to face you. “I’m glad,” he says quietly, his gaze holding yours. “You deserve that. You deserve… to feel free.”

His words sink into you, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him, taking in the gentleness in his eyes, the warmth in his smile. It’s almost too much—the idea that someone could see you this clearly, understand you so deeply.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

He reaches out, brushing his fingers against yours in a simple, tender gesture. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I’m just glad I get to know you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re both standing there, the world around you quiet and still. You want to say something, to let him know how much he’s come to mean to you, how his presence feels like a light that’s brought you back to yourself. But the words catch in your throat, so instead, you simply squeeze his hand, letting the warmth of his touch speak for you.

----

Another evening, you’re both sitting on a small bench at the edge of the park, looking up at the stars. Bucky has his arm around you, pulling you close against the chill of the night, and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling a peace you haven’t felt in years.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks suddenly, his voice soft, as though he’s been thinking about the question for a while.

You’re quiet for a moment, surprised by the question. You used to avoid thinking about the future, unsure of where you fit in, always second-guessing yourself. But now, with him, the idea of the future doesn’t feel as daunting.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “I do. But it’s different now. I guess… I’m not so afraid of it anymore.”

He nods, a small smile on his face. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. He hesitates, glancing over at you. “I know we’re just… starting this, whatever it is, but I hope you know that I’m here, for all of it. I don’t… plan on going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his words makes you catch your breath, and you feel that familiar warmth rising in your chest, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. You don’t say anything, instead reaching up to brush a gentle hand against his cheek, letting him know that you feel the same, even if the words are still forming in your heart.

As the night deepens, you sit there in a comfortable silence, his arm around you, his steady presence grounding you. And as you look up at the stars, you realize that for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of what lies ahead.

But yet, every time he leans a little closer, touches your hand, or tells you something vulnerable, you can’t help but feel that old anxiety creeping in, telling you to be careful. It’s as if you’re back to being a kid, watching your parents’ marriage shatter right in front of you. You’ve told yourself for years that love can’t be trusted, that letting people in only leads to pain.

---

One evening, when you’re sitting beside him at your favorite spot near the river, he reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re safe with me, you know?” he says softly, sensing the hesitation in your gaze.

The words linger in the air, and you look down, feeling your defenses rise again. “I don’t think you understand,” you murmur. “People leave. Or worse, they hurt you without even meaning to.”

Bucky takes your hand, holding it gently, grounding you. “I know,” he says quietly. “But maybe… maybe you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

The river flows quietly beside you both, the soft murmur of water filling the silence between you. Bucky’s hand is still gently wrapped around yours, grounding you with a warmth that feels both comforting and unfamiliar. Part of you wants to pull away, to shield yourself from the vulnerability you feel creeping in, but there’s something about him that makes you feel safe, even when the memories are so raw.

You take a shaky breath, finally letting your eyes meet his. “My parents… they didn’t have the kind of love that you read about, or see in movies. It was messy and… destructive. They fought constantly—screaming, blaming each other for everything wrong in their lives. Growing up, I thought that was just how it was supposed to be. That love was meant to hurt.”

Bucky listens intently, his expression softening as you continue, no hint of judgment in his gaze. He’s just… there, holding space for you in a way that makes you feel seen, like you don’t have to hide.

You swallow, feeling the ache of those memories resurface. “I used to tell myself that when I grew up, I’d find someone who was different. Someone who wouldn’t treat me like my father treated my mother.” Your voice drops, barely a whisper now. “But when I left home, I fell for someone who was just like him. He was… careless, selfish. I gave everything I had because I thought that was what love was. And he hurt me, Bucky, over and over, but I convinced myself it was my fault, that if I just tried harder, he’d change.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand tightens, his gaze filled with a fierce protectiveness that you didn’t expect. You can see his jaw clench, as though he’s holding back words he wants to say, but he lets you continue, giving you the space you need.

“When he finally left,” you continue, your voice breaking slightly, “I felt… empty. Like I’d failed. Everyone always leaves, and somehow, I believed it was because of something I did or something I wasn’t. For a long time, I thought I didn’t deserve anything better.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and before you can brush it away, Bucky reaches out, gently wiping it with his thumb. His touch is so tender, so careful, that it breaks something inside you, a wall you didn’t realize you were still holding up.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says softly, his voice full of conviction. “None of it. And it wasn’t your fault.”

You try to look away, the old shame rising up, but he places a gentle hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Look at me.”

You meet his gaze, and the kindness there is almost too much to bear.

“I don’t care what your past looked like,” he says, his voice steady and certain. “None of that changes how I feel about you. You are worth more than any of the pain you’ve been through. You deserve love that feels safe, that feels steady. You deserve someone who chooses you, every single day, this is worth the risk to me, you're worth it to me"

The words sink into you, healing in a way you never thought possible. His hand rests on your cheek, grounding you, and for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be right. That maybe love doesn’t have to hurt.

Bucky leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his voice a soft promise. “I’m not going anywhere. I know it’s hard to believe, and I know trust doesn’t come easy. But I want to be here for you. Every single day.”

Your eyes close, and you feel his warmth surrounding you, filling the empty spaces you’ve carried for so long. He stays close, his presence steady and unyielding, like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

When you finally find your voice, it’s soft, almost trembling. “How can you be so sure?”

He smiles, a gentle, understanding smile that melts every last piece of fear you’re holding onto. “Because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I also know that finding someone who understands, who sees you for who you really are… that’s worth everything.”

In that moment, you feel a shift inside you, a glimmer of hope where there used to be only fear. Bucky is everything you thought you’d never find—kind, patient, willing to fight for you even when you’re not sure you can fight for yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down your cheek, but this time it’s not one of sadness. It’s the relief of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’re not alone anymore.

“I don’t know if I know how to love like that,” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand gently trails down to your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet his. “Then we’ll learn together,” he says softly, his gaze filled with a warmth and patience that takes your breath away. “One day at a time.”

And as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close against the quiet backdrop of the river, you let yourself believe that this—this love, this kindness, this man—might just be the home you’ve been searching for all along..

You stay there together by the river, wrapped in the warmth of Bucky’s arms as the soft murmur of the water flows beside you. His steady heartbeat under your cheek is calming, and you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the safety of the moment. It’s as if time has slowed, like the world has paused just for the two of you, letting you both breathe.

After a while, he pulls back slightly, enough to look down at you, his hand still resting gently against your cheek. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability that mirrors your own, as if he’s waiting for just the right moment.

His thumb traces a soft line along your cheek, and he hesitates, as though he’s searching for the right words. Finally, he takes a deep breath, his voice low and steady, full of a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“Will you do me the honor,” he begins, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, “of being mine, darling?”

The question hangs in the air, his words so simple yet carrying so much weight, so much love. You feel the familiar urge to pull back, to put up your defenses, but with Bucky standing there, his gaze unwavering, you realize that you don’t want to run anymore. Not from him.

A warmth spreads through you, a quiet happiness that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment all along. You meet his gaze, feeling every ounce of his love and devotion, and you realize that, with him, you don’t have to be afraid. Not of love, not of loss—because he’s here, and he’s choosing you.

With a soft, shaky breath, you nod, a smile breaking across your face as you whisper, “Yes, Bucky. I’m yours.”

A look of pure joy lights up his face, and he pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours as he lets out a relieved laugh, as if he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have. His hand cups the back of your neck, and he murmurs softly, his voice full of warmth and certainty, “I'm not going anywhere ever, your stuck with me angel"

He leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips, and in that moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other, and you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

As he pulls you back into his arms, holding you close against the night, you know that this—this love, this connection, this man—is home. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe love doesn’t have to hurt; maybe it can be kind, steady, and true.

---

Over the next few months, Bucky weaves his way into every part of your life, becoming as familiar and comforting as home itself. He’s there for all of it—the quiet, mundane moments, the small victories, and the heavy days when the past creeps in and weighs on you. It’s as if he knows exactly when to be there, a steady presence who never asks more of you than you’re ready to give.

One day, after a long day, you find yourself curled up on the couch with him, your head resting against his shoulder. You’re both wrapped in a comfortable silence, but he can sense that something’s weighing on you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, his fingers trailing soothingly along your arm. He doesn’t push, just leaves the door open, giving you the choice.

You hesitate for a moment, the familiar fear creeping in, but with him, it’s easier to let down your guard. You take a breath, leaning into his warmth as you begin to speak.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever stop carrying all of it with me,” you admit softly. “My parents… their anger was everywhere. They’d go from silence to shouting, always blaming each other. As a kid, I used to hide in my room, but I could still feel it, like their anger was seeping through the walls.”

Bucky’s hand stills, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his eyes filled with a quiet empathy that makes it easier to continue.

“I used to think it was normal, that that was just… how love looked. Chaotic, painful. When I got older, I started building walls, just to keep people at a distance. It felt safer that way.”

He nods, squeezing your hand gently. “That must have been so hard,” he says quietly, his voice laced with understanding. “To grow up thinking that’s all there was to love.”

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. “I know it sounds strange, but I thought maybe I’d somehow inherited that anger, that chaos. Like… if I let anyone close, it would just repeat. That I’d end up hurting them, or they’d hurt me.”

Bucky’s gaze softens, and he shifts slightly, turning so that he’s fully facing you, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. “You’re not them,” he whispers, his voice steady and sure. “And you don’t have to carry their mistakes.”

The kindness in his eyes, the unwavering gentleness, makes you feel like a knot is loosening in your chest. You hadn’t realized how heavy those fears had become, how deeply they’d settled into you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “For being here. For listening.”

“Always,” he says, his hand still resting against your cheek. “I’ll be here, no matter what.”

On a lighter day, Bucky’s there for your small victories, too, celebrating them as if they’re his own. You remember a Friday afternoon, when you’d finally completed a major project at work, one you’d been stressing over for weeks. You’d texted him, excited but exhausted, and by the time you got home, you found him standing in your kitchen with a bottle of champagne and a cake with “You did it!” iced onto it in wobbly, uneven letters.

“You did all this… for me?” you ask, laughing as you read the words on the cake.

“Of course,” he says, grinning as he pops the cork on the champagne. “You’ve been working so hard, and I thought you deserved a little celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of his joy for you radiate through the room. “You know, no one’s ever celebrated something like this with me before.”

“Well,” he says, pouring two glasses and handing you one, “then it’s about time someone did, and in honoured it gets to be me"

You clink glasses, and as you take a sip, you realize just how much he’s become part of your life, filling the empty spaces you’d once thought would always be there.

You sip the champagne, feeling the bubbles dance on your tongue as you look at Bucky, the warmth of the moment settling over you like a blanket. He’s watching you with that easy, genuine smile, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. You’d been working so hard, pouring everything you had into that project, and it was like he knew exactly how much you needed someone to see you, to be there, to celebrate this small victory with you.

“Really,” you say, setting down your glass and shaking your head with a laugh. “I still can’t believe you did all of this… for me. The cake, the champagne… It’s so thoughtful.”

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “You deserve it. I know how hard you’ve been working.” He glances at the cake, chuckling a little. “Even if the cake looks like it was made by a five-year-old.”

“It’s perfect,” you say, a laugh escaping you as you look at the uneven letters again, and he grins, that familiar glint of mischief lighting up his eyes.

Over the past few weeks, he’s taken to saying those three words to you—quietly, simply, as if he’s known them all along. It usually happens in those gentle moments, the ones that sneak up on you and make you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. The first time he’d said it, you’d felt the words catch in your throat, and he’d squeezed your hand, smiling softly.

“It’s okay,” he’d whispered. “You don’t have to say it back. I just… wanted you to know.”

And he’s been true to his word, never pressuring you, never expecting more than you’re ready to give. He says it without hesitation, as though his love for you is as natural as breathing, and each time, it feels like another piece of the armor around your heart softens. You’ve been holding those words close, letting them settle, and tonight, with him standing here in your kitchen, celebrating you, it’s like they’re finally ready to take flight.

You take a breath, setting your glass down and looking at him, really looking at him. He’s so patient, so steady, just waiting for you to be ready, and in that moment, the words slip out, simple and true.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

For a moment, he looks surprised, his eyes widening just slightly. Then a slow, radiant smile spreads across his face, and he lets out a soft, relieved laugh, like he’s been holding onto a breath he didn’t realize he’d taken.

“Yeah?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, and there’s a gentleness in his gaze that makes your heart feel like it’s glowing.

You nod, a warmth blooming in your chest as you watch him, feeling the weight of those words sink in, wrapping around the two of you. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I love you.”

He takes a step closer, reaching out to take your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours in that familiar way that makes you feel safe, cherished. He doesn’t say anything else—he doesn’t have to. The way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in his world, says it all.

You stand there together, the sound of quiet laughter and clinking glasses filling the air, and as you look into his eyes, you know this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

---

One night, over a year after that moment by the river, you’re sitting on the back porch with him, wrapped in a blanket as you watch the stars. It’s quiet, peaceful, and he has his arm around you, pulling you close as you lean into him.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur, breaking the silence.

“Anything,” he replies, his voice soft.

“Do you ever… I don’t know… feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?” you ask, the vulnerability of the question catching in your throat. “Like things are too good, and maybe it won’t last?”

He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s considering your words, and then he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I used to,” he admits. “But then I realized that waiting for something to go wrong just robs you of all the good things you’ve got right here, right now.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. He has a way of grounding you, of making the fears that once felt so overwhelming seem smaller, more manageable.

“Look,” he says, pulling back slightly so he can look into your eyes, “I know you still have walls up baby, I know you’ve been through things I can’t even imagine. But none of that changes how I feel about you. You’re it for me sweet heart"

The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart race, and you feel that familiar warmth, that sense of safety you’ve come to cherish with him. You open your mouth to respond, but he reaches out, crashes his lips to yours, as his lips meet yours, everything else fades away. The quiet of the night, the cool breeze, the blanket wrapped around you both—none of it matters except the feel of him, warm and steady and here. His hand cradles the back of your head, gentle yet certain, as if he’s savoring this moment just as much as you are. There’s a tender urgency in the way he kisses you, a depth of feeling that words could never fully capture.

His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you even closer, and you find yourself letting go, allowing the barriers you’ve held up for so long to slip away. In his arms, every lingering fear, every shadow of doubt feels smaller, quieter. He’s the one constant you never thought you’d find, and here, beneath the blanket of stars, you feel safe enough to let him see all of you.

You run your hands along his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the solidity, as if to reassure yourself that he’s real, that he’s yours. He senses the hesitation in your touch and gently deepens the kiss, pouring his own quiet reassurance into each soft brush of his lips against yours. He’s unhurried, savoring the closeness, the warmth shared between you, as if he has all the time in the world.

When you finally pull back to catch your breath, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes soft and full of that familiar warmth that’s always steadied you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering as he looks at you, his gaze tender and unguarded.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp. “I hope you know that.”

Your heart swells, and you can’t help but reach up, your fingers tracing his jaw, memorizing the lines of his face. “I do,” you whisper, smiling as you take in the love shining in his eyes. “And you’re everything to me, too.”

The moment is gentle, intimate, a quiet affirmation of all that you’ve come to mean to each other. As the night drifts on, you find yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging soft kisses and whispered promises, the world around you falling away until it’s just you and him, together in the safe haven you’ve created.

---

It isn’t until months later, on a quiet afternoon in your small apartment, that you realize how much he’s changed you. You’re both in the kitchen, making dinner, when he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. In that moment, feeling the solid warmth of him, something inside you finally softens, and you feel that long-buried fear of love start to melt away.

Turning around to face him, you look into his eyes, your heart pounding but steady. “You’re… you’re home,” you say softly, finally daring to voice the truth you’ve been feeling for so long.

Bucky smiles, and it’s the warmest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. “And so are you,” he murmurs, brushing a gentle kiss across your forehead. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

As you lean into him, you feel a deep sense of peace—a peace that tells you love doesn’t have to be perfect to be real, that sometimes, it’s okay to let yourself be someone else’s. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that you can be loved without fear.

In his arms, you know that no matter where life takes you, he’ll always be there, steady as ever, reminding you every day that you’re his, and he’s yours.

The soft simmering of the pot on the stove fades into the background as you hold each other in the kitchen, wrapped in a quiet warmth that feels like it’s seeped into every corner of your life together. The room is filled with the comforting scent of herbs and spices, but all you can focus on is him—his arms around you, his steady breathing, the familiar warmth of his presence.

You look up at him, and there’s a softness in his eyes, a light you’ve come to recognize as the kind of love that expects nothing but offers everything.

“I don’t know if I tell you this enough,” he murmurs, running his fingers gently along your back. “But you… you make me feel whole. Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

His words settle over you like a balm, soothing any lingering fear you still carry. There’s a deep sincerity in his gaze, a warmth that has become your comfort, your safety. You feel your heart swell, a surge of gratitude that he’s here, that he chose you even with all the jagged edges you thought would push people away.

“Bucky,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “I never thought I’d find this. Find… you.”

He smiles, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to trust me. But you’re everything I ever wanted… everything I never thought I deserved.”

You laugh softly, the sound breaking through the quiet as you realize how much he’s come to mean to you, how he’s become the constant in your life, the calm in your storms. “You deserve all of it, love....Every bit of happiness there is.”

His eyes soften, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, lingering as if he’s savoring the moment, as if he’s savoring you. “Then stay with me,” he whispers, his voice low and full of emotion. “For as long as we have… let’s make this our forever.”

Your heart races as his words sink in, and you feel a warmth bloom within you, a peace that you’ve only known with him. The future, once clouded by fear and doubt, now feels open, full of possibility, and you realize that with him, you’re no longer afraid of what lies ahead.

You take his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of his palms, the strength that’s always there, supporting you. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say, looking up into his eyes. “I’m yours, Bucky. Completely.”

He smiles, a look of relief mixed with pure joy lighting up his face, and he pulls you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he holds you like he never intends to let go.

“I’ll remind you of that every day,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice a soft promise. “You’re mine. And I love you… more than I could ever put into words.”

In that quiet moment, held close in his arms, you feel it—this deep, steady love that you never believed could be yours. And you know, as long as you have him, you are finally, truly home.

Bucky’s arms wrap around you a little tighter, pulling you closer, and in his embrace, you feel every ounce of love and devotion he’s offered you so freely. His hands rest at the small of your back, gentle but firm, grounding you. The simmering sounds from the stove fade into the background as he holds you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in this shared moment.

He dips his head, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that’s unhurried, tender, but filled with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hand moves to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your jawline, a soft reverence in his touch, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

You feel the roughness of his palms as his hands settle along your waist, his fingers splaying across your back, drawing you even closer. The air between you feels charged, a steady, simmering warmth that’s both comforting and thrilling. You let your fingers trail up his shoulders, feeling the strength and warmth there, feeling safe and cherished.

“Bucky,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean into him, pressing soft kisses along his jawline, savoring the way his breathing hitches ever so slightly at your touch.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze soft but intense, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. “You’re everything,” he whispers, his forehead resting gently against yours as he closes his eyes, breathing you in. “Everything I never knew I could have.”

---

A few months later, everything feels like it’s slipping out of your hands. Work is stressful, you’ve hardly had a moment to yourself let alone with Bucky, and the anxieties that you thought you’d buried start creeping back in, tainting every small moment of happiness with doubt. Bucky notices, of course. He’s always paying attention, always picking up on the little things.

After a long, exhausting day, you come home and find him waiting for you in your small, cluttered living room. He’s made dinner, and the smell of pasta fills the apartment, a small act of love that you know he did just to make you feel better.

But instead of feeling grateful, all you feel is overwhelmed.

As you set your bag down, you glance at him, trying to ignore the pressure building in your chest. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. “I don’t need you to take care of me all the time, i can do it myself!"

He blinks, taken aback by the edge in your tone. “I know you can baby, ” he says carefully. “I just wanted to make things a little easier tonight"

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t need you to!” you snap, unable to hold back the frustration boiling over inside. “I’m fine on my own....I’ve always been fine on my own!"

Bucky’s face falls, and he sets down the plate he was holding, his gaze steady but pained. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks quietly.

You don’t know how to answer, not when everything feels so confusing and raw. “Maybe… maybe we were a mistake,” you murmur, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Maybe we got too close too fast.”

His jaw clenches, hurt flashing across his face. “Do you really mean that?” His voice is low, almost breaking. “Or are you just scared?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, because he’s right. You are scared—scared of getting hurt, scared of being vulnerable, and scared of what it means to love someone so deeply. And yet, instead of admitting it, you double down, pushing him further away.

“What if I am scared, Bucky?” you snap, crossing your arms. “Maybe I don’t want to put myself through this. People always leave, and were in so deep! I, I’m just—” You stop, your voice catching as the memories of your parents’ fights come rushing back, the anger, the silence, the way love had turned to something dark and painful.

Bucky steps forward, his expression softened but resolute. “I’m not your Father, we're not your parents” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m not going to walk away just because things get hard.”

You turn away, trying to hide the tears that have started to well up. “How can you say that? You don’t know… what it was like.”

He takes a breath, his hand reaching out to yours, fingers warm and steady around yours. “Then tell me,” he says, his voice steady but full of emotion. “Help me understand, so I can be here for you the way you need.”

The walls you’ve built around your heart feel like they’re crumbling, and you struggle to keep them in place, to hold onto the safety they give you. But Bucky’s still there, holding your hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

With a shaky breath, you finally let go, everything you've been keeping inside for the last couple weeks pours out of you, your eyes like waterfalls. Bucky has his arms wrapped around faster than you could wipe your tears away. His grip firm, as he rubs circles on your back. Holding you close, and you feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, filling the empty spaces with a warmth you were about to let yourself lose.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs softly, his fingers brushing soothingly along your back. “No matter how scared you get, I’m here. You’re not alone, you’re worth it, i promise angel”

You pull back, looking up at him, feeling the truth of his words sink into you. The fear is still there, lingering around the edges, but somehow it feels smaller now, less overwhelming.

As you hold his gaze, you realize that this—this moment, where you’re both standing on the edge of your fears and still choosing each other—is what love is meant to be. It’s not about perfection or never fighting. It’s about standing together, even when things get messy, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean it, ant of it Bucky I’m just… scared of losing you.”

He smiles, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Then hold onto me,” he says softly “Because I’m not letting you go"

---

Bucky has been working long hours lately, pulling extra shifts and coming home exhausted. You’ve noticed how he’s barely had a moment to breathe, how he comes home later every night, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes as he falls onto the couch. You’ve asked him if everything’s okay, and every time, he just smiles, brushes a kiss across your forehead, and says he’s fine, just a little busy.

What you don’t know is that Bucky’s been saving up for something big, something he’s been dreaming about since the day he realized he couldn’t imagine a life without you. He’s been setting aside every extra dollar to buy you a ring, one that feels worthy of you. But between work and stress, his nerves are stretched thin, and even though he tries to be patient, exhaustion is starting to get the better of him.

You come home from work and find him in the kitchen, staring blankly at a half-prepared dinner, his face worn and tired. You reach out to touch his arm, concerned. “Bucky, you don’t have to do everything, you know. I could’ve picked something up.”

He doesn’t look at you, just sighs, his voice tense. “I’m fine doll, I can handle it.”

You press a little further, sensing something beneath his words. “Are you sure? You’ve been so… distant lately. I just feel like we barely talk anymore.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffen, and he glances over at you, a flicker of frustration in his gaze. “I don’t get why you’re always questioning me,” he snaps, voice sharper than usual. “I’m here, aren’t I? It’s not like I’m going anywhere, i've told you"

You flinch at his words, feeling a familiar ache settle in your chest. “I’m not… I just don’t understand why you’re shutting me out.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’m not shutting you out, alright? Not everything has to be a big deal.”

The words feel dismissive, and something inside you snaps, the old fears rising up. “I just… I need to know what’s going on, Bucky, you know this, I-I....You say you’re here, but it doesn’t feel like it right now, It’s like you’re already halfway gone already..."

The moment you say it, his expression changes, a spark of hurt flashing across his face. “Are you serious?” he asks, his tone suddenly defensive. “I’ve been working myself to the bone for us, trying to make things better. I’m here every night, putting in the effort, and you’re just waiting for me to mess up. Waiting for an excuse to push me away! "

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “That’s not fair,” you say, voice trembling. “You know why I have a hard time trusting people, why I get scared. You’re the one who made me feel safe again. And now it’s like… it’s like you’re proving me right.”

He looks away, jaw clenched, but the frustration and exhaustion finally get the better of him. “Maybe I don’t know how to prove it to you, then,” he mutters, anger shading his words. “I don’t know what more you need from me!"

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and suddenly the air feels too thick, the walls of your house are suddenly too close. Without thinking, you grab your coat, needing to escape the pain before it breaks you completely.

“Where are you going?” he calls after you, the anger giving way to worry as he realizes you’re actually leaving. “It’s 2:30AM! Y-you cant just walk out!

You pause at the door, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look back at him, the hurt and fear finally spilling over“I’m leaving before you leave me,” you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “I told you would! Everyone always does.”

With that, you slip out the door, stepping into the quiet, empty street. You start walking, the chill of the night biting into your skin as you try to hold back the tears. The memory of his words lingers, replaying in your mind, amplifying every insecurity you’ve ever felt.

But then you hear footsteps behind you, and before you can turn, Bucky’s voice reaches you, a soft, desperate sound. “Wait, Baby please, just… stop for a second"

You hesitate, swallowing down the sob that’s caught in your throat as he steps closer, his face a mix of regret and something you can’t name. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, his own tears spilling over “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You take a shaky breath, your voice full of the hurt you can’t hide. “You’re right, though. I don’t know how to believe you’ll stay. I can’t get rid of this feeling that you’ll change your mind.”

He closes the gap between you, his gaze softening as he reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice gentle, grounding. “I’m not going anywhere. You know why I’ve been working so much?”

You shake your head, your mind still reeling.

He lets out a deep breath, pulling something from his pocket, a small, worn ring box. “This...This is why I’ve been putting in those hours. Because I want to be with you, forever....For good.”

You stare at the box in his hand, the realization washing over you like a wave. Bucky steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been saving up to buy you a ring. Because all I want is a life with you. No running, no more fears. Just us...till death do us part and all..."

The words sink in, and your heart feels like it’s breaking open and mending at the same time. “Bucky, I… I didn’t know.”

“I know, you weren't suppose to sweet girl” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. “I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was just… scared, too. Scared that maybe you’d never really believe I’d stay or be too scared to stay yourself.."

You cling to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace seep into you, grounding you. For the first time, you let yourself feel the truth in his words, the steady, unyielding love he’s shown you all along.

As he holds you in the quiet of the night, you finally feel something shift deep inside, a sense of peace replacing the old fears. And as you look up into his blue eyes, you know, without a doubt, that this is what home looks like.

Bucky holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you both stand on the empty street, the quiet stillness of the night surrounding you. You can feel the steady beat of his heart as he holds you, each thump anchoring you back into the moment, reminding you of everything he’s done to show you he’s here to stay.

After a few moments, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft and full of a warmth that nearly takes your breath away. He glances down at the small ring box in his hand, then back up at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I was planning this whole big thing, you know,” he says, a soft laugh escaping him as he looks at you, his eyes bright with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. “A perfect night, the right words… I wanted it to be special. Because you deserve that, you deserve everything.”

Your breath catches, your eyes filling with tears again, but this time they’re tears of joy, of a hope that’s finally free of the shadows that used to hold you back.

“But somehow,” he continues, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek, “this feels right. Standing here with you, just… us, no walls, no fears.”

Slowly, Bucky lowers himself down onto one knee, opening the small ring box to reveal a simple but beautiful ring that catches the glow of the streetlight. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know we’ve both been through a lot, and I know we’ve still got our fears,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, each word carrying the weight of everything he feels. “But there’s no one else I’d rather face them with. You’re it for me. You’re my home, my everything.”

He takes a steadying breath, his gaze unwavering as he holds the ring up to you. “Will you marry me? Will you let me spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m never going to leave?”

You feel the tears spill over, but this time you don’t bother wiping them away. Nodding, you barely manage to whisper, the easiest words you ever said before “Yes...Yes, Bucky, I’ll marry you"

A bright smile breaks across his face as he slips the ring onto your finger, then rises to his feet, pulling you back into his arms. He kisses you softly, a lingering kiss filled with every unspoken promise between you "I love you Bucky Barnes"

As he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, a smile playing on his lips. "And I love you, forever" he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and certainty. “You’re the best thing that's ever been mine,”

#Spotify #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky banres #james bucky barnes #james barnes x you #james barnes fanfiction

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menagerofmischief · 3 months ago

Text

Dia's Diner Menu

olives and cheese friends to lovers cold appetizer rough sex ceaser salad "Lie to me again and you're not gonna like what happens next" sarma "Gonna put a baby in you" orange juice overstimulation strawberry lemonade breeding kink (chicken skewer) "Be a good girl and come for me"

Oscar Piastri x best friend!roommate!reader

TW; fingering, unprotected sex, tinder and bad tinder dates, kind of asshole!oscar at the start

WC: 2k

A/N: can't decide if I love or hate this. also tysm for 100 followers, I love you guys.

❀

I hummed, doing my best to pretend I was listening for possibly the hundredth time this night. I watched as Jake, proving by every second to be my very failed Tinder date, rambled on and on about himself. The stories were never ending, and therefore neither was his talking.

I leaned my head on my hand, praying he was going to run out of oxygen and choke so I wouldn’t have to listen to him talk anymore.

This whole thing was a bad idea.

I first joined Tinder because I was bored and wanted an easy out from my crush on my best friend, Oscar. This was my third date with a guy I met on the app and each guy, along with each date, was proving to be worse than the previous.

Example A: Steve

First of all, who goes on a date with a guy named Steve. But putting names aside Steve wasn’t all that bad until he was asked me to go back to his place. Which was his mother’s basement.

Example B: Tod

Was holding a fish in his profile photo. Ordered me a salad. Proceed to talk about his buddy Kevin for the whole night and then ditched me to hang out with him. He may have been more into Kevin than me, to be honest.

And finally, sitting opposite of me, talking about his big finance job, we had example C: Jake.

Perhaps it was about time I gave up trying to find anything on that stupid app and accepted defeat. “Listen,” I pushed my chair away from the table and got up, grabbing my bag. “This has been really interesting but I need to get going.” I took enough money to cover the things I had and put it down on the table before walking away.

✿ ✿ ✿

“Had fun?” Oscar asked from the couch once I entered the apartment.

I put down my purse and the bag from the convenience store and started taking off my heels. “Sure,” I said, straightening up once I was done. “I just love hearing about finance.”

I looked over at him. Oscar was sitting on the couch in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white shirt. He was watching TV, some random movie playing on one of the channels.

Oscar and I shared an apartment - but he really only occupied it on the off season when he wasn’t traveling from one country to another every week. It worked out well for us, I had someone to split the rent to and Oscar didn’t have to bother with finding someone to take care of his place while he was traveling - so it was win-win.

I walked over and sat down next to him on the couch. I pulled a pack of Oreos from the bag and opened them, putting one in my mouth before offering the pack to him. “Want one?”

Oscar took one, turning it around in his hands quietly before looking at me. I could tell by the expression on his face that he was annoyed and his eyes had a dark look in them.

“Wow, okay.” I said, trying to get up from the couch. Sitting in my room and binging Criminal Minds it was then. “If I was annoying you, you could have just told me to go to my room.”

Before I could make my move to leave, Oscar grabbed my wrist. His hold was rougher than I expected, fingers digging into my flesh. “Why are you going on all these dates?”

“Honestly Oscar, why do you care?” I tried pulling my hand away but his hold wasn’t budging.

“Because every time you get dressed up, go on a date with some random guy and come back here with snacks. And then we sit on the couch, eat snacks and you tell me all about how terrible your date was.” He said, his eyes narrowing. “And I nod along, so sympathetic, pretending I actually care.”

I scoffed at him, using all the force I could and yanking my hand out of his grasp. “Fuck you, Oscar!” I told him, rolling my eyes. “No one made you listen to me. You could have told me I was bothering you and I would have fucked off.”

“It’s not that you were bothering me!”

“Oh yeah? Then what is it?”

“I like you, damnit!” Oscar all but yelled, jumping up onto his feet. His hands grabbed my shoulders and I looked up at him. “I like you! And I’m mad. Mad that you’re dressing up for some guys from Tinder when I’m right in front of you.”

My eyes widened, mouth agape. I must have looked like a fish. “Oscar,” my words were quieter than I expected them to come. My voice cracking. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” He confessed, his thumb rubbing the skin on my shoulder.

I licked my lips, looking up at him and offered a gentle smile. “I like you too,” I whispered, almost afraid to say it any louder.

Oscar doesn’t waste a second. As soon as the words are out of my mouth he is surging forward, smashing his lips against mine in a kiss much different from what I imagined our first would be like.

His hands move from my shoulders to wrap around my waist, pulling me into him. His lips are rough against mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth. I can barely breathe and my head is feeling fuzzy but still I do my best to kiss him back.

Before I know it, Oscar is picking me up, my legs wrapped around his waist and our lips still connected. Then he’s carrying me to his room and laying me down on his bed, crawling up to me to resume our kiss.

“Fuck,” Oscar mumbled, finally detaching his lips from mine and pulling back to look at me. “I wanted to do that for so long.”

“Me too,” I said, cupping the side of his face, rubbing his skin with my thumb. I wrapped my legs around his waist, trying my best to grind up into him and gain any friction by rubbing myself against the bulge in his sweatpants. “Please, Osc, need you!”

“Need me?” Oscar growled, pulling away a little and pushing up the bottom of my dress, exposing my panties to him. His fingers rubbed over the wet patch on my panties, making me buck up into his touch. “Is that right? You need me to fuck you full of my cum and make you go stupid on my cock, is that it?”

I whined when he took off my panties and roughly pushed two fingers inside of me without any warning. It was an unexpected stretch with just a little burn to it to leave me breathless.

“Tell me, Y/n,” he started, his fingers pushing into me hard and fast, not slowing down at all. “Why’d you join dating apps?”

I took a breath, trying to compose myself enough to form a reply. “Was bored,” I whined, gripping onto the sheets.

He gave me a dark look before his free hand, the one he wasn’t pleasuring me with, came down full force to slap my pussy. I all but screamed out, my body jolting forward with the shock of it and grabbed his shoulder with one hand to steady myself.

“This was a little preview,” Oscar said with a chuckle. “Lie to me again and you’re not gonna like what happens next.” His eyes fixated on me and my cheeks burned both with embarrassment and from how good I was feeling. “Now try again.”

“I didn’t think you liked me so -” I cut myself off with a moan when his fingers pressed against my G-spot, stroking it a few times before going back to thrusting in and out of me. “Fuck Oscar! I wanted to find someone so I could get over you!”

“Good job telling the truth, bad job at trying that,” he said. His thumb started playing with my clit, rubbing it in circles and I moaned loudly, feeling my orgasm approaching.

“Osc, I’m gonna cum, please let me cum.” I begged, the feel of his fingers inside of me and the added pleasure of having my clit toyed with pushing me fast toward the edge.

“Go on,” Oscar encouraged, keeping the rhythm of his fingers. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I was sobbing out from pleasure, my orgasm crashing over me and my hips bucking up.

Oscar pulled his fingers out of my pussy, making me whine at the loss of being filled with something, and keeping his eyes on mine brought them up to his mouth and sucked them clean.

I sat up a little and reached for him. Oscar let me pull off his shirt and I took a moment to admire his naked chest, running my hands over the ridges of his abdomen. Then he helped me take off my dress and bra, kissing me gently before he started trailing kisses down to my neck and collarbones.

“Osc,” I mumbled out, my fingers pulling on the strings of his sweatpants. “Fuck me please! Need to feel you in me. Need to feel you filling me.”

Oscar wasted no time, taking off his sweatpants and boxers in one go. I only got one good glance at his dick before he was pushing it inside me, bottoming out in one thrust.

He was big, the tip of his cock kissing against my cervix and with each thrust I could see an outline of his dick bulging out on my stomach.

“Fuck,” Oscar grunted. “We could have been doing this much sooner if you had just said you wanted me to fuck you.”

“You could have said something as well,” I shot back.

“Yeah but I wasn’t the one on dating apps.”

Oscar’s hand sneaked between us, his thumb once again finding my clit and starting to circle it. I screamed out in pleasure, hiding my face into Oscar’s neck. “So good, Osc, fuck,” I babbled. “Gonna cum again.”

Oscar sped up, both his thrusts and his fingers. “I’m gonna cum too,” he grunted. “Fuck, gonna put a baby in you so everyone knows you’re mine. You like that huh? Yeah you do, I can feel you clenching around me.”

His thumb brushed over my clit one more time and I was screaming out as my orgasm crashed into me. It didn’t take long for Oscar to reach his peak either. His hips stilling as he spilled himself inside of me.

Oscar rolled himself off of me and laid down on the bed. We laid in silence for a few minutes, only the sounds of us panting for breath filling the air. Then the bed creaked when Oscar got up.

He left the room for a moment and then came back with a towel and my pajamas. He got on his knees in front of me on the bed and started cleaning up the mess between my legs. I whined when he brushed my clit, “Hurts. Too much, Osc!”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m just cleaning you up.” He said, bowing his head down and pressing a gentle kiss on my thigh. I let him do the rest without much protest. Once he was done he tossed the towel away and helped me put on my pajamas, then got into his.

Finally we got under the blankets and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a cuddle.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” He asked, his fingers playing with my hair, making me shudder with delight.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good,” he hummed. “I’m taking you out on a date.”

I only managed a smile and a nod in response before falling asleep.

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unluckiestmember · 5 months ago

Note

Hey so I LOVED your X-Men x sweetheart reader and I was wondering if you could do a similar head cannon of X-Men x kind reader but their reaction to you being good with kids. I just feel like they would have various opinions or feeling if they saw you interacting with a child.

Coming right up!

X-Men '97 X Compassionate! Reader

Characters: Nathan Summers/Cable, Scott Summers/Cyclops, Jean Gray, Remy LeBeau/Gambit, Rogue, Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler, Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto, Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch, Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver, Morph, Logan/Wolverine and Jubilee.

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: So how did you guys feel about Deadpool and Wolverine?

Cable

“Well would you look at that! Seems someone knows how to get along with the kiddies… Oh don’t mind me, keep playing.”

Cable isn’t used to hanging out with children or being around them due to his workload, but he does enjoy the presence of kids that look up to him. He hasn’t really thought about wanting kids because of his fear that the disaster of a future he’s from would be too harsh for a child to be raised, let alone he is scared that something will happen to them.

However, when he sees you being so compassionate with children, it makes him reconsider a little bit! The sight of you and the kids at the local shelter on his base laughing and playing together makes his heart sour. Whenever he finds himself down in the dumps and needs a good boost or reminder of what he’s fighting for, he will just watch you and the children happily running around and realize why he’s the famous freedom fighter the young ones and yourself admire.

Cyclops

“Huh, you’re a natural at this! Makes me wonder how things would be when you become a parent of your own kid.”

When he sees you taking care of children on and off missions, Scott can’t help but stand and watch you with the biggest smile tugged on his lips. The sight of you all happily living your lives without a care in the world makes him remember the civilians he is fighting for. And more importantly, it makes him think of giving the family thing another shot!

Can you blame him? The way you are with children makes him daydream a perfect life away from the mansion raising a family together and properly being there for your child. Though there is hesitance to it all due to the result of Nathan and his last relationship, if you assure him, then he will definitely try to be a father again. Because with you by his side, can he really fail again?

Jean Gray

“Aww! Are you playing nice? Mind if I join in? I’m sure they would love to see my powers in action.”

Jean has thought of having a family with you when everything is settled down. So before she can have this ideal world of raising a kid with the love of her life, she can get a peek into a potential future in the brief moments of you caring for children, mutant or human. Whenever she sees you taking care of a child, usually during a mission, she will assist you in any way and naturally take up a mother role she’s used to having around the mansion.

The team can always find you two trying to make sad or distraught children on missions turn their frowns upside down with some powers or just speaking to them and making sure they are heard. You and Jean are definitely the go to for young ones, and if you both around children confirms anything, it’s that you two would be great parents someday.

Gambit

“Look at you all go! Mind if Gambit takes a stab at this, mon amour? I’m sure I can win their hearts. I won yours, didn’t I?”

Gambit is used to dealing with the younger folk of the world because of his time around them back home. So when he’s around children, he can easily adapt to them by playing some mindlessly fun games, pulling off tricks with his cards or telling some jokes. That’s not surprising though. What’s really surprising is him finding out you’re a pro when it comes to little kiddies!

When he found out you were a natural, he was beyond impressed by you and even let his mind wonder on a more intimate possible future down the line for the both of you. Around children, he’ll have you both as a package deal with you as the caring caretaker and him as the funny guy who will not hesitate to flirt and send signals your way in front of the kids. With how much he’s flirted with you, the kids always mistake you two for a married couple! A married couple… That doesn’t sound half bad.

Rogue

“You got these kids all excited, running and screaming like a bunch of baby banshees! You’re a natural, babe!”

Rogue wasn’t a big kid person on missions. She simply gets the job done and if there are children that need assistance she leaves it to someone who can be more intimate without fearing they’ll hurt them. She stayed this way until you showed off innocently how well you were with younger civilians.

At first when the mission called for dealing with kids, Rogue watched you from the sideline in silent awe of your tender love and care for children that were distraught or needed a distraction. Yet with time, simply watching you gave her the courage to join in and actually help out by giving out free rides on her back or showing off her immense strength. Together you two are a happy fun couple kids love to be around as much as Rogue just loves being around you. Now whenever there’s a mission with the young ones, she’s more than excited to tag along with you and live in the moment.

Nightcrawler

“May I cut in? I can play a mean game of tag!… Really?! Then round up the kiddies because I’m it!”

Because of Genosha, Nightcralwer is just as good with children as you are! He enjoys his time with the little ones around town or during stakeouts because of how accepting they are of him and how much their laughter fills his heart with joy. Now mix your own laughter in because of your handling with them and the blue devil was sure he was getting a slice of heaven.

The both of you are so well together and with others that the team delegates you both to taking care of the children on missions and making sure they’re okay. Around you both, the kids can expect a bunch of games to be played and a lot of memories to be made. Whenever a mission calls for babysitting, Nightcrawler knows exactly who to call on to assist him in having a little bit of fun on the job!

Magneto

“The future of mutants is bright if you’re around to bring such laughter and happiness.”

Though Erik has children of his own, he’s pretty subpar for a caretaker let alone a babysitter of mutant children. He tries his best of course, but the lack of fatherhood he was allowed made him a bit rough around the edges. Luckily he can depend on you to pick up where he lacks and he thanks you deeply for that.

Everytime he takes a moment to look at you with kids just minding your own business and being giddy without a care in the world, it makes him wonder if he’d be open to trying to raise a family once again. He knows with age and with the weight on his shoulders, it may be harder for him. But if you’re by his side, he wouldn’t mind giving it another try and stepping up to the plate to be a better father than he ever was for Wanda and Pietro.

Morph

“Hey, if the kids want to see a few tricks, send them my way, alright? I can throw them for a loop and think there’s two yous running around!”

Morph is decent with children, but they mainly leave that kind of work to you. When it comes to the more emotional attachment, they need a bit of work on that, but if you’re talking tricks and jokes? Then they are the right person to work with on missions dealing with kids!

They use your connection with children to playfully throw you for a loop by shapeshifting into someone and tricking you a lot just to get some laughter in the air. Most of the time he succeeds but there have been a few times where both of you just team up in some funny interactions that are bound to leave the children happy in your presence. Honestly, Morph wouldn’t care so much, but since you’re around? They don’t know- You just bring out that side of them! And they kind of love it!

Wolverine

“Of course you’d be good with the children, what did I expect?… Don’t mind me, I’m just keeping watch. Have fun.”

Children and Logan don’t mix that well. He just finds it annoying to babysit when he already does that with the teenagers at the mansion. Add that with some crying, whining and begging and he becomes pretty livid. Which is why he doesn’t like missions that deal with kids. That is, unless you’re there to help him out.

He finds your handling of children to not only be a big help for him but also a nice change of pace. It’s adorable seeing how kids easily gravitate towards you and how you let them do whatever they want. Whenever they have you pinned down in a game or surrounded, Logan can’t help but laugh at the cute little ambush before he breaks everything up. He doesn’t like kids and he still can’t stand them. But you make them more bearable, so there’s always that!

Jubilee

“Hey, babe! Send the kids over here- I’m gonna do a mad fireworks show for them!”

Jubilee is, surprisingly enough, really good with kids! She’s a lot like a cool aunt to your nurturing parent bit! She thinks it’s cute that you’re good with children and even compliments you around them when she’s not busy with other kids on a mission. The firecracker can rely on you to assist her or even stop her from making whacky moves that could get some children hurt out of pure excitement.

It’s not hard for everyone to know you two are a couple because of how much she calls you by pet names or makes fireworks that send signals to you if not make some look like you. It’s awfully sweet of her and it makes you comment that not only is she a great girlfriend, but she’d also make a great mom. Though, it’s highly recommended to hold that because if Jubilee hears you speak of motherhood, she’ll cringe at the thought. She likes kids, don’t get her wrong! But she could never be a mom!

If you got any requests for X-Men '97 or Arcane, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

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goldsbitch · 3 months ago

Text

Open your eyes

Everyone is self-conscious about their body sometimes. For Y/N's it's always been her small boobs, living in the belief that this would make her unattractive. Can her best friend help out?

warning: light smut, nipple play, blindfold

this one is for the flat chested girlies out there

If only teenagers knew how all of their peers are just as insecure as they are. Might have saved a lot of trouble, sleepless nights and maybe even stop everyone from overthinking and living more of a "just finally kiss me" life.

It was a sunny summer afternoon, as per usual, these two late teens, would spend it in a room with all windows covered up, eyes glued to the screen and hands gripping gaming consoles. They grew up as close friends, in fact he was the only one she ever potentially felt comfortable enough to admit her insecurities.

"Still don't get it why you said no," he noted, once again, to the situation where one of his racing friends asked for her number and she declined without providing a reason.

She ignored him the first time he'd address it, hoping he'd just let it go. It was frustrating how much invested he was in that. With a big sigh, she replied the same as she did before. "We are just not the right fit."

Lando, a teenage guy with a massive crush he had yet to decipher, was not satisfied with that answer.

"Don't get it," he said nonchalantly as he blew her head off in the game they were playing.

"Fine!" she responded and nearly threw away her console. She locked eyes with him, still not sure if she wanted to share her deepest insecurity.

He knew her, in the light reflected from her screen he could see on her face that the mood in the room has changed drastically. No more casual fun and games.

"Spill it," he dared, perhaps realizing for the first time why he craved her presence so much. "Was this it?"

She took a deep breath, trying to somehow ignore Lando's intense stare. She would always closed her eyes when something "scary" was in front of her. With her eyes shut, she finally spoke. "It's, um...You know," she said, vaguely pointing around her chest. Poor Lando was so caught of guard he forgot to breathe for a moment. "What?" he said, confused as ever.

Another annoyed sigh. "Don't make me say it, Norris."

"Well, you're really bad at pantomima thing, so I'm afraid you'll have to," he said, keen on not letting this go, his mind trying to ignore his inner disappointment.

"Fine. But promise we will never address this again."

"Promise."

"He just, he seems like the kind of guy who would want a more developed girl..?" she said, still not sure how to communicate it.

"As in all the braincells? I see your point now," he couldn't help himself from teasing her. Ever.

"Dickhead. My boobs," he almost bursted, once again gesturing to her chest. "They are so small. Why would someone like him find that attractive?"

Now, he was truly taken of guard, no idea how to respond, because he could hardly understand. It made the wheels in his head spin. Only at that moment realizing he'd do anything to see her small boobs one day. Y/N mistook his surprised silence as a confirmation of her own insecurities.

Once his brain processed the newly found information, Lando understood, as best as he could, where Y/N's insecurity regarding her boobs came from. While he'd never admit it, he often wondered whether he himself was "developed" enough. He had always been smaller than guys his age, something that is hard to hide. Same with breasts, unless you really wanna fake it, you can just tell from the outside.

Ever since that summer afternoon, he started to notice things he did not before. How could he not hear the subtle comments she made so often?

He was hanging out in her room, the last evening before he parted to several races. They were suppose to meet some friends later, so he stopped by, expecting her to be ready, while she was busy trying on a seventh top and still not liking it.

"This one has just too low of a v-neck," she whispered, perhaps more to herself, but ultimately, he did hear her. It's been weeks since the first and last time they spoke about it, Lando managed to pass many comments she made about herself.

But, fuck it this time. It was bothering him endlessly that she was insecure like that.

"That's it, Y/N. You know that the size of the boobs does not matter, right? Guys don't care about that," he stood behind her, locking eyes with her through the mirror she was standing in front of.

She froze, staying silent.

He continued. "Tell me, did a guy ever complain when you slept together?" They would usually share stories of their "achievements" in the past, so he was aware that she was sexually active. It was just that recently, that thought became sort of uncomfortable. Other guys touching her.

She snapped back. "Well, they never complained, but the also never even looked at them, so how could they know!"

"What does that mean?" he asked, once again confused.

She wished her mouth would wait for her brain to approve sometimes. Especially with Lando. There goes nothing. "'I've always kept a shirt on."

Baffled Lando wondered how could those other guys allow it. "So you've never shown your tits to a guy?" he said, almost astonished.

"No...It's not my asset and I know it. My, um...my ass is pretty good?" she defended and he had to try so hard not to picture her, on all knees, spine bending and her ass perked up towards him.

He swallowed, barely believing the words he was about to hear coming from his mouth. "Then show them to me."

Her eyes went wide. "Lando!" They had a close friendship, but not the kind where walk around naked in front of each other.

He held his arms up in defense. "No, I mean...hey, you know me. You have to show them to a guy one day anyway. And I promise I'll tell you the truth. No bullshit." He knew he crossed a line. Which was why he almost did not believe her next word.

"Ok."

To be fair, it did make some sense. If you really look for it. But while he was crushing on her without realizing, she had been crushing on him for months, fully aware of it. There was a tingling in her stomach when he made this suggestion. Unfamiliar, exciting tension. As if she wanted him to stare at her tits, no matter how insecure she felt about them.

"But I can't watch you," she added, turning around to face him. "I'd be too embarassed."

"So close your eyes?" he noted the obvious.

"No, you gotta tie my eyes," she said, making his cock twitch in his pants.

It was hard for Lando to wrap around his head what exactly was happening. As he was tieing up a band around Y/N eyes, she accidentally touched his hands when she was checking it.

"It is too tight?" he asked softly, waiting for her to deny it.

"All good."

He stepped away and turned her around so that she would stand face-to-face with him.

"Um, whenever you're ready, I guess," he announced. Part of him could not believe what was happening, another part of his was scared she's back out and another was terrified of himself. And how much he craved to see her.

She took a deep breath and tried to block all her thoughts. And boy, were there many. The strangest one was the excitement.

With one swift move she took her shirt off. Lando's pupils were wide and he probably didn't blink for minutes now. She bit her lower lip and turned around to face him. He had seen her in a bikini before, why was this so much better. She put her hands back and finally took her bra off.

He should have never suggested it. He knew he'd not forget the sight of her small, perky boobs with perfect nipples anytime soon. It was better when he did not know. He stared in silence, while she stood there, blindfolded, nervously rubbing her fingers.

"Gosh, say something, please," she pleaded impatiently.

"Um...No, um," he said, getting his voice stuck for a moment.

"Oh shit, it's bad, right?" she asked, while her heart sank in.

"No!," he immediately reacted, somewhat coming back to Earth. "They are...nice," he said, trying to downplay his own excitement. "Small, but nice. Firm...I guess."

She sighed. "Ok..."

He shifted himself, gaining more presence again. He was aware that what he said would affect her deeply, so his plan was to fix his initial reaction, not to make her wonder. "Seriously. If a girl I was on a date with had your boobs, I'd be more than happy. Trust me."

She relaxed a bit and instinctively went to somewhat cover herself up again with her hands. "That's good to know. Thank you."

He wanted more. To see more. His hormones acted before he did, shooting the boldest test of their friendship.

"There is one thing my sister mentioned few times..." he said before he managed to stop himself. "Apparently...if you massage them, it helps the blood flow and helps them grow," he stated, almost ashamed of himself for making things up like that. It was wrong. He should have just tell her upfront just how much he wants ti touch her.

She knew well enough that was some bullshit. But it was a chance. To know what if feels like when a guy like Lando touches you.

"Um, this might sound weird, but, um, can you show me?" she asked, blinfold giving her the courage she normally lacked.

He could not believe he had standing in front of him, bare-chested, blindfolded and oh so innocent. This sight was awakening parts of him he did not know existed. At that point, he was hard as a rock.

"Yeah, I guess I could do that. But, you should probably lie down," he suggested and took her hand in his, leading her slowly to her bed. She could already feel the fire of his touch when he touched her shoulder. Lando shamelessly watched her nipples harden once he did. The blindfold was a miracle.

He laid her down on her back and popped himself up on his elbows on her left side. Now that they were on the bed, he started to feel more at ease and all of it felt less wrong. She couldn't see him, but his warmth radiated on her naked chest and his intoxicating cologne hit her nose once he put her down.

What she couldn't see was the way he smiled softly at the sights in front of him, taking his time to create as much imagery in his memory as possible. She shivered with cold.

"You should start, I'm getting cold," she said impatiently.

"Anything you want, baby" he replied absentmindedly, not noticing the way he addressed her. The word would ring in her ears for days on. Lando completely forgot what game he was suppose to play. His brain left the conversation a while ago and he was fully focused on the picture in front if him. He had lying down and waiting for his touch.

He started with her left nipple, lightly, feathery, almost non existent touch. His eyes were flashing between watching her chest rise up and down and her face. She bit her lower lip, as if she was trying to hide the way it affected her. He couldn't help but smile and lick his lips. He began tracing little figured of eight on the top of her nipple and when he was sure he got her sensitive enough, he pinched her for the first time. A soft, surprised sigh escaped her mouth. He did not have think about his actions at all, it was all so natural and easy. He pinched her nipple once again, harder this time, before he moved onto cupping her breast and giving it a squeeze, while watching her attentively. She pulled her head back a bit and he knew he had her. Afraid to speak, he continued to squeeze her and then traced her up and down, making sure not to miss her nipple anytime he did.

"The other one," she whispered so quietly he nearly missed it. But he didn't. With a smirk, he kept his hand on her left nipple, and reached over to her right breast. All of the adrenaline hitting up, he leaned over and when his mouth was almost touching her, then carefully licked her nipple. He watched her, half expecting her to freak out and send him away. To his satisfaction, she flinched in a way he never saw he before. There was something sensual, primal about the way air exited her mouth. Still blindfolded, she had no idea his eyes were glued on her face. If they weren't, he'd probably miss out on her soft "More...". He started kissing and gently biting the rest of her boobs, painting pictures with red bruises. She arched up a bit, as if her body was trying to get closer to him. First moan escaped her lips like a shy whisper. The rest that followed were unfiltered, mindless proof that she was fully in the moment. He got more and more excited, his cock hard as a rock, begging to get released. But he was afraid anything more would cause her to back off. So he continued with this actions, switching up between her nipples, breasts and sometimes roamed over to the neck. To get carried away was the easiest thing ever. As he tasted her skin, he got intoxicated. She surprised him when her hands reached out to his own body, done playing the passenger and joining on action. First she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing him more to her chest and then her soft fingers reached over to his shirt, movement suggesting to pull it off. This sort of woke him up back again. He pulled his shirt off and watched her smile when she noticed his bare chest.

"Now we're even," she commented and with no shame touched all around his muscles. A small alarm was going off in Lando's head. He was enjoying this a little too much. The realization that the line that got crossed was out of sight at that point hit him. So he chose to try and get even further. He leaned over to her face and licked the line of neck, stopping right at her ears. Then he bit her earlobe before wetting it with his tongue and blowing lightly on it. The shivers again. He could watch that all day. She melted into his embrace, arching towards him once again. Lando placed slow kisses on her cheek, one by one, until he got so close to her lips he could feel her breath mixing with his own. He hovered, prolonging this moment, the last seconds before it inevitably all fell down. Her chest was rising up and down rapidly. "Do it," she whispered, their lips almost touching accidentally. He waited for few moments, biting his own lip while wishing it was hers. "Not like this," he said, catching her off guard. Before she had a chance to respond, he reached over to her blindfold and removed it. Their eyes met for what felt like the first time. He saw high, excitement and a hint of fear, as she adjusted to the light and to the sight of him being so close. Reality check.

"Can I kiss you now?" he pleaded softly, staring at her, desperate for her answer.

It was all very different and very much real when she could see him. She gulped before taking the leap, falling into the trap that were his incredibly blueish green eyes.

"Yes."

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p0orbaby · 4 months ago

Text

Practice Makes Perfect

summary: leah takes expert to the next level

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use, humiliation at it’s finest

a/n: this is all thanks to this

word count: 3.7k

Leah Williamson is bad at exactly two things in life. The first is baking, and she’s more than come to terms with that. Flour explodes around her like she’s waging war against pastry itself. Cookies flatten out like they’re trying to escape the cookie sheet, and let’s not even start on the infamous “cake” incident—a tragic day when she tried to make you a birthday cake and ended up producing something more akin to a dense, leathery pancake. She’d given up on baking after that, declaring it a “dead sport.” And you couldn’t argue with that.

The second thing Leah is bad at, however, is still very much a point of contention in her mind. She’s not ready to accept it, not now, and definitely not in front of you. But it’s like an itch in the back of her mind—a constant reminder that maybe, just maybe, she’s not perfect at everything. Leah Williamson is competitive to the point of absurdity. The woman once turned a casual game of Scrabble into a grueling war of wits that nearly resulted in the board being thrown out the window. But you’ve never really seen her so genuinely flustered about something, not until today.

You’re walking into the house, juggling your keys, a shopping bag, and your phone all at once. You were out for a few hours, nothing serious, just a casual hangout with friends, and you expected to come back to Leah lounging on the sofa, maybe scrolling through Instagram or pretending to read one of the books you recommended. But when you step inside, you’re immediately struck by the sound of muffled moaning coming from the bedroom. Your first thought is that Leah’s having a little “me-time,” which is totally normal and expected. She’s not exactly shy about taking care of her own needs, and honestly, you find it kind of hot. So you’re not really concerned, but you are curious.

You creep towards the bedroom, trying to be as quiet as possible, but when you reach the door, you can’t help yourself—you push it open just a crack. What you see almost makes you drop everything in your hands.

Leah is in the middle of the room, her back to you, one foot planted on the bed, and she’s wearing a strap-on harness. Your strap-on harness, to be specific. And she’s going at it like she’s auditioning for some kind of adult movie. But here’s the kicker: she’s not actually with anyone. No, Leah is thrusting wildly at the air, the strap bouncing around like it’s got a mind of its own, while some questionable porn plays on her phone, propped up against the mirror.

The scene is bonkers enough on its own, but what really gets you is the look on Leah’s face. It’s the same look she has when she’s watching match footage, analysing every detail, trying to figure out how to improve her game. Her eyes are locked on her reflection in the mirror, her brow furrowed in concentration.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to do. You could walk away, pretend you never saw this, and let her have her… practice session in peace. Or, and this seems like the much more entertaining option, you could let her know you’re there. Before you can even decide, though, Leah spots your reflection in the mirror.

She yelps—a noise so high-pitched and undignified that you almost feel bad for her—and stumbles back, trying to yank the strap off like it’s suddenly caught fire. But the harness is tricky, and she fumbles with it, hands slipping on the straps, all the while staring at you with wide eyes, as if you’ve just caught her committing a felony. The strap, bright neon pink, is still hanging between her legs as she wrestles with the buckles, and it’s bobbing with every frantic movement she makes. You can’t help it; you burst out laughing.

Leah finally manages to rip the thing off and tosses it onto the bed with the air of someone throwing a live grenade. It bounces once, then lands with an almost comical plop, still vibrating, because of course, she didn’t think to turn it off. She’s standing there now, breathing heavily, her face as red as a tomato, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen her look more embarrassed in her entire life.

“Babe, what the actual fuck?” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest like she’s trying to shield herself from the sheer humiliation of the situation.

“What the actual fuck, indeed,” you manage to choke out between laughs, leaning against the doorframe for support. “Were you… practicing?”

Leah’s face goes from red to practically purple as she glares at you, the kind of glare she usually reserves for referees after a bad call. “I was just—just getting the hang of it. No one tells you how weird it feels, okay?”

“Sure, sure. Because thrusting along to porn with a strap is totally normal Saturday afternoon behaviour,” you say, still grinning like an idiot.

“Don’t mock me!” she snaps, but there’s no real heat in her voice. She’s more mortified than anything else, and you can see the way her shoulders are hunching slightly, like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Leah Williamson, trying to make herself smaller—now that’s a sight.

You step fully into the room, setting your things down on the dresser, and take a moment to survey the situation. Leah’s still standing there, arms crossed, looking like she’s either going to bolt for the door or try to strangle you with the harness. The porn is still playing on her phone, some generic, overly enthusiastic moaning that’s only adding to the madness of it all. You reach over and pause it, the silence that follows somehow even funnier.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “what exactly were you practicing for?”

Leah groans and flops down on the bed, burying her face in a pillow. “This is mortifying”

“Oh, it’s mortifying for you?” you tease, sitting down next to her. “I’m the one who just walked in on my girlfriend fake-fucking the air while watching some questionable porn”

She mutters something into the pillow, but it’s muffled beyond recognition. You can only assume it’s something along the lines of “please let me die now”

Gently, you tug the pillow away from her face, and she gives you a look that’s somewhere between a pout and a glare. “I just… I wanted to make sure I wasn’t terrible at it,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder might make it more real.

“Terrible at what?” you ask, genuinely curious now. Leah’s not the kind of person who doubts herself, at least not openly.

“You know,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward the strap that’s still vibrating away on the bed, making a low buzzing sound like an angry wasp. “Using that”

It takes you a second to realise what she means, and when you do, you have to bite back another laugh. “Wait, are you telling me this is the first time you’ve ever put one on?”

Leah’s face is back to that deep crimson, and she nods, not quite meeting your eyes. “You’re the one who usually wears it, so… yeah”

The mental image of Leah wrestling with the harness like it’s some kind of alien technology is almost too much. “So you decided to give it a test run… by yourself?”

“I wanted to get used to it!” she protests, and there’s that competitive edge creeping back into her voice. “It’s not as easy as it looks, alright? It’s—heavy, and it moves around a lot, and it feels weird, and I didn’t want to—I didn’t want to look stupid when we actually… you know”

You can’t help but be a little touched by how much thought she’s put into this. Leah, for all her bravado on the pitch, clearly cares about this, about not screwing it up. But the image of her trying to get the hang of it by practicing on thin air is still hilarious.

“Leah, babe,” you say, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, “I promise you, there’s no way you could look stupid. Even if you were, I don’t know, flailing around like a fish out of water, I’d still find it hot”

“Flailing?” she echoes, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Not flailing. More like… enthusiastically manoeuvring”

“Very funny,” she says, but the corners of her mouth are twitching, and you know you’re winning her over.

“And honestly,” you continue, “the fact that you’re trying so hard is kind of adorable”

“Adorable,” she repeats, deadpan.

“In a sexy way,” you clarify, though you’re pretty sure you’ve lost her at “adorable.” “But seriously, Leah, you don’t need to stress about this. You’re not going to be bad at it”

She sits up a little, looking at you with those piercing blue eyes that are always so full of determination. “I just don’t want to mess it up. I want to be good for you”

The sincerity in her voice makes your heart squeeze. Leah’s not just competitive; she’s fiercely devoted, especially when it comes to you. She doesn’t want to just be good—she wants to be perfect.

You reach over and take her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re already good for me, Leah. And I’m not going to judge you if you’re not a pro at this right away. It’s supposed to be fun, remember?”

Leah exhales, some of the tension finally leaving her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”

“Of course I’m right,” you say, grinning. “But just out of curiosity, how long have you been at it? The practicing, I mean”

She bites her lip, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. “Uh, maybe… two hours?”

“Two hours?” you repeat, eyes widening. “Leah, you could’ve just asked me for help! We could’ve practiced together”

Leah looks at you like you’ve just suggested something outrageous. “Practice together? With you watching me?”

“Why not? We’re a team, right?” You give her a playful nudge. “I could’ve given you some pointers. Saved you a lot of time, too”

She looks like she’s about to argue, but then she laughs, the sound a little embarrassed but mostly relieved. “Alright, fine. Next time, I’ll ask for help”

“Next time?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Planning to make this a regular thing, are we?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips. “Maybe. Depends on how well I’ve learned my lesson today”

You grin, leaning in to kiss her properly this time, and she melts into it, the last of her embarrassment fading away. When you pull back, you can’t resist one last jab.

“Though you might want to work on the thrusting a bit more. Maybe start with something less intense. Like a pillow, perhaps?”

Leah groans, burying her face in your neck to hide her blush. “God, you’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, laughing as you hold her close. “But hey, at least you didn’t pull a muscle. That would’ve been really hard to explain to the team”

“Don’t even joke about that,” she mumbles against your skin, but you can feel her smiling.

It’s a few days later, and the whole incident has officially passed into the realm of light-hearted teasing. Leah’s embarrassment has died down, and she’s mostly back to her usual confident self. You’ve mentioned it a few times, of course, because how could you not? But every time you do, she just rolls her eyes and smirks like she knows something you don’t, which is both intriguing and slightly unnerving.

Tonight, though, there’s a different kind of energy between you. You’re in bed, the two of you tangled together under the sheets, lips locked in a kiss that’s growing more heated by the second. Leah’s hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding up under your shirt to trace the curve of your back. There’s a kind of urgency in the way she’s touching you, like she can’t get enough, like she’s been holding back and now she’s ready to let go.

You’re straddling her lap, your fingers in her hair, tugging slightly as her mouth moves down to your neck. Her kisses are hot and insistent, and each one sends a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You feel her hands slide down to your ass, squeezing just enough to make you gasp, and she takes that opportunity to flip you over onto your back, pinning you beneath her.

Her eyes are dark with lust, and when she looks at you like that, all your teasing from earlier feels like a distant memory. You’re breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as Leah leans down to kiss you again, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a skill that always leaves you wanting more. You moan into the kiss, your legs wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer, needing to feel her against you.

Leah’s hands trail down your sides, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. She breaks the kiss just long enough to pull them off, and you lift your hips to help her, the cool air hitting your skin and sending a shiver up your spine. She’s quick to follow, kicking off her own clothes until the both of you are bare, skin pressed against skin, the heat between you palpable.

She pulls back just a little, her eyes roaming over your body, drinking you in like she’s savoring every inch. “God, you’re beautiful,” she murmurs, and the way she says it makes your cheeks flush with warmth.

“Look who’s talking,” you say, your voice breathy as you reach up to run your hands down her toned arms, feeling the muscle beneath her skin. “You’re so fucking hot, baby”

She grins, and there’s that confident, almost cocky look on her face that tells you she knows exactly how she makes you feel. But then, something shifts in her expression, and she hesitates, just for a second, before she leans down close to your ear, her voice low and a little rough. “I want to use the strap”

Your breath catches in your throat, your body instantly responding to the suggestion. You’d been half-expecting it, maybe even hoping for it, but now that she’s said it out loud, your entire body is alight with anticipation. “Yeah?” you manage to say, trying to keep the eagerness out of your voice, though you know it’s a lost cause.

Leah pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, searching your face like she’s making sure you’re really on board with this. “Yeah,” she says, and there’s a determined edge to her voice, like she’s been waiting for this moment, like she’s ready to prove something—not just to you, but maybe to herself, too.

“Okay,” you breathe, your heart racing as you nod. “Yeah, I want that”

Her grin widens, and there’s something almost predatory about it, but it’s not intimidating. It’s the kind of look that makes your stomach flutter with excitement, makes your whole body hum with the promise of what’s to come. Leah’s up and off the bed in a flash, heading for the drawer where you keep the toys, and you can’t help but admire the way she moves, all grace and power, even in the dim light of the room.

You watch as she takes it out, her movements sure and steady, no sign of the fumbling you’d witnessed a few days ago. She’s learned quickly, it seems, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation as she steps into the harness, tightening the straps with practiced ease. She catches your eye as she adjusts it, and the look she gives you is pure heat, her confidence now radiating off her in waves.

When she’s ready, she climbs back onto the bed, and there’s something about the sight of her like this, wearing the strap, her eyes locked on you, that sends a rush of arousal through you so intense it almost takes your breath away. Leah positions herself between your legs, and you spread them wider, your body practically aching with need as she settles herself above you.

She leans down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, her hand sliding down your body to tease between your legs. You’re already wet, more than ready for her, and she groans softly as she feels just how turned on you are. “Fuck, you’re so ready for me,” she mutters against your lips, and the raw desire in her voice only makes you want her more.

“Please, Leah,” you whisper, your hips bucking up involuntarily as her fingers brush against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “I need you”

She doesn’t need any more encouragement. You feel the tip of the strap press against your entrance, and your breath hitches as she starts to push inside, slow and steady, giving you time to adjust to the size. She’s careful, gentle at first, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency in her movements, like she’s barely holding herself back.

“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice strained as she sinks into you, inch by inch, her eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

“God, yes,” you gasp, your fingers digging into her shoulders as she fills you completely, the stretch intense but oh so good. “Keep going”

She groans in response, the sound low and guttural, and you can see the effort it’s taking for her to keep it slow, to keep from just pounding into you like you know she wants to. But once she’s fully inside you, once she feels you relax and adjust, she starts to move, pulling back just enough before thrusting back in, setting a pace that’s measured but firm.

The feeling is incredible, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips as she starts to pick up the pace, each thrust hitting just the right spot, sending waves of hot pleasure through your entire body. Leah’s gaze never leaves yours, and there’s something almost reverent in the way she’s watching you, like she’s completely focused on your pleasure, on making this as good as it can possibly be.

“Fuck,” you pant, your hips meeting her thrusts as the pressure builds inside you, your whole body tingling with the anticipation of release. “You feel so fucking good”

The words seem to spur her on, and she adjusts her angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. You cry out, your nails raking down her back as the pleasure intensifies, and she grins, clearly pleased with herself.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, her voice low and rough as she leans down to kiss you, her tongue slipping into your mouth in time with her thrusts. “You like that?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillow as your body starts to tighten, the heat coiling in your belly, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, Leah, please, I’m so close—”

She doesn’t stop. If anything, she only goes harder, her thrusts coming faster now, deeper, pushing you right to the edge. You can feel her hand slipping down between your bodies, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars.

It’s too much, and not enough, all at once, and you can feel yourself teetering on the brink, every muscle in your body tense as you chase that release. Leah’s name is a litany on your lips, a desperate prayer as the pleasure builds and builds until you can’t hold back any longer.

“Leah, I’m gonna—”

And then you’re coming, the orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it, your vision going white as the pleasure consumes you. Leah keeps moving, thrusting through your climax, drawing it out, making it last until you’re a trembling, gasping mess beneath her.

When you finally come down, she slows her movements, easing you through the aftershocks with gentle, languid thrusts until you’re too sensitive to take any more. She pulls out slowly, carefully, and you can’t help the little whimper that escapes your lips at the loss.

Leah collapses beside you, breathless and a little sweaty, and she immediately pulls you into her arms, holding you close as you both come down from the high. For a while, the two of you just lay there, your breathing slowly returning to normal, the room filled with the quiet sounds of your afterglow.

“Holy shit,” you finally manage to say, your voice hoarse from all the moaning. “Leah, that was…”

“Good?” she supplies, a teasing smile playing on her lips, though you can see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, like she’s still looking for your approval, even now.

“Good?” you echo, incredulous. “Leah, that was fucking amazing. How are you so good at that?”

She grins, looking both smug and relieved, her confidence fully restored. “What can I say? I’m a quick learner”

“You’re more than that,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her lips, soft and lingering, filled with all the affection you feel for her. “You’re perfect”

Leah blushes at that, actually blushes, and it’s so endearing you can’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she mutters, but she’s smiling, too, and you can see the pride in her eyes.

“Well, I would,” you say, snuggling into her side, feeling completely content, completely satisfied. “And I’m the one who gets to decide”

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, her arms tightening around you. “Fair enough,” she says, and there’s a warmth in her voice that makes your heart swell.

For a long while, you just lay there together, basking in the afterglow, the room quiet and peaceful. Eventually, though, you feel the exhaustion start to creep in, your eyelids growing heavy as you cuddle closer to Leah, letting her warmth lull you to sleep.

Just as you’re about to drift off, you hear Leah’s voice, soft and a little hesitant. “Hey,” she says, and you can feel her fingers brushing through your hair. “Thanks for, you know… being patient with me. And for letting me… practice”

You smile sleepily, nuzzling into her neck. “Anytime. Though, I don’t think you need any more practice. You’ve pretty much mastered it”

She laughs softly, the sound rumbling through her chest, and it’s the last thing you hear before you fall into a deep, satisfied sleep, safe in her arms.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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