#so many italics where did the italics come from

[mychlapci]

Horny Dratchrod shipper here to share thoughts.

One idea I've always had about Rodimus is that his reputation as a slut was entirely made up. Like he was friendly and fond of physical contact, so people see him cuddling up against Blurr or perching in Blaster's lap and assumptions get made. Thing is Hot Rod wanted to fit in so when he got brought into those interface talks and people telling what he did and people kind gave him a once over saying they were sure he was experienced he made shit up. Absolutely wild stuff he picked up from Kup's stories or porn.

And everyone believed it. It kind of shocked him because he was convinced people would call him out on it. Eventually it gets built up so much he's too nervous to take someone to bed because he doesn't know shit. He finally hooks up with someone, Doubledealer, who starts talking about how excited he is and Hot Rod distracts him with a blow job which is sloppy and inexperienced but he quickly becomes good at as a way to keep people from pushing. The lie is too big to confess so except for an occasional hot and heavy session of making out and masturbation and a handful of blowjobs Rodimus captains the Lost Light a virgin.

Something he wants to stop being but couldn't trust anyone to keep it to themselves. He was working up to telling Drift and getting him to help but then things went down. So finally post universe jump he nervously approaches Drift about if he and Ratchet would do him a big favor and confesses the whole virginity thing and being sealed and asks if they'd be willing to take them.

Dratchrod has not happened yet but Drift has been wanting to hunt Rodimus for sport since they met and Ratchet is not opposed to rocking his world. They don't do it right away though, Ratchet explains since he went so long his seal is going to be harder to pop and since Rodimus wants it done “naturally” rather than a quick hook and pull in the medbay then they'll have to soften them.

Cue a week of edging to get lubricant built up behind it and Drift and Ratchet dragging Rodimus into private meetings to apply lotion via shallow fingering to soften this side and sucking and licking his valve and spike housing, a magnet lock keeping his spike from extending and breaking that seal while the just lick and finger it teasing the tip of his spike mercilessly and making all the nodes at the edge of his valve sensitive and his valve lips swell up and inflamed against his panel making even just sitting hard but not letting him come. It gets to the point that Rodimus's seal is stretching and he's in a near constant state of one edge arousal which Ratchet declares him good enough and puts in time off for all three as they drag him panting, pretty, and begging to their bed to make a very pretty sandwich feeling.

Drift says Ratchet can get the valve and he'll take the spike. Ratchet is manhandling him and giving him gruff assurance he's doing good for them while Drift is being mean in between cooing. Rodimus is having the best night of his life and spends three days in between them in every position conceivable and just never leaves.

You know, I don't truly believe in the “Rodimus is a slut” thing (i only indulge in it for porn reasons) so the thought that Rodimus does have a reputation as a slut, but it's only made up and mildly perpetuated by some blowjobs and handjobs he's delivered over the years… it's perfect.

The rumour ends up spreading faster than he thought it would and lasts so long that it slowly becomes more and more embarrassing to admit it, as over time Rodimus has basically become the cybertronian equivalent of an adult virgin. But he trusts Drift with his secret, and to be honest, the thought of being coached by an older couple is very hot to him, which is precisely why he's not at all opposed to having both Drift and Ratchet help him out. It was kind of a spur of the moment decision (re: he's been wanting to ask for it for a while but held off until it just burst out of him one day) and Rodimus is a little surprised that they agreed so eagerly to take his seals…

Softening the seal is probably the most torturous, and longest week of his life. The seal needs to soak in lubricants to make it an easier to break, but by day 4 he's regretting not taking Ratchet up on his offer to just quickly remove it in the med-bay. He's so horny it's unreal and they keep teasing him. Maybe one day Rodimus asks what's the purpose of not letting him overload and they gladly admit that that part… is just for their own enjoyment. Rodimus is kept on the edge of arousal for an entire week and some change, and he can't even bring himself to touch himself when alone because there's already too many fluids pooled behind his seal and the pressure is getting so intense he doesn't think he can handle any more.

Rodimus dragged into their bedroom, valve wet and swollen behind his panels, with a week's worth of build up of lubricants behind the now protruding seal, and his spike is more than ready to extend past the confines of its sheath… Drift coaxing out Rodimus' spike with minimal effort, letting Ratchet take the valve because he's the doctor here and will know if anything goes wrong. Roddy squirming so much when a hand wraps around his spike while another pushes into his valve that he has to be held down. He's at his most sensitive and vulnerable but while Drift is being mean, teasing him for his squeaky little whines and the way his spike is leaking like he's already cumming, his grip on Rodimus' hips is gentle, and Ratchet's prodding at his seal is soft and careful. He can feel an exchange pass between Ratchet's and Drift's EM fields, but before he can register what it means, Drift is lowering himself on his spike and Ratchet is pushing his in…

Rodimus shouting out when his seal snaps open and lubricants pour out, his valve dripping a puddle onto the sheets below, and in his haze he apologizes for ruining their shared berth. It's almost adorable… Roddy overloading fast and hard, bucking his hips against Drift and Ratchet while his vents gasp and wheeze, but they keep going even as his inexperienced valve sparks with endless pleasure and his spike just won't stop throbbing. It’s so intense in such a good way that he gets why everyone was so obsessed with interfacing, and he can't believe he didn’t bite the bullet sooner… but, the night is still young. Hell, the week is still young, and Rodimus is still young, and he has plenty of time to get his world rocked by Drift and Ratchet over, and over, and over again

[buckys-lover]

Dile (Cuéntale)

miguel o’hara x spiderwoman!reader

song inspo: dile by don omar + playlist

main masterlist // nsfw masterlist

word count: 4.5k

summary: Miguel gets jealous of your relationship with Peter. He’s on a mission to prove he’s better.

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, porn without much plot (I need him carnally), jealous/possessive miguel, biting kink (pretend his bites aren’t paralyzing y’all), miguel being a munch!, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl), overstimulation? (he makes you cum a lot), creampie/breeding kink, dirty talk, operating under the assumption they’re both nude under their suits, Spanish (I’ll put translations in a reblog), mutual pining/a confession!?, way too many italics bc I need to emphasize everything.

A/N: this was just supposed to be a short concept piece…and it ended up taking me three weeks to write bc I just kept adding more. anyways, felt weird to write miguel speaking spanish if the reader doesn’t understand so this is technically latina!reader // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

Translation Reblog

You’re coming back from a successful mission with Peter (Spiderman 9411). You were able to stop and capture an anomaly, a variation of Doc Ock, and send them back to their original universe. Upon your return, you make your way to HQ to brief Miguel on what happened. Everything was going fine. You and Peter were laughing and joking around together while giving report, just having a good time.

Meanwhile, Miguel was watching you both intently, narrowing in on the way that Peter casually touches you, the way he looks at you, the smile that reaches his eyes when he’s around you. Miguel was always suspicious that there was something going on between you two. A week ago, his suspicion was confirmed when Lyla mentioned that you two slept together (even though you made her promise not to tell anyone). And he couldn’t stand it.

He keeps his tone clipped and cold. Simply saying you did a good job before dismissing you. You and Peter turn to leave, but Miguel speaks up, telling you to stay behind. You don’t think much of it; after all, you were one of the few people Miguel was close to. Maybe he just wanted to discuss something unrelated. You tell Peter to head out and you’ll catch up with him later. The doors shut behind him, and you can hear them lock. The room is silent except for the occasional beeps and replays of other missions on the screens. Miguel doesn’t say a word as he steps off the platform and walks toward you. Tension lingers in the air as you face each other.

He's the first to break the silence, “What’s going on with you and Peter?”

You’re a bit taken aback, confused about where this was coming from, “What are you talking about? We’re just friends.”

He shakes his head in frustration, “No me mientas cariño; I’m not blind!”

“Miguel, no sé de que estás hablando.” But you do know. And it’s becoming evident that Lyla snitched on you.

“Don’t play dumb.” His voice hardens, and he comes closer, “Answer me.”

You’re starting to get fed up with his attitude. What you and Peter do is none of his business, and you place a hand on his chest to try and push him away, but he’s firm in place.

He grabs your wrist and leans down, a harsh whisper in your ear, “Tell me, what does he have that I don’t?”

It hits you then, and you pull back, narrowing your eyes at him, “Estás celoso?” You scoff in disbelief when you finally take notice of his jealousy. You honestly want to laugh, but the look on Miguel’s face lets you know that’d be a bad idea.

“You didn’t answer me.” He huffs.

You decided then to stoke the flames, “Let’s find out.” Maybe he’d finally cut through the tension and get to what you know you’ve both been craving.

Your heart races as the tension between you reaches its peak. With a daring glance, you take a step closer to Miguel, bodies almost touching. Your eyes lock, and the air crackles with anticipation.

You take in the way his pupils dilate at your words as he leans in, your lips mere millimeters apart, teasingly close. “Tell me you want this as much as I do.” He murmured, voice heavy with need.

His admission sends shivers down your spine. Your breath hitches and your heart hammers against your chest. You've wanted this for a long time, and nothing's stopping you now. You wrap your arms around his neck and close the remaining distance between your lips. Mouths colliding in a passionate and urgent kiss, all your pent-up desires finally unleashed.

Your bodies mold together as your tongues intertwine, exploring and tasting each other with a fervor born of longing. Miguel's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you even closer while your fingers weave through his hair, tugging gently.

Breaking the kiss, your heavy breaths mingle in the air, eyes locked with an intensity that speaks volumes.

"Don't hold back, Miguel. Enseñame. Show me you're better." Your thighs clench when you hear his growl in response.

Your lips soon meet again in a hungry, passionate kiss, igniting a fire that has been smoldering for far too long. As your bodies press against each other, your hands begin to explore, tracing the contours of each other's forms. Miguel's touch is possessive, his fingertips leaving a trail of tingling sensations on your skin.

You’re backed up against the console as Miguel's lips descend upon your neck, trailing a path of fiery kisses along your skin. He revels in the soft gasps that escape your lips.

He lifts you and lays you down; you can feel the coldness of the metal through your suit. His lips are still on your neck, and you can feel the sharp point of his fangs against your delicate skin. Without warning, he bit you, drawing blood. You gasped at the sensation, feeling his tongue soothe over the bite marks that were already beginning to heal.

“Your biting kink is showing.” You tease, still enjoying the residual sting of it.

“I don’t have a-- shut up.” He growled the words into your neck before biting you again. It was obvious that it was something he enjoyed. A way to mark you up and make it clear who you belong to now.

“Te ves tan hermosa así.” He whispers as he pulls away, eyes glued on your neck, giving a hum of satisfaction over the way you look after he’s staked his claim on you.

You watch him as he brings his hand to your collarbone, tracing the marks gently with his claws before he hooks it under the neck of your suit. You hear it first. The sound of the threads tearing before the feel of cool air.

He ripped your suit. He ripped your fucking spider suit. “Miguel!” The shock evident in your voice as he’s practically torn the suit off your body. He meets your gaze, showing no signs of remorse for what he just did. “No te preocupes preciosa. I’ll make you a new one, a better one.”

You huff at his words; you really liked that suit. But your protest quickly dies down the moment you feel his lips on your bare chest. He’s taking his time with you, marking you up as much as he possibly can. Lips latching onto your nipple, tongue swirling around and sucking while his hand gives attention to your other breast. Your back is arching, trying to get as close to his mouth as possible, reveling in the feeling of him sucking and nibbling your sensitive skin.

“Love these fucking tits.” He whispers against your skin as he holds them in his hand, loving the softness of them and how you react. You need him desperately as his kisses and bites travel further down your body. You’re squirming under his touch, and once his lips meet the apex of your thighs, you buck your hips up into him. Your fingers make their way into his hair, tugging him so he places that sinful mouth where you need him most.

“Por favor Miguel,” You can barely think straight with the way he’s looking at you. “Necesito…” Your words trail off. He looks at you, a teasing glimmer in his eyes, “Qué necesitas?”

You groan in frustration, tugging his hair again to show him what you mean. He just shakes his head at you, not willing to budge until he hears you beg for him. He’s waiting. Patiently. You know Miguel, and he’d wait forever just to prove a point.

You finally give in, “Miguel, please, need you so bad.” He tilts his head, still waiting expectantly; he needs to hear more. He needs to hear how desperate you are for him.

“Ay por Dios! Miguel, I can’t wait any longer. Please- need you…need your mouth. Anything!” You’re whining at this point, and can’t believe how pathetic you sound. But it was enough. That’s what he needed to hear before finally giving you what you craved.

He has your thighs tight in his grip, spread apart in front of him. You meet his hungry stare as his lips latch onto your pussy, sucking at your clit. Your hips buck up, grinding onto his face as a needy moan escapes your lips. He groans, enjoying the pressure, tongue lapping up your juices.

“Tastes so good, so fucking sweet~ could eat you for days…and so wet; todo para mi, amor?” He’s on a high, whining the words into you. Craving you and the way you feel with his mouth on you, trying to keep you close as possible.

Your thighs begin to tremble, and you try your best not to crush his face. He takes notice and shakes his head. His grip tightens and presses you closer to him as if he wanted to confine himself in the slice of heaven you carry between your legs. And, God, it feels good. He’s watching you, observing the way you toss your head back in pleasure, how your free hand tries grasping at anything to ground you, the way your body shivers at his touch; he’s learning your every movement, committing your body to memory.

"Need you, such a good fucking pussy- so good…eres mía, solo mía.” The sounds he makes are obscene and he’s rambling, showering you in praise while drunk on the taste of you.

You’re squirming against him, not much movement granted as large hands are holding you down, eating you like a man starved. As if he’s on death row and you’re his last meal, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“Miguel~” Your voice strained, barely able to speak and tell him that you’re close, so embarrassingly close.

“C’mon, be a good girl ‘n cum for me.” He encourages, tongue flicking at your clit to bring you closer to the edge. You gasped as you felt Miguel running a finger up and down your slit, teasing you before working their way inside your weeping cunt, curling up and hitting that spot inside that has you seeing stars. Your grip is still tight in his hair, thighs quivering as your orgasm washed over you, the sensation rippling throughout your whole body.

You’re vaguely aware of Miguel pulling away as you’re coming down from your high, blissed out and hazy. It felt like you ascended to the heavens. In your daze, you look at him, noting the arrogant smirk on his face and his fingers glistening in the dim light, covered with your juices. He holds your gaze as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean, moaning contently at the taste of you.

“I’m guessing Peter could never make you feel this way, huh?” He’s right, and he knows it. But you couldn’t help but want to push his buttons.

You hum in response, “Mm, he was pretty good with his tongue too.” Teasing, waiting for him to react. And you see it; the way his body language changes in an instant at your insinuation.

He sneers at you, baring his fangs and gripping your chin to look him in his eyes, glowing red with anger, “You better watch your fucking mouth, sweetheart.”

“Or what? Qué vas a hacer Miguelito?”

Miguel narrows his eyes at the provocation, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. “Ten cuidado, preciosa,” He hisses through gritted teeth as he leans in. His grip tightens, keeping his gaze set on you. “Sigue hablando y verás.” And just like that, his attitude changes on a dime, the anger in his eyes replaced by a hungry glint, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he leans closer to you. You barely take the time to notice that his suit is disappearing as if it were a hologram or nanotech, leaving him naked. You feel his length press up against you, and your eyes widen in shock. He’s big. Already hard and aching for you and you feel his precum drip against the inside of your thigh. You can’t help but wriggle your hips, desperate to feel him closer. “Look what you do to me.” He whispers the words in your ear as he grinds against you. Your eyes take their time looking down. Taking in everything that’s him. His broad shoulders, rippling muscles, chiseled abs; it’s insane how strong he is. You shiver at the thought of what he’s capable of. Your gaze dips further, following his happy trail down just as he’s started teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, “Been waiting for this,” He groans, eyes shining with excitement, “No tienes idea querida.” "Bet it won’t compare, huh?” He asks, still painstakingly teasing you, “Bet it’ll feel so much better than all the times I’ve fucked my fist thinking of you and this pretty little pussy.” You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing, waiting in anticipation for him to finally fuck you. He laughs at your desperation. “Sabías eso, amor? Fantasized about you all the time, about you being mine. Solo mía.” He punctuates that final proclamation by finally entering you. He was taking his time, the stretch of him inching in was a euphoric mix of pain and pleasure, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. It was too much; you could begin to see him bulge through your stomach, and you shake your head, not believing that he could possibly get in deeper. “Shh, just take it.” He sighed his words, enjoying the way you feel wrapped around him. “No puedo Miguel-” You gasp as you finally feel him fully press up against you. You’re so full you can barely breathe. Instinctually you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to keep him still while you adjust to his size. He pressed his hand against your navel, pushing down slightly, feeling himself. His eyes roll back at the sensation as a groan escapes his lips, wanting desperately to live in this moment forever. "Mírate." He urges, kissing your cheek. “Mira que bien nos vemos juntos, amor.” You listen to him, looking down at where you’re joined, and you squeeze at the sight of it. You rock your hips against him, letting him know it's okay to move, and he pulls out a little before pressing back in, making you moan while he sighs contently. “Look at how well you’re taking me, like you were made for me. Only for me."

The tenderness of his words was contrasted by the roughness of his movements as he began snapping his hips against yours. “So tight,” his words coming out through a strained growl while pounding into you.  “Dios! You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”

“Feels so good, Miggy-” Tossing your head back as you moan out, pleasure engulfing you, your legs tightening around him, pressing your heel into his back as you tried to get him deeper. His next thrust was a little more brutal, his hips colliding with the back of your thighs.

“Así mi vida, así.” He growled, baring his fangs in a pleasureful grin. "Look at me." You look up at him immediately, moaning his name loosely at the feeling of him so deep inside you. So deep and big and full.

You can barely hold his gaze, trying desperately to resist the urge to roll your eyes back every time you feel him thrust back into you. You reach forward, nails digging into his bicep, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

“C’mon, you can take, can’t you?” He mocks you, his tone condescending, enjoying the way that he has you craving him. “Esto es lo que querías, verdad? But now look at you, can barely handle it-” His words cut off by a groan escaping his lips at the feeling of you clenching tighter around him.

He’s right, you don’t know how much more of this you can take as your legs begin to shake and you feel yourself quickly approaching orgasm again. Desperate hands gripping onto the flesh of your hip as he ruts into you. You let out a wanton moan as he slams home again, pulsating around him. “Cuéntale,” His grip on you tightens, sure to leave bruises by the time he’s done with you, “Cuéntale que soy mejor que él.” He whispers in your ear.

You’re nodding your head, babbling incoherently, not even aware of anything you’re really saying. He grins, knowing you’re close, and his ego soars at being able to get you there so soon. He groans as he feels you tighten around him; your eyes shut tight, and your body quivers from the intensity as your climax overwhelms you.

He slows down, trying to give you a moment to come down from your high in an effort to avoid overstimulating your senses. Soon, your body begins to relax as you’re grounded once again in reality. Your eyes are glossy with welled-up tears, and you offer Miguel a blissful smile.

“C’mon Miggy, thought you wanted to show me you’re better, I expected more from you-” You’re breathless as you speak, and it’s obvious to him that you’re just trying to egg him on, but he falls for it anyways. In an instant, he stopped his movements. His red eyes have never looked so menacing before and your breath caught in your throat. Without speaking, he pulled out, and you whined at the loss of contact.

He ignores your objection, opting to manhandle you, forcing you to turn around. He presses you down against the console, ass exposed to him. You put up a struggle in vain as he grabs your arms and pulls them back. You soon feel something wrap around your wrists, binding them. He webbed you. Effectively keeping you bound with something you couldn’t possibly hope to escape from. You felt him yank back on the binding, your hands resting above the small of your back. You hissed at the aching pain, but it was soon replaced by a moan of desperation when you felt the plush tip of his cock line up with your entrance. You expected him to tease you again, to make you beg for it, but Miguel was feeling merciless now. He drove into you without warning, making you take it as deep as he could possibly go. And at this new angle, you swear he was hitting your cervix. Your mouth opened in quiet ecstasy as he had his way with you. He kept your wrists behind your back in a tight hold, his other hand gripped firmly on your hip; you were sure that by the end of the day you’d have bruises on your hips in the shape of his fingertips. His hips were snapping relentlessly into yours, pistoning in and out of you so hard it was difficult to have a single coherent thought other than wanting more. Miguel’s growls and grunts were animalistic as they tore through his chest, his grip getting immensely tighter and his hips moving impossibly faster in this new position.

"That's better- fucking ruined and creaming on my cock. Who else can fuck you like this? No one, huh? Not Peter, not Ben, no one; only me.”

You’ve given in now, effectively broken, and all the brattiness you had left in you is gone, "Nadie! Nobody- just you, only you can fuck me like this." You choke out, legs trembling, pleasure coursing through you.

"That's right. You’re mine; mine to touch, to taste, to fuck- all mine." He harshly slaps your ass to emphasize his words. You squeal at the contact of his palm on the soft flesh, enjoying the sting it offers.

“Solo tuyo amor.” The words escape your lips in a breathless sigh, your mind hazy, dizzy with desire.  

He’s all you can think of; your senses overwhelmed by everything that’s him. The way he’s holding on to you, the way he feels aggressively pumping inside you, the grunts and groans he makes that are music to your ears. You’re delirious, unable to remember what your life was like before being here with him. Miguel reaches forward, lightly slapping your cheek. “Open up, sweetheart.” You oblige without a second thought, letting his fingers in your mouth. “Suck.” Who knew a single word could have you clenching so tight around him? A whimper leaves your lips as you obey his command, getting his fingers slick and wet with your spit. Too soon, he removes them from your mouth, and his fingers make their way down to your aching clit, rubbing tight circles to get you even closer to the edge.

“Uno más querida, solo uno más.” He urges as he speeds up his movements. You’re grinding onto his hand, eagerly chasing your release, having lost count of how many times he has had you come undone.

This one hits you like a freight train, full speed ahead. You swear you black out for a moment, your body buzzing and pulsing with a delightful and all-engulfing pleasure. You’re strung out, not offered a break as Miguel keeps pushing into you.

“Quiero verte Miguel, porfa~” You sob your words out from the overwhelming power of your orgasm, trying to turn your head to see the man who has wrecked you so thoroughly.

Slowing down, he listens to your plea and grants your wish, “Nunca te voy a negar.” Before you know it, he’s torn the webbing off your wrists with his claws and turns you around, having you once more on your back, legs spread open, welcoming him in again.

He slips back into your weeping cunt with ease, resuming his brutal pace as he tries to reach his climax. He grips onto the soft flesh of your thigh, claws slightly digging in as you wrap your legs around him, securing his spot inside you.

"Dime que soy tuyo." He pants needily, using his body to drive you forward.

"Eres mío, Miguel-" You gasp, raking your nails down his back to prove it, marking him as yours. "Mine, mine; solo mío amor"

His cock jumps inside you, both of you closer to your release. "That's right. I’m all yours,” His eyes flickered down to the place where your bodies met. Watching your pussy take him in over and over again. “Let me give you all of me- wanna fill you up.”

You unashamedly whimpered at his words, “Please, please Miguel-” Your words are starting to slur as you begin to beg him.

"Please, what? You losin' your words, now? So drunk on my cock you can't think straight?" He slaps your pussy lightly, clit puffy and sensitive. But you can't say anything, not when he's getting rougher, faster— pounding into you with a new force and determination. Rubbing tight circles on your bundles of nerves that have been exploited for the sake of your pleasure. You can feel that familiar feeling building, that knot getting tighter at the base of your stomach.

You’re almost in disbelief that you got there so quick, but with Miguel, it was like he knew your body inside and out, understanding exactly what you needed and giving you so much more.

He’ll never get over it. The way you tighten and pulse around him, the way your cunt squeezes him in a vice grip, making it harder for him to hold off his own release. The way your eyes roll back and the heavenly sounds that leave your mouth. He wants to make you feel this good for the rest of your lives. "Ay Dios— You're so pretty when you cum all over my cock." And he's still going, still pumping into your sensitive cunt with the same force. Your senses are so overwhelmed; it's like you can feel every single one of your nerve endings on fire.    "Fuck, gonna fill you up- that's what you want, right? Wanna feel full of my cum? Want me to breed you?" You're nodding desperately as you start to babble nonsense that you want him, need him, everything he wants to give you, you'll take. He leans down, burying his face in your neck as his groans reverberate against your skin. You feel him twitch inside you as he pushes in deeper, emptying himself inside you, letting you milk him for all he's worth, trying his best to not let a single drop go to waste.

He pulls back, arms braced on both sides of your head, caging you in. He meets your gaze, the red of his eyes barely visible anymore, hooded and glazed over from the feeling of you still squeezing him tight, keeping him locked in. When the haze subsides, his shoulders relax a bit, drawing closer to you. Miguel’s barely audible when he finally speaks again, but you hear his words anyways.

“Aunque tu vuelvas con él, dame otra noche.” There’s a hint of pain in his eyes, unsure of whether any of this actually meant anything to you.

Your heart aches at the allusion that you’d want anyone other than him, and you bring your hand up to his face, gently cupping his cheek, “Miguel, tú sabes que no voy a volver con él, soy tuya, recuerdas? Only yours.”

Relief washes over him as one of his rare smiles graces his face at your words, “Te quiero como a ninguna.” He murmurs as he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. He pulls away, the start of another sentence on the tip of his tongue, but he’s soon interrupted.

With a flicker of yellow light, Lyla appears beside Miguel. “Took you two long enough! Was wondering when you’d finally admit your so very obvious feelings for each other.” She rolled her eyes behind her pink, heart-shaped sunglasses. “You’re welcome, by the way, this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t snitch about you smooshing booties with Peter.” She adds, beside you now, close to your ear as if trying to whisper. “Lyla!” You swat your hand at her, embarrassed by the thought that she was aware of everything that just happened and mentioning the reason why this all transpired in the first place.

“Alright, alright,” She throws her hands up in mock surrender, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone, but you owe me for this!” With those final words, she disappears.

Your gaze meets Miguel’s, who just shakes his head in disbelief, rolling his eyes at the fact that Lyla chose such a tender moment to intrude on. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out, giggling at the absurdity of it, and soon enough, he joins in on the joy you found in the moment.

~~~

Tagging some of my lovely mutuals and ppl who asked to be on my taglist/might be interested <3

@cozykali // @joaquinwhorres // @sunflowersteves // @fanboygarcia // @cowb00t // @mothdruid // @openforjean // @bobfloyds // @buckyytorres // @bvckysmoon // @inklore // @rhettabbotts // @wint3r-h3art // @zstrn // @golden-barnes // @ofstarsandvibranium // @sunmoonandeddie // @bubblebuckys // @ladyelissarose // @thinktankgoldfish // @harmonia-dread // @living-in-a-daydream97 // @eddiesslutwhore // @dilfsfordinner // @tarjapearce // @manyourlookingood​ // @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love​ // @mraisedto3​ //

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

It’s Not A Big Deal

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Tropes: Fluff, Frenemies (Dean and the Reader), Awkward Situation, Multiverse Problems.

Word Count: 3.1K (I promise I didn't mean for it to happen)

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. There is some swearing (only a few times), Heated Kiss, Sexual Innuendo, References to Sex/Past Sex (it happens quite a bit). Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning).

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

Main Masterlist

A/N: Okay I know that I should be working on my other fics, but I had this idea after reading an INCREDIBLE fic by @justagirlinafandomworld called "Stranded" for @jacklesversebingo and I couldn't help myself.

Sam squeals the car into the parking lot of the motel so loud that Dean and you can hear the high pitched scream of rubber on asphalt from your room on the second level.

"If he ruins those tires he's going to pay for them." Dean grumbles under his breath from where he sits at the small wooden table under the window, wiping down his gun with a clean rag. The sunlight that came streaming through dramatized the sharp angles of his jaw and the soft sleepy strands of his hair that still stuck up from when he woke up an hour ago.

"I don't know what his hurry is." You don’t look up from the worn paperback perched in your lap, gently turning the page. "If he's that eager to get back here to tell us something he should have just called."

“Maybe there was a sample sale on hair gel.” Dean laughs at his own joke and you can sense him look up from the gun to try and catch your eye, but you don't raise your gaze from the text.

“That’s pretty brave coming from someone who owns 90% of the products in that bathroom.”

“What? I do not-“

“Really? If I walk in there right now there won’t be seven different half-used deodorant sticks?”

“They’re different smells." Dean says defensively. "And shut up. I don’t comment on how many books you bring with you. Don’t know why you need to shove a million in your bag and then just buy one while you’re here.”

“Because I might not feel like reading the ones I bring. I might want to try something new. And this book,” You wave the book in your hand for emphasis. “Is very good and I don’t have it back at the bunker, and it was only two bucks!"

“But the others ones might be good too. You don’t know.” Dean sighs, looking at you like you're insane. "You just let them sit and rot in your suitcase."

Today was the last day that you would be staying in Louis, Illinois. The current case that the three of you had been working on together had been solved, which meant that the townsfolk were no longer dealing with a zombie outbreak and you were at peace to settle down on your pull out bed with a good book, taking a few moments for yourself.

You desperately needed at least five, but you also wished that you were already back in your room at the bunker.

The bed there didn't have as many springs that stuck into your back at odd angles and didn't squeak whenever you moved an inch. Your inability to find a comfortable position meant that the mattress squeaked all night long and Dean had thrown his pillow at you to make it stop. He hadn’t been pleased when you returned it back to him. Then again, you had hit him in the face with it as hard as you could when you did.

And like hell you were going to give Dean Winchester the satisfaction of sleeping in bed with him. You’d had to do that one time on a hunt where there were no extra rooms and Dean refused to let you sleep on the floor or in his car. He said that you might make it spontaneously combust.  So you'd shared the bed and learned that he was the biggest blanket hog you’d ever met, not to mention when you woke up he was spooning you and you couldn’t be certain, but you thought he had tried to cop a feel at least once.

If anything you’d maybe sleep in Sam’s bed, but the guy was so much bigger than you he took up most of the space, so you were stuck with the pull out couch.

You couldn't wait to be home. You liked going out on cases, but you liked that you had a home now, a space that was only yours, and someplace where you could shut yourself away from the world. And most importantly, away from Dean Winchester, who had been the bane of your existence since the night you met him for the first time.

Of course this wasn't too bad either. Taking a few moments of quiet for yourself while Dean cleaned his guns and sorted some of his tools in his duffle. The two of you were getting more comfortable around one another. When you’d first met there had been a lot of screaming and several "she's not going to be there is she?" and "what the hell is she doing here?" questions that Dean moaned to Sam over and over the more the three of you teamed up.

You weren't used to working with other people, well, now you were,  but before it had just been you and the endless road. But as it began to happen more and more you tried to fit comfortably into the swing of things. Dean and you would occasionally bump heads, but it happened less now than it did before. After five years you'd hoped that the two of you could be more civilized, for Sam's sake at least.

Sam and you got along much better. You didn't understand what Dean's problem was with you, or why he hated you so much. He was always correcting you, insulting you, and snatching things away from you as if you hadn't been hunting your entire life. Occasionally it wasn't that bad, like right now, but it had been much worse a few years ago.

When you'd met Dean you'd hated him, thought he was a dick, but the more the two of you spent time together on cases the more you saw that he did those things to hide what he was feeling and the more you saw how big his heart was.

You believed that your relationship now with him had progressed to a sort of symbiotic relationship, but honestly it was more like passive aggressive roommates who fight over whose turn it is to clean the dishes.

Dean still tended to get high and mighty sometimes and annoyed you without end, but you stuck around and in Sam's words "bickered like an old couple."

Sam had gone to grab some snacks and fill the tank at the gas station down the street twenty minutes ago, leaving with a joyful "Don't kill each other."

So far there were no casualties, but apart of you itched to beam Dean in the back of the head with the paperback just for a little bit of excitement.

Sam bursts into the room out of breath. "Okay I-"

"Where's the fire Sammy?" Dean sighs looking up from his gun.

"I ran into someone when I was at the gas station." Sam says it all together, as if it's one sentence.

"And?" You move your hand in a come on gesture hoping that Sam will get to the point.

"Well he's- he's-"

The man that pushes into the room past Sam is not Dean, he looks like him, but that's not why he's so familiar. He's muscular with dark brown hair that hangs a little longer than Dean's, over the top of his ears, while a few strands fall forward on his forehead. He's allowed a dark beard to cover his cheeks, but his eyes are the same piercing green that they were the last time you saw him. And if that wasn't enough for you to recognize him, the dark green superhero suit would be a dead giveaway.

Oh shit.

"Ben?" You drop your book onto the thick carpeted floor in surprise.

Two months ago you had been unwillingly transported to another reality, a reality where superheroes were real, people had powers, and where you met a version of Dean that you actually got along with better than the Dean in your reality.

You hadn't told Sam or Dean what happened between Ben and you. You weren't about to admit out loud that you actually got along with another version of Dean or admit that you found the other version of Dean aka Ben, attractive. So attractive in fact that you had spent a good amount of the time in the other universe in bed with him before you came back to your reality.

Ben doesn't respond, instead he crosses the room in several powerful strides, and hauls you up off the pull out couch.

"What are you-"

One of his hands tangles in the back of your hair, pulling your mouth against his in a furious kiss that steals your breath away and silences whatever you were going to say next. A part of you registers that Dean and Sam are still in the room, but it's quickly swept away by how it feels to kiss Ben. You hadn't forgotten him, anything but that. Sometimes you actually kind of missed him, when you were lonely or when the Dean from your universe annoyed you too much. Because Ben annoyed you too, but at least at the end of it there was a way to relieve the tension. With Dean the only place you put all your frustration was into the hunt and there were only so many times you could bash a Djinn’s head in.

Ben's tongue brushes against your bottom lip, begging for entrance, and you let him in, bringing your hands up to the back of his neck to thread into the long strands of his hair. The strands fall between your fingertips, feathering out from your grip. You moan softly into his mouth as he deepens the kiss, feeling the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheeks, and feel his hand begin to slip down your back to rest on the curve of your ass.

Well, he certainly hasn't changed.

"Fuck I missed you sweetheart." Ben murmurs against your mouth squeezing your butt to emphasize the point. "You and this sexy fucking body."

"Ben." You roll your eyes with a snort.

"What? You didn't miss me?" He raises an eyebrow, forcing his mouth into an attractive pout. "Because you certainly seemed happy to see me a second ago." His free hand gently traces your plump lower lip with the pad of your thumb.

"I did and I am happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"Thought so." Ben leans his head back down towards yours, ignoring your question as he tries to kiss you again, but before he can Dean interrupts.

"What the fuck is going on?" Dean shouts, standing from the table under the window, and points his gun at Ben's unprotected back. "Who the fuck are you?"

Ben half turns over his shoulder eyes flicking from the gun to Dean with a sigh. "Look the only thing that's gonna do is piss me off. And you don't want that kid."

Dean makes a face. "Who the hell are you calling kid?"

"Now why don't you two fuck off for a few hours, let me give her a proper hello." Ben turns his dark eyes back on you, cupping your chin in his large hand.

"Y/n? You want to tell us what's happening? Or who this guy is?" Sam asks, but you can't look away from Ben.

You really had missed him. Ben was even more attractive than you remembered. The day that you'd left his universe, Ben had asked you to stay, well, had asked you in his own way. He'd said that he wasn't done with you and if you had stayed he would have made it worth your while. But you had to come back. You weren’t sure how Dean and Sam would survive without you and also because the universe that Ben inhabited was more terrifying than yours, and that was saying something, given that you dealt with demons on a daily basis.

"Guys this is Ben." You clear your throat. "Ben this is Dean and Sam."

"Ben as in Soldier Boy? From the fucked up reality with the people with superpowers Ben?" Dean sputters. He lowered the gun slightly, but he's still looking from Ben to you like he's just walked in on his parents making out.

"Yes." You say it slowly, trying to find a way out, but there really isn't any way to hide this.

It's not that big a deal, is it?

Ben releases you and turns to look at Dean, eyes skating over his body. "So that's Dean?" He tilts his head to the side. "Kinda scrawny. The way you described him made me think he'd look a little more like a man and less like a fucking pussy."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Dean takes a step towards Ben, holding his gun steady out from his chest. You noticed that Dean did try to puff it out more after Ben's insult.

"You heard me." Ben smirks, welcoming the challenge.

"Whoa!" You step between them. "Calm down ladies there's enough Prada to go around at this sample sale."

Ben's eyes narrow in confusion at your comment, but he doesn't back down from Dean.

"I'd say that you left a few details out of your trip!" Dean shouts looking from Ben to you in disgust. "Did you sleep with me?"

"What?" You look at him like he’s crazy.

What does he mean?

"You, and him." Dean gestures wildly with the gun. "Did you sleep with me?"

"What are you talking about? No I didn't sleep with you, I slept with him and it was only once!" You shout back.

Ben clears his throat.

"Fine. A few times.” You correct with a sigh.

“But- you- him-“ Dean’s head turns from Ben to you. “Him- you-.”

“Yeah. Me and her fucked.” Ben says it slowly like Dean is a child.

Honestly he was acting a little bit like a child.

Sam is holding back his laughter behind a hand while Dean’s eye begins to twitch aggressively.

This is exactly why I didn’t tell him. They aren’t the same person! Dean is Dean and Ben is Ben. Someone who shares the same face. And probably the same other things that I’m not going to think about right now because that seems crazy.

"How many times is a few?” Dean demands.

"Why does that matter?”

"HOW MANY?" He shouts so loud that you think the people in the next room over were probably having a wonderful time listening to this soap opera.

Because it kinda did sound like one right? The main character never gets along with someone and then gets transported to another reality through a colorful portal and immediately clicks with another version of him. And-

Maybe I need to rethink my life.

"Well..." Your face scrunched up trying to count exactly how many times that you and Ben had sex. It was difficult. Not that it was hard to remember, you knew that you weren’t going to forget it anytime soon, but just the amount of times the two of you were together was more than you could count on your fingers.

"Well what? You were there for five days!"

"I mean..." You shrug.

“Why?” Dean groans pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to scrub the images from his brain.

Honestly, if he’d told you that he had sex with another version of you, you probably would have had the same reaction, but you were not about to admit that to Dean Winchester of all people.

He’s not gonna win this argument. Especially not when he's waving his gun around like a psychopath.

“Because he's-“ You  glance over at Ben who winks at you. “I don’t know. He’s just kinda-.”

“Everything you’re not.” Ben raises his eyebrow at Dean.

“Sammy you gonna weigh in on this?” You look at Sam expectantly hoping that he can jolt Dean out of the never ending loop he seemed to be stuck in.

“Nope. I’m staying out of it.” Sam holds his hands up in surrender.

“I cannot believe you slept with me!” Dean shouts again.

“Stop saying that! I didn’t sleep with you! I slept with him. Can we please move on-“ You groan.

"Same thing!"

"What? How is it the same thing?” You plant your hands on your hips glaring at Dean.

"He's me from another universe!" Dean is gesturing wildly with his gun now. “How would you feel if I slept with an alternate version of you?”

“It’s completely different!”

“How?”

“They aren’t us!”

“He sure as hell looks like me!" Dean snaps back. "What did you close your eyes the whole time or something?"

Your cheeks flare bright red with Dean's question. "No I didn't!"

“And I don’t look like you.” Ben grunts crossing his arms over his chest and giving Dean a once over again.

“He also doesn’t act like you.” You add.

It was true, Ben didn’t. And for some reason you got along with him more. You didn’t understand what Dean’s problem was, but for the better part of five years he’d been treating you like you hadn’t been hunting your whole life. Not to mention the first three years were spent with Dean barely saying two words to you without some kind of insult attached.

“That’s beside the point!”

“How is that beside the point?” You demand.

“I can’t believe you did this!”

"I didn't kill anyone Dean. I didn't torture any babies or kill any puppies. We are consenting adults! We had sex-"

“No no no!” Dean puts his fingers in his ears. “Lalalalala.” He sings to himself to avoid the image.

"And we're gonna have it again. So the two of you should clear out, unless you're in to that kind of thing Deanie.” Ben wraps his arm around your shoulders to pull you into him, but you don’t take your eyes off of Dean.

“Fuck I’m gonna need so much therapy after this” Dean groans putting the gun down on the table. Which was a good sign because now you weren’t worried that he would accidentally shoot Sam in the foot.

“Really? After everything you’ve gone through that’s what pushes you over the edge?” You ask him in shock.

“Yes. Are you happy? You’ve driven me to the point of insanity!” Dean snaps.

"You're acting like a child."

"I am not! I am having a completely normal reaction to finding out you slept with Wannabe Captain America!” Dean gestures to all of Ben who looks at Dean like he can’t tell if it’s an insult or not. 

You take in a deep breath to calm your racing heart. “Why are you so upset that I slept with him Dean? I don’t understand how this is so earth shattering to you that two people had sex! You have sex with people all the time-“

“Not with you!”He snaps back, but then clears his throat when he realized what he just said.

“He is not YOU!” You shout rolling your eyes for the millionth time. At the rate he was going, you were sure they were going to roll out of your head. 

“As important as this conversation is… can we maybe put a pin in it and go back to why he’s here?” Sam asks diplomatically.

“No-“ Dean says at the same time you say.

“Yes! Ben why are you here?”

“Don’t really know.” He shrugs taking a long hit from a joint that seemed to materialize out of thin air, while tightening his arm over your shoulders. “All I know was that I was fighting Homelander and someone hit me from behind. Then I ended up here.” Ben’s eyes trace your body. “But I’m not complaining, especially not because I got to see you again doll.” He winks.

“Homelander?” Dean repeats. “That is the stupidest hero name I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

“He’s anything but a hero.” You fight the shudder from the last time you ran in to him. “Think about Superman if Superman was a narcissistic sadist with a massive inferiority complex, no weakness, and an obsession with perfect hair.”

Dean looks Ben up and down with a heavy sigh. “I’m disappointed that I couldn’t have at least been a bit more like Batman.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to meet knockoff Batman from his reality either.” You respond.

"I guess I'll start doing some research." Sam says slowly, looking from Ben to you while hiding a smile.

He’s enjoying this way too much.

"Good." Dean frowns at Ben, before he claps him hard on the shoulder. You saw Dean fight the wince when he felt how solid Ben was. "Let's get you home buddy." His eyes dart from Ben to you. "Before you do anything else that'll scar me for life."

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are not required, but are always appreciated! 😊

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester

[marvel-ouss]

You're Not Sorry

Dad!Charles Leclerc x Mom!Reader

pov: Charles goes to support his cousin in Naples and sees someone he hasn't seen in a long time along with a younger version of himself.

warning: miscommunication, pregnancy, the italics are Charles pov, some swear words, mentions of cheating, mentions of eating

type: angst with happy ending

note: this picture did something to me, I swear I saw Charles talking to his younger self! I almost cried...

It's Jules' 6th birthday today and I promised him that we'd go to the Karting race that is gonna happen in the Naples circuit.

We arrived around 11am so he could greet everyone.

"Hello birthday boy, how are you doing?" Martin asked Jules, he was the first person I met when I first came to Naples. When Martin noticed I was pregnant and I told him it was a boy he said that the first thing he'd do when the child was big enough was take him karting on the circuit he worked. 5 years later Martin kept his promise and now Jules karts regularly.

"I'm good, uncle Matt. I'm really exited to watch the race." Jules said jumping from excitement.

"One day we'll take you to a f1 race, now go join your friends, I need to talk with your mommy" Jules gets out happy with the silent promise. "Have you seen him?"

"Good morning to you too Martin, I'm great and you?"

"Sorry, I'm good. Now answer me" I could tell he was nervous I just didn't know the reason.

"Seen who? Martin are you sure you are okay?"

"Charles." I haven't heard that name in so long. "Giuseppe told us earlier that a f1 drivers was gonna be here I didn't really care but then I remembered Jules so I asked if anyone knew who it was and they told me we had a section booked for the Leclerc family"

"So you are telling me that you were told Charles was gonna be here and told my child to go outside where he his most likely to be seen?" I asked already leaving the stall we were at.

Arriving outside I couldn't find Jules. Martin and I looked at each other and we started looking for Jules.

"Jules where are you?" I screamed hoping for him to hear me “Jules!” I kept screaming, I was scared, what if someone took him? Jules’ the only thing I have left.

"That's her, that's my mommy!" I hear Jules' voice and see him along with the only person I hopped not to see today.

I was in Naples to support my cousin during the karting Championship. When I arrived I greeted as many people as I could and took as much pictures and gave as many autographs as possible. I was walking around when I saw a little boy that reminded me of myself during my early karting days. I looked around to see if there was any adult, maybe a mother or a father, looking for the child, but didn’t see any.

“Hello young man, what are you doing here alone?” I ask the little boy. As I approached I could tell he was crying.

“Can you help me find my mother? I don’t want to be alone forever. My mum can’t be alone, she’ll miss me.” He said with a broken voice.

“Of course, come on let’s look around to see if we can find her. My name is Charles, do you want to tell me your name?” I held his hand and walked around.

“My name is Jules Leclerc but my mommy calls me gioia mia” I couldn’t say a word. Leclerc? How is it possible? A Leclerc that we don’t know about? Maybe it’s just a coincidence, there must be other Leclerc’s out there.

“Jules, where are you? Jules!” I heard a woman’s voice screaming, we went in the direction of the voice.

A woman came into view, I knew her from somewhere. When she turned around I could tell it was y/n. We started dating 8 years ago. But eventually broke up 3 years after. I had just started my F1 career and I'll admit that I started ignoring her and focusing more in my future. So I wasn't surprised when one day I woke up and she wasn't there.

I tried contacting her but it was already too late, I had fucked it up really bad.

“That’s her, that’s my mommy!” Jules said letting go of my hand and running in her direction.

I saw Jules running in my direction and opened my arms. “Gioia mia, don’t ever do that to mommy again, I thought I lost you forever baby”

“I’m sorry mommy, I was with the older boys but they had to go, I looked for you in the stall but you weren’t there anymore.”

“I’m so sorry baby, I was already looking for you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay mommy. Look I made a new friend. His name is Charles.” Jules turned do Charles who was a bit far from us “And Charles, meet my mommy.”

I couldn’t face Charles. I knew we had to talk but I wasn’t ready for it all. At this point Jules must have introduced himself and I know my child well enough so I bet he said his name was Jules Leclerc, he’s always super proud to say his first and last name. I think Jules is too young to connect the dots, he knows my last name is not Leclerc.

I remember the fist time we watched f1 together he noticed and told me that there was Ferrari driver had the same last name as him. Little does he know.

He probably didn’t realise that he was in the presence of THE Charles Leclerc who also happened to be his father.

“Hi Charles, thanks for helping him find me.” A said dryly without making eye contact.

“Hello y/n, haven’t seen you in a long time. How have you been?” Really? How have I been? He's joking right? First ignores my existence, now is talking to me like nothing has ever happened?

“I’m going. How is f1 being to you?” No, you don't care y/n! What are you doing?

Charles widened his eyes. “It’s going, Ferrari’s not at it’s best but we’ll get there”

“Mommy? He’s Charles Leclerc?” Jules asked confused.

“Yes gioia mia, he’s the f1 driver you talked about the other day”

“Cha, we share the same last name!” He said very enthusiastic.

“Oui mon petit, it seems so” I lift my head to look at Charles but he’s already looking me dead in the soul. I’m fucked.

“Let’s go Jules, let’s look for your uncle Martin he’s very worried as well. Say bye to Charles.”

“Bye Cha.” Jules goes in his direction to give him a hug. Charles gets down so he can hug Jules properly and whispers something in his ear.

“Goodbye Charles.” I say already turning around.

“At least this time she said a proper goodbye." Hypocrite! I can't believe my ears, that bastard... Never mind y/n, he's not worth a scene in front of Jules.

-

The day went by really fast and I didn’t see any of the Leclerc’s throughout the day. Jules had a lot of fun and really enjoyed the day with the other boys. Some of them even took him for a lap around the circuit.

It was 7:30pm when we decided it was time to go.

“Mom do you think I’ll meet other f1 drivers when we go watch one of the races?”

“I don’t know baby, probably. I know some of them, if we find them I’ll introduce them to you, deal?”

“Deal” he said closing the subject and starting to ramble about his day.

I was putting Jules in his car chair when I heard someone calling my name do I closed the door and turned around.

“Y/n, I was looking for you.” Charles was in front of me breathless so I assume he ran on his way here. “We need to talk. I didn’t wanna do it earlier because Jules was there and I didn’t wanna make a scene. But you can’t deny that he’s my child, he looks just like me.” He said all in one breath.

“I won’t deny it, I knew it when I left. Well, that was one of the reasons I left. I wasn't gonna bring I child into your life for you to ignore the both of us, so I figured that leaving was more fitting.” Charles started laughing.

“ Are you kidding me y/n? I would have died for the two of you if you had tol-“ “Really Charles? Are you kidding me? You treated me like shit the last months we were together! You wouldn't even acknowledge my existence!

“Y/n, you could have told me, we would find a way! Instead you left me in the middle of the night!”

“Don't say you were alone when you had another girl!” “I had what? Well that’s news! I didn’t know that.” Charles interrupted me shocked.

“You weren’t?” “No I wasn’t!”

“Charles you were never home, I didn’t know were you were, I needed you when I discovered!”

“I was focused in my job! I didn't even had time for you how was I supposed to be with another woman?”

“You put your job in front of everything else. I waited for you every single night! The night I discovered I was pregnant I had everything planned to tell you, but when you arrived home you just brushed me off! I needed you for fuck sake” I started crying and he hugged me.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry baby" He kept repeating those words like a mantra.

I heard the car door and soon after felt Jules’ arms wrapped around my leg. “Mommy are you okay?”

“Yes baby, everything’s alright. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” I held Jules and put him back in the car and turned to Charles. “Give me your phone please” he said, so I gave him my phone. He dialed his current phone number and gave me back my phone. “Send me a massage se we can talk better and figure things out okay?”

“Yeah, ciao Cha.” I said going to the drivers seat and making my way home.

-

I put Jules to bed then headed to the kitchen to get my phone and called Charles.

“Hello?” I said when noticed he had answered the phone.

“Y/n? Are you okay?" No, I'm not. For 5 years I thought he stopped caring because he was with someone else. At this point I have no idea what's worse. being cheated on or being left behind because of work

“Hi Cha. I don’t know. At the moment I have a lot on my mind and I don’t know how to process everything.” I said still a little overwhelmed.

“How's Jules?”

“Just put him to bed, he was worried, he never saw me crying.”

“I wanted him to meet my family. You should be there too, my mom and brothers miss you.”

“How? I left you and they miss me?” I said on the verge of tears.

“They know it was my fault. I said you left because I got too occupied with work to pay attention to you and you were done with it. My mom almost killed me that day.”

“Poor Pascale you always gave them the worse time.” Now I was crying.

“I've said it a hundred times and I'll say one thousand more times, I'm so sorry mon amour. I didn't know how to deal with everythin. I'm so so sorry”

“Do you think Pascale still likes me?”

“Of course she does she never stopped loving you, but she likes you ever more now that you gave her her so desired first grandchild” The line went silent after what he said. He accepted Jules so easily. "Why Jules? And why did you keep the Leclerc?"

"His name is Jules Pierre Hervé Leclerc. I gave him the names of important people to you. I didn't know if you were gonna meet him someday so I wanted do keep a part of you in him. It was a shock when I figured out but it was a result of our love. You are the love of my life. Even after all this years I still feel that love for you. I couldn't think of another name that would suit him as good as that one."

After that Charles hung up the phone. I knew he had a lot on his mind so I didn't insist on calling him. We both fucked up in this situation, I shouldn't have left, and he should have known that his profissional self stays in the headquarter.

When he's ready to talk he'll call me. The next morning I woke up and made breakfast for me and Jules. I was on my way to wake up Jules when my phone started ringing.

"Hello?"

"Y/n, what's your address?"

"Hi Charles, good morning for you too" what's with the going straight to the point and not even asking how the person's doing? First Martin, now Charles, who's next? Jules?

"Sorry, got too exited. I bought gifts for Jules. Where can I meet you?"

"You can come to my house I'll send you the address. Did you have breakfast?"

"No, not yet"

"Good you'll have it with us and we'll tell Jules" I said hanging up the phone and continuing with Jules' routine.

-

A few minutes later Charles was knocking on my door. Jules was in the living room playing with his toy cars.

"Good morning mon amour." Charles said kissing my cheek and giving me a hug.

"Good morning Cha, you can come in" I said giving him space to come inside.

"Bonjour mon petit. What're you doing?" Charles asked Jules while sitting on the couch.

"Chaaa" Jules screamed getting up and hugging Charles.

"I'm gonna set the table. I'll call you when everything's ready" I said going to the kitchen.

They stayed in the living room until I called for the two of them.

We starting eating our breakfast.

"Jules we have something to tell you." I said when I finished my breakfast

Jules moved all his attention to me.

"You know, when I was younger I met your dad. And I think it's time for you to meet him as well."

Jules look at me and Charles, back and forth.

"Mommy, is Cha my dad? Is that what you were trying to tell me?" Jules said with his eyebrows frowned, due do confusion.

Me and Charles stayed silent for a little bit and I just nodded for Jules to know that was exactly what I was trying to tell him. Both of us fearing his reaction. We where still in silence when Jules got up from his chair and made is way towards Charles.

"I forgive you for not being here. I love you daddy. Now we can be a family." He said hugging Charles.

Jules was such an intelligent child. I didn't want to tell him the whole thing so we just said that Cha was busy but what mattered was his presence now.

We started doing, as Jules called them, "Fam Time" once a week. Charles would sleep the night to spend more time with Jules, we would go to races. Jules met all the drivers as he wished. We were happy once again.

-

I'M BACK GUYS! Probably not for long hihi

I hope you like this new story. Feedback is always welcome.

xx

[marvellous1917]

Icarus Falling

(Part 2)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x female!tattoo artist!reader

Summary: It’s gonna be a busy day. Giving a tattoo to a mobster that broke into your home was nothing compared to the fact that you can’t stop thing about how fucking hot he is.

Warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mention of crime (duh), fights, broken bones, tattoo needles, threats, think that’s it.

Part one ⬇️:

A/N: AAHHHH the response to part one was actually insane!!!! I hope this second part is good enough. Love u all <3

———————

Bold is reader’s thoughts.

Italics is Bucky’s thoughts.

The size of the tattoo is in inches.

———————

Walking to the shop, your thoughts were running a mile a minute. Holy fuck, what the fuck, did last night actually happen?, James Barnes is gorgeous and made falling asleep last night really fucking difficult, screw him for making me all hot and bothered. Asshole. But one persistent one came screaming to the front- how the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank?

Unfortunately there was not a lot of time to come up with an answer to that, the shopfront coming into view as you turn the corner. Jigsaw Ink stood proud in the middle of the busy Brooklyn street, the black paint of the walls in stark contrast to the pastel pink of the florists’ to one side and the baby blue of the cafe the other.

The shop was a second home to you, the couch at the front becoming a bed for you sometimes after a night out, or if Caleb was being an ass. Frank was nice enough to let you crash when you needed, trusting you with his business. Frank, and the other two artists at the shop, Billy and Curtis were like family - a weird combination of protective older brothers and best friends who were terribly bad influences on you.

The bell on the door rang when you opened it and there was a yelled “Y/N? That you?” from a deep voice at the back of the room.

“Yeah Frankie, it’s me. I thought Billy was supposed to be here, not you?” You yelled back, moving behind the counter toward your station, dropping your bag and taking off your jacket.

“He was, but he managed to get his ass knocked out last night so he’s taking the day off,” Frank replied laughing, walking out from the back towards you.

“What? Is he ok?” You ask, giving Frank a hug when he got closer.

“Managed to piss somebody off at a bar, not really sure what happened, but he’s fine. Just stupid,” he replied, patting your back as you release him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy but he is an idiot I swear, you can guarantee it was his fault as well,” you say.

Frank chuckle and nods as a response, “yeah I bet. Hey , you got many appointments today?” He asks.

Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank Castle - literally the most protective man on earth - that I had to move all of my appointments to next week because a damn mobster broke into my house and demanded I gave him a tattoo today.

“…uh. No just the one, I had to move the rest,” you answer, praying to whoever was listening that Frank wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Why’s that?”

Fuucckkkk.

“Umm..no reason really..” your mind went completely blank, the only thing running through you head were those goddamn blue eyes.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Franks’ eyes narrowing, seeing straight through your bullshit response.

Ughhh. Change the subject right now. “Y’know you call me kid all the time, you’re not that much older than me Frankie. I mean there’s only-”.

“You’re ramblin’ kid. The fuck is going on?” He says, all sense of humor him from his voice.

Ah, there his is, protective Frankie coming in full force.

“Shit. Ok so here’s what happened-” you tell him the full story, coming home from work to see a dangerous criminal chilling in your apartment, the fear that came with that lovely surprise, Caleb’s debt, the weird philosophical conversation, the tattoo talk. All of it.

Of course, excluding the part where you found yourself extremely attracted to the fucking mobster, his weirdly slightly comforting presence, and the fact that the memory of those blue eyes where all you could see as your hand slipped between your legs before you fell asleep.

To be fair to the man, Frank listened to every word you had to say, not interrupting one. But you could see on his face every single emotion he was feeling, the main one being just straight up confusion.

“Lemme get this straight. The fucking Winter Soldier broke into your house last night and is coming in for a tattoo in..” he checked his watch as he spoke, “..an hour?”

“..yeah.” Hit the nail on the head there Frankie.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face in an act of desperation.

“Yep.” You say, patting his arm to try and reassure him.

“Alright, I’m gonna be here the whole time, don’t you worry about that kid. You’re gonna be fine.” He assures you, obviously worried about you.

“I know that Frankie, and if it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem all that bad.” You answer.

“Not that bad?!” He almost shouts, and incredulous look on his face, “Y/N he’s a fucking gangster. He’s fucking danger-“

“FRANK!” You yell, the only way to cut off his tirade before it starts. “I know that, but last night he didn’t do anything bad,okay, and if he wanted to hurt me, he definitely would have done it by now. I’ll be fine Frank, I’ll just give him the tattoo and that will be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta set everything up.” You say, moving back to your station, beginning to grab everything you need.

“Holy fuck kid, how are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” He whisper shouts, running one hand up and down his head.

“I’m not sure. I think…I think I trust him not to hurt me. It’s weird, but my gut’s telling me I’ll be fine.” You answer, starting to print some different sized stencils.

“Kid your brain is brok-” Frank starts to say but he’s cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and says “Shit, it’s my kids’ school, I gotta take it.”

You wave him off, Frank answers the phone with a sigh.

He walks off to the back of the shop, leaving you to finish setting up your station. Frank talks for a minute and wander back towards you.

“My girl got into a fight at school, Maria’s busy at work so I’ve got to go get her,” he says, dragging his hands down his face, in a way only an exasperated father could.

“Oh my god is she ok?” You ask.

“She’s fine, but apparently she broke some little shitheads nose for picking on her friends,”

“Like father, like daughter then,” you respond with a laugh.

“Can the people I care about stop getting themselves in dangerous situations for like five goddamn seconds.” Frank says, throwing a pointed glare your way.

“Frankie, how many times, I’m gonna be fine alright, go get your kid and -I dunno- take her out for ice cream, tell her she did good.” You say, pushing him to the door.

“Only if you’re one hundred percent certain you’ll be fine.” He says, already pulling his jacket from the hook.

“I’m good I swear, now go!”

“Ok ok I’m going, stop pushing me” he says, leaving the shop and letting the door fall closed behind him, the bell ringing as it did.

Only a minute passed before your phone pinged with a text.

James:

Have you already forgotten about me that quickly doll?

Send me the address to the shop

Now… please

Fuck me. Why does just his text give me fucking butterflies. Ugh. How irritating.

You send him the address and his response is cheeky as shit.

James:

See you at 1 doll, you better be wearing something pretty for me.

Little shit.

————

You had the music in the shop bumping, using it to help calm your pounding heart, adrenaline starting to get the best of you. Your favourite song came over the speakers so you turned it up and started to dance a little, knowing that you had at least 10 minutes before Barnes turned up. Unfortunately this action caused you to miss the ringing of the bell on the door.

Holy shit - ink and a show, today is going better than expected already.

Bucky slowly let the door close, trying not to disturb the dancing girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He lent against the wall, just watching and waiting…and staring.

Shaking out your hands to get rid of any nerves, you turn and nearly scream when you see Barnes stood at the door.

“Oh god, sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, subtly looking him up and down and damn he looks good. Ever the powerful mobster, he wore a black suit, his black shirt had no tie and was unbuttoned at the top. His hair was slicked back from his face, opposite to how it was the night before. This was the other side of him, the business man - James Barnes: the face of multiple charities, the man that law enforcement could never seem to put behind bars. Last night you met the threat, the assassin, and you may be one of the first in his history to survive a meeting with the Soldier.

“No problem doll, I was enjoying the show,” he says, pushing off of the wall and stalking towards you.

Oh my god, “oh..ok, well I have everything set up and ready so if you’re ok to start I say let get going,” you respond, turning to the part of the shop where your station was, nerves flooding back, wanting to get this over as soon as possible.

“Damn girl, not even any small talk?” He asks, slowly following you to the table.

“Oh sorry, I would have asked how your day has been so far, but I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your business. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful ab-”

“Ramblin’ again doll, thought I told you that you don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly, sounding genuine. “I know what people say about me, I understand why you would be nervous, but I just ask you to not believe everything you hear, ok doll? I’m not who they say I am.” His tone was gentle, almost tired but still pleading, hoping you believe him.

“So you’re not a mobster?” You ask, voice low and calm.

“Oh no I am,” he responds with a small laugh, “I am, and I do what gangsters do. But I am not the ruthless animal I’m made out to be, doll I’m just not. I do what needs to be done.”

His voice breaks slightly on the pet name. His tone is so sincere and tired. Oh my..he’s telling the truth. It actually affects him to hear that about himself.

“Ok,” you respond, siting on your stool next to your station and the table, looking up at him with no fear in your eyes, trusting his words.

“Ok? That’s your response?” He asks, moving around the table to sit on it directly in-front of you.

“Yeah. What did you want me to do Barnes, not believe you?” You ask, all fear gone from your voice.

“Of course not,” he says, confusion laced in his voice, his eyebrows furrowed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, shit you were scared of me like a minute ago.”

“I know but I think I trust you? You haven’t done anything to me, y’know other than breaking into my apartment. I trust you when you say you’re not someone I should be afraid of.” You answer truthfully.

“…good.” He says, at a loss of what to say next.

“Good. So, Barnes, are we doing this or what?” You ask.

“Yeah let’s do it doll, and please, call me Bucky.” He responds, shrugging off his jacket, folding it and placing it on the head of the table. You had to make a conscious effort to not stare at the way his arms filled out his shirt, but damn it was hard. He sat silently waiting for you to talk.

“Ok..Bucky.. tell me about what size and what placement you want for this.” You say, “I printed some sizes out because I wasn’t sure what size you wanted, and I can reprint or adjust it based in what you want.”

“Oh you a real professional, huh? Not gonna lie to you doll, that serious voice is kinda getting me goin’” he says, smirk on his face, leaning back on his arms, lifting his hips and moving slightly on the table.

Fuck me, what is this man doing to me? He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s talking again.

“I want to get it on my forearm, the inside, and I think that size looks good,” he says, pointing to the 10x8 you printed.

“Ok that sounds good, which arm were you thinking?”

Silence. He stares down at you, an unreadable look on his face. You break eye contact and then freeze.

Shit. Shit. You dumbass. Which arm? Which fucking arm? Are you kidding? I can literally see his metal fucking hand. Oh dear god.

The silence between you goes on for entirely too long. You’re not sure whether you should apologise or wait for him to speak first. You weren’t sure if he would be offended, having a reminder of his injury.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just continues to stare down at you, that blank look on his face. Looking back up at him, you start to apologise but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes. He couldn’t control them the same way he did his face, tons of different emotions flowing through them, none lasting long enough for you to understand before another one took its place.

If only you knew what he was actually thinking. She asked which arm. She knows about my arm, everyone does, but she still asked. She forgot. The arm is all people see, a weapon, an instrument used to inflict nothing but pain. It’s all people see, but she forgot. That’s not what she sees. Maybe…maybe she just sees me.

He’s shuts his racing thoughts down, fully aware of how awkward the silence was becoming. “I’m thinking my right arm might be a little easier for you doll,” he says, an amused look crossing his face, his tongue poking his cheek.

You open your mouth to apologise for your mistake but he holds up his right hand and says, “and please, you don’t have to apologise like I know you’re going to, we’re all good darlin’.”.

He’s gotta stop with the pet names before I melt.

“Ok, uh, are you sure, because I honestly meant no disrespect or anything. I-,” you start, but Bucky cut you off quickly.

“Darlin’, what did I just say?” A stern tone coats his words and goddamn does it send a shiver down your spine. You internally roll your eyes and look away, back to your station, when you feel two warm fingers on your jaw, turning your head back to looks at him. Holy fuck. He places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him as he leans in closer. His voice was low when he said, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Y/N, what did I just say?”

Jesus fucking wept. Somehow his use of your name made your heart pound, and the fact that his hand was so warm and strong holding onto your face.

“You said we’re all good..” you answer trailing off at the end of your sentence. His eyes don’t move from yours for a second.

“And?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.

Christ alive.

“I don’t have to apologise..” you say, eyes flicking between his and falling to his lips for a second and then back to his eyes.

“That’s right darlin’,” his eyes dropped to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. “So stop, okay?” He says, lifting your chin to catch your eye.

“Yes sir.” It’s an automatic response but you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself when he lets out a small throaty growl at the name.

“Careful doll.” He responds, letting go and leaning back, “How about we get started before I do something you regret, hmm?”

Like I could regret you.

You turn back to your station to try and clear your head of all the dirty thoughts running wild. “Ok.. Bucky, if you could roll up your sleeve so I can wipe the area, I’ll place the stencil and you can check if it’s where you want it to be.” You say, not used to the name he said to call him by.

“Mhm,” he hums, releasing the cuff link on his right sleeve, his prosthetic catching the glare of the light above, the plates shining. He places the cuff link in the pocket of his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeve and folds it at his elbow.

You clean the area and place the stencil straight on his arm, and peel it off.

“There’s a mirror on the wall over there, you can check if it’s alright.” You say.

“Okie dokie doll,” he responded the furrowed his brows, like he was confused at why he said that, not very gangster of him.

I like him. He says okie dokie.

“Looks good there darlin’, and as much as I hate to say it, we gotta speed this up a little, I’m expecting a call at some point around 2:30 and I’d prefer you not have to hear it.” He says, coming back to the table, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto it.

You take his arm, putting it on the rest in a position easiest for tattooing while saying “Why’s that? Would you have to kill me if I overheard your call?” You ask, enough humor in your voice for him to know you’re joking.

“Probably, depends how much you hear.” He said, completely deadpan. He looks at you and you have the strangest feeling that he actually wouldn’t hurt you either way.

“Shit ok. Is that position comfortable for you?”

“I’m all good darlin’, let’s go,” he says, adjusting his position on the table slightly. His left arm rests across his stomach as he sits on the table, leaning against the backrest, his ankles crossed.

“Ok I’m gonna do a small line so you know how it feels,” you look at him and he nods. You draw a line about 2 centimetres long then stop, “how’s that?” You ask.

“Ain’t nothin’ doll, keep goin’.” He responds.

“Ok here we go.” You say, getting back to it.

————

You’ve been tattooing for about 40 minutes, and there hasn’t been a word spoken between the both of you. His arm kept flexing whenever you moved away, and he kept clenching his jaw, like he was in pain but was refusing to admit it, even to himself.

“Are you ok? We can stop for five if you want a break? I’ve just finished the outline so I’ve got to change needles anyway.” You ask, disrupting the silence between you, moving the machine away from his arm so you can switch to a higher grouping for the blackwork.

“I’m fine Y/N, how much longer do you think it’ll take?” He asks, moving his head to look at the outline that you had completed.

“Oh it’s hard to say, but probably another 30 at least,” you respond, looking at him while he was admiring the tattoo so far.

God he’s pretty.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

“Are you worried about your call?” You ask calmly.

“Not worried about the call itself… just having to do it here may cause some issues.” He responds, lowering his hand to his thigh.

“Because I’m here? I can go to a different room if you want?” You say, placing the machine back on your station, and turning to look at him fully.

“It’s ok doll, to be honest with you, nothing that needs to be said will make any sense to you anyway, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible.” He says, looking at you with apologetic face, tilting his head slightly. “But depending on the news I get, I wouldn’t want my reaction to… scare you.”

“Oh.. well I guess we’ll see when your call comes.” You answer, unsure of how to react to that.

————

The sharp ringing of his phone interrupts the sounds of the machine. You move the machine away from him, turning it off so he could speak freely without noise.

“I really am sorry about this darlin’, but it’s important-”

“Answer it then, it’s fine Bucky.” You cut him off, concerned he was going to miss it if he kept talking.

He gave you another apologetic look, and then turned his back to you to get off the table and answer the call.

You sat in silence as he started to speak.

“Rogers, what did ya find?” His voice changes from how he speaks to you, deeper and more serious.

The person on the other line speaks for a moment before Bucky responds, “we already knew that, didn’t we? What new information did you find?”

Silence.

“Of course he is..,” there is anger in his tone now, “get someone to tell the asshole he can threaten what he likes, I’m not sitting down with him.”

A moment goes by and you think that may have been the end of it, until you see his shoulders tense and-

“FUCK NO!” He shouts, making you jump a little.

“No Rumlow Gets Nothing, I don’t give a shit what he’s doing… Then send the commissioner a goddam gift basket Steve, some portraits of his family would be nice, remind him why he pays us the fucking protection fee.” He seethes at the man down the phone.

This should not be turning me on, shit.

“For fucks sake… Walker is nothing Steve, just some fucking Nazi junkie with a rich daddy, trying to get his hands on my shit…get Nat to bring his ass in, I’ll deal with it Steve… I said I’d deal with it.”

His tone on the last sentence sends a shiver down your spine, what the fuck does ‘deal with it’ mean?

“Ah shit is he ok?” Bucky asks, tone soft now, caring even, “Damn, he’s gonna be out for blood now.. good for him.. give Clint the week off, find the guys and give the pricks to him, let him get out some of his pent up craziness out.”

Oh Clint sounds fun.

“Ok, alright I gotta go now man. Yeah I’m at the shop… nah it’s nothing..yeah ya did… ok fuck off now.. later man.”

He hangs up the phone, takes a death breath and pinches the place between his eyebrows, his other hand going to his hip. He stands like that before he turns back to you, with a small awkward smile. That was cute.

“Sorry about that doll, hope I didn’t upset ya,” he says, walking around the table and looking down at you.

“You didn’t. I gotta ask though, is your friend or whoever ok?” You ask, not bringing up the start of the call where the man in-front of you all but admitted to a multitude of crimes - blackmail, extortion, supplying drugs. He sounded different- genuine when he asked if the man was ok. It was sweet.

“Clint? Yeah no he’s fine, got jumped last night so he’s pissed about it, but he’s ok, worst thing he got were some nasty bruises and a broken finger.” Bucky responds, confusion on his face, wondering why you care.

“How did he break a finger?” you ask, moving backwards as he sits back on the table.

“Oh he didn’t go down without a fight, clocked one of them on his way out,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Ah, good for crazy Clint,” you say with a smile.

Bucky let’s out a sharp quick laugh, “that exactly what I thought doll,” he says, leaning back and putting his arm on the rest, “ready when you are.” He adds.

Ok right back to it. Got it boss.

“Ok, should only be about 10 more minutes.” You say.

“Alright doll.” He answers, leaning his head back on the rest, tilting his head so he could watch you.

Ten minutes later you were finished, putting your machine down for the final time.

“Okie dokie, I’m all done. Have a look in the mirror, see what ya think,” you say, hoping he liked it, not much you could do about it if he didn’t.

He moves over to the mirror, checking out his new ink, twisting his arm around to see it fully. He’s silent for a little while before he says, “fuck doll, you’re a damn artist.”

“Does that mean you like it?” You ask, failing to hide the hope in your voice.

“I love it. Couldn’t have asked for a better one for my first piece.” He says, walking forwards to stand in-front of you, letting you wrap the fresh tattoo, handing him a leaflet on aftercare as you talk.

“You’re shitting me,” you say, “was that seriously your first one?”

“Yeah, why are you so surprised darlin?” He responds, tilting his head.

“I don’t know, just sorta thought you’d have them all over.” You answer.

“All over, huh. You been thinking about me naked doll?” He says with a cheeky grin, talking half a step closer to you.

Shit.

“What, n-no of course not, why would I do that. I mean I’m sure you look good - uh fine.. naked but I don’t-” you cut yourself off before you embarrass yourself anymore.

“No, no ramble on Y/N please, I’m really enjoying watching you try to figure your way out of the grave you’re digging right now,” he says, chucking lightly.

“Shut up Bucky, leave me alone” you responds, looking down at your feet.

“Hey,” he grabs your chin, again, and add pressure until you’re looking up at his eyes, “don’t ever try and tell me what to do, darlin, I don’t tend to respond well to it. I won’t ‘shut up’ and I’ll never ‘leave you alone’… I like ya too much for that.” He says, sounding like a mix between a threat and a compliment.

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, not sure how to respond to his words.

He can tell that you don’t know what to say, so he mercifully breaks the silence. “I love the tattoo doll, it’s looks amazing. You’ve got a talent Y/N.” He drops his hand from your chin as he speaks.

“Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” You answer sincerely.

“How much do I owe you sweetheart?” He asks, reaching into his jacket for his wallet.

That’s a new one.

“Uh, say $180?” You respond.

“$180? Damn you gotta charge more than that doll,” he says pulling some bills from his wallet.

He hands you the bills and says “now that’s for today and it should cover next time too, take half for now and half for then.”

You’re stunned by the fact that he’s already planning for next time but your jaw actually drops when you look at the bills.

They were hundreds.

“Woah I think you gave me the wrong bills,” you say, trying to push the bills back in his hands.

“No I didn’t, I know what I gave you. $180 for today, say $200 for next time and the rest is tip.” He answers smoothly, folding your hand back over the bills.

You look down to count and start shaking your head, “I can’t accept this, it’s way too much.”

“Consider it a thank you for dealing with the inconvenience of me having to do business in the middle of the appointment.” He says with a smile.

“Bucky this is 2000 dollars.”

“I know.” He puts up his hand again, stopping you from talking, “I’m not taking it back doll, just have it will ya?” He says, rolling his sleeve back down, doing the cuff back up with the cufflink and placing his jacket back on.

“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you?” You ask, unbelievable he wanted you to have over fifteen hundred dollars as tip.

“Yes I am.” He answers, straightening his jacket, “it also may be a small bribe.”

There it is.

“A bribe for what?” You ask, expecting his to ask you to keep quiet about his call.

“I want you to be my artist, anytime I want a tattoo, I want you doing it for me.” He says, smiling down at you with a hint of…something him his eye.

“Really?” You ask in shock, not expecting that from him.

“Yeah, like I said earlier, you got talent. I want more of you on me.” Bucky says smirking at the euphemism he made.

Fuck me running.

“Oh..shit.. yeah ok, that sounds..,” you swallow heavily, “sounds like a plan.” You smile up at him, trying to hide the way his words affected you.

He smiles back, stepping closer and closer until his chest is almost touching yours.

“Yes it’s does. You’re mine now doll,” he says, a dark look in his eye. You swallow hard again and your breath stutters at his words, eyes going straight to the floor. He notices your reaction and smirks, “my artist, I mean.” He continued.

“Although, judging by your little reaction there, I’d bet you be ok with that, wouldn’t you doll?” He says, his tone slightly mocking.

You say nothing.

He hums, then places his right hand on your cheek and tilts your head so you’re looking him in the eye again.

“Would you?” He asks softly.

“Maybe,” you whisper, a cocky smile breaking out on his face.

“Maybe, huh? ‘Mkay, guess I’ll just have to convince you then doll.” He says back, leaning closer, eyes going to your lips before he looks back up, giving you a chance to get out of the situation.

“Guess so.” You respond, some confidence back in your voice.

He hums again, and then he’s kissing you. His kiss is forceful but somehow still gentle, like he’s holding back as much as he can.

Fucking finally you can’t help but think as you move your hand to his wrist, the other one going to his left bicep, the feel of the solid metal under your hand was new, but not unwelcome.

His metal hand moves, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him, deepening the kiss when you gasp.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss when you run out of air. He leans back, the pressure on your back relieving a bit.

“Damn doll, what the fuck are you doing to me?” He asks, biting his bottom lip.

“Something good, hopefully.” You respond cheekily.

He groans, leaning his head back. “Yeah hopefully darlin’. I hate to say it sweetheart but I gotta get going.” He says, releasing his hold on you. He moves towards the door and for a second you think he going to leave without another word, until he turns back and says “I’ll talk to you later doll, keep your phone on or I’ll drop by.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and then he’s gone, the bell on the door ringing behind him.

Fuucckk. Maybe I’ll break my phone so he has to come by. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier was actually a gorgeous softie under it all.

————

A/N: Ta da! Finally complete!! Love everyone of you that read this, mwah 😘

I can’t tag anyone else on this post so I will tag the rest in a separate post.

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[buckyalpine]

One Night

Bucky x f reader, Sam, Steve

IDK what this is, thought it’d be cute. 

Warnings: ANGST but also lots of fluff, smut, pregnancy, flash back in italics, Bucky is a love sick puppy, story doesn’t follow exact Marvel timeline 

-

Bucky didn’t have many things from the past he wanted back. 

Not this desperately. 

Most of his loved ones had already passed. 

He made peace with the fact that he’d never get back the years that he’d lost, wouldn’t get the people that meant so much to him. He’d never get back all the hope and innocence he once had. 

He’d managed to make peace with a number of things. 

All but one. 

It was just one night. 

While he was on the run, just before Steve had found him. 

He could still remember the feel of her soft skin. 

The way her hands touched him so gently, the first time he’d ever had someone handle him with such care. 

*

It was the only part of his routine in a day he looked forward to. It was the first time he felt hope again. The feeling of life. Of feeling alive. 

Whenever he saw her, his heart would flutter a little faster. His feet would take longer strides so he’d see her sooner. He’d drop a few extra coins in her palm as she handed him the bag which always came with extra plums. He’d blush at the shy smile she’d give him, trying to refuse his extra money. He knew it was best to just admire from afar but he couldn’t escape the pull he felt, not when her voice was a soothing balm to all his heartache and pain. 

He didn’t have the luxury to take her out for coffee. It was too dangerous, too risky, he’d never let anyone see her with him. She insisted she didn’t mind as long as she was with him, it didn’t matter where. He bought some tea and honey that day. A few cookies to go with it from a vendor beside hers. 

His cheeks felt hot realizing the state of his apartment; wallpaper tearing off in the walls, the one glass and some mismatched mugs sitting on the counter top of the tiny kitchen. A single, worn mattress with nothing but a thin sheet to cover it sat in the corner of the room. A black backpack filled with his few belongings was stashed safely nearby incase he ever needed to run; the few clothes he had were folded neatly on a broken stool near his bed. She didn’t let him apologize for the mismatched mugs or the small chipped saucer he placed the cookies on but he wished he could have given her so much more. 

Why did he think this was okay, this wasn’t what someone so sweet deserved. He was barely able to give her a glass of water, how could he possibly- 

“James?” Her soft hand squeezed his, feeling him tense in her hold, his voice nervous as he spoke. 

“I’m so sorry, I- this isn’t much-” He swallowed thickly, ready to apologize a thousand times over and beg her to leave. “You don’t have to stay- 

“You don’t have to explain yourself” She smiled, letting her hand come up to cup his scruffy cheek, her thumb sweeping along the bags under his eyes. If only she knew the few times he slept peacefully was when he thought of her. There was a pull they both felt in the tiny space of the apartment, lit by the single lamp from the corner of the room. He let out a shaky breath, holding onto her waist with the softest touch as if she were made of porcelain. 

“I-I haven’t done this in a long time”  He shuddered, desperately wanting to feel the softness of her lips, the smoothness of her skin. 

“Will you let me?” She let her hand gently trail up his broad chest, resting just above his where his heart was hammering against his ribcage. He nodded, staying frozen in place as her lips pressed softly against his, standing on her toes to reach more of him. He hesitantly dropped his hands lower pulling her closer, her tongue tracing along the seam of his lips, his mouth parting to let her in. He only pulled away when the need for oxygen was unavoidable, lips swollen and warm. 

“I-” He wished he could have laid her down on the softest sheets and plushest pillows, a bed made for the angel that she was. Before he could start apologizing again she hushed him, pulling him to the thin mattress, laying with him. He let his hands explore her body, not remembering the last time he ever felt something so soft. He took his time sliding his hands up her thighs, down to her calves, feeling every inch of her skin, burning each touch to memory so he’d never forget. 

He shivered at the feeling of her hands caressing his body, feeling the corded muscles that ran along underneath, fingers tracing over scars and divots that were permanently etched onto his skin. She didn’t give him a chance to feel self-conscious, worshipping the parts of himself he hated the most, her soft lips dancing along his shoulder between whispers of how he was worthy of love, clothes long forgotten. 

“Can I?” He hesitantly asked, pumping his cock, gently rubbing it through her folds, feeling his tip dribble at how warm and wet she already was. There was nothing more he wanted than to be as close to her as possible, to be connected in a way so sacred and meaningful to him, to feel something he had never had before, not like this. 

“Tell me what you want Jamie” her nose bumped against his, sighing contently at the feeling of him pressing against her, her thighs wrapping around his waist. 

“I-

“Say it, love” She looked at him with such adoration, letting her hands drape across his thick wide shoulders, protected underneath his heavy body. His hair fell in a curtain around her, hiding the blush that covered his cheeks, the crimson flush deepening more when she pulled him in for a reassuring kiss. 

“Want to be inside you” He moaned softly when she nodded, gasping with him as he began to push inside, a shiver trembling down his spine as he settled in her warmth.

“I won’t last” He shyly whispered, breathing heavily trying to collect himself, desperately wanting the feeling to last forever. “It’s-it’s been so long”

“We have all night” She cooed, squeezing her thighs together as a sign for him to be selfish, to let go and make himself feel good. 

“Angel...” He moaned against her mouth as he started to move, hardly pulling out before pushing his hips back in. His strokes were deep, pressing her into the mattress each time, grinding his length in as far as it would go. 

“Jamie” Her back arched off the bed, pressing her chest further against his, fingers carding through his chestnut locks. 

“You- you feel so good” His voice was muffled, tucking his face into the crook if her neck, bringing his hands to lace with hers, pinning her against the mattress. Her heels dug into his lower back, locked together as he started to move faster. 

“Not gonna last darling, I can’t- I-I want to but I can’t, I just can’t-

“Let go Jamie”

“Oh God-angel-m’sorry, feels-oh it feels so good-hngg, doll-m’cumming-please-”

“Thats it, c’mon, cum for me sweet boy” she rubbed his back, kissing his temple as he trembled above her, his moans and whines becoming more desperate. There was no second guessing anything as he let out a cry, clinging onto her tightly, shooting ropes of his warm spend into her. 

He made love to her for hours that night as if he was the one thing that kept him alive. He refused to pull out, dozing off at the comforting feeling of his head on her soft chest, her arms cradling his body as if he were a precious baby, the both of them still connected together with a sticky mess between their legs, filling her with load after load. 

“I’ll see you later” She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead as the sun peaked through the news paper that covered his windows, slipping her dress back on before collecting her things. He smiled, already planning for the next time he’d see her again; perhaps this time he’d buy some pastries too. 

Little did he know that would be the last time he’d see her before he’d be on the run again.

Present 

“He’s doing it again” Sam whispered to Steve, noting the way Bucky’s eyes scanned the crowd as if he were searching for someone but they couldn’t for the life of them figure out who Bucky would look for. It happened every single time. Be it a mission or a night out to relax, Bucky would zone out periodically, flicking blue eyes laser focused on every single person in the room. 

“Force of habit I guess” Steve sighed, feeling awful that even after all this time, there wasn’t a day where Bucky felt safe in his surroundings, always looking out for danger. Bucky didn’t notice the conversation the men were having, too busy with doing a double check of all the faces that were also walking through the park. 

It was pathetic. He wasn’t even in the same country from when he met her, it had been years but it didn’t stop him from always hoping. Always checking. He swallowed thickly while his mind continued to battle itself. It wasn’t healthy; he couldn’t go on like this, she probably didn’t even remember him but he just left without getting to even say good bye. What were the chances he’d ever see her again-

Until his eyes did a double take. The same beautiful smile, the same bright eyes, the same laughter that reignited the life in his heart. He got the same feeling all over again, cheeks immediately blushing, butterflies dancing in his tummy. His heart was ready to burst just like that night he spent with her. 

There was no way.

But there was no one else. No one else like her. 

No one else like you. 

He’d waited and waited and he finally found you.

There you were, in the very same park in the middle of New York, in one of those sweet summer dresses he always loved on you. You had hardly changed, just as beautiful as he remembered from 4 years ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt hope like this, one where he thought he’d get his happy ending, not that he ever felt he deserved one but he couldn’t help it. 

There you were. 

His pretty angel. 

His happiness was short lived when he saw you waving to a little boy jumping off the playground, his feet carrying him as fast as he could, running straight towards you. Perhaps a nephew or a little one you were babysitting-

“Mama!” 

Bucky felt his heart sink to his stomach. The little one ran into your arms, clinging onto to you between squeals of laugher as you kissed his cheeks and carried him on your hip. He felt a thousand emotions crash over him at once as you walked off with your son in your arms, his already fragile heart breaking into two. 

He had no right to you; no reason to expect you to be single. You deserved a life of happiness, of peace. You deserved to have someone in your life that would be there for you when you woke up each morning and someone to hold you when you went to sleep each night. Someone who could give you a family. Give you all the love you deserved every single day without having to fear they’d be missing without looking back twice. 

You deserved more than him. 

Then why did it hurt so much. 

“You okay Bucky?” Steve noted the way his bestfriends face flushed, anxiously fidgeting with his fingers, quickly wiping away at his eyes while he nose reddened. 

“Fine” Bucky nodded, clenching his jaw tightly and walking faster before the dam broke, his throat growing tighter. If only he had tried to find you earlier, always fearing searching for you would put you in danger. Now he had no chance, you’d found your happy ending. He let out the breath he was holding, thinking about the night he had with you, something he’d forever cherish. He thought about every single time he’d wake up extra early to see you. The first doll to ever make him blush like a school boy. 

Maybe you were not with him. 

But at least you were happy. 

As long as you were happy, he’d be fine. 

He had to be. 

***

“Alright, what’s going on with you man” Sam spoke up, passing another beer to Steve, the three men lounging around the common room after the rest of the team had gone to sleep. It had taken both Steve and Sam hours of coaxing and bribing Bucky out of his room after he’d suddenly shut himself out from the rest of the world without reason for days on end. “You’re acting more and more like a hermit each day” 

“Nothings going on-

“Cut the shit Buck” Steve deadpanned, sick of watching his best friend wither away without saying anything, clearly suffering in silence on the inside. 

“You got Captain America swearing, now you have to tell us” Sam snorted while Bucky sighed, knowing he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

“There was-there was a girl- she had a stall at the market I used to go to while I was on the run” The two men nodded, listening intently while Bucky recalled the way it started off as just small friendly conversations to him spending the day by her side, happy to hear her voice for hours. He recalled the extra plums she’d sneak into his bag knowing that's what he bought the most. 

“Awww, you had a little crush, that’s cute” Sam gushed while Bucky blushed, continuing to the day he decided to ask you out. 

“I couldn’t risk letting anyone seeing her with me and it’s not like I had money to even take her out for a proper coffee. She came back to my apartment. It was in bad shape but she didn’t mind” 

“So what happened next” Sam wiggled his brows, clapping in excitement when Bucky looked away, the blush spreading to his ears.

“N-nothing-I made her some tea, had some cookies...nothing fancy”

“That’s all that happened that night?” Sam continued to prod while Steve had sat more upright with wide eyes, surprised about all the things he didn’t know up until now. 

“Um-we-I-” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck while Steve smirked at the burettes nervousness, “She stayed the night” He looked at the two men with pleading puppy eyes, hoping they’d understand what he meant without him having to come outright and say it. 

“Get it terminator” Sam clapped Bucky’s back while he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “So what's the problem” 

“Uh, well the next day she left in the morning and it was the same day I had to run again. Took my backpack and ran with Steve. I couldn’t even say good bye. I wanted to go back to find her but I was never able to. I also didn’t want to put her life at risk being associated with me and I never saw her again. Anyway. I-uh, just been thinking about her recently. It’s no big deal” Steve narrowed his eyes at the way Bucky nervously chewed his lip, clearly not telling them the full story. 

“Stark has the best facial recognition technology in the world, just say the word, we can find her” Sam offered but Bucky shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them the reason why he wouldn’t have a chance with you again. That he did see you again and you had moved on with your life and found your own happiness. He chugged the last of his beer before calling it at early night. He squeezed his eyes shut but sleep refused to come. Maybe he would’ve been okay if he had never seen you. He’d waited too long to find you. It was his fault for being so scared.

He thought about how happy you looked scooping your son into your arms. The way he held onto you with so much love. He just knew you were the sweetest mama, your happy baby boy clear evidence of that. 

What he would've have given to have a family like that with you. 

***

“Mama?” You son yawned, looking at you with hopeful eyes while you closed his story book, putting it away on the shelf before tucking him into bed. “It’s Saturday tomorrow so...can we see daddy? I didn’t get to see him last weekend” 

Your little one looked forward to weekends and spending the day with his dad, having missed the last visit because you had to work over time and dropped him off with a sitter instead. 

“Of course baby, we’ll see him tomorrow” You smiled, kissing his forehead and pulling the sheets up to cover him. “First thing in the morning, okay? we’ll even take some snacks, remember I made his favorite?”

“Okay” Your son gave you a sleep nod before dozing off, clutching onto his teddy bear, his alarm set for 8:00 AM sharp. As soon as it went off, he was up and changed, practically pushing you out the door while you grabbed the keys and tote bag. 

***

“You look like shit punk” Steve frowned at the growing bags under Bucky’s eyes, his facial scruff growing thicker each day. There was something Bucky had left out from his story, Steve just knew it, why was his friend randomly hung up over a girl years after seeing her? Sam nodded, him and the Captain ready to stage an intervention if Bucky decided to lock himself away in his room for another week. 

“It’s nothing” Bucky tried to shrug it off but Steve wasn’t having any of it, setting down his coffee mug with determination written all over his face.

“C’mon. You need to get out of the compound. For fucks sake, at least get out of your room” Both men shoved him out the door, ignoring his grumpy rambling and into a car hoping a day at the museum would slightly perk up the super soldier who was also quite the science and history nerd. 

***

You walked hand in hand with your little one smiling at the extra skip in his step, a contagious smile on his face. He didn’t want to waste another second, feeling giddy the closer he got. It was better than he imagined. As soon as they reached the area, he clung onto your leg, snuggling against you when you carried him. 

“See daddy?” You whispered, going through the updated and expanded exhibit at the museum, doing your best to hold it together while you showed your son the new Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes display that was beside Captain America. The previous displays only contained information about the winter soldier with limited details about who he was before his capture. After Bucky had been pardoned of the things he was forced to do because of Hydra, the new exhibit rewrote his story to reflect his bravery and acts of heroism. 

Your son looked in awe at the new figures of his dad, seeing him in different uniforms from one in a classic army green and another in a navy blue. You read all the information cards out to him, something he had memorized at this point from your frequent visits but it didn’t matter. He loved hearing the same stories over and over again. How his daddy loved his best friend and stuck by his side no matter what. How he saved so many people. How he tried to fight back the bad people that wanted to hurt him. 

“Does daddy love me?” Your son asked in a small voice, still trying to understand why his favorite hero never came to see him and why he only saw him on tv or when they came to the museum. Didn’t his dad ever want to come see him? 

“Of course baby, of course he does” you reassured your son, setting him down so he could get a closer look at the pictures of the Howling Commandos. “I know he’d love you so much” You whispered the last bit to yourself, blinking back tears, wishing you could so badly things had been different. 

But they weren’t. 

***

For a moment, Bucky had almost forgotten all about his heartbreak, deeply immersed in each section of the museum like a child in a candy shop. It was impossible to pull him away from anything each time he paused to read, eyes wide with wonder. 

“Y’know they updated the section with you and Cap” Sam nudged Bucky's shoulder trying to get his attention, the brunette fully focused on reading about ancient civilizations instead. 

“In a sec-”

“Don’t in a sec me, c’mon lets go look, I wanna see the so called handsome soldier Steve is always on about” Sam grabbed Bucky’s arm while Steve followed the two, all three men heading towards the section about American History and the World War. 

***

“Is daddy safe now?” Your son asked, remembering you had told him it was hard for his dad to come see him because some bad people were trying to hurt him but luckily his best friend Uncle Stevie was right by his side. “Are bad people still trying to hurt him?”

“He’s safe now sweetheart, no one is trying to hurt him anymore. He’s out there stopping the bad guys now! See? You’re daddy is still a hero bub” You pointed to the part of the display that showed Bucky with his new arm from Wakanda, the section explaining his current endeavors working with the avengers. 

“Doesn’t he want to see me?” He tried not to pout, not wanting to upset you with the question, though wishing he could see his dad just once. Your heart broke at the brave face he tried to keep up, shuffling on his feet, looking down at his shoes instead. 

“He would baby, it’s just a little hard when he has to help the Avengers save the world. Remember there's chocolate chip cookies to look forward to? How about we eat it at the park once were all done?” You hoped the sugary snack would make your son feel a tad bit better, letting him wander around the area while you looked at the recent pictures of Bucky. 

He was different from when you’d last seen him. Shorter hair. A darker metal for his arm. He still had to same beautiful blue eyes. The sweetest smile on those pink lips. From what you’d learned, he was doing much better, having joined the avengers and gaining more stability in his life. You sighed, letting your fingers trace over his face, missing the way his scruffy cheeks felt, the softness of his voice. You would’ve given anything to see him just one more time. 

***

“Hey Buck, look, they got a new picture of Dum Dum” Steve grinned, seeing the enhanced photos with color added, with a young bright eyed sergeant standing in the middle, brave on the outside but a scared young boy on the inside. Bucky smiled softly at the Captain America figure, along with the large displays, proud of his best friend, going from the scrawny kid who was constantly sick to a symbol of bravery and courage. Bucky took his time reading every single word until another soft voice caught his attention. He’d know that voice anywhere. 

It couldn’t be. 

It was. 

“They even got a picture of us together after our first recuse!” Steve felt his heart swell at the memories, pawing at the other super soldier who hadn’t said a word in response. “Buck? You okay?” 

Bucky stayed frozen on the spot, his heart nearly stopping all together. He peered over to the side. There you were. In a sweet summer dress. Your little one looked at the life-sized statue of Bucky with wide eyes, gently touching the metal arm replica, studying each detail. Bucky’s feet carried him on their own, slowly approaching her one step at a time, the rest of the world blocked out, nothing but a faint buzzing. Steve was about to ask where he was going until he noticed the love struck look on his bestfriends face approaching a beautiful woman he’d never seen before. He and Sam looked at each other, observing silently and putting two and two together. They quietly slipped away to give you both privacy (though not soo far where they wouldn't be able to see anything). 

You sensed someone was nearby, apologizing for standing in the way if they were trying to get by, moving two steps over. But they stepped closer. You looked up from the display you were reading, and gasping at the man that stood before you. There he was, after so long, the only person that had been on your mind day and night, the one person you always hoped to have another chance with. 

“J-James?” 

“Doll” Bucky’s voice cracked, looking down at you with the soft gaze you had fallen for, his fingers twitching to grab your waist and hug you till you wriggled out of his arms. He wanted to kiss you breathless, fall on his knees and ask you to forgive him for having to run, a selfish part of him hoping he’d still have another chance even though he knew it was impossible. He fought back tears when you closed the cap between you both standing toe to toe, your hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. He couldn't help but place his hand on top of yours, pressing it against his face and leaning into your touch, greedy for anything you’d give him, he needed you so badly. 

“How have you been James” You whispered, letting your thumb caress his stubble, feeling too many emotions all at once, itching to bury your face into his chest. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to answer, too lost in your eyes and feeling your touch after so long. He pressed his lips softly against the inside of your palm, again selfishly grasping at straws. He’d take whatever he could before having to let you go. The soft scent of your perfume lingered on your wrist, the very same he still remembered. 

When he had kissed your jaw. 

When he kissed your bare shoulders.

When he buried his face against your neck while coming apart for you, your warm, soft, naked body under his. 

“I’m okay” He nodded as best as he could while you hummed, now tracing over his lips. Those perfect lips you didn’t get to kiss enough. “How have you been, sweets” He didn’t know if he had any right to call you that anymore but it flowed so naturally. 

“I’ve missed you” A tear you hadn’t noticed rolled down your cheek, his cool metal thumb swiping it away. His heart broke seeing your lip trembling, desperately trying to hold it together. 

“I missed you so much doll, you have no idea I-” Bucky caught himself before rambling about how he was still in love with you when he heard the soft giggle of your son. You weren’t his. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m so sorry-” He shook his head to collect himself while you got lost in his eyes that were filled with emotion. 

Did he still love you? Would he want you if he knew about- 

“I’m happy to see you’re doing well” Bucky smiled, nodding to your little on who was so busy looking at the models of Captain America’s Shield's to notice his mommy was talking to someone very important. “You deserve it all sweets, he’s so lucky. Both of them are”

Who was both.? You frowned at Bucky’s words wondering who he was referring to while his fingers twitched, tracing over your face one last time. You wracked your brain until realization hit you like a ton of bricks; he thought you were with someone else. You swallowed away the lump that formed in your throat, struggling to speak while Bucky’s hand dropped from your cheek. He started to walk away, not wanting to break down in the middle of the museum. 

“Jamie, wait!” Bucky turned around with glassy eyes, doing his best to muster a smile while you managed to grab his wrist to stop him, the feeling of your hands on him already too much. “I-uh-

“Mama! Daddy?” Your little one gasped as he approached you and took in the man that was speaking to his mom. His voice had dropped to a whisper, staying pressed by your side, gently tugging on the skirt of your dress “Mama, is-is that daddy?”

“That’s daddy baby” You nodded through teary eyes while Bucky’s heart started to hammer, not understanding, watching you pick the little one up. He looked at Bucky with wide eyes, the same steel blues as his father with a mop of soft, dark brown hair on his head. 

“W-what?” Bucky stuttered while you took a step closer to him. 

“This-this is your son, Daniel James Barnes” You whispered, eyes locked with his while he stayed frozen on the spot. Daniel looked about 4, the dates all adding up to when he had last seen you. Your son grew bashfully shy, tucking his face away, taking occasional peeks over at the one person he was dying to meet. 

“He’s mine?” Bucky felt like he’d lost his voice, unable to speak above a whisper while you nodded, “I have a son?” He felt like a child himself, joy and love blooming through his chest, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, overcoming with emotion. 

“He’s yours Jamie, Daniel, sweetheart, say hi to daddy” Daniel’s shyness melted the second Bucky nervously extended his hands out, immediately jumping into his daddy’s arms and crawling up him till he was wrapped around him like a little koala. 

“Daddy” He smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief and love, just like a young baby Bucky. 

“Hey baby” Bucky smiled against his hair, holding him for a moment before loosening his hold if he wanted to be set down, not wanting to overwhelm him considering it was the first time they’d actually met. Daniel seemed unbothered, continuing to cling onto his father, more than happy to finally see him in real life. 

You smiled at the scene before you, one you’d only ever seen in your dreams. Bucky reached out, wrapping his arms tightly around you as best as he could, the broken fragments of his heart quickly piecing back together as you held onto him just as tightly, your head on his chest. 

“I’m sorry love, I’m so sorry you had to go through it all alone” Bucky whispered into your hair, pressing firm kisses along your hairline, his hands ghosting over your tummy, wishing he was there for feel the little kicks and flutters from when you were pregnant. “I wish I was there, I’m sorry I had to run baby, I didn’t want to leave” 

“It’s okay” You shook your head, not caring the slightest because you finally had him back. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t want to show up with a baby and make it harder for you when you were just getting your life together. We missed you Jamie”

“Never leaving you again, m’here now doll” Bucky pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before also kissing his son’s head, still reeling over the fact that the little one he was carrying was his. Nothing else mattered anymore, not when he not only had you back but also the baby you’d made together. The three of you stayed in your own little bubble of soft whispers and giggled until a crashing interrupted your conversation. 

Bucky whipped around, snorting when he saw Sam on the floor along with a sheepish looking Steve on top of him, both men doing a poor job of masking the fact that they’d fallen over from their hiding spot. Bucky shook his head, taking your hand in his and walking over to them while they got up and straightened themselves up, grinning at the blushing super soldier. 

“That’s yo kid” Sam pointed to the little one in Bucky’s arms with wide eyes, not doubting it for a second, not needing a DNA test to confirm it. “Tell me I’m right. That is your son”

“This is Daniel James Barnes” Bucky grinned, gently ruffling his sons hair while Daniel pulled away from his dad’s neck, gasping at the other two faces he recognized from the frequent museum visits with you. 

“Uncle Steve! Uncle Sam!” 

“Hey little man” Steve smiled, grunting when he was met with 35 lbs of force running into him, much stronger than most kids his age. Must be from his father.

“You helped daddy” Daniel now held onto the blonde super soldier, the both of them looking at an old imagine of Bucky and Steve with their arms around each others shoulders, smiling through dirt smeared faces, their army uniform word and tearing from battle. 

“He saved me first” Steve stated proudly, his eyes growing steamy when he looked over to see Bucky looking at you with heart eyes, trying to discreetly kiss every bit of your face with feathery light touched of his lips to your cheeks. 

“C’mon, let me show you what me and your dad really got up to” Sam took Daniel from Steve, throwing him onto his shoulders to show him the newest things the avengers were doing. 

Bucky smiled watching his two best friends play with his little one, this time wrapping both his arms around you and hugging you as tight as he possibly could. You sighed contently, only relaxing for a moment before you froze again and pulled back, gently cupping his face. 

“I know its a lot, this, me, all of it after so long” You nervously chewed your lip, worried you were throwing too much onto Bucky all at once, “If you don’t want all of this- I-we can figure something out or- we don’t have to-

Bucky shut you up with a deep kiss, refusing to pull away until you both gasped for air. 

“Stop. I waited my whole life to meet someone like you. Then I lost you. Just when I thought I’d never get you back again, you give me a family, doll please don’t” Bucky pleaded, not interested in hearing anything else you had to say, “I want this, I want it all baby, want it all with you. Want you, my baby, I want it, I promise” 

“Are you sure?” 

A second long kiss that stole your breath confirmed he was indeed very very sure, with many more kisses to prove it. He finally found his happy ending. 

Bonus:  

Steve and Sam’s POV

“You see that little one running around over there” Sam pointed to your son who was in his own world while you and Bucky spoke off to the side. 

“Yeah?”

“You don’t think...it has to be, right?” 

“What are you saying Sam” Steve cocked and eyebrow but he was thinking the same thing Sam was, just not voicing it out loud, not wanting to get anyone's hopes up. It had to be. Hopefully. 

“That’s his kid right. There's no way. Look at him, that's a carbon copy of terminator. That's a tiny terminator”

“Well the time line adds up” Steve nodded while Sam grinned, noting the way your son’s nose scrunched up when he smile, just like Bucky’s 

“I call God Father” Sam stated while the blonde rolled his eyes as if he had any competition in the first place. 

“Get up a little closer, I can’t hear what their saying” Steve hissed from over Sam’s shoulder only to be elbowed back in the stomach. 

“Aren’t you the one with super hearing, shouldn’t you be able to hear them” Sam shook his head, nearly stumbling forward at the weight of Steve leaning over him to get a better look, “If you don’t stop crawling up my back, I’m gonna fall over”

“Just scoot up a little-

“I can’t- oh fuck- 

“Shit-

Sam lost his footing, crashing onto the floor from behind the display they were hiding behind, along with Captain America lying on top of him, still more interested in you and Bucky over him crushing Sam under him. 

“You’re an idiot” Sam huffed, knowing they’d gotten caught when Bucky turned around and looked at them. 

“Shut up” 

[feyascorner]

9 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh, love.”

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink. 

Has he always looked at you like this?

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. officially in act 2 so there's like a few weeks of a timeskip!!!! finally getting to that blurry line between hatred and...wtv they are

also praying the tags work this time

“Wake up,” you whisper. “Wake up, Astarion.”

His body shakes as you pull him closer to your chest, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. There’s nothing out here except the two of you and the blissful gaze of the moon glimmering against all the other stars in the sky. Here, it’s as if nothing else exists.

Yet, the nightmares continue to haunt him.

“Cazador, he’ll come for us. He’ll come for you. He’ll make me watch as you die and laugh at my agony before he tosses me into that damned prison again for another year. Maybe even more,” he rasps. “Gods, you were so–there was so much blood—your blood—and all I could smell was–”

You shush him, running your hand through white curls. The sensation seems to calm him just the slightest. “He’s not here. I’m alive, and so are you. See?”

Gently, you raise his palm to where your heart rests and wait patiently for him to come back to you again. He melts into the steady thumping of your heart, shoulders slowly relaxing. It takes some time, but eventually, his panting slows, and he slumps into your touch. When you pull him close again, he shakes his head.

“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me and what he could do to you.”

You answer him by intertwining your fingers with his own. In response, he tightens his arms around your waist.

“I’m going to love watching him scream.”

Crashing onto the ground does little for your already trembling knees.

“Again.”

Weeks have passed since your last uncomfortable encounter with Astarion, and you’d much prefer to keep it that way. And while things have mostly smoothed over with your companions, the obvious issue of the spawn remains a concern, though the murders have decreased significantly in passing times. You’re grateful there aren’t as many bodies, but it also makes you wonder what’s preventing them from killing as many as they did. Fear it, even.

Lae’zel’s wooden sword wipes you off your feet again, and you land face-first into the grass. Embarrassment floods your cheeks despite there being nobody else in the park.

“You’ve gotten rusty, istik.”

Clambering onto your knees, you grip your own sword to stabilize yourself. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s gotten significantly better?”

“Flattery won’t save you on a battlefield, bard.”

“‘Was-bard,’” you correct her, using the sword to bounce back onto your heels. “And I think it’s saved us more than a few times. Remember that time I persuaded Yurgir to kill all his friends before we killed him?”

“A silver tongue has no use if the enemy is deaf,” she lunges at you, and you barely manage to stumble out of the way.

You hiss. “Why the hell would I be fighting a deaf enemy? And can you please warn me before you try to stab me?”

“There are no warnings in a real battle.”

“We’re not in real battle!”

She ignores you and lunges once more without warning.

You land on your ass again and again until you’re sure there’s a nasty bruise on half of your legs. There’s not enough time to register the soreness spreading to your knees, however, because by the time you’re up, she’s already coming at you again. It’s hopeless, you think, blocking another attack. Just as you’re about to give up and admit defeat, you see an opportunity in her stance. Seemingly laid back with how miserably you’re failing, you take it as a weakness and practically pounce at the opportunity to launch at her in return for your own bruises.

By some miracle, it lands.

She doesn’t fall as pathetically as you did, but she stumbles.

“Have you lost your touch, Lae’zel?”

You whip your head around to the voice where Shadowheart is under the shade of a tree, a letter gripped in her fingers. She paces closer to you and your opponent, raising a brow at the state you’re in. “Was it really necessary to beat them so harshly?”

“It worked, didn’t it? They managed to hit me,” Lae’zel scoffs, a hint of pride in her tone.

“Well, as wonderful of a time it is to watch you fight one another like beasts,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, lifting the letter. “Tav and I need to get new clothes tailored, it seems.”

Lae’zel snatches the letter before you can take a look, her eyes scanning over the words before shooting to you. “A celebration?”

“A ball, more like,” the cleric steals the sheet right back, handing it to you. “In our honor, of course, for defeating the elder brain. About time we received something in return.”

You only briefly glance at the words printed on the letter. “This is too much.”

Both heads turn to you inquisitively. “I thought you’d be ecstatic for something like this. I recall you always used to sing about the songs people would make about your adventures.”

“That was ages ago,” you sigh, but Lae’zel doesn’t seem much happier either.

“They choose to celebrate while the city’s citizens are being picked off like prey by spawn? No wonder its inhabitants have turned out so puny,” she glances at you while she speaks. You contemplate rolling your eyes, though you’d rather not get knocked on your ass again.

“You and Gale can go tomorrow. I made reservations at the tailor for all of us, but Figaro says he can only take two a day,” Shadowheart tells Lae’zel. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your punching bag for a few hours, would you?”

“Tchk. I have the wizard as another target if need be.”

She tosses her braid over her shoulder as she nods. “Great. Let’s hurry then.”

They don’t give you much room to protest in the matter, already having made up their minds—not that you were going to object in the first place. You’re honored, really, that the city finds you impressive enough to throw a celebration in your honor, and you know your companions are more than deserving of it, too. But it’s as Lae’zel said.

There’s another battle brewing under the city, in its shadows, and in plain sight, yet you can’t do anything about it. It’s not like the elder brain. Killing the brain itself was enough to rid of the mind flayers, but in this case, killing one spawn only leads to hunting 7000 more. Most of which are being lied to by Astarion’s siblings.

You shake your head to rid of the thoughts. No. You deserve this. You went through hell and back with that bloody parasite in your head, so hells be damned if you can have one bloody night to yourself. One that doesn’t consist of consistently worrying about whether another body will drop dead while you sleep blissfully in the walls of your own home. You need this after all you’ve been through.

Still…

The silence as you walk alongside Shadowheart makes you cringe.

It’s not like she’s angry at you, nor are you at her. You understand her reactions toward Astarion, and you like to think that she does too. But with how things ended with him last time, your interactions with the cleric have grown increasingly curt, with short conversations baring down to the bare necessities. You’ve tried to speak with her, but each time the two of you are alone, the guilt gnaws away at your stomach—your confidence along with it.

This time, you swear. This time you’ll apologize.

“Shadowhea-”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

You blink. Twice.

She doesn’t look at you, continuing to stride through the city streets. “It was unfair of me to blow up at you for letting Astarion feed. It wasn’t my choice, and I know that. I was only…”

You wait for her to continue, increasing the speed of your footsteps to catch up.

“...It was a selfish reason,” she mutters. “I did not want to lose you to him again. I’ve seen you the last time he hurt you, and you were practically a stranger to all of us. Even with defeating the elder brain, you didn’t seem happy in the slightest. He ruined so much that I—-I instinctively tried to make a decision that I have no control over.”

“It won’t happen again. Lying, I mean,” you blurt immediately. “I’ve learned, as hard as it might be to believe. I don’t want to drift from you again, either. I’m just sorry it took so long to bring this up.”

“I’m in no place to complain. It took weeks for me to understand how in the hells your thought process seems to work…And how you manage to make such bad decisions that somehow have a knack for working out,” she purses her lips. “I still don’t understand. Not completely. But I do also trust you know what you’re doing.”

You don’t know what you’re doing, but you think it’s better to avoid telling her that.

She smiles, and you already feel lighter. “It’s a miracle I’m alive, to be honest.”

“It really is. Trust me, I’d know,” she snorts in return.

“I do have quite the skilled healer at my side, which helps.”

Shadowheart stops in front of Figaro’s store, glancing back at you. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had walked this far, but she shrugs with a smug grin as she pushes through the door.

“Whatever would you do without me?”

You’ve searched the Blushing Mermaid at least a dozen times over now, in case you missed any of Dalyria’s things that might aid you in your search for the other siblings. Despite the tavern owners blocking the entrance, a simple mage hand or two was enough to pry open the wooden boards nailed to the basement door.  It’s been nearly three times now that you’ve come up empty-handed, but what harm could a fourth try do? Sure, you’ve scrummaged her desk seven times alone, but perhaps you might have missed a drawer or two…

The stillness of the night is disturbed as you lift the hatch leading to the basement, waving away the dust that flies into your face. You pocket Dalyria’s journal and begin your descent downward. The humidity hits your cheeks, and you sigh, swallowing your distaste for the crumbling lair to resume your investigation without any distractions. You expect another endless night of useless rummaging through the Hag’s old things and some of Dalyria’s own belongings, but doing nothing would weigh too heavily on your conscious.

Just as you enter the actual lair, you find that you are not alone.

A blond man stands on the other side, his back turned to you as he searches the desk you’ve already looked over multiple times.

Petras.

Sure, you’ve been searching for him for quite a while now, but for him to just waltz into you like this? You’re not sure if you’re insanely lucky or simply unlucky for not having stumbled into him until now. He remains unaware of your presence, and you take the opportunity to reach for your knife, willing your footsteps to feel lighter to avoid detection. Another skill a certain rogue taught you at a certain point, but never mind that.

The floorboard creaks under your weight.

Dammit. You’ve never been as good as he was.

He whips around, immediately on the defense. But as soon as he spots you, his shoulder relaxes, a scowl falling as he blinks. “Oh. You.”

Embarrassment burns in your cheeks, feeling like a child who’s been caught stealing an extra sweet from the cookie jar. Still, you straighten your back, shifting so he can’t see the knife clenched in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering when I’d see Astarion’s pet again,” he ignores your question, stepping away from the desk toward you. It makes your body tense. “You’ve been up to quite a lot since the last time we spoke, haven’t you? I hear you nearly captured my sister.”

“I’m not his pet,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. He raises a brow. 

“Fine. His blood bank.”

Your sharp glare is enough to send him your sentiments.

“Not a very willing blood bank, I see.”

“What are you doing here, Petras?” you finally snap.

He ignores you again, and this time, you contemplate chucking the knife at his head. “How’s my brother doing? Horrible, I hope.”

“He’s fine,” you retort through gritted teeth. It’s the nicest thing you can conjure up at the moment. “We would be doing better if you weren’t making a bloodbath of the city.”

“You nearly killed my sister as well.”

“Your sister is the one that attacked us after she said she was going to kidnap Astarion like he’s some sort of object. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I can’t blame you. She’s always been stubborn,” he shrugs. “But I am disappointed you chose to take my brother’s side after all he’s done to you. I would pity you, really, if you hadn’t gone and killed almost four of us already.”

“You can’t blame me for self-defense.”

Petras frowns. “Tell me, why didn’t you take our deal?”

“What?”

He paces a few steps toward you, standing at the platform of the lair while you stare up at him in bewilderment. “We’ve been watching you for an extended period of time now. We offered you everything you could possibly gain from a deal like this one, and you still rejected it. You’d get rid of us and keep the city safe. All the while, you’d never have to see my brother again. Dalyria says it barely seemed to phase you. I want to know why.”

“It’s—” you trip over your own tongue. You don’t even know why you feel obligated to answer him. “It just felt right at the time.”

“What kind of half-baked answer is that?”

“I answered your question, didn't I? Now answer mine.”

Petras furrows his brows, glancing at Dalyria’s desk behind him. “I take it you know what we plan to do?”

You purse your lips, and it’s enough of an answer for him.

“I wanted to take Astarion by force, personally. But Leon and Dalyria…they’ve grown considerably soft after Cazador left,” he rolls his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms. “...A shame. That kind of fragility won’t get them anywhere in this world. Those fools are destined to die or to live at the bottom of the barrel, forever feeding on city rats.”

The way he speaks of his siblings makes your stomach churn.

“You’re a bigger fool if you think I’m going to let you go through with the ascension,” you hiss. “You’ll kill all those spawns. They’ve put their trust in you to lead them, and you’re lying straight to their faces as if their lives aren’t worth the crap on your shoes–”

“And how did things turn out the last time you tried to stop the ascension?”

This makes your throat go dry.

“Take this as our last warning, bard. Or else we’ll come and take him ourselves.”

“He’s your brother,” you blurt in exasperation, waving your hand in disbelief. “You can’t possibly want to kill him, even if he’s an asshole from time to time! Cazador is gone. You’re free! There’s nothing else to run away from!”

You don’t know why you’re defending him.

But it pours out of your chest, and you already know trying to choke it back up won’t reverse what’s already been said.

With your words seemingly going in one ear and out the other, Petras clenches his fist at his side and glowers down at you with a sharp inhale. Despite his attempts to appear composed, you can see the vein bulging from his forehead, threatening to burst if you push him any longer. “He stopped being my brother the second he tried to ascend.”

“Still—”

“He attempted to kill the rest of us for the sake of his own wellbeing. What makes him any different than Cazador himself?” he argues. “Cazador always took a special interest in Astarion. I see now that it’s because they’re so similar. In life or in death.”

For some strange reason, this makes your blood burn.

You can hear Astarion’s gasps as his master’s nightmarish toll awoke you both on those starry nights when the parasite still swam in your heads. How cold he’d felt in your arms, rasping into your chest as you calmed him. White curls brushed against your hand as you pulled him close. You’ve never wished to the gods for much, but in that moment, you begged them to let him forget. To give you something—anything—to soothe the trembling of his hands.

Astarion could have been like Cazador. He’d come dangerously close to becoming the very monster that tortured him for centuries, but he hadn’t. Whether it was voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, he isn’t Cazador. And you plan to keep it that way as long as your fingers can still clutch your blade.

“I was planning on paying you a visit,” Petras says, catching your attention once more as he slips out a scroll from his sleeve. “Though I suppose you’ve made this easier on the both of us…especially if you die here.”

You take a step toward him, heels digging into the ground. “If you think I’ll just—”

“If you’ll only get in my way, then I have no problem with watching you perish.”

With a shout, the scroll glows a lime green, and a long groan echoes from the bodies scattered throughout the room.

Shit.

The spawn adjusts his hood back around his head, sparing you a pitiful stare. “You’ve chosen your side, and it's the one that's destined to lose. Good luck, bard…I hope your death isn’t as painful as it could have been at Astarion’s hands.”

And just as the undead begins to crawl toward you with an agonizing screech, he puffs up into a cloud of red smoke and vanishes.

You need a bath. Terribly.

Barely scraping out with your life, you can’t say you’re a pleasing person to look at with the dirt and blood smeared across your body. The sleeve of your shirt is torn open, and while a few healing potions have done the trick to heal most of your injuries, the more minor splits and cuts remain an insistent reminder of the war you’ve just declared with the vampire spawns.

Well, they’re the ones who declared it, but the point stands.

You manage to wash out a lot of the blood by the time you return home, praying your disheveled state can’t be seen with the effort you’ve put in to look presentable. Your worries are put to rest, however, when you realize just how late it’s gotten into the night, as all your companions remain blissfully asleep as you limp into the house, barely able to stand upright.

Everything is a blur. How you managed to fight off a dozen undead is a mystery to you, but it’s not unwelcome. At least there’s nobody here to scold you.

But even that, you realize, is a false sense of security when you sense him from the stairs. You’ve learned not to anticipate any creak in the floorboard when he’s the one pacing on them. Rather, you’ve learned to expect a concerning bloodthirsty presence and two eyes boring into the back of your head as if you’ve grown another head. It eventually becomes easy to sense his aura even from across the living room.

You hope the darkness conceals the bruises on your body. “What do you want?”

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, and it’s not a question. “I could smell it from upstairs.”

A scoff. “What are you? A dog?”

Astarion doesn’t bother responding to your snide comment, coming closer. You can finally see his expression in a daze as he approaches your vicinity. He’s present, but not really, as his focus shifts from you to your hand to your face again repeatedly as if he’s unsure what he’s even doing here.

You’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.

“Are you drunk?”

“I recall you saying you were visiting the tavern.”

“I was at the tavern.”

He barks a laugh. “My dear, you can tell as many pretty lies to the others but not to me. I can see right through your little game like an open book.”

Curse him.

“I asked you a question first,” you opt to change the subject, remaining firm. “How much did you drink?”

“I didn’t break any rules, as far as I’m aware,” his words slur messily as he leans against the wall, a pink hue spread across his cheeks. “I just drank…a tiny bit more than usual.”

He’s most undoubtedly tipsy, at the very least.

Astarion pushes himself off the wall and toward you, where he squints down at you with what you assume to be some variation of curiosity. His eyes do not hold the usual hostility they usually do, somewhat clouded in a mist of relaxation that’s dangerously close to overflowing. You inch backward.

“Your turn,” he breathes. “Why are you bleeding?”

While you were out risking your life, the bastard must’ve been having the time of his life if the unsteadiness of his steps is any indication. You bite the inside of your cheek bitterly.

“I met Petras just now…more like ambushed, actually,” you respond, pacing the kitchen to wipe off the dirt staining your elbows. You pour yourself a glass of water, but the second it touches your lips, you flinch, the split on your lip still too new to be challenged. So, instead, you set the glass down, eyeing the way he mindlessly stares at you without a thought running through his mind.

Still, he’s giddier than usual, snorting at the state you’re in. “You couldn’t have possibly lost to my brother. He has muscle but barely any wit.”

You remain silent, and his smile grows wider. “Oh! You really let the bastard get away. Well, isn’t this a surprise! Excuse my error; perhaps you aren’t as invincible as I pegged you to be.”

“He caught me off guard.” Hot discomfort courses through your veins.

“Pish posh,” he waves you off, teetering in your direction. “It’s no good if you refuse to admit defeat, my dear. It’ll come back to bite you in the behind later.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes, unmoving from your spot beside the counter as he scrummages around the cabinets for nothing other than the very substance that’s reduced him to this pitiful state. Ironic, you know, considering the tavern had practically been your home only a few months prior. “How did you even get drunk? There isn’t nearly enough blood here for that.”

His face brightens when he finds what he’s been searching for. He uncorks the glass bottle and inhales the stench of blood. While it makes you scrunch your nose, he sighs dreamily, shoulder going slack. “Gale accompanied my hunt again, and I managed to find not one but two bloody bears. One of which was oh so gratefully already wounded. You can be smart when you want to be; I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

You don’t want to imagine it, actually.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you pluck the bottle from his hands, and his expression immediately falls. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. It makes your chest swell with pride.

“Why? Would you rather I drink from you?” he tries to reach for it, but you step out of the way. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ve already had my fill of exotic blood for tonight. All I need is the dessert to top off the feast I’ve had, and I’ll be satiated for at least a few days.”

You glare at him. “You’re already drunk, you don’t need anymore.”

“But I want more,” he slurs again, and you attempt to move the bottle behind your back, but his hand is already expecting this maneuver. With embarrassing ease, the bottle slips into his grasp, and he takes a long sip of blood while forgetting how you remain caged against the counter, arms blocking any sort of exit you can take to slip away.

You can count his eyelashes from this distance.

He lifts his hand to wipe at his mouth, and much to your relief, you manage to escape the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by him. His scent, his voice, just everything. You close your fists, itching to retreat into the comforts of your own bedroom rather than continue to watch his focus zone in and out until narrowing down on you. “Are you done?”

“Mm, it’s sweet, but not sweet enough. It’s not quite a dessert, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t even like sweet things,” you scoff. You don’t know why you remember this. You shouldn’t remember this. It’s not even your concern anymore.

He stares at you. “I make exceptions.”

Unwillingly to figure out the implications of his words (and whether or not it comes off as a threat), you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Petras seems hell-bent on kidnapping you.”

“Let him try. The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us, much less all of us simultaneously. At least it’ll make for quite a show.”

“And let him kill more people in the process?”

Astarion tilts his head, albeit only slightly. He lacks the usual polish of his charm. “Ah, we couldn’t dare allow a few unlucky souls to perish. It’s not like the inevitable fate of death is waiting for them anyway.”

Sarcasm dripping from his tongue, you decide he’s not nearly sober enough to talk about this. He’s barely keeping himself upright with his arms perched on either side of the counter. He’s close enough that the scent of blood muddles all of your other senses. The softness in his eyes makes you squirm, and the small voice in your head that is your intuition screams for you to get away before…well, you’re not sure what, but it’s what it’s telling you.

“Go to bed,” you order him, though it sounds more like a plea. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“The night’s only begun, though.”

The answer spews out immediately. “I miss to see where that’s my problem.”

Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh to me, love.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the nickname catches you off guard. It’s one he hasn’t called you since…everything. One that you’ve learned to bury into whatever corner you can find in your memories, hoping never to see them again. For a split moment, you can feel your resolve falter. Still, you refuse to show him what a simple word does to you and steel your will to leave this for a proper time when you’re both not nearly delirious. One from blood and the other from a battle.

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink. 

Has he always looked at you like this?

He’s not just drunk, you reason. He’s completely wasted.

“Astarion,” you lean away. “You’re drunk.”

He ignores your warnings with a click of his tongue. “My mind is clearer than it's ever been after I got that damn parasite out of my head.”

His delirious expression says otherwise.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh irritably. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want none of it. I’m tired, so just leave me be, will you? Get out of my way.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You’re the one blocking me from leaving!” you fume, pointing at his arm.

“That’s not what I mean. You’re…” he sighs, dropping his head wearily. “…you’re no different than that parasite, come to think of it.”

Appalled, you just gawk at him, jaw agape. “Please tell me I did not just hear you say that.”

He laughs, throwing his head back as he straightens his back. His arms fall back to his side, providing you just enough space to squeeze out of the way, but you find yourself staring up at him as he recollects himself. “It’s rather frustrating. I suppose, at the very least, unlike that worm, you’re a pretty thing to look at.”

What in the hells is going on?

First, he calls you a parasite and then proceeds to flatter you barely two seconds later, having nothing but hazy blurs in that thick skull of his. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you again next. In fact, you think it’s probably best to retreat now when you can—even if he’s gazing down at you as if he expects an answer to his previous statement.

You should leave.

Your legs remain rooted in place.

You should definitely leave.

“Call me that again, and I’ll install bars on your windows,” you grumble, only half meaning it. Mainly because it would be a hassle to build. “Just go, Astarion. I don’t want to speak with you.”

“Convince me.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

“Convince me that you don’t want me here,” he says firmly. “Then I’ll leave.”

Gods, has he lost it?

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not? I may deceive you, but I always take you seriously. You must know this.”

Barely stopping yourself from punching that smug smile off his face, your brows furrow. And with gritted teeth, you hiss. “Well, for one, you stink of blood.”

“What a pleasant fragrance indeed.”

“Two,” you continue. “You’re barely standing on both feet, which tells me you aren’t in any position to discuss what I want to right now—which, by the way, is your own damn brother.”

He hums.

“Three, you’re an asshole.”

“Very convincing, darling.”

“So I’ve heard,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to say more?”

Astarion steps closer, making your shoulders tense. “Tell me more about how I’m an asshole.”

The blood he drank must contain some sort of drug, surely.

“You leave bottles all over the living room,” you begin, and slowly, the words begin to spill out as if they’ve been waiting to be thrown at him for a while now. “You don’t help clean at all. You make jokes only you find funny. You fight with Shadowheart all the time, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. You walk around at three in the morning and scare the crap out of me just because I wanted some water.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“You’re always sneaking out, even though we tell you not to. You don’t even tell us where you’re going and then get surprised when Lae’zel wants to execute you again! You come home at bizarre times, and the hallway smells like blood all the time, and—and—-” You’re rambling now, you realize, but you’re too exhausted to give a rat’s ass about it. So instead, you push a finger into his chest pointedly, scowling. “---you’re just not pleasant to be around. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met, and trust me when I’ve met a lot of assholes. I’d rather all of them than you.”

Astarion’s lashes flutter as his gaze flits across your face. “Is that so?”

With narrowed eyes, your fists tighten. “Hells, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because I should’ve been at the tavern sleeping with some other random bastard by now if your damn brother didn’t-”

Suddenly, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as the back of your hips bumps against the counter, knocking over your glass of water.

Before you can discern whatever emotions are being evoked by his lack of awareness, the already minimal distance between the two of you closes as he smashes his lips against yours. It’s harsh. Fueled by hatred, it’s by no means a pleasant show of affection. It burns, sending sparks throughout your entire body as you sink into his touch, feeling the full force of the smallest of movements; he seems dangerously close to what you might describe as desperate.

Unable to fully process what’s happening, you only stand there, stock still.

Your eyes might fall out of its sockets with how wide they are.

He’s kissing you. 

Astarion is kissing you.

And instinctively, your body, if for a split moment, kisses back.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, you’re quick to realize what’s happening, and you abruptly shove him away, stumbling in the process. It seems he’s sobered up on his end because he appears just as shocked as you are, the blood staining his pretty lips being the only proof that the kiss did indeed happen. He blinks rapidly, first trying to take in your expression. You don’t think you’ve seen him this lost in ages. But that's not your concern right now.

He starts. “Darling, I–”

Your fist punches into his stomach, and he reels.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer

[ebbaskitchen]

Suguru Geto x Reader

Text in bold italics are his thoughts 🤍

Summary: Geto comes back to you after his difficult missions looking for comfort.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Excorising, absorbing.

I kept repeating these tasks.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

No one knows...

the taste of Cursed Spirits.

It's like swallowing a cloth

that has wiped vomit.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

Continuously, unbeknownst of anyone around me.

Then, why am I lying here…

In your arms…

Small hands, warm and tender hands, run through his raven colored hair. Hands that somehow… just somehow, knew how to bring him comfort. Hands that knew where he was hurting — as the fingers trace the gentle crease of his hairline. Hands that he came back to every so often.

Your hands…

As your fingers waltzed with the strands of his dark hair, Suguru couldn’t help but ease into their touch …into your touch.

It always took him a bit to relax— starting from tensed muscles like those experienced in moments of shock or fear; but as he learned more about your touch by coming back to you so frequently, he began to relax in the feeling of them.

As your thumb gently swipes the tip of his nose to remove a fallen eyelash, he catches the lingering scent of cookie dough on your fingertips.

How did you know? I’ll never know…

But you knew the moment you asked me…

“Suguru, what do curses taste like?” You asked me with such gentle concern, I almost questioned if it was real or not. Was it a joke— was the world teasing me— or did you notice…?

I never got to answer your question… and still you knew.

If Suguru was to look up from his place on your chest, he knew exactly how you would look at him. Eyes that held nothing but adoration, concern, and gentleness. Eyes that glittered whenever they made contact with his dull orbs.

Knowing this, Suguru decides to look up, catching the way your pupils dilate when his stare meets yours— his natural strand of bangs falling into their rightful place.

You looked at me that way then too…

Studying your gaze, Suguru is reminded of a moment in his distant memory.

A few weeks after having met you, Suguru was assigned a mission on his own. He came back hurt, devastated — a look so dead in his eyes… but no one would notice that.

Subconsciously, he was looking for you when he had come back from that mission, but you were nowhere to be found. You had befriended him and he had taken a liking to you, your presence was comforting to him, even though he never expected anything from you. Giving up on the idea of finding you, he went to his dormitory, only to find the door was partially opened.

I thought it was a curse… I couldn’t bear to swallow one more that day.

I opened it hastily, wanting it to be over quickly but then I saw you…

And I smelled—- cookies??

He could never explain to you the way his heart fell to his stomach that day. And he could never explain to you the way his breath hitched in his throat when you said…

“To help with the aftertaste…” you whispered so softly

I couldn’t tell if the guilty look in your eyes was for being in my dorm when I wasn’t

or for making those cookies for me. Did you pity me…?

Though the first time he barely acknowledged the cookies due to fear that your concern for him wasn’t real, the second, third, fourth, and many other times you did make them, he was convinced it was more than just concern.

It soon became a ritual, whenever he went on a mission, he’d expect you in his dorm making cookies when he came back. And every time you’d say something along the lines of getting rid of the aftertaste from the curses he had to consume that day. And, on the more difficult missions, he would hesitantly lay in your arms. He knew you didn’t have his power, nor did you ever have to bear the feeling of eating or tasting a curse, but you did this for him as if you understood exactly what it felt like.

Now, in present time, looking back into your loving eyes, he swallowed something that, for the first time, wasn’t a curse.

I love you.

”Suguru,” your voice tickled his ear with warmth, “is something on your mind..?”

And he swallowed again.

I love you.

Your palm came to cup his cheek, the touch of you so magnetic, he slowly began to lean into it. And for a moment, no words are exchanged between the two of you, just audible breathing and even more audible heartbeats.

You began to lean your face closer to his, he didn’t notice how close you were until he could feel your breath on his skin. He held his breath the way he did when he first caught you in his dorm.

Your lips made contact with his skin. The press of them is so gentle against his forehead as if you could break him if you kissed any harder.

Lingering your single kiss there for a moment, Suguru couldn’t help but close his eyes under your affectionate lips. Pulling away from his forehead, he could see your brightly-dusted, pink cheeks that rose as you smiled so beautifully at him.

“I love you,” you’d be the first to say.

Excorising, absorbing

I kept repeating these tasks.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

No one knows...

the taste of Cursed Spirits.

It's like swallowing a cloth

that has wiped vomit.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

“I love you too,” he would answer in a barely heard whisper. But you heard it. You always heard him.

But somehow you knew…

And I knew

As long as I come back to you…

I’ll be okay…

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Ebba’s Note

I hope you enjoyed it.

I used some of the script from the show but the rest is my original work.

Thank you 😊🤍

[jolapeno]

3. heather purple

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you do wear a top and jeans tho. minor worrying/nervousness. no use of y/n. an: i love them i love them i love them

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nervous energy pulsates through you.

It first manifested as a rattle, an annoyance when your eyes opened this morning. Now, it had grown into moving things half an inch and constant tapping—on surfaces, on you, on walls. All restless, practically relentless—vibrating and thrumming.

Then, your teeth began lazily, grazing over your lower lip, eyes flicking to the clock—fingers adjusting your laptop on the counter for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.

With a catch of your thumb, your phone illuminates, another nervous-tic, another thing you've been doing for the last so many moments.

Even if you know he’s on his way, having told you as much.

Normally, you would find it easy to calm yourself through pacing, the flexing of your fingers, and deep, soothing breaths. But not this time.

This time, it lingers. A persistent knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel and instead attempts to bathe in giddiness—a sensation you’d never imagined, never mind expected.

Suddenly, with another fluttering jolt, you wish you could backtrack the messages you had sent. The ones that had invited him—jovially, before seriously.

Because despite spending several minutes leaning on your cool, kitchen counter, with a glass of water pressed to your neck, warmth is still radiating from your skin.

The thinnest layer of sweat still remains on the base of your spine, sticking; the same as it is around your head—no matter how often you dab it away.

Admittedly, it’s all self-inflicted. Caused by the fact you had tried on a thousand things within the last half an hour. All of the failures were discarded, shoved (all unceremoniously), at the bottom of your closet, the door shoved shut in frustration.

Nothing had felt right. Nothing had looked right.

A mess of worries and overthinking churning in your head, all caused by your friend's echoing voice as you stared at yourself in the mirror:

Do you think he’ll size up your new office and then size you up? Do you think this is a date? Do you think he’s expecting to see your bedroom? Because if you count the coffee, this is the third, which means—

At the time, it had been easy to laugh. Play it down—continue to wash your dishes and clean around the sink.

But, it’s when the goodbyes had been exchanged; when there were no more cups or plates to clean, and you found yourself alone with nothing but the sounds of suds swirling down the drain. That's when your mind began to wander. To weave patterns of concerns, begin concocting.

Do you think…Do you think?

Do you think?

Deep down, you know it doesn't matter. Less so as your hand brushes over your face, heavy sigh exhaled, because he'd be here soon.

In your home.

Frankie would be able to see the poor state of your “remodel” or “flip” or whatever term it is for when you buy a rundown thing and try and make it liveable. He'd be able to see exactly why you'd looked lost in the hardware store he works, because look at your home. The place where you rest, sleep and work.

You could come and see it for yourself, wouldn’t need to keep guessing what I’m dreaming up. Yeah? You sure? Well, it would be easier than me trying to explain the issues I’m faced with because until an hour ago I didn’t know what a wrench was called. What did you use to call it? Tightening-tighty. Fitting name. I thought so too—until your latest “helpful” video ruined it. At least you’re learning now how selfish I am. You are, but I’ll forgive you because you have a nice smile. Is the smile enough to upgrade me from DMs to a phone number? Oh, you are pushing it. Well, to keep on pushing and this is presumptuous, but I can come round tomorrow. After I’ve finished up at work. Luca is back with his mom. Yeah? Send me your address and I’ll be there, rainy. I’ll send you my number too, so you can call when you leave.

And you had.

Then, tomorrow had become today, and you’d found yourself trying to flood the worries from your half-a-job redecorating with cleaning.

Some of it alleviated by decluttering half-empty boxes from around the base of pale walls, but part of it added more issues to your plate because suddenly you wished you had more plants. More colour.

More anything.

Because it’s bare, a barren of nothing. There are marks on the floor not lifted from scrubbing and cracks in the wall that need filling.

Disappointment lands on your shoulders, weighed down with pinched regret—because you realise (once again, having lived in blissful ignorance) that there is so much to do.

Swallowing, you glance around, scents of wood polish and floor spray swirling. You glare at the many holes filled in by the previous owners. The ones not painted over just yet.

Because you hadn’t decided on a shade—no colour scheme having jumped out.

The place is all just pale, off-white or faded magnolia.

"Fuck."

The urge to crawl into a ball rises, a sickening feeling swirling.

Somehow, if the state of your home doesn’t scare him away, a small part of you knows it can find comfort that maybe your humour is enough to keep him around.

A thought that should relax you, but instead makes your stomach twist more. Because you're not actually sure you're that funny. A realisation that forces your palms to become tacky, the thinnest layer of sweat trying to appear there, as well as everywhere else.

Because you like him.

The knowledge of it pricking at you, making you bite the skin from your lip and pick at your nails; it makes you wiggle your toes inside your socks on the wooden floor and fight a smile at something funny he’d said last night.

And then you hear it.

Wheels. Tyres crunch gravel as a black pick-up pulls up outside your home. One you remember from outside the store, from parking several blocks down from yours.

He’s here.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s fucking here—

The thought rotating, spinning—like a whirlpool drenching you in more sweat and making your head dizzy all at once.

You can’t move, can’t unstick yourself from the floorboard you’re on. Watching. Transfixed. Both feeling joy that he has come (as he said he would) and filled with horror because it’s happening, it’s all fucking happening.

With each step he takes up your drive, you want to bolt from your place and hide in your bedroom. Pretend you’re not home. Pretend something came up.

But you can’t lie.

Guilt swallowing that immediate thought. Watching him get closer and closer, until his knuckles wrap on the door, the noise filling your barely-filled home.

Fuck.

You manage to move then. All quiet steps. Delicate in how you cross the room that’s become a poor attempt at a living room.

Wrapping your palm around the handle, you’re surprised at its sudden heaviness—all cold, so cool against your skin it almost makes you hiss. Almost slipping when you turn it, palm so slick with nervousness as your arm tries to vibrate in its socket.

Opening the door, you disguise it. Layer all your worries and unravelling under a mask. Smothering and burying it in a smile—practically instantaneously. As though it’s the easiest thing to do around him.

But then, it is.

Because even if the rest of your body is having some reaction to the idea he could be stepping inside, you find yourself unable to help but grin. Not able to help lighting up like fairy lights hanging in the darkest night.

And, in the milliseconds of the two of you standing there, you actually begin to feel better.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply, grin growing, forcing your cheeks to hurt in a matter of beats.

And you know you should move, let him in. But, what does it mean if you do? That voice, the one growing louder, who speaks nothing but worse cases and negativity, begins to increase in pitch. Smothering the sound of birds and someone cutting their grass several houses down.

Because is he here to measure up, to give recommendations—or will he kiss you again like he did against your car? Will his mouth move to other places, hands busying themselves, peeling? Will he be disappointed by what lies underneath your comfortable t-shirt and—

“You gonna invite me in?”

Pausing, you lower your gaze to the floor, leaning against the door for a moment. Eyes catching spots of purple on his jeans, finding yourself staring, glancing at how they resemble petals scattered in a careless dance.

You know it likely was accidental, a mere mishap, but it looks pretty, intentional. Even if it's likely tarnished an overworn, maybe slightly beloved pair of jeans.

He says your name, forcing your head up. Speaking it all soft—so full of care and intention—it almost makes you swoon and crack. Almost makes you widen the door to let him inside.

“I’m embarrassed. It’s… it’s not even—“

“Hey, hey, look at me.” And you do, like nothing could be simpler. “I know you haven’t long moved in—and, you wouldn’t be askin’ for an opinion if it looked the best it ever could. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, let me in b… Rainy, please.”

You don’t miss it.

Even if you pretend you do.

It circling, playing. Imagination fuelled up and running the show now.

A thing which drowns the worries, holds its head under water as your brain begins to wonder what him calling you baby could sound like, be like.

Slowly, you lift your head from the door and step to the side to let him in.

Thankful you do, because you catch the scent of the hardware store—one you found you’ve actually really, really missed.

As though picking up on the thousand hints at how on edge you are, Frankie asks to see the dresser.

Makes a comment about needing to see if the paint covered, if butterscotch orange looked as good on wood as it did on walls.

You don’t argue, instead leading the way. Take him past your sofa and armchair right into the kitchen. As you do, he shares his day, weaves in bits on Harry—how he’s nothing but a torment, even if he says it with a grin.

“He asked about you.”

Thankful for the pot boiling, you pour him a cup of coffee, placing it down before clutching your own. Admiring the way he’s squatted down next to the dresser—fingers sliding over the edges.

“And, what did you tell him?”

Shrugging, Frankie looks over his shoulder—a smile there, evident, easily present. “Said I would ask when I saw you tonight—but, that I assumed you were good from how much you made me laugh last night.”

Heat burns your ears, almost making them match the temperature of your palms from being around the mug.

You think, search, and feel desperate for something to say, all aiming to fill the emptiness when you begin explaining what you’ve already done to your 'cheap find'.

Doing so with as many technical terms as you remember from videos—how you’d restored it, sanded it, etc, etc.

It’s only when he looks over his shoulder again, do you realise how not-weird this is. How it doesn’t feel wrong—relaxing at the realisation, the room and house following suit.

Resting the cup to your chest, you clear your throat, “You know, you’re the first person outside of my best friend that’s been here.”

Brows raising, lost under his hat and curls, his smile slides up further into one cheek. “That makes me special, right?”

“Oh, I think you know you’re special, Morales. I’ve read the comments under your videos.”

A bark of laughter leaves him, head shaking, attention turning back to the dresser as he runs his hand over the top.

“You’ve done good.”

Instantly, you grin. Folding your arms, remaining leaning against the side of the kitchen counter as you almost let a ‘yeah?’ escape, that you instead trade for: “You sound surprised.”

“You did imply you were hopeless.”

Shrugging, you watch him stand tall, fingers itching under the front of his hat as he leans against the wall.

“I am still hopeless.”

Shaking his head, he does nothing but grin—gifting you one full of warmth and sunshine. “I think you’ve just not had someone to show you, that’s all.”

“That going to be you?”

His tongue slides into his cheek, giving a half-shrug as he moves closer, pausing at the side of your kitchen counter. “If you want.”

“You don’t mind that I might have Pinterest boards?”

Chewing his cheek, he smirks as broad and as wide as his shoulders—as though it is difficult to contain. “You definitely have them. Wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t?”

Heat warms your cheek, and remains there—burning and pulsing as you avert your eyes briefly. “Maybe I have them.”

His laugh escapes quickly, almost loudly, booming and echoing like before. And you want him to do it again, needing to, as soon as it dies down to flood from him and land against the walls again.

But, instead, you take a large mouthful, placing the mug down. "Shall I show you my dream?"

Heading to show him the spare room, the one that you’re hoping to make into an office, his work boots sound out, echoing around the stripped-back hallway and bare flooring.

There's a comfortable quiet you don’t wish to allow to shift when you head down the hallway, beginning to explain. Hands moving, gesturing, sporadically glancing over your shoulder as he follows—finding his eyes don’t fall to the open boxes, but remain firmly on you.

It isn’t until you step inside the open doorway and he pauses at the do you (on command) continue talking. Slowly pointing to where you think you’d want things. Listing, nose-scrunching as you say how nice it would be to have floor-to-ceiling shelving, an armchair—a desk with space for work. A plant here, maybe one there.

How you want to move from your kitchen counter to in here for work—maybe put up a piece of art here, some nice curtains there. A real desk chair that’ll support your back.

You only stop when you look back and find him resting his forearm on the doorway, not looking anywhere around the room, just at you.

And it makes you pause. Mesmerised, by the way he rolls the pads of his fingers against his thumb, his forearm flexing and how the end of his t-shirt has slightly risen due to his leans. It undoes you, making you forget what room you're even standing in as your brain melts and you become rendered completely, fucking useless.

The spell doesn’t break until his arm drops, fingers push his hat up, eyes warming as he takes the space in. “You want to work near the window?”

Nodding, you move to the side, allowing him space, watching him as he takes his eyes off you, moves into the room and stares around. He sweeps his gaze, brows furrowing occasionally before he stops close to the window.

Sliding the pencil from the top of his ear, he pulls a pad of paper from his pocket. Jotting things down, sketching—eyes zig-zagging across the wall as he tries to mark whatever his thought is down. Mouth moving, occasionally hearing him working out numbers, before the sound is muffled by a scratch of the pencil.

You’re in awe. Just observing. Making no sense of what it is he’s drawing. Least of all what he’s thinking. But gosh, is he handsome when he does it.

More so, when that soft smile creeps back over his face at you watching him, and you worry (briefly) whether you’ve said it out loud.

“You’d have a nice view if your desk was here.”

“Got a nice one right now.”

Snorting, Frankie rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into his cheek. “How much do you hate yourself for saying that?”

“Only a smidge,” you say, finger and thumb close together.

Holding his stare, you find the softness of his smile has spread to his eyes, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little more than a smidge," you amend, your own smile mirroring his.

His laughter fills the room once again, and you can't help but join in. The two of you standing there, and all you want to do is pinch yourself. Not sure how this could be real; how he could be, how all of this could be. How the grin on your face is really there and he’s really here—

“I’m thinking,” he begins. Voice clearing, eyes looking around. “We could build you a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves here like you want—maybe add some cupboards. Could be a nice backdrop if you’re sitting there. Can have it pre-built, or I can help you measure it, build it? Probably need—“

You should be listening. Maybe even making notes.

Not flicking your eyes to his lips, watching the way his face furrows or his lip curls in between listing things.

“How?"

"How, what?"

Swallowing, you exhale. "Did you get so good at that?”

His lips slide into his cheek. “At what?”

Tilting your head, you purse your lip, drop your arm from his shoulder, gesturing, finding the words. “I just watched you like—measure, with your head. I think I heard your brain... calculating?”

He pauses, mouth remaining open, a twinkle shimmering in his eye as he scratches at the curls hanging under his hat. “Oh, I… um. I used to fly. I was in the U.S. Army. Delta Force—guess I got good at measuring, doing calculations in my head, had to, you know?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that… that why you don't like to sit still either?”

Rolling his lips, he tucks the back behind his ear, nodding, a sheepish smile adorning his face.

“Well,” you say, “You’re good at it.”

Swallowing, he licks his lips, gaze not leaving you. “You not wanting to ask anything?”

“Should I?”

Shrugging, he licks his lip. Dragging it along slowly. “Some would.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not some, am I?”

He considers it, your answer. Turns it over.

But his response isn’t verbal; it’s a gentle tug on the belt loop on your jeans, pulling you close. Out of instinct, your arm drapes over his shoulder. Silently thankful for the outfit choice, for choosing a nice top and jeans. Especially as you stand staring at him, eyes taking him in as he does the same.

Your heart pounds loudly in this definitive pause. A chance provided to cast your eyes away, to ask him what else he's thinking.

But that’s not what you want—not what you need.

Not as you close the small gap. Not as you watch his stare, all heavy and scorching, and how it drops to your lips, following a similar path you had taken on his face only a second prior.

Kiss me, you think.

But you realise as his lips slide into one cheek, dimple deepening, that the words had flowed out instead. Stretched out, laid a red carpet from yours to his.

And it’s inescapable, the pull you feel when your mouth marries itself to his, when your palm remains flush with his cheek, being greeted by the tickling of the wiry hairs on his jaw.

When he licks into your mouth, you’re gone—thrown off course and falling freely, all willingly, not wanting to ever land and not at all in fear of the descent as you grip him for stability. Neither of you stop when his hat falls from atop his head, landing with a crack on the floor.

Because it might be odd to have missed a mouth before, but you have.

Suddenly feeling all is right now it’s back against yours, where you write a story against his lips and taste the words he wishes to say in return. The room is empty, quiet—no backdrop this time compared to the street before—and so you can’t mask your whimpers, and you can’t mistake the sound of him groaning when you move him back so his back meets the walls.

Distantly aware of his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close, mouth chasing yours as you begin to grin, begin to feel him mirroring it.

And then he stops.

Pulls back.

A look on his face that’s unreadable and scrunched.

“I…”

Shame fires inside of you, like a key in an ignition, roaring itself to life. “I’m so sorry, Frankie—I thought, I mean—“

His hand comes around your wrist, stopping you, halting you in your desired path to move from him. “Stop, baby. Please.”

Baby.

It's there again. But this time, fully spoken, not held back.

“I just… I just want to do this right, is all. I’m… fuck, I’m here to help you. Meant to be a professional. Don’t… I don’t want you to think I tricked you into letting me in so I could… you know.”

Heat rises, billowing out across your cheek and neck. “I don’t… I don’t think that.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “No.”

His chest fills before he lets out a loud exhale, thumb slowly drawing a circle on your wrist. “Good. ‘Cause…” he shakes his head as he bites his lower lip. “I want to take you out for dinner.” Index joining his thumb, both doing a pattern, as he whispers your name, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I want to treat you right. I… I don’t want to have come from work and—you know?”

Nodding you move a little closer, palm sliding over his cheek. “I know.”

He grins, sliding his palm down flush with yours, before he loops his fingers in between yours. “Good.”

“Good,” you whisper.

Tightening your hold on his, almost swinging it.

“Think you should kiss me again, though.”

Laughing, his eyes crinkle, dimple appearing briefly—but then he does.

Thank you for helping me move and assess the stability of my dresser.

No problem, glad to be of help.

I had a really nice time with you, Frankie.

How much did it pain you that you couldn’t work that into tease?

I’m wounded, bleeding out as we speak.

You need me to come back? Hold your hand.

Not sure that’s all I’d want you to do if you came back.

Not sure I’d keep my word about doing this right if I did either.

Because I’m an incredible kisser?

Because I didn’t want to leave you at all.

Wish you hadn’t, honestly.

Don’t tell me this, I’ll get back in my truck and come back.

Oh, the dreadfulness if you did.

Did you just use the word dreadfulness?

I did, and I stand by it.

What you doing on Friday at 7pm?

What do you want me to be doing on Friday at 7pm?

I want you to be sat opposite me at a place in town, candle in the middle.

Guess I can move things around to play footsie.

I’m eternally grateful.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[stargirllanaa]

୨⎯ "Cruel World” - Rafe Cameron

❥ Masterlist

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Noncon smut, toxic relationship, Abusive relationship, Domestic violence, Gun violence, Drinking, ex!rafe, Rafe is actually terrible, psycho ex bf Rafe

Summary: loosely, based on ‘Cruel World’ by Lana Del Rey, everything goes wrong when you spot your psycho ex bf at a New Year’s Eve party.

A/n ✎: Thank you so much for 100 followers! Ahhhh!!!! I’m so glad you guys are enjoying my work, I recommend listening to the song ofc but you don’t have too. Bold and italics are flashback. Enjoy <333

Wc: just under 3k

18+ MINORS DNI, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

“Does anyone know where I put my eyeliner?” Your friend Nora asked you, as well as your other friend Violet.

You were all getting ready for some New Year's Eve party at Nora's boyfriend's house; everyone would be home from college for winter break, so you were excited to see all the people you went to high school with.

“No, but I know where the vodka is!” Violet chuckled,

“Come on, let's all take a shot!” Violet continued as she made her way over to you.

“Come on, y/n, are you going to pout all night? He might not even be there.” the brunette expressed as she sat beside you, bottle in hand.

She was referring to your ex, Rafe Cameron, and you knew for almost a fact that he would be there. Nora's boyfriend happened to be his best friend, Topper, and you and Rafe hadn't exactly ended on the best terms. The two of you had been broken up for about a month and a half; for the first two weeks, he would not stop texting and calling you, profusely apologizing, saying things like, ‘I'll go to therapy.’ ‘give me another chance.’ ‘I'll be better.’

It got so annoying that you had to block him; obviously, that wouldn't stop him. The thing was, Rafe was fucking crazy; he would always find a way to get to you, and if he didn't, he simply didn't want to.

“He's going to be there.” You said with a sign, “I'm just going to get fucked up, ignore him, and hopefully get some dick tonight.”

“That's the spirit!” Violet said as you tilted your head back, and she poured the vodka down your throat.

“Are you kidding me?” Your boyfriend asked you in a harsh tone as he stalked toward you.

“What?” you respond as you tried to take a wobbly few steps back.

His eyes narrowed at you, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, aside from the clown makeup,” Rafe said, referring to your red lipstick.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don't like that dress?” Rafe interrogated as he roughly grabbed your waist.

“How many fucking times, y/n?” the blonde shook your body roughly. “For you to get it through your thick fucking skull?”

You were silent, frozen almost; whenever Rafe got violent, you didn't know how to react. You didn't fight; you didn't try to run; you stood wide-eyed in shock because if you did respond the wrong way, you knew it would make things 10x worse than they already were.

“Huh?” He asked you, shaking your body roughly again, waiting for you to respond.

“I- I don't know.” You mumbled weakly.

“You don't know,” he mocked with a dry humorless laugh.

“Go and change. Red looks trashy on you.” He stated before letting go of you with a harsh push into the wall.

All your friends knew that Rafe was bad, but they certainly didn't know how bad he was. You were so good at hiding it, concealer, color corrector, foundation, you name it; if it could cover a bruise, you had it. Every story you told them about your fights with Rafe were very watered down, and because of that, no one knew how truly scared you were to run into Rafe at this party. Not in an ‘Oh, no, my ex!’ way more in a ‘he might kill me way.’ But with every shot you took, you felt your fear start to fade slowly, and when you arrived at the party five shots in, in your little red party dress, you felt way more confident than you should have.

Your arm linked with Violet’s as your friend Nora lost the two of you to find her boyfriend. You and Violet stumbled through the house, passing through groups of people, trying your best to find the drink table.

“By the way, I love your dress,” Violet approved, looking you up and down. “Red is your color.”

“Thank you!” you smiled, taking the compliment to heart; she didn't know just how much that meant to you; you hadn't worn red since Rafe had told you it was ‘trashy’ on you.

“Fuck, is the Britney Smith?” Violet giggled, pointing at the short blonde girl.

“Isnt she pregnant?” you wondered as your eyes fell on the drink table.

“Oh my god, look who's right next to the drinks,” Violet says before covering her mouth with her hand.

“Is that Alex?” you replied, squinting your eyes to get a better look.

Violet nodded in response, eyes wide with excitement.

“Go talk to him!” you smiled at her. “I'll sit right over there,” you said, pointing at the elegant velvet couch.

As you sat on the couch, you couldn't stop thinking about Rafe. Your anxiety slowly started to rise, and you regretted every choice you made up to this point. First of all, you and Rafe had ended on horrible terms; second of all, you came to a party that you knew he would most likely be at, and now you are all alone and a little more drunk than you'd like to be.

You couldn't stop thinking back to that day, your breaking point, the last fight you had with Rafe before you ended things for good.

“Why are you following John B on Instagram?” Your boyfriend asked you as he looked up from his phone.

The question confused you a bit; you honestly didn't even know you were following him in the first place.

“I don't know?” you replied with a shrug. “Probably was an accident; maybe Sarah tagged him in something or-”

“Was it an accident when you smiled at him the other day at the wreck?” he cut you off.

Was he serious right now? John B had waved at you, and you simply smiled in return. You were just being nice; it was nothing more than that.

“Rafe, I-” You were going into very dangerous territory, and you knew that, even though Rafe was physically attractive, he was very insecure, which showed a lot in your relationship.

“If it's another bullshit excuse, I don't want to hear it,” he scolded as he stalked towards you.

He wasn't even giving you the chance to defend yourself, and frankly, it was pissing you off even more than his stupid questions.

“Rafe, I don't even know what you're talking about; I literally-” you plead with your boyfriend, taking a step back for every step he took forward.

“Of course you ‘Dont know,’ you never do.” Rafe hissed at you, moving closer and closer.

“That's what you do; you act all fucking innocent and then sneak around behind my back.” the blonde accused.

“Do you think I'm stupid?” He sneered, backing you against the wall.

That was the final straw; now he was accusing you of cheating from a simple smile and an Instagram follow. I mean, how delusional could he be?

“Are you fucking crazy?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed.

You could tell he was shocked at your response by the way his eyebrows arched upwards slightly, but you could also tell you pissed him off by the way his jaw ticked.

“What did you say to me?” He asked; he heard you loud and clear the first time; he just wanted to see if you had the guts to repeat it.

“Are you fucking crazy? I follow him on Instagram. So what? I can unfollow him if it's a problem.” you argued, shocked that this was even an issue.

Rafe's hand shot forward without warning, delivering a sharp slap to your face. Time momentarily slowed as the impact echoed through the room. As the sting of the slap registered, a deep sadness clouded your features. You hated to say it, but you were used to rafe hurting you.

“Who do you think you're talking to?” Rafe asked you. Blue eyes are darker than their everyday shade.

“Huh?” He scoffed, laughing slightly.

“Calling me crazy…talking to me like I'm the one in the wrong?” your boyfriend shouted as he snatched a big chuck of your hair, gripping it tight enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Rafe, I-” you tried to defend yourself as tears clouded your vision.

“No, I'm talking now.” His voice boomed as he screamed in your ear.

Rafe slammed your head against the wall behind you, using your hair as leverage; at this point, your ears were ringing, your head was banging, and you couldn't speak from the pain alone. And Rafe just kept going on and on about how important trust is in a relationship, but how could you even listen when he was gripping your hair so tight? But obviously, Rafe didn't see this as punishment enough because he dragged you by the hair to his closet, and even as he rustled through his sock drawer, clearly looking for something, he didn't once let go of your hair.

“Rafe! Stop-” You were cut off by the feeling of ice gold metal pressed against your temple; you were completely frozen, not knowing what to do; there was no way your boyfriend was pressing a gun against your head over an Instagram follow.

“If you even look at john b again, your fucking dead.” Rafe threatened coldly.

Your heart was racing; Rafe was impulsive knowing him; you could breathe the wrong way, and he would pull the trigger. That didn't stop your breath from fasting and your tears from falling, though.

“You hear me?” he asked, pulling your hair back just enough to make eye contact.

You didn't say anything; you had been sobbing ever since you felt the metal against your head in the first place.

“Do you hear me?” He shook you, demanding an answer, “I will fucking kill you.”

“Yes!” you cried out, hoping and praying for him to put the gun down and let go of you.

And when you left his house that night, you had never returned. Rafe did have his good moments, but was he worth your life? You broke up with him over text the following day, and you hadn't seen him since.

Since today, as soon as you looked up from your lap, lost in thought, you made eye contact with Rafe. You felt sick when you saw him; you knew he would be here, but you weren't expecting to see him this soon.

You stood up, making your way through the separate groups of people; you needed to find somewhere you could be by yourself because right now, you felt like you might have a panic attack.

“Excuse me,” you repeated over and over as you drunkenly stumbled to the stairs. No one was upstairs, other than maybe a few people hooking up, but other than that, it was pretty empty. You looked for a room, apologizing when you opened the door to see Nora and Topper making out. You stumbled through the halls until you found an empty room, sighing in relief as you closed the door behind you.

Your relief was short-lived because you didn't realize that Rafe was following behind you the entire time, and when he entered the room, you instantly regretted isolating yourself from the rest of the party and your friends.

“No.” you panicked, anxiety rising deep within your stomach.

He was intentionally standing in front of the door. There was no way out.

“Hey, Listen, y/n-,” Rafe said calmly, trying to calm you down.

“No! Get away from me!” you interrupted words slurring, not wanting to hear a thing from him.

You had no desire to speak to Rafe, not after all he had put you through in your relationship, not after you had been in therapy for the past month to heal the pain he had caused you. He wasn't just a regular ex, Rafe was fucking crazy, and you both knew it; you knew he was waiting to see you in person again, probably planning it, planning out exactly how he was going to get you back and what he was going to do if you declined his offer.

“Can you just listen to me!?” he snapped at you, slightly losing his calm demeanor. “I just want to talk-” He said through his teeth, walking over to you and away from the door.

“Well, I don't want to talk!” you barely even knew what you were saying; your head was spinning, and you regretted every shot you had taken earlier.

“So that's how it's gonna be, huh?” Rafe mumbled to himself more than you, fist clenching as he spoke.

As he got closer and closer, the room seemed easier and easier to escape; you knew you couldn't scream for help because of the loud music banging throughout the house; no one would hear you, and you knew you couldn't put up the best fight because you were drunk and Rafe’s also way stronger than you, he had proved this time and time again.

So you took the opportunity to run for the door while you still could. But two steps in, Rafe had already caught you and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly against his stiff chest.

“I didn't want to make this complicated.” he hissed into your ear. “But come on, y/n, it's almost like you want me to hurt you.”

You thrashed your body, wiggling side to side, trying to escape his grip.

“You’re fucking crazy!” You shouted as you continued to attempt to free yourself.

“Yes! I'm crazy,” Your ex admitted as his grip around you tightened, and his nostrils flared. “I'm crazy for you.” he dug his nails into your side.

“Get off of me!” you cried out, voice raw with emotion.

“You come to my best friend's party wearing the fucking dress I hate! Knowing I'm going to be here!” he criticized, pushing your body towards the bed. “It's almost like you want me to take it off.”

“Rafe, stop, I-” you were cut off by Rafe throwing you on the bed and wrapping his hands around your throat as he hovered over you.

“Shut the fuck up!” He sneered, looking down at you with dark eyes.

“You fucking left me!” His grip got tighter the more he spoke. “Not even a call, but a fucking text.” he scolded. “Do I really mean that little to you?”

You didn't end things the way you did because you didn't care about Rafe; you cared about Rafe so much, more than you ever wanted to, and that hurt; throughout everything he's done to you, all the pain he's caused you, you still cared. You broke up with Rafe over text because you were terrified; he had threatened to kill you over an Instagram follow; you couldn't imagine what he would have done if you dared to break up with him in person.

But you couldn't say any of that because he was choking you so hard that you couldn't breathe, let alone speak; all you could do was hit his hands repeatedly, hoping he would let go.

“You didn't care about my feelings. Why should I care about yours?” He asked you, looking deeply into your bloodshot, teary eyes with his blue angry ones.

Your mind was racing; Rafe was actually going to kill you. You saw this day coming many times throughout your relationship, but you didn't expect it to happen when you guys were finished. You had shared your body, your mind, everything with him, and you had been happy it was over; you finally were starting to feel like yourself again. But now he was going to take that all away from you.

Rafe finally let go when he started to see your eyes roll back as you started to lose consciousness.

You gasped for air in between coughs as you held your throat, desperate to soothe it from the pain he caused with his harsh grip. You had accepted death. You knew exactly who you were dealing with, and the thought of him killing you over a breakup wasn't too far-fetched.

“You have a lot of making-up to do after the stunt you pulled last month,” Rafe sighed as if he was inconvenienced by what he was doing to you.

The stunt you pulled? Your break up was serious, and for a good reason; he was lucky you hadn't called the police; if anyone had pulled a ‘stunt,’ it was him. He had pulled a series of stunts throughout your whole relationship. He was pulling one now.

Before you knew it, Rafe was tugging at your dress, attempting to pull it off you. If there was one thing you weren't doing, it was going down without a fight. You tried your best to kick him and scratch him, everything, but you were drunk, had just been choked, and Rafe was much stronger than you, so he pinned your wrist above your head with one hand and pulled the bottom of your dress up with the other.

“Remember this, y/n,” He said as he positioned himself up against your cunt. “Remember this feeling the next time you think about trying to leave.” He taunted before pushing into you roughly.

As he thrusted into you repeatedly at a rough and harsh pace, you sobbed. You thought Rafe was behind you; you told yourself you would never let a man hurt you the way he did again. You were so happy when he was gone.

“Fuck, take this off,” Rafe moaned as he pulled your dress over your head.

With every hash thrust, your cries got louder. Rafe didn't care about your pleasure or even his; he wanted to hurt you; he wanted to see your tear-stained face. This was your punishment, and he was succeeding. The only thing you felt between your legs was severe pain.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” you heard everyone downstairs scream in unison.

“Happy New Year,” Rafe smirked as he pulled you in for a rough, sloppy kiss.

Rafe was fucking crazy.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 21: Try to Understand

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: I'm gonna go 18+, I'm not sure that it needs it, but I'm still gonna do it. Angst, Talks of pregnancy, Talks of possible abortion, Cursing, Fluff, Sexual References, Graphic Nightmare?, FLUFF, Family Problems, Self-deprecating thoughts, Awkward Situations, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

******************************************************

Soldier Boy POV

After his shower, you still haven't come back from talking to Rosemary, and Ben decides that instead of eavesdropping on your conversation, he's going to go to the kitchen and get a drink. He knows exactly where Legend hides the good shit, mostly because Legend hid it to keep it away from Ben in the first place. And despite it happening forty years ago, nothing in Legend's house had changed. Ben had many memories of this house, at least two Herogasms had been hosted here, hell, Ben had memories in the room you two were sharing, but he kept them to himself.

The last thing he wanted was for you to think about any of the things that happened in the past, not when you had told him that he had made it up to you, not when you had held him close after all these years and whispered things to him that he always wanted you to say, and not when he was more happy than he'd ever been.

You said that you forgave him, Ben understood that, but that didn't mean he was going to stop making it up to you every day and it didn't mean that he was going to stop making you happy, because after all these years you were still the only thing he wanted, and he refused to lose you ever again.

He glances at the empty bottle on the nightstand, the one that you brought with you last night and the same bottle the two of you finished together.

He was surprised when you said you stopped drinking, but not completely. You'd only drunk socially as a supe, and Ben hadn't seen you drunk since the two of you were kids. He knew it was because you didn't want to lose control like he did.

Ben stutters on the memory of what happened in Mid-town, and what happened forty years ago when he threw a car through a house and killed an innocent bystander. Ben didn't believe he was a bad guy, he was a hero or- the memories of all the moments he lost control began to seep though the cracks- at least he thought he was.

His mind drifts back to you. You were always in control. The one time he'd ever seen you lose control was when you lost it at the premiere all those years ago. It was justified. Ben would have lost it too if he walked in on anyone fucking you. His jaw clenches at the thought, but then he remembers what you said last night, that there hadn't been anyone else, that you never wanted anyone else but him ever. It was surprising to him, that you hadn't moved on, even after all this time you still loved him the same way you always had and that there would never be anyone else.

Fuck. Ben took in a deep breath to avoid getting too excited remembering what you said, feeling warmth begin to build in his abdomen. It had been difficult to contain himself when you admitted that to him. If you had let him, he would have made love to you right then, made you feel things that no other man ever did, but you said you wanted to wait.

And Ben wanted to respect that, wanted to respect you.

He examines the empty bottle once more.

When you were younger he'd watch you get drunk on cheap beer that he bought you more than once, usually when you proclaimed that you could drink him under the table and then Ben had to practically corral you to get you home. Then again he liked those nights, when you'd try to sing, swing from light poles that lined the street, and you'd grab his hand and say crazy things like "let's run away" or "let's go egg Missy Callahan's house." Both of which Ben didn't need much more convincing to say yes, but the two of you never did.

He would have run away with you if you'd ever seriously asked him to, he would have dropped everything to leave, would have chosen you just as you chose him the night he showed up and asked you to go with him to get the serum. The promise he made to protect you and be strong for you the night you went with him was not new. He had repeated it to himself every day since the minute he realized how much you meant to him.

And he would continue to do it for the rest of his life.

Ben ascends the stairs, buttoning the Giants jersey that Butcher bought for him. He wasn't the biggest fan of them forty years ago, but it was one of the only shirts he had. And the last thing he wanted to do was walk around without a shirt on. Ben smiles to himself remembering your reaction when you walked in on him changing into his supe suit yesterday morning. He loved that you reacted to him that way, it was the same way that he reacted to seeing you yesterday when you were standing in your bathroom in only your bra, looking just as beautiful as you had forty years ago when he took you to bed and-

Fuck. Ben took in another deep breath finishing the last button to avoid thinking about you naked. It had been forty years for him and he knew that he was going to have to take it slow when it came to sex.

He stumbled into the kitchen and froze.

Lou was sitting at the square kitchen table that sat under a floor length window and looked out onto the sprawling backyard of Legend's property. Ben could see Rosemary and you talking at the very edge of where the grass met the thick woods beyond.

"Hi Ben!" Lou smiles wide at him. A giant box of crayons sits on the table just beyond her filled with every color known to man, while she scribbles in a sketchbook that looks suspiciously like the same ones that Ben had seen you buy for yourself in the past. "Do you know how to draw trees? Aunty y/n always does them for me, but she's talking to mommy."

"Um-" Ben clears his throat, fastening the last button of his shirt. Lou was smiling at him the same way you did, like she was genuinely happy that he was there, and he wasn't used to that. It was the same way you used to smile at him when he climbed through your bedroom window. He looks out the window to where you're still talking to Rosemary trying to find a way out, until finally he sighs. "No. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, mommy can't draw either." Lou looks back at her drawing while reaching for a brown crayon. She was wearing pink polka dot pajamas, pants and a shirt that matched. Ben had never seen pajamas like that before, but he supposed that pink was her favorite color, given that she was also wearing a pair of bright pink fuzzy slippers.

He couldn’t help but smile. He wondered if you hated how much Lou liked pink, if it reminded of those dresses your mother used to make you wear that always made you look like a giant iced birthday cake.

Personally, Ben didn’t think you looked that ridiculous, he thought that you looked cute, ruffly, but cute. You never believed him when he told you that.

Ben wandered over to the cabinet where he thought the whiskey was, but as soon as he opened it, he found the cabinet empty.

Did he fucking move it?

"It's under the sink." Lou said from behind him.

"What?" Ben turns around surprised.

Lou was still scribbling with her crayon in her sketchpad. "Uncle Legend came in and moved it this morning."

"Thanks." Ben awkwardly makes his way over to the sink, and sure enough behind the mop bucket is a full bottle of whiskey. He busies himself with pouring a glass before he eyes the chair next to Lou wondering if he should sit there.

Ben was nervous, he'd never admit it, but he was. This was his granddaughter, someone that you loved very much. He'd never been around a kid before, didn't have any siblings growing up, and certainly didn't have any relatives with children the way you had.

He liked to think that if he had been there when you were pregnant and when you gave birth to Rosemary he would have gotten used to it gradually. He wasn't sure if he could even be a dad, not after everything that happened with his own.

He was sure that he was going to be a disappointment to Rosemary and even to Lou and-

"Sit with me." Lou says, interrupting his train of thought as she gets off of her chair to pull out the one next to her for Ben tugging with all her strength to pull it out from under the table.

Ben hesitates, but finally smiles at her efforts to get him to sit with her and sits down.

An awkward silence falls over him, he's again unsure what to say, so he takes a sip from his glass and hopes that you'll come in and save him from saying the wrong thing, but given how upset you look standing outside with Rosemary, he's sure that it won't be anytime soon. The urge to go outside and get between Rosemary and you is strong, but just as he begins to move to get out of the chair, Lou interrupts him.

"You make her smile more." Lou says, while grabbing a red crayon with her chubby hand and begins to draw the petals of a flower in her sketchbook, meticulously trying to make them more circular, tongue between her teeth as she concentrates.

"Who?"

"Aunty y/n. She didn't smile as much before." She says it matter of factly.

"Really?"

Lou nods reaching into the box of crayons for a new color. "She tried to act like she wasn't sad, but I think she was. Sometimes when she thought I was asleep I would find her on the couch just sitting there. I think she was lonely. And I tried to give her bigger hugs but they never seem to work. Hugs always make me feel better." Lou sighs.

"I'm sure that your hugs made her feel better." Ben's says tightly. He's not sure how to talk to Lou, isn't sure if he should talk to her like an adult or not.

"I love aunty y/n. I want to be just like her when I grow up. I want to be an artist!"

Ben looks down at the sketchpad on the table beneath Lou’s hands. It was of a giant tree that had different colored flowers all squished together in its branches. Each flower was different than the last, crudely drawn, but under it all Ben could see her potential. It reminded him of the sketchbook pages you first showed him when you were eight and swore him to secrecy, threatening bodily harm if you told anyone else about them.

“You’re very good.” Ben says and Lou beams with pride at her drawing, before flipping to a new page. She holds out a brilliant yellow crayon towards Ben. “Please draw a sun right here.” She taps her finger against the top left of the page before placing the crayon in his hand.

“Oh I don’t think I-“

“You can do it Ben! Aunty y/n says that art doesn’t have to be perfect, that it gets messy sometimes but that makes it fun!” Rosie reaches for a purple crayon and begins to draw stick figures to the right of the page.

Ben had heard you say that before, usually after your mother would sneer or make a comment about your paint stained hands when he’d bring you home from a day at the park. But sitting here listening to Lou say it was different.

Lou reminded him of you as a kid. She wasn't afraid  to speak up, to say what she thought, and she was filled with creativity and love.

Ben always admired that about you, that you were able to create things so perfectly and that you always made space in your heart for him, even when he was a complete dick for so long. He wondered if Rosemary was like you too. He could see a bit of it when she told him off, saw how headstrong she was and how ready she was to protect who she loved from him.

Ben hated that Rosemary believed that he would hurt you again, when it all but tore his own heart out to do so the last time.

But he was trying, hoped that she could see that he was trying and hoped that one day she’d let him in. The problem was he wasn’t the most patient person in the world.

He looks down at the crayon in his hand frowning slightly. He wasn’t an artist like you. The only thing that he’d really ever drawn was the naughty doodle that got him kicked out of boarding school, the one that made you laugh so hard you pushed him off the bed when he drew it for you in your sketchbook. You’d tried to show him other ways of drawing and painting but he’d never been interested.

Not to mention he didn’t think it was manly. He didn’t think that a man should have a hobby like this. It should be fishing or hunting or something like that but he looks down at Lou.

Her eyes are shining bright with excitement, smile wide, dimples showing and he doesn’t want to disappoint her, not when she’s been nothing but nice to him since he showed up.

If Hughie or fucking Butcher come in here and see me drawing this fucking sun I’ll-

“You don’t look like your pictures.” Lou hums drawing a smile on the face of the stick figure.

“Huh?” Ben looks up confused.

“The pictures that mommy keeps in the drawer.” Lou says reaching for a black crayon to draw long flowing hair on the stick figure.

“What pictures?”

“Of you and aunty y/n. Mommy has some in her drawer.” Lou acts as if she hadn’t said anything, grabbing a different crayon to draw another stick figure.

“She has pictures of us?”

“Yeah. You don’t have the beard though. And you and aunty y/n are really young.” She pokes his cheek with a chubby finger, making Ben freeze. Lou squints her eyes at him. “You don’t look like the picture that aunty y/n drew either.”

Ben hesitates, eyes slightly widening. “She drew a picture of me?”

“Few days ago.” Lou scribbles. “You didn’t have a beard then either.”

In the new drawings and paintings that Ben had seen back at your apartment, he hadn’t seen any drawings of him, he assumed it was because of everything that happened, but to learn that you did still draw him made him smile.

“You don't like it?” Ben asks, amused.

She shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“Aunt y/n likes it.” He said it more to himself than to Lou. Like hell he was going to shave it off when he saw how much you liked it when he came back. Ben smiles to himself remembering how your heart beat jolted out of your chest whenever he touched you, how your cheeks flushed, how your smooth skin felt beneath his hands-

There were so many little things that Ben missed about you, so many things that he had forgotten, and now he got to learn each one all over again and fall in love with every part of you for the second time in his life.

The sun he drew in the top left of the page was lopsided, but Lou didn't complain, in fact she added a pair of sunglasses to it, and a bright smile that Ben laughed at.

"What are you two doing?" Ben hears your voice say as your hand gently rubs his back. Ben looks up embarrassed. He hadn't wanted to get caught with a crayon in his hand, but at least it had been you and not Butcher.

"We were just-" Ben begins to say, his eyes flicking to where Rosemary stands behind Lou eyes narrowed.

"Mommy look. Ben is helping me color!" Lou crows, picking up her drawing so Rosemary can see.

Ben realizes what Lou was drawing on the other side of the page. Lou has drawn Rosemary and you standing with Lou in between the two of you holding on to her hands. Ben's eyes slide to the last figure in the drawing, his chest suddenly very tight, it's him, standing beside you, frowning, but holding on to your hand.

Rosemary smiles tightly at the page with a sigh. "That's nice sweetie. Come on, let's get you dressed."

"But I like my pajamas."

"Do what your mother says Lou." You smile down at her, stroking her dark hair back from her face.

"Okay." She sighs dramatically and begins to walk out of the room, but Rosemary is still glaring at Ben.

"Rose-" You begin to say, but she interrupts you.

"She might be able to forgive you, but I'm not going to." Her eyes narrow. "I don't think you're good for her."

Ben is still sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, your hand solidly on his back as if you were making the statement that you weren't going to push him away. It solidified something, showed him how much you were willing to sacrifice to keep him in your life, and again enforced just how much you loved him. If Rosemary hadn't been standing there, he would have sat you on the marble countertop and sucked another mark into your neck. The one he left yesterday was already starting to fade and he wanted to replace it as soon as possible.

But he was still angry, angry that Rosemary wouldn't give him a chance. "Your mother means everything to me." Ben says honestly. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. All I'm asking is that you get to know me first before you-"

"I don't want to get to know you." Rosemary says. "And if you hurt my mother again, I’ll make you wish that you stayed in that fucking lab."

She's gone in an instant, making Ben feel a pain in his chest that he hadn't felt since he spoke to his own father decades ago, on those nights when his dad got so drunk that he couldn't stand up straight and the nights that his father's words rang heavy in Ben's ears. Those nights Ben would get drunk, climb up the tree outside your window, and stumble into your bed, curling into you because you were the only thing in his life that he couldn't stand to lose, couldn't stand to disappoint, and the only thing in his shitty life that made him happy.

"Ben-" He hears you say.

"Mhmm?"

"Look at me."

Ben looks up. He doesn't like the worry in your gaze, doesn't like how your own eyes are just a little rimmed red like you were crying.

"I love you." You whisper. "And she's not going to change that."

"Are you sure?" He barely breathes the words, afraid in his soul to admit them to you, to speak them into the universe.

You drop into his lap, putting your forearms on his shoulders.

"Ben." You drag your fingers through his hair, your touch soothing his anxiety. "You know me enough to know that I don't pull punches. If I didn't want you here, I would make sure you weren't." You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I want you here with me. I don't want you to go ever again. "

They were the words that he wanted you to tell him on the nights he crawled through your bedroom window, the question that he was always afraid to ask. Because he never believed that you could want him even a fraction as much as he wanted you, could love him and want to be with him as much as he wanted to be with you. And yet here you were after all these years after all the shitty things he did accepting him and letting him into your heart.

“Okay.” He leans his forehead against yours for a minute. “What did you talk about?”

“Homelander. And what happened yesterday.” You sigh. “She’s about as thrilled as I thought she’d be with us going after our old team. She was pissed when I told her about Countess the other day but this was worse.” You mutter holding on tight to him. “She’ll get over it. At least… I hope she will.”

“Mhmm.”

“I will say that I’m kind of jealous.”

“About?” Ben is suddenly worried.

What did I do? Did I-

“Every time I tried to get you to draw with me you said no.” Ben watches you frown dramatically. “And here you are with another woman-“

Ben rolls his eyes and shuts you up by closing the distance between your faces. You laugh into his mouth, his tongue finding the rigid edge of your front teeth as you do before you fit your mouth against his and kiss him, your soft lips molding against his in a way that makes a deep seated groan vibrate up through his chest.

“You try saying no to her.” Ben mutters.

“It’s impossible.” You open your eyes to stare at him again, your gaze filled with more love than Ben had ever seen. He’d never seen anyone look at him like that before, none of the other women he’d had in his life had ever looked at him the way you did. And he never wanted you to stop. You looked at him like he was special, treasured, like he was something that you never wanted to stop looking at, like you saw every part of him and refused to turn away.

He'd only seen that once before. He had taken a woman out for drinks, you had been doing an interview that ran late and Ben was trying to pass the time, but at the bar he had seen an older couple sitting in a booth in the corner. Ben couldn't look away from them. They were sitting on the same side of the booth, the man's arm draped over the woman who leaned into him with a wide smile, her gray hair pushed back in an elegant twist, but she looked up at him with such reverence that Ben couldn't help but think of you. When he saw that he left the woman he came with there and went to your apartment, to wait until you got back. And when you had fallen asleep Ben had folded you into his arms and allowed himself to dream that one day you would look at him the same way.

And now years later here you were looking at him as if he was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, the same way you looked at him the morning after your birthday when you told him you loved him.

"But I did tell you that once Lou drew you into the family portrait, you were in." You reach back to pick up the drawing holding it between the two of you so he can see Lou's hard work. "She really captured your frown." You snort, leaning your head against his shoulder while you look at the drawing.

"Shut up." Ben squeezes you, but he can't help but smile at the paper.

And deep down Ben started to believe you when you said that this was his family too, because sitting there with Lou he had felt just as at home as he had with you.

All he had to do was convince Rosemary.

*********************************************************

[30 MINUTES AGO] READER POV

I can't believe that she walked in on us IN BED. She's already pissed about me having him here, but why did her finding us together feel like the equivalent of my mother walking in on Ben and me?

You follow behind Rosemary silently, trying not to think of how sad Ben looked when you left him. You would have wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, curled up beside him and make him understand that no matter how much Rosemary wanted you to push him away, you weren't going to leave him.

You could see the fear flashing in his eyes, had seen it last night when he yelled at you. As much as he didn't want to admit it, you knew that Ben was still afraid that you would leave him. And knowing how much you meant to him made you love him even more.

It was a beautiful day. Legend's home was the only one within ten miles, his money well spent to keep himself secluded from the rest of the world. The large trees at the back of his home were tall and strong, their branches curling upward  to the sun as if they wished to worship it.

The sunlight was warm on your shoulders, soaking through your t-shirt and sweat pants as you follow behind your daughter, who was obviously trying to get out of earshot of Ben's supe hearing. You didn't want to break it to her that you'd probably have to drive at least a mile away for Ben's hearing to get a little bit fuzzy.

Finally, just as you reach the crest of trees at the back of the lot she stops and turns back to face you.

She's frowning and waits a minute to begin. "I want you to tell me what happened."

"I did-"

"No. You didn't tell me everything and I want to know exactly  what happened and why you had to fight Homelander."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

There really wasn't an easy way to sugar coat it or really explain it in a way that Rosemary would understand without getting angry.

She almost went ballistic the other day when I told her that I killed Countess and that was a complete accident. Us going after the Twins was not. Us going after the twins was calculated.

"Okay. Before we talk about that, I want you to understand why-"

"Oh you mean why you and Ben-" She seethes his name. "Were going after your old team? The exact thing that you told me you weren't going to do when you came to tell me about Countess?"

"Yes."

"Fine." She leans back against one of the trees, still frowning. "Go on."

"Ben told me what happened in Nicaragua. What Countess said was true, she seduced him to make me angry." You hold up a hand. "And before you say that Ben said those things to me and did those things of his own free will. I know."

Rosemary still doesn't look pleased.

"They betrayed him in Nicaragua. They attacked him and gave him to the Russian military."

"But why?"

"Honestly I'm not sure. I think it's because Ben used to be wild and impulsive and-"

"Used to be?"

"Just listen." You sigh. "He spent forty years in Russia being tortured and experimented on. They put something in his chest-"

"What did they put in his chest?"

"It's like an energy beam." You were giving her the short version about what the beam really did, because you didn't think that now was the best time to say that it might turn supes human. "But that's why we went to see the Twins, because they betrayed him and when Homelander showed up I had to step in."

Rosemary pinches the bridge of her nose and you can tell that she's trying very hard to not get angry. "So let me get this straight, you went to see the Twins, AS SOME KIND OF FUCKED UP REVENGE FANTASY?"

"Well-"

"No. My turn to talk." She holds up a finger like she's admonishing a toddler. "I can't believe that you can't see what's happening."

"See what?"

"You told me that things were different, that he'd changed but he hasn't! He's still the same angry dick! The only person that's changed is you!"

"What?"

"And you don't fucking see it!" Rosemary shouts. "You facing Homelander, you killing Countess, you going after your old team- it's all him! As soon as you got a whiff of Soldier Boy you started to slip back into the person that you were forty fucking years ago."

"That is ridiculous-"

"No it's not. And it's all him. He is the one making you throw the life away that you have made for yourself. He is the one making you use your powers again! He is the one making you go along with his ridiculous revenge plot-"

"Ben is not making me do anything!"

"He is-"

"You have no idea what that's like for people who say that they're your friends betray you. To have people who you thought trusted you give you up like that. They stabbed him in the back Rosie, and they sent him away to another country to be tortured. Do you have any idea what they did to him there? Our old team deserves everything that is coming to them."

"I don't know who you are anymore."

"I am still the same person I was. I am still me."

"No I don't think you are-"

Your jaw tightens. "Look, I understand that you're upset with this whole situation. With having to be here and with me letting Ben back into my life, but he is my family too."

She bristles when you say the word 'family.'

She has to understand that, to know that Ben is my family, is her family.

"Rosemary, do you have any idea what I would do for you if someone tried to hurt you or Lou the way they hurt Ben? What I would do to them for even trying?" You whisper it, but you can see her expression soften as she considers what you were saying. "You were angry with me because I was going to go to Russia alone. You wanted to protect me. And even all this stuff with Ben, you have been trying to protect me from him because you believe that he's going to hurt me again. How is this any different?"

“It is.”

“Why? Because he’s hurt me?” Your eyes lock with hers. “I’ve hurt you by letting him back in my life. Are you saying that now you wouldn’t protect me? That if I asked you to go with me to Russia right now you wouldn't do it.”

She stands there looking at you for a minute, letting what you've asked hang in the air between the two of you. And you know that deep down she understands the need to protect her family the same way you did.

"No. That's not what I'm saying. You depend so much on him and it's only been three days." She sighs. "Mom you were happy before-“

"No I wasn't." You mutter.

The memories of the last three days with Ben proved that. You hadn't realized just how in the hole you were until he walked back into your life. Until you felt how much you loved him and now understood how much he loved you. Waking up with him, falling asleep with him, spending time with him, seeing his smile, hearing him speak, and feeling him beside you all felt different. She was right, you did feel different. You felt lighter and warmer, like you'd mainlined sunshine, like everything else had been colorless until Ben walked back in.

You understood that now you may have tried to be happy, and you were with Rosemary and Lou, but not anywhere else. Being with Ben felt right.

Rosemary eyes you for a minute and then finally sighs.  "I know."

"What?" You weren't expecting her to say that.

"He's been here only three days and you're-" She searches for the word reluctantly. "You're glowing."

"Huh?"

"My entire life I've watched you. I know you. You're my best friend. And I'm not saying that you haven't been happy, but with him you're a different person."

"You've already said that and it's not true. I'm still me-"

"Not about the supe shit." She shakes her head. "The way you look at him, the way you smile, the way whenever he shifts in another direction you do too like somehow you sensed it. And it scares me."

"Why does that scare you?"

"Because if he decides this is all too much and he leaves, I don't want to see the person you become when he does." She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. "I kinda feel like I've seen that person the last thirty nine years."

"That's ridiculous-"

"You told me about before, told me how you were when he left, I didn't see it, I couldn't imagine it, but now seeing you with him, understanding just how much of a hold he has on your life, understanding how much you love and care for him- mom… I see that the life you made for us, you still weren't you. I'm not sure if you were really completely happy and now seeing you with him, I-"

You place your hands on her cheeks. "Rosie. What happened forty years ago is not your fault. I would not change a single second that I spent with you and Lou. I do not regret the life that I've made with you. I do not regret you. I want you to understand that. The things that happened between me and Ben, even though they were fucked up, does not mean that I don't love you."

"I know that." She whispers, but you're suddenly unsure.

You thought that you'd expressed that to Rosemary enough over the years, that you did not regret having her, that you wouldn't change that decision.

"Rosie please." You hug her, tears burning just behind your eyes. "You are not a mistake. I love you." You pull back to look at her green eyes, the same as Ben's. "And I wouldn't change a single thing about my life. Because maybe I wasn't happy with me, but I was when I was with you and Lou."

"Okay." She pulls back with a sigh.

"I just wish that you'd try to talk to work things out with Ben." You search her face. You told yourself that you weren't going to get involved, but you wanted her to like him. He was her father and he was going to be spending time with you.

"Look I don't want to hate him, and maybe I don't, but it's not your fault." Her expression hardens. "He shouldn't have shouted at you yesterday for that. You didn't make me hate him or make him the villain. It's not your fault." She repeats.

"Maybe it is. I told you all those things about him, I made you focus only on the bad, only on the things that happened towards the end-"

Rosemary takes your hand. "Mom you told me everything. I remember the good things. I remember what your friendship was like. I remember the stories you told me when I was a kid about Ben and you running around Philadelphia."

"Which ones?"

"When he was strong for you when you couldn't be. When he took care of you, when he took you places, when he supported your art. When he made sure that you were happy. I-" She pauses.  "I haven't forgotten those."

"Then why-"

"Because they happened before. When Ben was still Ben and not Soldier Boy. I've seen every single film. Watched every interview, commercial, and even those stupid music videos." Rosemary shakes her head as if trying to rid herself of the image.

"You have?"

"Yes. And I saw the person he became."

You knew what that looked like. Ben really did go all out for the cameras when they were rolling, but when it was the two of you he was just him. And the past two days he had shown that person to you all over again, and you knew deep in your heart that you were trusting him again.

"I know that you don't believe me when I say this, but he really is different."

"Sure."

You sigh. You knew that she wouldn't believe you, that she was just so hell-bent on pushing him away that she wouldn't listen to you. But you knew deep down that he was different, and that he was trying. It was enough for you.

Ben was enough. And the fact that he was willing to throw away all the macho bullshit he had spouted in the past, that he was willing to try to change to be the boy you fell in love with, meant everything to you.

You knew that you had probably forgiven him too early, but you wanted to believe him, and you wanted him to be back in your life.

Rosemary echoes your sigh and looks back up towards the house, stamping her foot in frustration. "Did you at least kick his ass?"

"Who? Ben? I told you that I threw him-" You begin to say suddenly confused.

"No." The ends of her lips twitch into a smile. "Homelander."

You laugh. "Yeah. They don't really make heroes the same way these days."

"Good. He probably fucking liked it."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that." You snort remembering the look he gave you when you threw him against the ground. "But it was kind of cathartic to throw him around. I feel a lot better. Maybe you should give it a try." You narrow your eyes at your daughter. "I mean Homelander not Ben."

Rosemary's lips pull into a mischievous smirk, looking more like Ben than she ever has. "I'll keep that in mind."

********************************************************

READER POV

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, heart racing to catch up as you tug your arms to get them free, but leather restraints hold them in place at your sides. A cold chill seeps up through the metal table you lay on though the thin paper gown that covers your body. Brilliant light from fluorescent square lights above blinds you. And even when you shut them tight the flash of red that stays behind burns through your iris.

Shadows move just on the edge of your vision and you strain your ears to hear them speak, to understand why you're here, why you're strapped to this table, but the only thing that remains is a garbled sound broken only by the rapid ding of a heart monitor.

Where am I? How did I-

A sharp pain deep inside of you makes your breath catch, an uncomfortable sensation between your legs. You try to kick out, but your legs are strapped down, pried apart and bent at the knee. Your pleas for release are slurred as if you've forgotten how to speak.

Someone brings their hand down over your mouth and you bite down, blood and flesh sticking between your teeth and the person strikes your face savagely.

The shadows that pass over where you lay on your back are impossible to bring faces to and their muffled conversations are just out of reach.

And when you open your mouth to scream everything goes black.

"Y/n!" You hear Ben shout as you come to, his hands on your shoulders shaking you from sleep, but you can't move, can't speak still stuck in whatever hell-scape that your mind designed. "Please Sweetheart." He's leaning down over you, eyes wide with fear and anxiety, eyebrows pulled together. "Wake up."

"Ben-" You croak, breath coming in gasps, eyes blinking to focus on him above you.

Ben breathes out a sigh of relief, pulling you up into his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin.

"Ben." You say again, tears falling from your eyes sobs shaking your shoulders, breath coming in gasps as you cling to him, holding on to him so tight you think you hear his back crack.

“Shhh. It’s alright Sweetheart, I’m here. I’m right here.” Ben murmurs into the top of your head, rubbing his hand down your spine.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had the nightmare, but it was the first time you’d had it in forty years. It had started a few years before Ben had been taken. You don’t know why, but you always assumed that it was stress of being a hero or your heartache over Ben refusing to see you as more than a friend, that finally you cracked. But you didn't know why that particular scenario. The only time that you'd seen something remotely similar was the day that you received your injection of Compound V and you figured maybe your mind created the dream to haunt you.

And now it’s back because I’m stressed about all this shit with Homelander.

You inhale the familiar scent of Ben’s cologne, tears soaking into the front of his black shirt, but it does little to calm your heartbeat. You sob again, arms wrapped around his neck holding him tighter to you as you shudder.

“It’s alright. I’m right here.” Ben says again. His hand trails gently down your spine up and down in a soothing motion to calm you down.

He’d comforted you before after the same nightmare, he knew exactly what you saw each time, but he also was confused as to why you saw it. In his arms you felt safe, as if no one else could touch you or pull you away. You wondered if Ben felt the same way when you held him.

“Shh.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, pushing back the strands of hair that clung to your sweaty forehead.

You shudder again, sweat sticking your shirt to your back, but your heartbeat begins to slow as you take in another breath.

“Same dream?” Ben whispers.

“Yeah.” You breathe. “I haven’t had it since you were-“ You choke on the words again as the images from what you saw come back. The mumbled voices of the figures fading in and out of your ears.

“Did you ever figure out what it was?”

“No. I-“ You inhale. “I don’t know. I-“

Your body shakes again as you cling to Ben, trying to forget the dream that never seemed to go away. “I don’t know.”

********************************************************

READER POV

In the days that followed Butcher and Hughie looked for Mindstorm's last known location, and Rosemary tried to stay as far away from Ben as she could, which wasn't too far because she refused to leave Lou alone with him. And Lou kept wanting to do more and more with Ben.

But you didn't mind that, because it meant that Rosemary got to sit front row to Ben trying to get more comfortable around Lou.

And try he was. He sat with her each day while she drew after breakfast, watched you and her paint side by side on Legend's back porch, waited patiently while you braided Lou's hair back from her face, and even indulged her in the occasional game of Go Fish that Ben always seemed to lose. But he didn't mind or at least not that you could tell.

"I understand that you all have this kind of fucked up fantasy when you go after Mindstorm," Rosemary sighed leaning back on Legend's dark brown leather couch with a beer in her hand. "But I still don't see how this is going to help us with Homelander."

Butcher shrugs taking a sip from his own beer bottle, brooding in the chair across from her. Hughie mirrors the shrug and reaches for the last slice of pizza in the ornate glass coffee table in front of the couch.

You were sitting on the couch beside her, your legs folded up underneath you with a mug full of scotch clutched between your hands, while Ben stretched out beside you nursing his own glass of whiskey.

In all the years that you had known Legend, there never seemed to be a shortage of booze. Ben respected that.

Lou was sleeping soundly upstairs, you kept checking on her every few minutes with your supe hearing, but so far she hadn't woken up.

"Because those two wanted us to go after their old team first." Butcher gestures to Ben and you with his bottle.

"At least we don't have a hard-on for Homelander." Ben frowns. "Can't tell if you want me to kill him or if you want to fuck him."

"Ben-" You sigh.

You had tried not to think about Homelander over the past few days, but it was unavoidable. You bite the inside of your cheek remembering what it was like to fight him, what it was like to hold him by the throat and stare into his nearly black eyes.

He had been pissed. You knew that, but you hadn't expected to feel so weird when you looked at him. You remember his blonde hair, the sharp smell of hair dye, the strong cut of his jaw-

Your thumb rubs the side of the mug you're holding. There was something else about him though, something that you couldn't place, something that when you looked at him you felt that you had forgotten something. Something important that nagged and tugged at the back of your mind.

But what? I've seen him before, at least not in person, and definitely not that close. Only in those pathetic interviews on T.V, on those stupid energy drinks…

You think again about the grip you had on his throat, remember the angular planes of his face.

"That doesn't fucking help." Rosemary rolls her eyes and you look up at your daughter.

She really does act like Ben even if he wasn't around through her childhood.

You think to yourself, your eyes tracing her face, looking at the soft dusting of cinnamon colored freckles over her cheeks that she usually hid under makeup and the nose that always reminded you of your father.

You think about Homelander again. But what did I forget? What about him made me-

Your entire body freezes as you stare at Rosemary's face, the face that you'd looked at for the past forty years.

No. That's impossible-

You can't breathe, can't think. Something cold clamps over your heart the chill soaking into your bones like you've sunk into deep water. All other sounds in the room fade into a muddled haze as you sit there and stare at her, eyes widening, heartbeat beginning to thud loudly in your ears.

Oh. My. Fucking. G-

The mug shatters in your hand, glass and alcohol going everywhere, but you don't feel anything. Only the sense of dread, and the chill that spreads with the coming storm and the understanding of what it is you've forgotten.

And you hoped to God that you were wrong.

*********************************************************

A/N: I'M BACK BABY! Honestly after a week off I am doing alot better. Thank you everyone for the love and support. I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's moving the story right on along and the next chapter is going to be BIG and BLOODY. But we'll make it through.

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✮⋆˙ 🩻 — 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐥. 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲

✮⋆˙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : lo’ak 〤 omaticayan!reader

✮⋆˙ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : in which 4 years have passed after the incident. Change was normal to occur, but so was loss and grievance within that change. Change was something that had occurred within the youngest Sully boy when the RDA returned, when he had to flee from home and leave you behind, when the incident happened. When the Sullys returned after two years, Lo’ak instantly seeked for you, yet you’ve noticed he had changed both for the better and worse, and sometimes, most days, it had become for the worst. You’d given him many warnings throughout the year, as both of you have now reached adulthood and have committed to a relationship that at first begun with the constant lovesickness for one another, never ending touches, stolen kisses, but that was when you were mere teenagers, and as time went by, as change and grief and war came upon you, your relationship took a shift. Harsher he became, more reckless, impulsive, ignorant, inconsiderate, yet he promised he’d change for you. After every act and word, he promised to search within himself, within the past to try and find the Lo’ak he once was, the proper mate you deserved soon, the Lo’ak who you adored with your entire soul. Yet if you were to be sincere, you knew that after all these major events that happened to Lo’ak and after the months of not seeing him, he would not be the same, especially after the loss of Neteyam. You wanted to hang onto the sliver of hope, of sanity for yourself, because Lo’ak had not been the only one to have lost something, someone, yet it seemed that everyone always excused him for his behavior, nobody cared, especially Lo’ak. He was constantly out flying, ‘on patrol’, never returning to the hideout the Omaticaya People still had to endure, and his excuses only became more and more unreasonable. His father said the boy’s just under a lot of pressure, Kiri said he’d come around, but Neytiri did not; while she too grief, she too experienced major changes, it did not give her son the excuse to treat you with such heartless behavior. You loved Lo’ak, and you loved him ultimately and beyond compare. You loved him too much however, to the point where it blinded you from seeing the harsh reality that this indeed was not your Lo’ak anymore. The strong substance your people had, he somehow always found a way to consume it, practically reek of it without his family knowing — and you didn’t dare ‘rat’ him out. He wasn’t yours anymore, and every ounce of pain, of grief, of sadness you felt for him soon disintegrated. He was supposed to be your boyfriend, he was supposed to be the one bound to be your mate when the time came. But now, it seemed that he wasn’t suitable for you, and while 14 year old you promised his 14 year old self to never leave, you realized now why promises wound up empty. Everyone reaches a breaking point, and you are now finally acting upon it.

✮⋆˙ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 / 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : aged up!lo’ak, ANGST, 18+, thigh riding, fingering, grinding, mild kuru play?, overstimulation, soft!lo’ak, teasing, drinking/alcoholism — lo’ak’s insecure, stubborn, harsh and grieving still but masks it a bit well, reader is slightly sensitive, fed up w him, gives in to one more chance w him tho — italics in dialogue signifies they’re speaking Na’vi!

✮⋆˙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : pretty long, lol

✮⋆˙ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : @bambithewriter @lilghostiequinni @pandoraslxna @avatarloverfrfr @strongheartneteyam @talanyra

✮⋆˙ author’s note : Just in my feelings rn, LMAO. Neteyam series prologue will be posted soon ( hopefully….I just want to make sure it’s good and there’s enough but not too much detail to give away what may happen in future chapters — it’s one of those things where I’ve written the following chapters just not the one I should have actually put time in😭 —) but just thought I’d drop this — Lo’ak lovers, rise up! I hope you like it! Please don’t hesitate to comment, reblogs are appreciated! <33

“Good. You are up here.” You aree met with his back facing you mere feet away, the unkempt pattern of his stripes and the tense rise of his shoulders is more than enough for you to know it is him, especially when knowing that this spot is the single one reserved for him. Lo'ak Sully was left in a state of utter bewilderment, a feeling he thought he had long surpassed. Over the years, he had honed and heightened each of his senses to such an extent that no ordinary being could startle him anymore. However, you were no ordinary being, and that was precisely what captivated him. Your ability to always bewilder and astonish him in unexpected ways kept him constantly alert and intrigued.

He gave a subtle glance to the object in his hold — a minor wooden cup filled to the brim with an alcoholic beverage — naer — one the Na’vi can smell before even spotting it for its scent is strong, vigor. At this point, there is no trying to hide or deny it from you. Even if he did try to throw it off the large branches he sat upon, the scent would be there, reeking around and on him. He had given you the vacant promise to back away from it, or very least try to yet make no effort in doing so. This drink that, while it tips one over for a bit of time, it also deprived feelings you could no longer do. Whatever had happened in his life, each burning drop down his throat and to his mind managed to fix for a minimum amount of time. Of course Lo’ak would not give this up — the opportunity to not feel anything to the bone.

“Your father said you did not show up for your training.” Your tone of voice was deficient of its common disappointment and despair, simply uttering as if you didn’t spare a care for it anymore.

“My father should learn to mind his own business and worry more about leading his People and fixing the damage done from the Sky People.” Lo’ak finally spoke, voice curt and Na’vi language gaining a thickness as he heard your subtle footsteps against branches. “I am not a child anymore.”

“You are right. You are not. But he is still your father, he worries for you. So does your mother.” You reminded him as if it were not known, reaching your spot next to his sitting frame only to see what you have already suspected in his hold, taking in his physical state.

“Yeah well, he shouldn’t. He has no reason to, and neither does she.” His quip made your lips squirm down but said nothing as you observed the drink in his hand, the way his ear flitted from his own words, from your words in adding onto that his mother worries. A quirk settled between your browline but held your tongue for you did not want to start some meaningless quarrel. But Lo’ak could feel the distaste radiating from you, how you’re fighting the urge to scold him for his incapability to uphold his fair share of promises. What he doesn’t understand is why have you not done so?

“You look very pretty. Sevin ( pretty ).” He softly stated.

A small smile was all to be offered — one filled with slight remorse. His legs had been dangling down the edge of the thick glowing lodge, and you pondered on doing the same as you have always done since you were children; swinging them above the small lake of water at the same pace he would, teasing him with a light nudge of your foot. But this time was different. Instead, you settle beside him, knees bent beneath you and slightly tilted your body towards him. Lo’ak’s blazing irises scrutinized you the way he typically does, recognizing the strain your shoulders formed, as if you were on edge because of him. So, he took one more small swig of the liquid before his face started inclining forward to plant a light kiss on your lips. One that was fleeting – everything tied or related to Lo’ak was always fleeting.

Lo’ak’s lips very often suffused your mind from thought, so incongruous from right and wrong.

One moment Lo’ak offered his physical affections and pretty words.

The next, not even a split moment, he was the cause of your suffering stars.

You now pondered where exactly this little act would land the both of you in.

You were the first to retract away from Lo’ak, not wanting to fall into his patterned act. The kind of act of loving Lo’ak too destructively that overflowed everything with a single touch, and tug you back into him.

“What iss wrong?” He inquired, dark brows quirking.

Your coils lightly sway at the head shake given, yet he knew before you could have a chance to verbally utter the lie. “Lying is not a good look for you.”

“I am not lying.” You were quick to snip out before you could contain your tone, palms pressing into your thighs that indicated the falseness of your words.

“Right.” His eyes rolled and bit, “There’s something you would like to say?”

You can’t help but blink a few times. This was an opening, to say what was in your chest. “Srane ( yes ).”

A hum of boredom rang through the air. “You could have just said that then. No need to take the hard way around.” His golden eyes were drawn to the liquid in his hold, watching its faint glow swirl with the light flick of his wrist, and you wondered just how far gone was he. Normally, Lo’ak would have some sort of facade going on, one that’s filled with his now dry jokes and teasing smiles despite the fact that the both of you knew it was just a show. Yet now, he was unfazed by your presence as he brought the cup to his lips, throat bobbing with the largest swings he took.

Perhaps if you were standing, you might’ve tipped over and fallen into the lake. He simply saw it written in bold letters right across your face. “I am not here to fight with you.” You quietly started.

“Then don’t.”

An exhale flared your cat-like nose at his crossed tone. “Okay, I will not but I am going to need you to drop whatever tone it is you are trying to achieve with me, Suli.” Lo’ak, despite the abrupt changes spiking in him, was still your Lo’ak, so when he heard your warning, his ears pinned down by the sides of his head and eyes strayed to the ground below as an act of regret. This gave you some sliver of hope.

Not necessarily did you want Lo’ak to be unstable or uncertain with himself, it made you quite content that he has grown into his fierceness. What was bothersome to you were his drastic changes, and it seemed what once went as two souls that twined perfectly for one another was now misplaced — your presence within his life was not necessary any longer. The intoxication he was constantly washed in came with a smell too strong for your liking, too nauseating, too overwhelming for your senses. Tears swelled up in your eyes, yet you contained them. “I had thought you were going to quit.”

“If we are speaking truthfully, I told you I would try.” He corrected, smug voice paired with a stupid smirk.

“Hm, and have you?” You retorted and his brows hitched beneath his two thin cascades of braids. “Have you tried to quit?”

“And you have got proof that I haven’t?” You despised this, despised the person he’d become, despise that he seemed to knew precisely what he was doing and didn’t give two fucks about it.

“Let us see — there is Kiri, there is Spider, oh there is even Tuk who tells me this!” Your voice carried a feign sweetness and surprise, watching how his brows crashed together with your sneered words. “This is the brother you wish for them to see? This is the person you want your future People to see, Lo’ak? Their possible future leader, the Tippling Olo’eyktan?”

“And what the hell is it to you, huh? We already know I am not suited to be Leader.” His spiking temper was one to shut you up, but you did not fail to notice the light lash his tail made. “You are not my mother, you are not Tsahik, and you are certainly not my mate. I do not need you worrying over me. And I do not need your constant annoying questions.” Your body shuddered, more so because of the harshness of his tone rather than the biting air. Your knees dug into the branch’s crippled surface, fingers winding into fists as your eyes quickly averted from him. Eywa was witness to the sensitivity you had gain over the years, the years Lo’ak happened to be in.

“It is not common for some warm body to ask this much from their future Olo’eyktan either.”

Lo’ak’s added on words striked you with force, causing you to physically and instinctively recoil from the sharp sting of it. The deep slice within your heart, cleanly tearing into two parts. Perhaps in some pieces, some hindsight, it could have been described as that if you did not add onto the fact that the both of you grew up together, the fact that he did not have the simplicity of courage to call you by the true title he once proudly uttered you as; his. His bound-to-be mate, his love.

“A warm body? That is all I am to you?” You questioned, and Lo’ak — rethinking whether his mistake was to tell you the definition of those words in human terms or perhaps the true, more common mistake he noticed that was clearly etched in his features — gained regret behind those lax-colored eyes of his. But it was masked, tightly trapped beneath this filthy portrayal of pride, egotistical, brash and reckless man. Not even a man, a boy.

“Lo’ak!”

Instead of giving you a proper answer, he threw you a side glance, one filled with provocation. The scoff emerging from your throat was inevitable, and you nodded. If this was how he wished to act, then fine. It will make the forthcoming situation much easier for you then. The only way to get through with this was if you treat him as if he was nothing to you. “We must speak.”

Push through the heartache, the pain, the way it tore you apart. You must start to truly see him for who he was in this present moment.

And what you saw was not your Lo’ak.

Lo’ak was listening, you could tell by how his ears slightly flitted up, but he said nothing. Simply awaiting for you to proceed as he took another sip.

“I…” You felt the affliction that tried clawing its way up your throat, your eyes fixating on the ground and you stayed quiet for a while.

“Just spill it already.”

“I have come to say goodbye, Lo’ak.” His slamming shock is beyond thrilling. You had been seeking for some, any type of sign that would prove Lo’ak’s care for you — and perhaps this was the answer; the high perch of his ears, the broadening of his eyes, the hitched breath. Nonetheless, it was too late. He had created his situation, and now he would have to accept the consequences.

“What do you mean g-goodbye?” He stammered, and the cup was now abandoned and falling to the ground that was far below the both of you.

“Ah, so now you can speak!”

“Enough,” he inhaled deeply. “And answer the question.” The audacity this skxawng had. You are firmer with your words “Srane. Goodbye, Lo’ak.”

“And where exactly are you going? And when exactly were you going to tell me?” He spat out in distaste and disapproval, body fully turning towards you.

“The Tipani Clan.” You responded with an edge of sass. “I am telling you right now, aren’t I?”

His response was immediate, loud and he shook his head despite your answer was to be expected, knowing that one of your deceased parents descended from there. “The Tipani Clan? What about—” He halted his sentence from speaking of himself, of how if you left, you would be tearing away a part of him and taking it with you. But fear of vulnerability halted him from doing so, so instead he dodged it. “What about your duties here? I thought you promised to be here for your People in case the Sky People returned. To help rebuild.”

“Lo’ak, I am telling you that I am leaving and all you care about speaking is duty? Are you serious?” He instead looked away from you, too stubborn to answer, so you said his name again. He ignored you.

“Lo’ak, fucking look at me.” It was the rarity of hearing you speak English and the vulgar word thrown in the mix that caught Lo’ak’s attention, gold orbs flickering towards you in an instant and you immediately notice the diversity of emotion pooling them.

“So all that matters to you, is my duty to the Omaticaya? For me to not be here as a fixer upper for them? You only care about that being broken instead of this? Is that the only thing that matters in that head of yours?”

No. The response was, should have been a fierce no. You were constantly, always in Lo’ak’s head. He yearned for you extravagantly, and besides staying alive for the sake of his family, you were one of the few things he could find himself caring for. There would be many cold and curt swears to never trust, to never care or love after losing someone who not only qualified as a good mate, but a loving one, is what Lo’ak thought, he knew it. If you left him — when you left him, he would be done with it, with the twinge of good, of hope. He would be completely shut off from ever seeking a mate to be bonded with under Eywa’s will, he would not care of continuing the legacy of his name despite him now being the only son. His heart, the heart you once saw as fearless and strong, would be guarded by much thicker, massive walls, and that small space left would only become constricted by the waves of his tears. While you were everything to him, you were not sufficient enough to spare him the grief. At least not alone.

While he has grown, while he has sculpted his abilities and became nearly as mighty as his big brother, under all that was still a broken, hurt boy filled with guilt. He could not allow himself to get rid of that part of himself. He could not shed enough tears to move past everything that happened, that he had seen and lost.

Lo’ak loved you, he is deeply in love with you. And perhaps another thing that has changed was that he could not depend everything on you. No one should carry the responsibility of one’s whole happiness. There is no fairness in that.

So instead he found need in other things, distractions despite it being selfish. He needed to fly because it could get him away from the ground and connect to the closest thing that felt like Neteyam, he needed to drown himself in that alcohol the Na’vi made because it drowned away all the pain and misery his family went through, the burden to try and add up to something, someone he will never be able to fill. But while he was engulfed himself in all that, he could pretend that his family was not broken. That it was the same, once happy family it once was 5 years ago. The one that still had Neteyam’s presence, the one that still had a father rather than a commanding leader. In this minor haven of numbness, he could still pretend that those once fond memories were fresh, remembered the way they were supposed to be reminisced. He could not just let it go.

Meanwhile, Lo’ak’s silence was tearing you apart, fragmenting your heart into pieces. But now you knew, you saw the truth. You could not keep a desperate grasp around old words and acts anymore, for now they were faint. Empty. Pointless gifts of a said courting that was going nowhere. Loving phrases and charming grins he more than knew could accomplish in capturing your heart.

But now it was clear as day that it meant nothing to Lo’ak. You meant nothing to Lo’ak. He did not love you as much as you loved him.

His throat cleared, and thickly spoke in English. “Your place is here, Y/N.” His eyes refused to meet yours, jaw narrowed enough to demonstrate he was clearly upset, though you’ are not certain why.

“It was.” The correction you gave his words finally made everything click. His gaze lingered on the lake’s neon glow before lifting to look at you, trying to catch your own. The pretty decorated braids that framed his face moved with the motion of his head slanting to the side. He repeated your word, squinting before shaking his head and more so whispering to himself, “You’re leaving.”

Sharply exhaling, you finally uttered, “I am also here to end things between us, Lo’ak.”

Again, he was bewildered, and the cut breath he released made it known. Eyes darted over each feature upon your face, as if trying to commit it all into his memory, panic slowly seeping within him. “Can … I can say something, right?” His tone still carried its infamous jeer, but you suppose that was the last you deserved. You were the first to engage in this conversation. When you grant him the permission to speak, he wasted no second in taking advantage of it.

“W-where’s this coming from?”

You’re more than certain more inquiries will follow, and one or two questions will satisfy his little interrogation.

“What’s the motive behind all this, huh? How long you’ve been planning this, to leave me?” Lo’ak’s voice was one that never faltered nowadays — he, much like his father, was a fierce speaker. You knew that Lo’ak did not like to be kept in the unknown, in hiding. But now his voice was rather meek. His once honed gaze turned rounder, emphasizing that he may cry. What you despised most in this moment, was that it unphased you. Before this, all the trouble and conflict spiking between you and your Lo’ak, his tears were your least favorite thing in this entire existence. Out of everyone, you once believed Lo’ak was the least of them all to deserve the brim of tears. That he deserved happiness. The sight of them always managed to tear you bit by bit with every fallen droplet, and now it hardly mattered. While you do still very much believe that he indeed deserved happiness, you have reached your limit. You have devastatingly accepted that you could not restore that happiness in Lo’ak.

“Few weeks. A month maybe.” You answered faintly. You use the best of your abilities to keep a firm composure. It would be miserable to cry, especially right then and there. Lo’ak stumbled through his repetition of your answer, dubiety twisting your features, mind and heart. You cannot seem to comprehend the sudden shift of his act. The authentic perplex and strain to recall what went wrong as if he never saw this coming from you.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry, Y/N—” His long arms extended, touch reaching to collide with you, yet he reluctantly retracted back as if he had been scorched by some blazing flame of a barrier around you. He repeated his apology, scrambling to try and find whatever pieces he has broken and bring them back together while trying with all his strength to not lose his damn mind. “Lemme fix this — y-you have to let me fix this, okay?”

His voice is desperate, pleading, and it was as if he is speaking without wanting to hear reason. Lo’ak may not be known for his smartness, but he was clever with certain things. To you, Lo’ak was everything. But even so, that usual thick headed mind of his was unable to get himself out of this one.

“Y/N, we can — it’s fixable.” His head was repeatedly bobbing up and down, and it told you that perhaps you have brought him out of his drunken state. Brought him back to Pandora, at least for a split moment, you thought.

“I think it is too late now, ma Lo’ak.” His eyes shuttered and he let out a quivered exhale.

“Baby, don’t say that, please—” He reached for you again, this time pushing through the fear and on with it. He could not help the slightness of grimace upon him when his hands cut into your self-obtained space, and it was then that he realized why that burn had been a great protection for you.

Anxious, panic-stricken he was, digits winding around the bareness of your hips and wastes no second in tugging you upon his lap. “Please…just give me one more chance a-and let me fix this, yeah? Baby?”

The expanse of his palms quivered when they lifted to your cheeks, your own gripping the taut muscles of his shoulder blades to maintain your balance, to keep yourself steady from the plead within his green-speckled hues. The air surrounding Lo’ak reeked of that forsaken alcohol, entangled through his braids, the essence of his blue flesh, his accessories.

You take him in; the faint violet flushed beneath the sockets of his eyes, the drain that highly beseeched at you with every syllable tumbling from his cloying lips. “I’m….fuck.” His breathing was escalating; more turbulent, almost hysterical as he tried retaining every part of you inside of himself.

Without your willingness, you are gently moved, yet still, your form remained unyielding.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, and you know that.” His softly hushed words are right. You knew he meant them. While Lo’ak’s emotional avoidance over the last few years had been quite a lot, it did not make him exceedingly insensitive. He was full of many pretty words, but never once did he utter abundant words into existence without purpose. But what you only wished for was that he’d been able to say them sooner. Could have been swarmed with the realization and recognition of you before you had made it to the edge of the cliff above the depths. All that was left for you to do in order to escape was to take the act in plummeting. To end things with Lo’ak, to start anew with your own life.

It is unattainable, you arere more than convinced that this is the end of the path for the both of you. Even with that said forged in your mind, you nodded still. Purposeless it was to see him in this state of franticity and fear of the prospect of losing you burdening your heart. You may feel repentant later on, but you are to leave once this is finished, once this is over with and you would never return to the Omaticaya. Lo’ak was to be an experience of your past. He would hate you then, hate you for an eternity for what you were to do, but you knew he would be okay. What he needed was his family. To fix those cracks, to patch those injuries. To improve himself, Lo’ak must and will find a way to find his true self beneath all those layers of resentment and suffering.

That was all that ceased to matter.

“I can fix this? You’ll let me?” You nodded once more, but he did the opposite in an act of disapproval. “Nah, I need to hear it. Let me hear you.” His voice was glazed with true, raw pain, something you haven’t heard from him in such a long time. “Please, Y/N…”

“You can fix this, ma Lo’ak.”

“Y-you promise me that?” He questioned, and for a moment you faltered. It’d be much more deceiving for him to know you were lying. So you do not, and instead you let the tips of your four fingers stray to the nape of his neck and pull him into a kiss. And in this moment, you knew that you had never loved with such depth, such fervor with every fiber in your being.

You were aware that once you vanished from here, the fractures etched in your heart would scorch, ablaze to the point where you would feel every flicker and pain. With that being said, you poured it all into this one kiss, one that seized every ounce of respiration from his lungs. Vehementing it was. Vehementing you are, of course. His mind is nebulous; hazy, too fucked over — but you are here. In amidst the turmoil of an inner war, you. He loves you profoundly, and he knows you well. Well enough to know what the next day would bring. He knew why you were contributing to this, why you were granting him the belief that his pathetic attempt of resolution would be enough.

You love Lo’ak as well.

The thought of facing a day without your presence gracing his life churns his chest with a crushing sense of loss, the palpitating organ within bending and compressing as if some being had reached and tried bending it to their own taunting will. He must give you everything, he has to give you everything, risk it all, and perhaps it would be sufficient. This time it is Lo’ak who retreated from you, dark lashes fluttering against the warmth of your cheek while his eyes perused over your face just one more time.

“You know that no matter where you go, you’ll always be mine.” His words are not a question, more so a statement of persistence and certainty the both of you felt and knew deep within your bones.

“You do understand, yeah?” You could hardly form a verbal response, though you do not give him the opportunity to bask in his little glory, and instead your hands, the ones currently on his shoulders, slide to the beaded necklaces encasing his toned neck, fingers tangling through them. “If you are going to do something, get on with it.”

Lo’ak cannot help the soft smirk hoisting his cheek at your clipped tone and grumbles, “Impatient much?” Candidly speaking, this was perhaps the closest he was to being himself. That brilliant smile you haven’t seen in so long resisting the urge to be the prime focus of attention. A pity, really, for you.

“You still trust me?” He notices your indecisiveness. He does not give you time to respond for he soon adds on, “Like this?” and that almost immediately changes the answer. The adapted pads of his fingers graze down the dip of your neck and to the elegant line of your collarbone, peering down your figure. “Do you trust me enough to have you like this?”

Your chin slightly dips bashfully as you nod. His brows draw together and hisses in a breath. “I wanna hear you say it then. Make this easier for the both of us.” Your delicate beaded chest piece subtly heaves from the ascent your chest makes, and he could not help but laugh, eyes crescent-shaping with the sound, at your irritated voice.

“I trust you, Lo’ak.”

“Good.” he mutters softly beneath his breath while letting his hands fall and secure themselves to your hips.

Yes, good, you repeat the single word in your own mind.

“You’d give yourself to me right here, right now?” He question, and you stutter at this. It was not the upmost ideal thing, for this spot practically belonged to you and Lo’ak was perhaps the most reserved place within the Forest since you were children. But it was the Forest, and you never knew who from the People could be wandering around. The thought of someone stumbling upon you and the Olo’eyktan’s son out in the open petrified you.

Though it seemed your pussy thought otherwise and did not mind one bit of this idea.

“S-srane ( yes ).” Firm is your word, and it pleases Lo’ak. Muscle memory it became when his palms create a path upwards from your hips. Palms that hold such tenderness as they splay up your stomach, blunt nails beginning to faintly engrave themselves into the azure flesh of your waist, soon following your midsection to endearingly trace over the pretty stripes decorated there.

The strokes he causes make you squirm in his lap, body curling slightly to the side and your nose twitches cutely. “Lo’ak, enough—” your plea goes ignored once more by him.

“Do y’know how pretty you are?” Lo’ak’s words cause your heart to skip a rather large beat. Curse his idiotic mouth, curse him. Curse his abilities to have you melt with a single breath of his lungs.

“Our People always speak about the Great Mother’s beauties. Saying how she spent a great deal on Pandora,” You didn’t hesitate to listen, even despite the light acts created from his touch that have your abdomen twitching.

“But gosh, I think you’ve bested her.” He exhales almost breathlessly, as if the weight of his words are too grand and exquisite from being spoken to existence, to you. You see nothing but sincerity in his face, blinking rapidly when he taps your hip and utters, “Take it off now.”

His demand left no inch of a room for a disagreement, so without further hesitation, you hitch yourself a bit up while wobbly fingers perch down and into the weaves of your tewng, slipping the garment off. You more than know that when he meant to take it off, he meant to discard everything — such as your little chest piece. But almost as if it were a challenge, you do not. This draws a chuckle out of Lo’ak and you roll your eyes despite settling back down on his thigh.

His mouth moving hot against yours, and for a second your entire world stills, the remaining fragments of your heart plummeted, the wild fluttering as the single thing inside of you capable of sustaining life. Your ache, your beautiful, throbbing, lifelong ache dwindles for a moment as Lo’ak’s mouth meshes with yours. He kisses you fiercely, fingers brushing the lower swell of your breast, breathing existence back into your being, and it is then that you moaned lowly for him.

When he rips his mouth away from your own, it is when his fingers found their way down the dips of your stomach, outlining the lower section, soon curling around the upper muscle of your thighs to part them just a bit more, dragging two deftly fingers through the growing mess between.

“Even when that pretty head of yours wanna hate me, this body can’t resist me, hm?” He retracts his hand as he speaks, long enough to glide those two fingers between his lips, humming contently around them before pulling them out. They were profusely coated with his spit, making it such an effortless task to increase the mess worse. Its pads nudge back and forth between your slit, occasionally granting nurturing circles to your nub. Your mind is becoming warped within the lust, back to clutching onto his shoulders for steadiness.

Your nails puncture the muscles there with the longing to grind against something, anything. “You’re so damn wet, mamas.” The foreign nickname has force in tearing out a sharp gasp from your throat, and he huffs out a chuckle while absorbing all the moist sensation.

“ ‘m gonna have you all fucked up on my fingers, then some more with my dick, how does that sound?” The sensation of his dark plaits graze your cheek, lips adding on when they brush your flickering ear. “You want that, Y/N/N/?”

You could not do anything more than whine, allowing your hips to wind forward in hence to catch every languid swipe of his slim fingers against you. Your body quaking, head pummeling as you paddle near the pleasure.

Pleasure which you more than know was not healthy. It is as if adding a single aid to a severe wound. The following day, you will detest yourself to the core for giving into this thrilling temptation; the thrusts he gives your tightened cunt, the kisses shared between your swollen mouths, the caresses given to your skin, all of this would create much more difficulty for you to move on.

Lo’ak’s fingers waste no time in swatting against your swollen clit, pads of each digit rubbing gingerly over. Sensitive it is, every swipe causing your entire body to stutter.

You could feel more arousal oozing out of your cunt, adhering to Lo’ak’s constricting thigh. His flesh will be tainted with your slick, his dangling braids and pretty coils will be ruined with every slight tug given by the time you were done. Though he cannot not bring himself to care about it, he cannot let you go at this moment, he cannot not ever bring himself to do it.

The momentum of his overworked digits is lethal, you will be culminating in a matter or seconds. The hand currently entangled within Lo’ak’s hair suddenly disappear to slide down the base of his thick queue, fingers delicately curling around the sensitivity while you begin to subtly gyrate your hips forward, the stimulation becoming much more direct and effective.

Though the act made from your dainty touch causes his jaw to go slack, pupils engulfing the golden pools of his eyes as a soft hiss whispered from his mouth.

"Look at you go, baby…" Tongue peeks out just to glide over his honed incisors before teasingly reaching forward to lightly bite your pouting lower lip, gaze never tearing from yours, and you see it : everything is what you are to him.

The brimming of your orgasm deepen inside the center of your lower belly, spiraling bit by bit. “Hey, no, look at me, mamas.” His tone is low but beseeching, words practically breathing into you, directing you to obey his plea despite the violent desire to let your head slant back if it weren’t for another one of his pleas catching you, voice caressing the tethers of your soul.

“Please look at me, sevin. Lemme see you when you fall apart for me, yeah?” And it is then that you were reminded of your thoughts from earlier.

How fucking perilous Lo’ak’s mouth could be.

“Ma L-Lo’ak—” His name is uttered in a whine, clutch becoming firmer around the single braid of his as you compel yourself to remain in eye contact with the Sully son. He squirms yet does not reprove you and continues his work between your legs despite the building-up ache bulging between his own, three fingers dipping lower to gather more slick before adding it to his pattern against your throbbing clit.

“I-I’m close,” you huff out, and Lo’ak nods deliberately, the subtle movement of his pleading face mesmerizing you. “C’mon, lemme see it happen. Lemme see what I do to you, how good I make you feel, hm?”

"Hmm— L-Lo’ak, I am near, y-you are going to make me cum…" Perhaps you are nearly driven to tears when Lo’ak crane his neck forward again, though this time his lips peck over the pink contours of your scrunched nose first. Sweet, loving kisses falling over each star-like speck across your cheeks, beginning to create a path all over your face.

“You are doing so, so good for me. Always so fucking sweet to me." His breathy muttering ought you to look away abashed, flustered.

"You love the boy you knew, don't you?"

"You are not a boy anymore — y-you are grown, you are to be Olo’eyktan o-one day." You remind him curtly, words tumbling from your lips as you try focusing more towards your pleasure.

"Nah, no." His head shakes, the two braids aligned to each of his cheeks swaying from the motion. "Grown — Grown Lo’ak is very different from boy Lo’ak, isn't he?"

Your heart cannot help but falter at this, a muskiness kissing your waterline, blinding your senses as you stare at him solemnly. "I love every version of you, ma Lo’ak. I just love you."

Agitation suddenly crumbles his pretty features, and brokenly whispers, “Then why are you choosing to leave me?"

You truly do want to answer him despite the way your heart nearly plummets to your stomach, yet it is difficult to. His lips sweetly find their place over your face again, prickling your flesh as if pointed needles.

“L-Lo’ak." He merely hums at the low warning, nuzzling against your flushed cheekbone. "It’s okay, just go ahead mamas. I know."

"Cum for me, you've been so good, sevin. My pretty girl." Your chest heaves overwhelmingly, the tips of your ears flirting with each of the pretty, earnest words he reiterates, swelling the urge for you to sob. "Perfect and pretty. The only girl, my only babygirl."

And perhaps you will sob.

"All you have always done is take care of me, huh? But who takes care of you?" His working hand drags up, and the sudden act caused you to jolt. Lo’ak’s free arm and hand, however, waste no second in coiling around your midsection in order to keep you from moving away.

"Just wanna make it up to you, tìyawn. Just tell me that's what you want from me." He beseeches, nose nuzzling into the line of your trembling jaw.

“Y-yes, that is what I want, ma Lo’ak. Please, please, please. T-Take care of me — make me cum— make it up t-to me, Lo’ak, please." A moan rumbles in the center of your throat for Lo’ak feels it when his lips twist upwards into a wide grin. “Then do it — c’mon, cum for me, baby. Let it out…”

He did not need to instruct it twice for you come in an instant. It washes over with a moan, long and broken, your head seizing forward and into the crevice of said neck and broad shoulder. Damped lips are immediate to latch onto the future Olo’eyktan’s neck, biting, suckling, and softly licking the striped flesh, body quivering as you are thrown over the edge.

Your walls twitch around a vacant place, and Lo’ak kneads your abused nub through the aftershocks as the pearlescent proof of your release pools out of your cunt. "Fuuck, my pretty girl, doing so damn good for me." He croons sweetly, the long length of his lashing tail somehow finding its way to tenderly coil around the thigh clenched by his side.

You faintly feel the swift movements of his hands reaching down to fiddle with his own tewng, yet the dread is too heavy for you to react.

It is only then when you realize that Lo’ak was not stopping his tempting assault that you found the strength to peer hazily down at where your pussy and Lo’ak’s fingers met. He is still playing with you, flexing digits coating themselves in your sweet essence before ramming them right into your much sensitive hole.

He is immediate in starting at a brutal pace, so engrossed in searching for the spot that will have you squirting all over him.

"L-Lo’ak, Lo’ak, no w-wait, please— " Yet he has decided to not listen to your cries. Not even looking at your face, no, his gaze was enthralled with the way his fingers are digging you out, the way you swallow them whole, nearly becoming one with them.

"No, you must take it. You can take it.” He forewarns but your head is shaking in denial, a sob flying out your mouth. “K-Kehe ( no ). I-I can’t, m-ma Lo’ak—”

“But you can, baby. I know you can.” His brows furrow softly together, brushing against your browline as his forehead kisses yours. “And you know how I know that? Hmm?”

Stammers are the only that manage to form. “Because I know you, Y/N. I am the only one who knows you better.” He feeds you the answer he had been seeking for and your chin juts up and down. “Or am I not, mamas?”

“Y-yes, L-Lo’ak, it is you — just you.” A chuckle proudly spews from him. “And who knows this pretty pussy better than me?” Hips jerk forward, whining with a gasp at the harsh deepness of his digits. Your grip on his queue releases, palms scattering out and planting on each side of Lo’ak’s angular face as you keep his attention locked towards you.

“N-no one, ma Lo’ak. N-no one—”

Lo’ak nods firmly, “That’s what I thought, baby. Now, let me treat her the way she deserves to be treated, okay?” His mouth brushes over your lush one, yet didn’t necessarily grant you the yearn of a kiss. Not as he notices the subtle flash of upset striking your face.

“Just one more chance for tonight.” He adds after a pause. “You’ll let me have her for tonight, won’t you, Y/N?”

You whine shamelessly, “Y-yes, o-oh … P-please, Lo’ak—”

“That’s the Y/N I know,” His praise goes by tenderly while the act between your legs is entirely distinct, much more carving, exhilaratingly burning you. “My Y/N, my girl.”

Your pussy is well acquainted with the feel of Lo’ak’s touch, a rather hefty debate between said cock and fingers. Every single adapted ridge, divot, arch. Always, always taking him so well, so eagerly, prettily desperate for Lo’ak.

"You're so wet." He grunts, pupils dilating in awe from the brief yet sufficient enough glance given to the drenching mess. "Need you to tell me how it feels."

“So good, Lo-Lo’ak. You make me feel so, so good." Lo’ak likes you like this, all in a drunken daze, vocals all garbled up.

"You gonna cum, mamas?" You cannot even answer, not as your body actively chases every thrust. "I can feel you squeezing my fingers so good. Jeesh, you're so damn perfect." He rasps lovingly, "Love having you like this…you’re everything to me, you know that?”

The words are meant more to himself, yet you hear him all the same. “L-Lo’ak." you mutter though the tut his tongue makes keep you from proceeding, head shaking. “Shh, don’t say anything. I jus’ want you to cum for me, got it? Flood my shit.”

You feel every curl, every nudge his fingers gives the most sensitive spot within, your insides coiling, rattling all at once to the point where you nearly lose all feel of your lower body, all sense of the way your tail swivels, the way your limbs quiver. “Make a mess all over your Olo’eyktan, hm?”

The hand grasping your hip rises to press against the rising arch of your back, encouraging the pretty dip to take shape while your inner thighs clench around Lo’ak’s palm.

But the continuous push to your back flush you forward, thighs yanking open with the lankiness of his lower abdomen shoving between. The act causes his fingers to retreat from your weeping hole and knead them sloppily upward. The intensity of your subsequent climax comes in high waves when he slumps them back inside, pumping once, twice, three times all in one before he is pulling back to stimulate your pulsating clit.

White spasms of what can be compared to blazing stars overcome your vision, a shriek rippling from your hoarse throat while you drizzle your release all over Lo’ak, the hands once cradling his face dragging down to the length of his neck and jabbing your thumbs into the hollow of his constricting throat. Tears cascade down your glowing, flushed cheeks, a never ending streak assisted by the river flowing from your cunt — an enthralling combination that has Lo’ak feeling ecstatic.

"Mhm, that's it, baby. Just ride that shit out for me…that’s it, there you go." His encouragement has your body feeling dazed and spent as you lean forward to flush yourself against Lo’ak’s dampened chest, ear flickering at the rumbled sound he creates.

"You did so good for me." Lo’ak mutters into your other ear, mouth grazing the point of it. "So, so good." The length of his palm move to cradle the curve of your head as he feel the racketing your body creates, watching the sways your lovely tail creates before it nestles right beside his thigh.

"Your pussy's so perfect, made to take me, made to listen to me, isn’t that right?” You cannot help but to not answer from the embarrassment clutching at you, and instead nuzzle the tip of your nose over a glowing speck on his cobalt striped chest.

"Nga yawne lu oer ( I love you )." This is sincerely declared with a brush of a kiss to your head. "I do, I really, really do." He insists, and he cannot evict the sniffles following that scrunches his nose afterwards. "I am sorry, very sorry for the way I’ve acted."

You are too exhausted to create some sort of movement, but one thing that is for certain is that Lo’ak prefers it this way. It makes the act of speaking, of apologizing much easier for him.

"Damn, I really have been so selfish, haven’t i?” A deep furrow finds its way to your forehead at his self chastising, at the way he is combined, conflicted between uttering this to you or to himself. “You will still leave. You won’t be here anymore. This is really happening, isn’t it?”

Another stiff sound leaves Lo’ak, so meek, so lost before sweetly adding, “I promise I did try. For you, I really tried. F-for them — for my family. To be what they need— what you needed.” A sob strangles in his throat, mind nearly beginning to descend into that fogging darkness. “A-and I know it’s not an excuse, I know it’s been years but after we left, a-after Neteyam—”

Yet the gentle, secure entanglement of your arms pulls Lo’ak from that mindset, and he finds solace within this embrace, keeping him close, letting him feel and know that you are there.

“Q-quiet. Enough — do not do this to yourself.” You stammer out softly, a light kiss meeting his collarbone. “We still have one more chance, ma Lo’ak. One more chance within this night. One more chance to pretend that this is not our future, to pretend that everything is fine, yes? Do not waste it by recounting your regrets, okay?”

Lo’ak’s mind gear this over, and in there, and in his heart, he more than knows that he is never going to be able to bring himself to love with such force as the way he loves you. Yet still, even now he cannot express it in a good, healthy, proper way that you truly deserve. He will find a way to prove it, however. To show, to act, to live by it as if it was the very sole purpose of his life. Lo’ak will find the pieces of himself beneath all this tethered and tainted pain, and bring them together within himself in order to bring himself back to life.

Lo’ak would do it for you. For his family.

So you can learn to love him again.

But he will do it for himself as well inorder for him to learn to love himself again.

"Wipe your tears for right now, okay? I am still here. I am right here in front of you." Lo’ak’s firm arms surround your frame into a hold that is soothing, familiar, full of strength. It blossoms molten warmth within your chest, erupting an arsenal of emotions.

"Whatever you — whatever you wish to give I will take." you end meekly and Lo’ak is certain he has fallen for you all over again. Yes, his climb back to victory will be well worth it. For you to look at him one day, and to once again see him as the boy you loved, the man you will love, the man you admired so profoundly. It makes Lo’ak’s entire heart begin to tremble, along with the curves of his lips.

"Alright then, sevin. Just take a breather and rest for a while, yeah? Our night's just getting started."

︵ ✮⋆˙

[harveysweakness]

If it’s possible could you possibly write something where reader and Harvey have been secretly married to each other for a few years the law firm doesn’t know since reader practices under her maiden name, anyway the firm finds out and tells them that they don’t need to hide anything. (Maybe they thought the firm would fire them or something?) idk up to you!

Thank you for taking my request!

A/N: Italics are in the past! I absolutely love this request! Thank you so much for requesting, I had a blast writing it! Let me know your thoughts!

"Mrs. Specter," your husband whispered into your ear, pressing his lips briefly to your temple. "I will see you in thirty minutes."

"Mr. Specter," you replied, leaning into his touch, "My driver is faster than yours, so I will see you in twenty."

He chuckled, the feeling of it rumbling through his chest against your back. "I like those odds."

He left, the fluttery feeling in your chest once again taking you back to the first time you met Harvey.

"And this is our newest senior partner, Y/F/N Y/L/N," Jessica introduced Harvey to you. "Y/N, this is Harvey Specter."

"You can call me Harvey," the man replied, holding his hand out to you.

"You can call me Ms. L/N," you smiled, shaking his hand. Jessica smiled.

"And that is why I hired her."

Harvey smirked, but his eyes didn't leave your face. And though you kept his gaze, the fluttering in your chest made you want to run.

-------

By the time you'd made it to the building, Harvey had already been there thirty minutes. He caught up to you quietly in the hallway.

"What happened to twenty minutes?" he asked, trying and failing to conceal the smirk on his face as the two of you walked briskly towards your office.

"Traffic," you simply shrugged.

"I think it was actually that you still hadn't done your hair when I left."

"Shut up," you muttered, both of your eyes falling to the approaching junior partner.

"Mike," you greeted warmly, "how's that case for Robinson coming along?"

"I've got my first year associate working on it, so good."

"See, now you know why I treated you the way I did all those years," Harvey responded.

"You made me work three times the amount of hours I'm having mine work," Mike retorted.

"What are you going to do, labor laws have changed," Harvey shrugged, glancing at you.

"Don't look at me, I was always nice to my first years."

"It's true, she was the nicest," the newest junior partner agreed.

"Thank you, Mike. I will see you and Mr. Specter later at the meeting."

"How many times do I have to tell you? It's Harvey," your husband called after you.

-----

You weren't quite sure when you'd started letting him call you by your first name, but it probably had to do with the all-nighters you'd started pulling together when the firm was being sued for fraud.

"I can't find anything," you sighed, frustrated. You held your head in your hands, rubbing your temples from the exhaustion headache.

"Me either," Harvey replied, throwing down his recent stack of papers on his desk.

"What are we going to do, Harvey?" you asked softly, scared for the firm.

"I don't know, Ms. Y/L/N."

"You can call me Y/F/N, Harvey. I think we've known each other long enough."

"Does this mean we're becoming friends?" he laughed. You couldn't help but laugh too.

"Something like that."

-----

"They know," you announced, shutting the door to Harvey's office behind you.

"What do you mean they know? It's been five years, they don't know."

"They know," you repeated.

"They don't know."

"Harvey," you deadpanned.

"Sweetheart."

"Harvey, you ought to listen to your wife," you said, crossing your arms across your chest and jutting your hip out. His eyes followed the curve of your body, focusing on your hip.

"You're right, I should."

"Not the time. I heard Jessica telling the other partners, junior and senior, that she needed to hold a meeting with everyone because of something going on with two partners. Everyone was there but us."

"Because we're busy and the best in the firm," he shrugged.

"Harvey."

"Sweetheart."

"Jessica then said, and I quote 'best-kept secret relationship the firm has ever seen."

"Okay, so she knows," your husband nodded. You hummed in agreement.

"So what? She's not going to fire us," he noted.

"So why is this a partner meeting?" you questioned.

"That I don't know, but I'll find out."

You nodded, turning on your heels to get back to your office, not missing Harvey's famous call for Donna to tell him what was going on.

-----

Not even an hour later Jessica knocked on your door.

"Y/N, can I borrow you for a last minute partner meeting?"

"Of course," you replied, hoping your nerves weren't showing through your voice.

"It will only take a few moments. We just need to pick up Harvey on the way."

Stopping at Harvey's office, you waited while Jessica repeated the same words to him before leading you towards the conference room. The two of you shared a look, feeling a bit on edge. While you were more the one to feel your nerves, Harvey typically put himself more on the offensive when danger seemed possible.

"Why now, at this hour on a Tuesday?" he asked the managing partner.

"It seemed like the right time," Jessica replied simply.

"Well it doesn't feel right to me," Harvey retorted. "I had plans this afternoon."

"I'm sure you did. Y/N, didn't you also have to cancel plans? Didn't you ask for this afternoon off about a month ago?"

If you weren't sweating before, you certainly were now. Even your husband looked a tad nervous. Neither of you had time to dwell any further as you took your seats.

"There seems to be a congratulations in order," Jessica began. "One that was due five years ago."

You paled, staring straight at her. You didn't dare sneak a look at Harvey.

"It's impressive, really, keeping a secret such as this for so long. It's not a simple task to hide a marriage."

There were murmurs and whispers heard around the room. Harvey's hand briefly found your knee below the table and gave it a quick squeeze.

"Would the couple like to reveal themselves? Or should I?" Jessica asked.

"Y/N and I have an announcement," the man next to you spoke up.

There were several surprised gasps around the room, causing your cheeks to burn.

"You're married!?" Mike exclaimed, seemingly unable to help himself.

"Have been for five years, three months, and four days," your husband responded smoothly. Mike looked like he might stop breathing.

"And they have been the happiest days of my life," Harvey continued. "And I regret nothing."

"Can I ask why?" Jessica questioned softly, her eyes on you.

"We never wanted to put the firm in danger, in a different light," you answered. "If people knew- clients, other firms- we didn't want to risk changing the reputation of the firm."

Jessica gave an almost apologetic smile, knowing what you said had truth.

"Cats out of the bag now. I guess screw the firms reputation," Louis muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Louis-" Harvey began.

"The firm will be just fine," Jessica interrupted. "And I did mean congratulations really were in order." Her secretary seemed to hear everything, for several bottles of champagne were brought in with glasses for everyone.

"To Harvey and Y/N, may you have a lifetime of continued happiness together."

You looked at Harvey, clinking your champagne glasses together with smiles on your faces.

"Screw it," you heard him mutter, before quickly pressing his lips to yours.

[screaminglygay]

KINKTOBER day 4

pairing: witch!wanda x fem!reader

summary: trick or treat? definitely a treat!

warnings: smut!!!, dark!wanda, dubcon!!, anal, overstimulation, edging, grooping, kinda voyeurism, inserting tentacles, over all dark themes! if you find anything else - I’ll add it!

words count: 3.6k

an: to be honest im not really sure what i did here, umm this fic was written with the biggest block ever, so I do apologize, also it wasn’t proofread, so yeah

(italics = your thoughts)

!MDNI!

Enjoy this spooky time and be safe!

"I´m coming! Just a minute," was heard on the other side of the door as soon as you knocked. Every second bring your body more anxiety, so you try to shake it off by fidgeting with your ring.

After few minutes the door finally opens - and a pretty tall lady, with red hair and aboslutely georgous black dress smiles at you. Your eyes scan her whole look under a second and you look back into her eyes. Her emerald green eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, glisten with a captivating emotion. Her gaze is drawing you in with a mysterious charm. These stunning green eyes seem to reflect the beauty, but also the mystery that comes with the readhead infront of you.

"Trick or treat!" you say as you smile back at her.

"Oh sweetheart," now it´s her turn to look you up and down. Her smile is raplaced by a confusion. "um... and what are you supposed to be?" The redhead tilts her head.

"I- uh a witch." You try to answer with confidence, as you bring your wand up to show her your full fit.

You wouldn´t win an award for the best costume this Halloween, but you tried and everything is homemade, so you should definitely get some bonus points for that. Full black outfit with some spider webs around your torso sounded like a good idea, but maybe it was really hard to tell who are you trying to be.

"Oh- i see now." She nods, but you can see the disappointment in her face. She throws some candy into your bag, but you notice right away that it was only a licorice sweets, which is the worst thing she could give you. "Where is the rest of your group?" She asks as she looks behind you as if she´s waiting for someone else to come.

"Uh... it´s just me. No one wanted to go with me, since they think my outfit sucks." You sigh as you look down, deep down feeling like they might be right.

"Oh no, sweetheart. None of that." She steps closer and her soft fingers touches your chin, lifting it for you to make eye contact with her. "How about I´ll help you with your outfit and at the end of the night you´ll have every candy you ever dreamed off?" Her fingers gently caressing your chin.

"Really?" Your eyes spark with excitement. So much excitement.

"Come on in." The redhead let go of your chin and steps away from the door so you can come inside.

"Thank youuu-" Your eyes met hers again.

"Please call me Wanda." She smiles.

"Thank you, Wanda." You smile back.

As you come inside you can notice that her house is magnificent, everywhere you look you can see architectural details and many ornate decorations, especially on the stairs. It feels kinda like a labyrinth of richly hued tapestries, ornamental vases, and mirrors that capture the light just perfectly. Every corner of the house is a organized, with towering bookshelves that look like a billion dollars worth collection of books, with lots of knowlage in them. The overall ambiance is like a old charm, a sensations of history and elegance. To be honest you wouldn´t be shocked if an 150 old lady lived here, not a beautiful young lady like Wanda.

"Ohh so you like witches too?" You look through her library, reading some of her book titles.

Spells - and everything that comes with them, Spreading your power, Flying around the world: positions, Potions - third edition (extremly addicting)...

Wanda hums as she watches you being interest in her books. "I wrote most of them myself." She says, her voice was still sweet, but you could hear the little harsh tone she added to it, raspy growl with an accent, once subtle and charming, and now pronounced and intense. But you couldn´t put the accent anywhere, maybe somewhere in Europe? East? West? You really didn´t know where to point.

"So you´re an author?" You turn to her.

"You could say that, yeah." Wanda nods.

"That is so cool," you mumbled as something weird and pitch black caught your eye. It was a really dark book, more like a journal that definetly had some history, "what´s that?" you took it from the shelf.

"That is a something like my personal journal." The readhead steps closer to you.

"Oh sorry, I didn´t meant to invade your privacy!" Her hand fall on yours as you wanted to put the book back, where you took it.

"It´s okay, I don´t have any secrets. You can read it." Wanda smiles again.

As you open the book you notice that even her handwriting is so neat and beautiful. It suits her somehow, but as you continue to flip the pages her writing went from tall and pretty to harsh and short. Reading few sentences seem like a good idea, since you had Wanda´s approval. Your face went from smile to confussion real quick. But then it hit you. The woman infront of you you, known as Wanda, is a witch. Despite this revelation, you find yourself not scared but rather intrigued by the truth.

This whole time Wanda was looking at you, waiting for you to speak first.

"So... you´re also a witch?" You try to ease the situations by a joke.

"Also?" She chuckles. "Darling, this poor outfit looks on you more like a trash bag then a costume." Her words hurts. More than you want to admit.

Is my outfit really that shitty?

"Do you want an honest answer, sweetheart?" She steps closer.

Oh so she can read minds now, great.

"I can do more than just read minds." Her accent is very strong by now.

"I- can you not read my mind?" You look at her, noticing she got really close to you.

"Your thoughts are really loud, sweetheart. It´s kinda hard to resist." She almost whispers.

Are they? I can´t think- how do i stop thinking? Oh she´s really close. I don´t mind that. Fuck. (Y/N), not now. I would take her. On a walk, definetly on a walk. No in other way.

Wanda just laughs at your poor tries at calming down your thoughts. "Im glad you´re not afraid of me. That will ease things."

What things? Am I afraid? No. Maybe a little. Who knows? She does.

"Well helping with your new outfit, silly. Which will also help you make more sweets throughout the night."

"Oh! Right!" You nod, immediately following her to her living room, you guess.

You both enter the living room, a space illuminated by the warm, flickering light of few lit candles. Your eyes caught a few wine glasses, each bearing the mark of different shades of lipstick on the enormous wooden table. However, your attention remains fixed on Wanda, who is eager to assist you in making your new Halloween costume.

"Sit over there and I´ll bring some stuff." Wanda smiles and with that she leaves the living room.

You get bored very easily so not even after two minutes you´re on your feet again, glancing around the room. Your eyes are drawn to a paintings adorning the walls. Each canvas is a totally different theme. A dark landscape with rolling hills and a small lake makes you to step into its peaceful scene. Beside it, a bold, abstract burst with vibrant colors, evoking a sense of energy and excitement, which is something you definitely wouldn´t put in a place like this. The figurative portrait of a dark figure seems to watch over the place, which freaks you out a little, since you feel like it´s watching every single one of your steps, even though you can´t really see its face. As you watch these paintings, you don´t even hear Wanda come back.

"I thought I told you to sit over there." Her tone was once again very harsh, which made you feel like a kid that didn´t listen to their mother.

"Sorry, I was just admiring art." You shrug as you sit back, where you were in the first place.

Wanda didn´t say anything, she just started to take things from her bag and list through a book. "Here it is! This will definitely earn you bags full of sweets." She looks at you. "If you´re still in?"

"Yes, of course!" You nod and before you even fully stand up Wanda push you back down with her magic. "Oh wow, that was... so cool." You smile as you notice the red mist flying around.

Wanda smiles at your fascination and comes closer to you. "I need you to close your eyes and trust me, can you do that?" She tilts her head.

"Yes, Wanda. I can do that, if I´ll have a lots of sweets by the end of the night, I will do it!" Your eyes are sparking with bigger excitement than before as you imagine all the chocolate you will eat.

"Okay." She helps you lay down on the couch, which feels really soft on your skin and it makes you close your eyes instantly. "Good, just no matter what, I need you to have your eyes closed, I want it to be surprise." Wanda´s whispers trailing right down your spine.

"I love surprises, I will keep my eyes closed, I promie. Pinky promise!" With your closed eyes you held out a pinky. Almost punching her in the face, but she quickly dodge it. Wanda just smiles at your antics and extends her pinky to make a promise with you.

It took you one more shift on the couch to feel fully comfortable. "I´m ready." You mumble to let Wanda know, even though she can read your mind. Right after the magic start to float around once again.

You feel a lot of silly sensations right away, it feels like a tickling, which in fact makes you giggle out loud. "Tickles!" You say between the laughs.

"I know, it will be just a minute, darling." She smirks, knowing that the tickling feeling is just her magic taking your clothes fully off. At the same time Wanda reagulates your body tempeture with her spells, so you don´t feel even the slightest changes.

The ticklings stops and you fully relax on the couch again, taking a deep breath in and out. Nothing is happening for a few minutes, so it´s very tempting to open your eyes and look what´s going on.

Did she left? Um... should I-

"Absolutly not! If you can´t keep your eyes closed I´ll help you with that too, since I believe you can´t do anything on your own." Wanda scoffs and slides a blindfold over your head. Even if you tried opening your eyes now, you would see pitch black.

The spells and magic start to float around again, red mist tangling around your body. Wanda just sits in her fluffy chair on the other side of the living room. Glass with red wine in her hand as she watches you with hunger in her eyes.

As you open your mouth to talk, you let out a moan. You suddenly feel a warm rush of embarrassment wash over you, your cheeks turning a shade of crimson. It's as if a spotlight has been directed on your momentary lapse, and you can sense the weight of her eyes on you. You fumble for words and wish for a way to disappear into the floor, but the awkwardness lingers.

You feel something touching your body, something that is soft, yet very hard. A delightful sensation begins to spread across your entire body, as if invisible hands are gently caressing your skin. It's like a soothing, expertly executed massage, relaxation and comfort. This wave of bliss sweeps through you, releasing tension and stress with every touch, and you surrender to the embrace of calm that envelops you.

What the hell is that?

"What is what, darling?" Wanda asks, you can hear her voice on the other side of the room, so she can´t be the one touching you. "Oh that? It is just measuring spell, for your outfit to fit perfectly, sweetheart."

"O-okay." You kinda whine out. "I thought that-"

"Oh don´t be silly!" She laughs. "Just stay still." She adds with her raspiness again.

You´re staying still as much as you can. The sensations coursing through your body are unraveling the knots of tension that once held you captive. Muscle melting into a state of pure relaxation. Each touch seems to release a sigh of relief from deep within, and you sink further into a state of blissful repose. "I need you to be relaxed, otherwise it´s not going to fit, darling." Wanda adds.

Fit? Fit what?

"All the accessories." Once again she answer your inner question.

Wanda felt like you were ready and like you can and will take whatever she give you as a addiction to your costume.

You can feel something spreading your legs a bit and moving you little of the couch. The warm feeling never leaving your body, it´s the other way around actually, it´s just increasing. It’s weird how come you can feel a touch all around your body, when Wanda is on the other side of the room. You can hear her cutting out some cloth and time to time her soft humming.

"Oh my god-" you yelp as you can feel something wet between your legs.

How come I´m this wet? Did I pee myself? Oh my god! What is going on?

"Everything okay, darling?" Wanda asks as she´s looking at your hips, slowly going up and down. Your pussy is leaking and she didn´t even touch you.

"Yes! All good!" You´re hoping you´re just feeling things, but Wanda would already say something if things wouldn´t be okay. So it is just silly feelings. Oh you know what it is, it´s the little axienty from being blindfolded, now it make sense. You’re just anxious.

Wanda listen to your thoughs as she´s having the time of her life. It´s time for the actual fun to begin. She extends her hands, conjuring four crimson, ethereal tentacles of pure energy. These serpentine tentacles undulate, glowing with the passionate and dangerous red hue, slowly extending toward their target, you. It's a captivating display of Wanda's magical skills, a vivid manifestation of her power.

As each of them lay on you, you can feel a little wetness, that sticks to you right away. It feels... good. Really good. Whatever measuring device this is, you want to feel it in you-

'Your wish is my command' is Wanda´s first thought. One of the tentacles are slowly teasing you on your inner thighs. Moving slowly up and down your leg. "I need to measure your thighs, darling. Just to make sure your costume is the perfect size. Just give me a moment." She say from the other corner of the room, sipping on her wine.

How come I can feel her, when she´s over there?

Your thoughts are quickly swap away as you feel something really hard enter your already drenched pussy. And before you can think things through, you felt absolutely nothing in your head, just pleasure. The world seems to align perfectly with Wanda´s and yours desires, creating a warm and euphoric feeling, gentle you could say. Or moan at the current state your in.

You feel like your in a dream. A very good one may Wanda add.

The enormous thing is going in and out of you like it was nothing. Wanda´s eyes are on you as she watches in awe how you didn´t resist at all. How naive you´ve been the whole time. How come little thing like you survived for such a long time in this cruel and scary world by yourself? It´s a miracle and Wanda already knows she can´t risk your well being any much longer. It is just the right time for someone to take care of you. And she´s doing a really good job at it.

As you think nothing can make you feel better, you feel the same wetness that is going in and out of you, sliding up and down your ass. Subconsciously you move, so your in better position for whatever is coming. And trust Wanda, there is always something coming.

It´s way slower and more gentle. Your mind is waiting only for one thing, a slight push. But Wanda wants to tease you for little bit, she wants your body to beg for it, when your head is too foggy to do so. You don´t feel embarrassed anymore, you don´t care. You need everything that Wanda will give you.

Wanda is still sipping on her wine as she watches you struggle, but she is feeling generous tonight, especially when she found you in this poor state, scared, weak, but mostly alone with no one who would saved you, but that will change, starting tonight at this moment.

She let her magic finally push in. As one tentacle is going in and out your pussy at the speed of light, the other one is sliding out of your ass so slow, that you start to move your hips for more. The third tentacle is slowly making its way to your clit, making you feel overstimulated.

And if Wanda was afraid you´ll be overthinking too much, now she knows you won´t ever think again. The sight of you, ruining her expensive couch with your juices is something she will make you do often. Because this is what you´ve been made to do.

You´re close and your voice is cracking from all the screaming you did tonight, Wanda finally stands up, putting her glass on the table and walks over to you, her hand finally touching you and going up and down your stomach as her red tentacles doing their own job. When her hand touches you, it's like a soothing embrace, that is also very harsh. You can feel the warmth radiating from her touch. In that moment, the outside world fades completly away, leaving you with the sensation of her touch.

She knows your close and she would love to see you fall apart, but she knows she can´t rush things. So after few squeezes of your tits and light pinch to each of your nipples, she stops. Completely. Everything. All of her magic disappearing and she makes a step back.

If you´d had any energy left you would scream, but right now, you´re just shaking on her couch. As the cold sensation envelops you, it's as if a thick dark fog descends upon your mind. The chill seeps into your thoughts, causing confusion and a sense of detachment. This cold, fuzzy feeling blurs your senses and creates an unsettling disconnect from the warmth and clarity you once knew. This is totally different from your fuzzy mind before, because at that time you were in pleasure, but now? You don´t have even that.

After a few minutes of you just laying there Wanda takes off your blindfold and you´re back in some clothes, that feels very soft. You blink a few times.

"What´s wrong, darling? You don´t like the new costume I made you?" She shushes you and wipe your falling tears. You look down, touching your new outfit, that honestly looks way better than the one you made yourself. You've got a long, black, flowing dress and a purple cloak with cool silver designs next to you. "I assumed you wouldn´t want a hat, since you didn´t had one earlier. But I made you this..." She gave you a small version of her pitch black journal.

"I- um..." You´re still shaken up from what happened before.

But what even happened before?

"You fell asleep, silly. It was hard to put those on, but look at you now!" Wanda smiles.

I slept?

"You had an intesne dream?" Wanda looks at you with concern and all you could do is just nod.

After a few minutes of complete silence Wanda comes back with a big bag full of sweets.

"Oh my god!" And your little mind is now occupied with sweets. Everything is good now.

"It´s all yours... like I´ve said. Your new outfit will make you bag full of your favorites." Wanda smiles and hands you the bag.

"Oh my god, thank you!" You take it without a beat.

"No, I thank you, darling. You know where to find me if you want more." Wanda winks and you feel this ache between your legs.

"I- uh huh." You nod once again.

As Wanda closed the door behind you, she knew right away, that you will be back soon. She needs you to come back by yourself, if she captured you now, it wouldn’t do a single good. And till that time, her magic will follow you everywhere, to make sure her new thing is safe. And that your mind is always occupied by really important things.

Wanda comes into the living room to clean, she looks at the couch that is still very wet and as she´s in her head a group of people appears behind her.

"How the hell do you always do this, Maximoff?" A tall blonde asks with jealousy in her voice.

"You always have the most naive ones and they literally come to you!" Other lady snarks.

Wanda smiles and turns around. "Well I think that this one will be open for some sharing. Literally." She smirks at her own joke.

Knock knock.

Wanda opens the door and to her surprise it´s you.

"Hai, um... i was thinking- I really like this one chocolate, but i found only one in the bag you gave me so uh, do you have maybe another one? I can trade it for something!" You smile at her.

Wanda is just looking at you with smile on her face. As you came way sooner and she doesn’t know what to say.

"Of course! We have plenty of those here and we will happily trade it with you for something else!" The blonde one almost pushed Wanda out of the way.

"Great! Thanks!" You happily walked back in.

Let´s just say, that after that night you had every sweet you ever wished for. And they had their own.

Oooof this was something. I need to get my writing spirit back, cuz this ain’t it.

Anyways thank you for reading!!!

[avatar-anna]

Unknown Number, Part 3

italics: y/n (unknown number)

bold: harry

(four weeks ago)

J: guess what?

HS: What?

J: no you actually have to guess!

HS: Why?

J: i wouldn't have said guess what if i didn't want you to actually guess. i would've just told you

J: so guess!

HS: Uh...you went on a date with a decent guy?

J: normally i would say RUDE but you're correct!

J: still...RUDE

(ten minutes later)

HS: Wow.

J: wow? just wow? i'm making real progress here!

J: college graduate, good head of hair, sense of humor that isn't misogynistic, and he's stupid hot

J: i think i'm in love

HS: After just one date? Don't you think it's a little too soon to tell?

J: who knew you were such debbie downer

J: i think you need to go on a date. maybe that'll make you believe in the power of love and a beautiful smile

HS: Ha ha

HS: I already told you I'm too busy.

J: no one's too busy for love h

(present day)

Y/n had never felt more nervous in her life.

Here she was sitting across from the person she'd spent countless days and weeks and months texting. There was never a moment where she didn't have anything to say to him, but now her mind was completely blank.

She wasn't supposed to see him again. The tour buses were typically a ghost town as it got closer and closer to show time, so she figured she could wait there before she had to leave for the airport.

When Y/n saw Harry outside the tour bus, she thought he'd come to yell at her some more; part of her thought she was about to be sent to jail for stalking. But all he wanted to do was talk.

And now they were on a couch not saying a word.

There was too much that needed to be said, but Y/n didn't know how to start, and she assumed Harry didn't either because he was just as quiet. But since the silence was almost as unbearable as when he yelled at her, she mustered the courage to say something.

"I...I don't know how to convince you that I'm not a stalker," she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Then she laughed a little.

"What?"

Her eyes flicked up to Harry's, and when he wasn't laughing or smiling with her, she stopped. "We, uh, we had the same conversation, only in reverse, remember?"

Y/n had gone through many emotions that day—mortification, terror. She'd gone out on a limb by texting so soon after a date, and to find out that said date had given her a fake phone number was not the best feeling in the world. And then realizing that she'd sent a picture of herself half-naked...not her proudest moment.

"I—It was a risk for me too, you know," she said quietly. "I didn't know who you were, either, and I—I don't know what else you want me to say. I wasn't lying. You were the one who asked to talk, so talk."

Harry didn't talk, at least not at first. Y/n wasn't going to say anything else until he did, though. He'd yelled at her, called her sick, assumed the absolute worst without about her before stopping to ask for an explanation. And she understood, but then why not just let her be? Why drag this out?

"I want to believe you. I'm trying to believe you," Harry said. "You just—You have to understand how alarming this was for me. This isn't the first time my phone number has gotten leaked."

"I'm sorry." It was all Y/n could think of to say.

"And so hearing you say my name when I'd never told you...I got scared, and—and angry that it'd happened again."

Y/n understood where Harry was coming from, and she didn't blame him for not believing her, but this all seemed redundant. She already forgave him in her note. Perhaps she could try a different approach.

"I didn't know who One Direction was when we first started talking," she said. "I didn't even know who One Direction was until I got this job."

Harry's brows raised. "Really?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You're popular, but not that popular."

To her surprise, Harry laughed. It was small and weak, but it was a laugh. "Fair enough."

"I swear I didn't know who you were until this tour. I saw the first couple shows on the road, I saw just how many fans you guys have, and so maybe I did a little research, but I didn't know it was Harry Styles, beloved by millions of teenage girls around the world, that I was texting."

Harry scooted closer to her, and with wide eyes, Y/n scooted away. She didn't know what that meant, or why he did it, but she wasn't ready for it. They'd been friends, were friends, she didn't know what they were. He was close enough for now.

Harry was...very gorgeous. Y/n was well aware of that after seeing pictures of him online and in passing during the day. Now that they were up close, she was suddenly aware of his pretty green eyes and hair that curled down to his shoulders. And the tattoos. God, how many times had she told Harry that she loved a guy with tattoos?

"So...You really only found out a few days ago?" he asked.

"I only know what you've said over text," Y/n said with a nod. "And some of your discography, obviously. And the names of your fellow boy band members."

Y/n watched as Harry took in what she said, hoping he would believe her, or at the very least not be angry with her anymore. She knew they would probably never be friends, but maybe she could go back home knowing he didn't hate her or think she was crazy.

"I...believe you. I think," he said after a couple long minutes.

"Don't say that if you don't—"

"No, I—I told you a few days ago that I know you, and I meant that," he insisted. "I jumped to conclusions because of past circumstances, but thinking clearly and reading your letter...those instances and this aren't the same. I'm sorry for exploding on you like that."

Y/n shook her head. "You said it yourself. This wasn't the first time something like this has happened. You had a right to be angry."

"I just—This wasn't how I wanted this to go."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted—I wanted the first time we met to be...I don't know what I wanted but I didn't want it to be like this."

Eyes blinking in surprise, Y/n said, "Well, I'm glad you believe me. Maybe we can still be frie—Oh."

Before Y/n could finish what she was saying, her phone went off. Her alarm.

"What's that?"

Y/n looked down at her phone, then up at Harry. Things seemed to be mended for the most part, but she didn't want to press her luck. If she left now, maybe they could go back to the way things were before their identities were more or less revealed.

"I set an alarm so I would make it to the airport on time," she said, standing up from the couch. "My flight isn't for another two hours, but I like to get there early because of security and all that."

"You're leaving?" Harry asked, sounding incredulous, though you weren't sure why.

"I told you I was. You threatened to call the police on me, remember?"

"But—But we fixed everything. I thought...This is still your foot in the door, June. I don't want to take that away from you."

It was sweet that he was still thinking about her career, Y/n thought. But... "I appreciate that you're taking my career into account, but I think I need some time to digest the fact that the...friend that I've been texting for the last couple months is—is—"

The truth was Y/n needed to get over the fact that she couldn't actually be with her perfect stranger. When she could hide behind her phone, it was easier to fantasize and come back down to earth, but now the reality of their situation was slapping her in the face. This wasn't going to end with the two of them together.

"Is what? Not who you thought I was?"

"I was taken by surprise too, you know. I thought, or I'd hoped for—"

"What?

"Nothing. I have to catch my flight," Y/n said. She stood up from the couch, or tried to, anyway. Harry reached for her wrist, keeping her there. She knew she could easily pull away and stand up, but she didn't. "Maybe I should've let you believe I was crazy," she said with a laugh. "It would've made leaving easier."

"You don't have to go," Harry insisted. "You're my friend, and I—"

"But I don't want to just be your friend, Harry!" She said, finally pulling her hand from his. "Maybe that makes me crazy for developing feelings for someone before I ever met them, but I'm not sure I could sit around and pretend that I don't want to take your face in my hands and—"

Y/n didn't even register that Harry had moved closer to her. Couldn't make a single noise before they were nose and his lips were on hers. She could only stare, nearly cross-eyed, so surprised she could hardly register how soft his lips were. And then, for just a moment, Y/n closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the kiss. Her hands found themselves in his hair, pulling him closer, pulling him over her, but before they could get any further her senses took over.

"H—Wha—What are you doing—"

"Do you know how hard it was to watch you go on and on about going out with complete dickheads?" he asked, not trying to kiss Y/n, but not moving away either. "To know that some undeserving idiot was taking you out and treating you so wrong when I could've—when I knew I could be better than that, be someone you deserved."

"You never—I don't understand." She did, she just didn't want to.

"June," Harry said. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek so gently, yet it sent chills throughout her whole body. "I want—I want y—"

Y/n didn't let him finish as she pressed her lips to his again. A hum rumbled from Harry's chest, clearly pleased by her reaction. She let herself savor every feeling—from the hand that cradled her face and laid her back across the couch to hair that created a curtain over the both of them and his persistent mouth that wanted more, more, more. The leather sofa was cool against her back and she whimpered, but Harry only took it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, slotting a leg between hers while her arms threaded around his neck.

"Tell me you'll stay," he said, breathing only slightly shallow. Y/n had only kissed Harry twice, but she was aching to do it again. She leaned forward, but he moved just out of reach, his fingers holding her chin in place. "I'm sorry for yelling and immediately assuming the worst, but please don't go. Not yet."

He looked so sincere, Y/n thought. The way Harry stared at her was intense but endearing. His lips were a little swollen from all the kissing, and some of his hair was hanging in his face. She could understand why so many people were attracted to him, even outside the realm of physical beauty. If Y/n didn't know him the way she did and he still looked at her like that, she would do nothing short of eating out of the palm of his hand. His energy was hypnotizing, his intentions were good, and he had a decent heart to match. Y/n wasn't sure she'd be able to leave even if she wanted to.

"I won't. I promise."

If him pleading with her hadn't done the trick, his smile would have. It was full of hope rounded out by deep dimples and charm. "Really?"

"I know it probably won't be easy, but I want this too. I want you."

She spent so much of her time on guys who didn't care, who weren't after what she was after. Recently, Y/n had only gone out on dates because she thought she was crazy for developing feelings for someone she'd never met, but now...

She didn't even think it was possible, but Harry's grin widened, and when she leaned in again, he let her. They only kissed for a few minutes before Y/n pulled back with a start. "Wait!"

"What?"

She giggled, then smoothed the corner of his mouth where there was a little lip gloss. "You don't even know my name."

Realization dawned on Harry, as if he'd never even thought about calling her anything other than June, which was fine by her, but she figured he at least needed to know her real name.

"Oh right. I guess we should do this properly. I'm Harry, and I would very much like to take you out sometime."

Y/n grinned and awkwardly shook his hand while Harry was still on top of her. "Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Y/n, but you can call me June. Almost everyone does."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the point of nicknames," she said, looking at him oddly. "Why?"

"I want a name that's just mine," Harry said.

Running a hand through his hair, she said, "Well, can we kiss while you figure something out."

"Absolutely."

Twelve uninterrupted minutes. That's what Y/n and Harry got. He supposed they could've spent it talking, but they had plenty of time to talk. Harry just wanted to be close to her, and Y/n wanted the same.

It was weird to see her, to know she was June, and associate her with a different name. But not too bad that he needed a minute to think about it.

In twelve minutes, Harry was out of his shirt and Y/n was working on getting hers off. They knew better than to do anything more than that, but he liked seeing her in a way he never thought he would, and he could only imagine she felt the same. When Y/n finally managed to get her shirt over her head, Harry felt a bit like an ass for staring, but he couldn't help it. He was taking every inch of her in. Every curve, freckle and scar. Y/n squirmed a little under his gaze and attempted to cross her arms over herself, which was when he finally looked back up at her lovely face.

"Sorry. You're quite beautiful."

That wasn't a dick thing to say, right? He avoided stating the obvious, which was he wanted to put his mouth everywhere and didn't quite know where to start, but something crossed Y/n's face. Harry didn't quite know what it meant, but he would.

Though he did get a little worried he said the wrong thing, but before he could ask she pulled him down to her again.

All of that in twelve minutes. Harry wanted more, would've maybe gotten more, but the door to the tour bus flew open, and a voice drew nearer before either of them could separate.

"Harry? You in here? People are losing their minds because—Woah."

Harry was quick to maneuver himself in front of June as Niall's eyes fell on the two of them. He reached down and grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on. "Everyone can keep their pants on. I'm coming."

"Can you?"

"Niall!" Harry said, but June just giggled behind him. He looked back at her to see her smiling.

"It was a little funny."

Shaking his head, Harry leaned forward and kissed the top of hers. "I have to go—Can you give us a minute?" he asked, throwing a look over his shoulder at Niall.

"Yeah," he said, though most of it was covered up by laughter at having caught his friend. "Yeah, I'll—Wait a minute. Is that June?"

She peeked out behind Harry's shoulder. "Hello."

Harry's mind was alphabet soup for a moment while he tried to make sense of what was essentially his two worlds colliding. It would make sense that Niall knew June because he was always hanging out with the 5SOS boys.

"But what about that girl you've been moping about—"

"Niall."

"I'm going! I'm going! I gotta go tell Calum and the boys."

"Niall, no—And he's gone." Y/n sighed and rested her head on Harry's shoulder. Then she playfully pinched his side. "Moping?"

"Oh hush."

J: where are you?

HS: Radio interview. I'll be back soon.

HS: Why?

J: i was gonna do a little shopping. thought you might wanna join

J: BUT i will just go by myself

HS: Sorry. I'll see you after?

J: fiiine

HS: Okay I'm back. Where are you?

J: still shopping!

HS: All you buy are t-shirts. How does that take so long?

J: um...RUDE i guess i'll just put the super sexy panties away

HS: ...please don't hurry

J: that's what i thought

HS: I miss you :((

J: you saw me twenty minutes ago

HS: I want you in my bunk

J: a little late seeing as we're already on the road!

HS: :(((

J: everyone is going to hate me, but do you want me to call you?

HS: No it's fine.

HS: Can you switch buses at the next stop for gas?

J: you're unbelievable

J: yes of course

HS: :)))

HS: Louis wants you to know we're disgusting!

J: tell louis he can kiss my ass

HS: I will do no such thing. Your ass is mine

HS: Louis is right

J: we are disgusting

HS: So... I'll see you in a couple hours

J: can't wait xx

J: but until then (download image here)

and that's a wrap! i hope y'all enjoy the last part! thanks for all the love on this fic, everyone has been so sweet💕💕

tags:

@cookielovesbook-akie @sucker4angstt @l0v3e1i @bellesmith628 @marigold-morelli @obsessedmaggiemay @voniikg @onecrazydirectioner @unabashedcolorfrienddreamer @austinsvlrslut @iheartharlow @jessitpwk @fictionalmenloversblog @onceagainace @zucchinimalfoy @sqrxndipity @indierockgirrl @drwho06 @shakiraa-a @nomyeyebrowsarentreal @sleutherclaw @yeehawbrothers @harryspirate

[kaleldobrev]

Come Back Home

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a relationship ending argument that caused you to leave the Bunker, you and Dean haven’t heard from/seen each other in over a year. Are there still sparks between you two? The better question is: Did they ever truly leave in the first place?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Mutual Pining, Fluff, A bit of angst

Authors Note: Flashbacks are in italics | I had such a hard time coming up with a summary for this | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

It’s been over a year since you’ve last heard from or have seen Dean Winchester. The two of you were together for several years before eventually an argument erupted between the two of you, which ended in the two of you breaking up, and you leaving the Bunker; the only permanent home you had since yours burned down when you were a teenager.

“Y/N, why are you moving out?” Jack asked, as you were in yours and Dean’s shared – now former – bedroom. You were currently packing up a single duffel bag; a bag that had your entire life in it, a bag that you had been lugging around with you for as long as you could remember since the house fire.

Taking one of your shirts, you folded it up and placed it into the bag. You turned to look at Jack, a slightly sorrowful look on your face. “You know why Jack.” You didn’t want to move out, but you had thought that it would be for the best; especially since one of the reasons you had moved into the Bunker in the first place is because you and Dean had started dating. Before you had made the decision, Sam had told you that you didn’t have to move out, because him, Cas, and Jack had liked having you here. Even Dean – although the two of you were no longer together. But you had told Sam that seeing Dean every day – at least for now – was a little bit too painful for you.

“But everything is so much better with you here.” The last thing that Jack had wanted was for you to go. Ever since you moved into the Bunker, Jack said that it seemed more like a home. You had added so many personal touches that the Winchester’s never would have thought of otherwise if it wasn’t for you. Making an actual effort to celebrate every holiday – even the minor ones, implementing family dinners every Sunday, decorating for the holidays, hanging up pictures, and even having various house plants throughout.

You reached out for Jack’s hand and took it in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know Jack but…” You sighed. “Dean and I aren’t together anymore and I thought that it would be best for me to leave.”

“Just because you aren’t together doesn’t mean you have to leave. Sam said –” Jack started to say but you cut them off, knowing exactly what they were going to say.

“I know what Sam said. But, just because I’m leaving the Bunker doesn’t mean you and me still can’t talk.” You gave him a small smile and placed your hand on their cheek. Jack smiled back in return; their smile trying to convey understanding but hurt at the same time.

“Okay.” Jack said. “Can I hug you?” They asked.

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.” You said.

Jack and you hugged for what seemed like a long time; neither of you wanting to let go.

“Thanks Sam. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You smiled, sitting crossed legged on the bed with your laptop in front of you. You had just received some photos of a book that you knew that had been in the Bunker for a case that you were currently working on and had asked Sam to send you some pictures. Although the Bunker was about an hours drive from where you were working the case and Sam had even offered to drop off the books, you had told him that it was best for him to just send you the pictures. You had felt that seeing him in person would make you start crying, even though you knew he had wanted to see you.

“I already know what you’re going to say but, I just wanted to ask. After you’re done there, did you…did you want to come over?” Sam already knew that you were going to say no, but he had wanted you to say yes. Even though he talked to you pretty regularly and the two of you sent photos back and forth, he still missed you. Seeing you physically was a lot different compared to FaceTiming you.

“I can’t Sam.” You sighed softly, closing the laptop in front of you and pushing it to the side. “I mean…I want to. But…I don’t want things to be awkward between me and Dean.” Although you had regularly kept in contact with Sam, Jack, and Cas, Dean on the other hand you didn’t. It wasn’t entirely his fault though, as communication went both ways. There were countless times over the year where you had wanted to call him, text him, something. But each and every time the thought had entered your mind you turned to the comfort of alcohol or a warm body instead.

Sam sighed, knowing that you were going to say no. But there was a small part of him that had hoped you would say yes, especially because of how close you were. “I had to give it a shot right?” Sam held the phone in his hands as he sat in the War Room, open to one of the pages he had sent you pictures of.

“I know.” You sighed too. You had wanted to go back to the Bunker, it was something that you had been thinking about a lot lately. As much as you loved when Jack sent you pictures of everything that was going on, it also made you sad. “How’s…How is he?” You didn’t have to specify, full well knowing that Sam would know who you meant.

Sam had wanted to lie to you, tell you that Dean was doing okay, but he knew that you would see right through the lie. At the same time, he didn’t want to tell you the truth either. Ever since you and Dean had broken up and you had moved out, he noticed such a huge change in him. When he wasn’t being a recluse hauled up in his room, drowning his pain in his alcohol of choice, he had wanted to work case after case to stay busy.

“You know, Y/N is only a few hours away. Maybe she would –” Sam began to say, but Dean quickly down him down.

“We’re not asking her.” Dean’s voice was hard and cold. “She wouldn’t come anyway.”

“Yeah…I guess you’re right.” Sam sighed, knowing that Dean was right. It had been a few months since you and Dean had broken up. The two of you had made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want to see each other. Well, the two of you had wanted to, but the two of you were too stubborn to admit it. Sam knew, that if you were in trouble or if Dean was in trouble, either of you would drop everything to go and help, despite how things had ended between you two. “I’m gonna call her. Ask if she knows anything about what we’re hunting.” He got up from his chair in the motel room and dialed your number, walking outside of the room.

Dean looked at the pages before him and eyed his phone, sighing quietly to himself. Picking it up he unlocked it with his passcode – your birthday – and stared at the homescreen wallpaper. It was a photo that you had taken of the two of you. You were lying in bed together; both of your hair messy and all over the place. He was kissing you on the cheek and you had the biggest smile on your face. He had no idea why he loved this picture so much but he did. He wished that he could go back to that moment more than anything.

Sam walked back into the room, Dean quickly closing his phone. “What’d she say?”

“She thinks we’re hunting a nuckelavee.” Sam sat down across from his older brother.

“A what?” That was something that Dean had never heard of, and he was pretty sure that Sam had never heard of it either.

“It’s a horse-like demon from Orcadian folklore. Apparently, its breath wilts crops, sickens livestock, is responsible for droughts. Three things that we have seen. But get this, it’s mainly a sea-dwelling creature.” Sam explained.

“So what’s a knocklevee –” Dean began, but Sam quickly interrupted.

“It’s nuckelavee. And, Y/N has a theory about that. A lot of Celtic people settled here in North Carolina. So, she’s thinking that since they brought their culture here –” Dean was the one to interrupt now.

“They brought the creature here with them.” Dean said, and Sam nodded. “Who knew her Celtic Folklore degree would come in handy.”

Sam gave Dean a puzzled look. “I didn’t know she had a Celtic Folklore degree.”

“He’s…He’s Dean.” Was the best thing that Sam could come up with to tell you. It was vague enough, but he also wasn’t lying to you.

“I uh…I gotta go Sam. I have an interview with a professor in about 30 minutes.” You got up from the bed and started making your way toward the motel bathroom. “I’ll call you later once the case is over.” You paused. “Thanks.”

“Bye Y/N. Be careful.” Sam responded, his voice sounding a bit too sad for your liking.

“Always am.” You reassured him before hanging up the phone. You looked at your phones wallpaper, a photo that you had wanted to change, but didn’t have the heart to do it, even though it’s been more than a year since you and Dean had ended things. It was a picture that you had taken while you were lying in bed with him; both of your hair messy from the night before. He was kissing your cheek, and you had the biggest smile on your face. You wished that you could go back to this moment because you remembered how happy you were here.

You woke up to the sounds of beeping and blinding lights; finding yourself squinting. Your mouth was dry, unable to recall the last time you had actually drank something. How long have you been here? Your eyes finally able to adjust to the brightness of the lights, you looked around and noticed that you were in the hospital; unsure of how you had ended up here in first place. The last thing you remembered happening was going to talk to the professor concerning the case that you were working on.

“Hi Professor Keating. I’m Agent Larkin. We talked on the phone.” You had knocked on the professors door, she was sitting at her desk and looked up at you with a soft smile on her face.

“Oh yes!” She quickly closed the book that was currently on her desk and got up from her chair. Walking over to you she held out her hand and you shook it. “You’re earlier than I was expecting.”

You looked down at your watch and noticed that you were about five minutes earlier than you’re scheduled interview time with her. “I can wait outside for a few minutes if need me to. But, I’d prefer not to. You understand that this incident is something that my office isn’t taking lightly.”

“Yes, of course.” The professor walked back over to her desk. “What do you need to know?”

When you turned to face the door to get more of a feel for your surroundings you noticed Dean slumped in the chair with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. You wondered how long he had been here. As if he knew you were looking in his direction he opened his eyes; the two of you making eye contact. He adjusted himself so he was now sitting upright in the chair. “Hey.” Dean said.

“Hey.” You said, unsure of what else to say to the man in front of you. There were in fact, a million different things that you had wanted to say to Dean, and there were a million things you had wanted to do. You had wanted to hug him, kiss him, tell him that you missed him. You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, no longer able to hold the composure that you were trying so hard to have. The last thing you had wanted was to cry in front of Dean. Not that you hadn’t cried in front of him before, but after not seeing each other in over a year, you didn’t want the first interaction between the two of you to be of you crying.

Dean got up from his chair without any kind of hesitation and walked over to the hospital bed. He took your hand – the one that didn’t have an IV stuck in it – and held it. For some reason, you weren’t expecting him to take your hand. Although you haven’t held his hand in over a year, the feeling of it felt like no time had passed, like you had just held it the same day or the day before. “How did you know I was here?” You asked.

“You still had John Bonham as your emergency contact.” You had forgotten that you had put Dean as your number one contact if something were to ever happen to you. You had meant to change it to someone else, but never got the chance to. With everything that had happened over the course of the last year, changing your emergency contact list was honestly the last thing that was on your mind.

“I’m surprised Sam didn’t come instead.” You replied, Dean went back to sitting in the chair that he had just been napping in.

“I told him not to.” Dean’s words caught you by surprise. A slightly confused expression must have formed on your face because of the next words Dean had said. “He offered to come in my place. But when I told him no,” he chuckled softly, “I swear he…” He looked at you, almost as if he was in some kind of disbelief. “He had the biggest smile on his face. Haven’t really seen him smile since…” Ever since you had left, the Bunker didn’t feel as warm. Sam, Jack, Cas, and even Dean himself, who despite everything that have gone through always had some kind of smile on their faces whenever you were around. But when you decided to leave, it was as if all the happiness had left the place. Dean hadn’t seen the three of them smile it seemed in almost a year; himself included.

“How long have you been here? Last thing I remember I was interviewing the professor. I don’t know if Sam told you or not.” As much as you had wanted to sit up, because of how awkward it was to be lying down in the position you were in to be talking to Dean, the slight pain that you were currently in was making it a little difficult to actually want to sit up.

“Haven’t been here that long. They called me about four hours ago. Arrived 30 minutes after that.”

Dean was lying in his bed, staring at the empty space next to him. It has been a year since you had slept in that spot next to him, and each and every day he had hoped that he would somehow wake up and you would be there lying next to him. That was one of the things that he had taken for granted while the two of you were together; waking up next to you. Each and every morning he would wake up to the scent of your body wash, that still lingered on your skin from your shower that night. He loved waking up to the smell of warm vanilla and honey; a scent that he thought used to be generic smelling – until he met you.

“I shouldn’t still be missing you.” He said to the empty space. The two of you ending things was one of the worst regrets of his life; and throughout his life, he had his fair share of regrets. So many times he had wanted to take back the things he said to you that night. So many times he had wanted to call you and tell you that he was sorry, that he was the one that was the jerk; not you. Over the course of the year he had forgotten what the argument even was about; but knew that it was probably something ridiculous, something that either of you could have easily gotten over.

His phone started to ring just then, unsure of who could possibly be calling him. Everyone that he had talked to was currently in the Bunker; besides you of course, but he knew for a fact that you wouldn’t be calling him. The number that came up was unknown, but he decided to answer it anyway just in case. He had somehow hoped that maybe you had changed your number and this was you calling. “Hello?” He asked.

“Hi. Is this...John Bonham?” An unfamiliar female voice asked. Definitely not you.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He was hesitant to say anything else.

“This is Nurse Julia from Republic County Hospital in Belleville, Kansas. I was calling in regard to a Joan Larkin.” Nurse Julia had said. For a moment, slight confusion washed over Dean as he didn’t know a Joan Larkin, well he did, that was the real name of Joan Jett; that’s when it clicked – Joan Larkin was you. Only you would have picked that name. “I’m calling because you’re her emergency contact.”

“Yes, she’s my…Is she okay?” He almost called you his girlfriend, something that you hadn’t been for such a long time. He almost slipped.

“Can you come in Mister Bonham? I would prefer not to talk about this over the phone.” Her voice was calm, and it was something that he needed, even though his heart was racing and his brain was coming up with worst case scenarios.

“Yeah. Yeah. I can be there.” He confirmed, before hanging up the phone. He had never put on his boots and grabbed his keys so fast in his life.

You smiled, not surprised that Dean had floored it to get here. You knew that the drive was supposed to be an hour, maybe a little bit more, but Dean had managed to make it a 30-minute drive. “Can’t believe you drove 30 minutes for me.” That’s not why you were impressed, you were impressed that he had driven here at all, given the fact that you two didn’t leave things on the best terms.

“I’d drive 30 hours straight for you.” The words that escaped Dean’s lips not only surprised you, but surprised him. The two of you hadn’t ended things on the best terms, and this was the first interaction that the two of you have had in over a year; only getting bits and pieces of each other’s lives through other people. Some of the information was reliable, some not; but in a weird way, it still felt like you were still in each other’s lives even if you didn’t talk to each other or see each other. He still cared for you, even if at times he couldn’t admit it to himself or other people. Deep down, he had hoped that you still cared about him too, but he wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.

“The doctor said they would release you tonight. Your injuries weren’t that serious.” Dean said, not really giving you any time to respond to his previous comment. He wasn’t sure if he was protecting himself or you. There was a small part of him, that had wanted to know how you would have responded, but the part of him that won was the part that didn’t want to be rejected by you.

“What did the doctor say?” You asked. You wanted to respond to what he said previously, but he had quickly changed the subject too fast for you to.

“You had slight head trauma, but not a concussion. Not sure how you managed to pull that one off.” When Dean had talked to the doctor, they said that you had suffered a minor brain injury, but it wasn’t bad enough for you to get a concussion, which he was thankful for. Between you and him, you two have suffered plenty of concussions to last a lifetime.

“Brain injuries don’t always involve concussions.” You commented; remembering an article that you had read somewhat recently.

“Thank you Doctor Larkin.” He smirked. “Nice name by the way.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I learned from the best.” Before you had met the Winchester’s, using a rockstar alias is something that you would have never dreamed of using. Before you had met them, you always used some kind of generic name or a last name related to your childhood, almost as if you were filling out one of those security questions before you were able to log into your bank account. You had used your street name growing up, your favorite teacher’s last name, and even your mothers maiden name. You thought that using those names wouldn’t be as suspicious as using a famous one – like the Winchester’s had been doing for over 15 years.

“Shit.” You looked at Dean, a slight panic stricken look in your eyes. “My…my motel room. I have my case documents in there.”

“Don’t worry about it. I uh, while you were sleeping, I went and grabbed them for you. They’re in Baby along with the rest of your things.” After Dean made sure that you were safe and okay, he had left the hospital and went to your motel after calling Sam to see where you were staying.

Dean went up to the front desk, a slightly balding man was leaning up against the counter reading some kind of magazine that he’s never heard of. “Hey there. I was wondering if you could help me out.” Dean flashed the man a smile. The man looked up from the magazine he was reading; his expression bored. 

“Yeah?” His bored expression matched his bored sounding voice.

“My girlfriend is staying at this motel, and I wanted to surprise her. Can you tell me what room she’s staying in? I think she’s here under the name Larkin.” Calling you his girlfriend felt so good sounding coming out of his mouth, it was something that he had missed saying.

“Why don’t you text your girlfriend buddy.” The man placed air quotes around girlfriend.

“Listen, buddy.” Dean reached into his back pocket and pulled out a 20 dollar bill, sliding it in front of the man. “Can you tell me what room she’s in?” The man looked at the 20 in front of him and grabbed it desperately.

“113.” The man replied, placing the 20 in the front pocket of his shirt.

“Thanks. How did you –” You stopped yourself from finishing the sentence. “Never mind. I think I already know.” You were about to ask how Dean had gotten into your room, but you knew how good he was when it came to breaking into rooms that he had no good reason being in. “You said, you said you have the rest of my things?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Everything that I could find that I knew was yours. Still have that same duffel bag uh?” When he saw that you were still carrying that duffel bag around, it had made him smile, because he had missed seeing that bag of yours. He had told you countless times that you had needed a new bag, but you had refused, because the bag had too much sentimental value for you to give up. Seeing this bag of yours, in all of its slightly tattered and stained glory, it had become sentimental for him too.

“You have your baby, I have mine.” You knew that you needed a new one, but you couldn’t part of it. That duffel bad, although tattered and stained, held a lot of sentimental value for you. “When I leave tonight, I’ll take it out of your hands. I have a case to finish.”

“No you don’t Sunshine.” The nickname that he had given you when you first met easily rolled off his tongue. “Sam got it handled. The professor you talked to? She was the big bad. She was the one that knocked you out too.”

You practically threw your head back onto the pillow. “Of course she was.” You didn’t know how you didn’t see it, but thinking back, it was rather obvious. All of the students that had been murdered were hers, she was the last one that had seen them all alive: she was the common denominator. “I feel so stupid.”

“I’ll cut you some slack. You did suffer a brain injury.” He grinned, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Well, I’ll still take my things back from you.” You saw his face drop slightly at your comment. You cocked your head, furrowing your brow. “What?”

“Would you…would you want to come back?” He was hesitant to ask.

“Come back where? The Bunker?” You asked, almost in disbelief that he would even ask. “Dean I don’t think –”

“Y/N, I want you to come back.” Yet another sentence that had surprised you. “The Bunker hasn’t been the same without you. I…I haven’t been the same without you.” His words started to crush you; you were speechless. You didn’t realize what kind of impact that you had had when you left. You knew that Jack, Cas, and Sam were going to miss you, they always told you how much they missed you and you did the same. They were like family to you, and you hated to leave your family. But you did what you thought was best, and clearly, that was a mistake. “I’m not blaming you. I’m, I’m blaming myself.”

“Dean, please don’t blame yourself.” There truly was no reason for him to blame himself, because you too were at fault. “We both said things that we probably shouldn’t have said to each other.” You sighed. “To be honest, I can’t even remember what the argument was even about. But I know it was something that we both should have gotten over.”

“To be honest, I can’t remember what the argument was about either. I just know it was about something stupid.” He got up from his chair, reaching into his front pocket and pulling out his phone, handing it to you.

“Why are you giving me your phone?” You were confused.

“Unlock it.” His response simple.

“Dean I don’t know your –”

“I never changed it.” With that, you typed in your birthday and his phone unlocked to reveal his wallpaper: it was the same photo of the two of you that was the wallpaper on yours.

“Dean…” You felt your eyes well up with tears again; Dean leaned down and kissed you on the top of your head. You didn’t realize how much you had missed the top of his head kisses. While you were with him, it was something that you had taken for granted because it was something he did all the time.

“Come back home.” Dean said; three words that he had wanted to tell you the second you walked out the doors of the Bunker over a year ago.

“Permanently?” You asked.

“Permanently.” He confirmed.