#there's a lot of thoughts in my head but I hope this is enough

[shiorimakibawrites]

So...I Guess We're Sharing (Daredevil)

Word Count: ~3400 Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Summary: Due to a mishap, you end up sharing a room with your ex Matt Murdock. And so much more... Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, making out, non-detailed sexual fantasy (p in v sex, male receiving oral sex), oral sex (female receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, coming untouched Matt Murdock / Daredevil Masterlist My Masterlist A03 link

Written for Bella's 4k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge with the prompt "So...I guess we're sharing."

So...I Guess We're Sharing

When your friend Ellie announced that she was marrying Theo Nelson in upstate New York, you had been hoping to run into Matt Murdock at the wedding. It wasn't an unreasonable expectation. Theo was the young brother of Foggy Nelson, Matt's best friend. It was only logical that Foggy'd be invited. And generally where you invited Foggy, Matt followed.

Now your plans for this possible reunion with your old flame had been talking, sharing a dance during the reception, flirting a little if you still found each other attractive, maybe a kiss…

Having you both booked for the same room due some kind of computer hiccup wasn't in those plans. Especially when there were no other rooms at this or the other hotels nearby. Mostly because both Ellie and Theo had very large families and lots of friends…

This left you with the choice to (A) share the room with Matt, (B) bunk with one of your friends, or (C) sleep in your car.

Option C was out of the question. For reasons that only made sense to them, Theo and Ellie decided the best time of the year to get married was January. Which meant it was far too cold to be sleeping in the car. Especially when more snow was predicted, bringing the risk of not waking up often enough to keep the tailpipe clear. Even if you didn't die, that didn't sound restful. And you were a massive bitch when you were overtired.

Option B was safer but has its own problems. You couldn't bunk with Ellie. It was less of a problem tonight but tomorrow it will be. Your bestie deserved to spend her wedding night having her mind blown by her new husband, not restricted to cuddling because her friend was third-wheeling. The rooms of your other friends in the party were less than appealing. You loved their kids but said kids had spent all day either flying or at the airport so right now they were a combination of pent-up energy and cranky. Except for the two babies who had bypassed cranky hours ago and were obviously 110% done with everything. And not afraid to say so, at the top of their little lungs.

Which wasn't their fault. You found flying stressful and you knew what was going on. But all the sympathy in the world didn't make their crying less capable of giving you a migraine.

Matt didn't have a car to sleep in, for obvious reasons. And him bunking with Marci and Foggy sounded nearly as awkward as you staying with Ellie and Theo. Apparently the pair had been looking forward to this trip as a mini-honeymoon. Mama and Papa Nelson's room already had extra people in it…

Which left Option A as the best choice for both of you.

"So…I guess we're sharing."

"I guess we are," you agreed, trying to hide your nerves.

You reminded yourself that while Matt was your ex, the relationship had ended amiably enough. It had hurt but there had been no name calling or a massive fight, public fight in the quad. Just two people agreeing that their lives were moving apart and maybe it was better to end things while you still liked each other.

Apparently all these years apart had not dulled Matt's perception of your moods. "We don't have to. I'll be fine with Foggy and Marci—"

"No, no, it's fine," you said, waving off the offer. "I said I was fine with sharing."

Matt's head tilted to one side. A shiver ran down your spine. You had forgotten how it felt to be the focus of Matt's attention. Even before you learned about his senses, it had seemed to you that being blind never stopped Matt from seeing you in ways that no one else ever had. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "If you're sure…"

"I am." You said, firmly. You could do this. It was fine. It would be fine.

The confidence momentarily wavered when you arrived at the room and discovered that there was only one bed. Matt, ever the gentlemen, immediately offered to sleep on the floor.

"No, no," you said, shaking your head. "Your back would never forgive you. It's a big bed. We can share, no problem."

This statement earned you another intense study from Matt. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." You felt your cheeks warm. "It's not like we've never slept in the same bed."

"True," Matt said, a little smile appearing on his lips. "It will be like old times."

"Just like old times," you repeated.

Except with more clothes, the horny part of your mind reminded you with a pout. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, was more than a little disappointing. Nearly twenty years had transformed Matt from a very pretty boy to a devastatingly handsome man. The Matt you had known had been coltishall awkward, still not quite grown into his shoulders, with soft, round cheeks. The kind of person you imagined telling your father 'Yes, sir, I'll have her home by nine.'

Now? Now Matt looked like the kind person you could picture saying 'Your daughter also calls me daddy.'

The awkwardness had been replaced with cat-like grace and confidence. That cream cable-knit sweater of his could not hide that Matt had been hitting the gym anymore than those criminally well-fitting jeans could disguise that he still had the best ass you had ever laid eyes on. But far more potent was his face. Those round cheeks had been replaced with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, both adorned with the beginnings of a beard. A beard that was lightly peppered with gray that matched the touch of the same at his temples.

You couldn't explain why that little detail was getting you all hot and bothered. You just knew that it was making your cunt sit up and beg.

Further increasing your difficulties in keeping your mind out of the gutter was that his mouth still looked the same. It made you wonder if those petal pink lips would still be just as soft when he kissed you…and if he still loved eating pussy. Even dulled by time, the memory of the time he had spent hours with his face buried between your thighs, had your cunt clenching desperately around the empty air.

"Are you doing that on purpose?"

You jumped. When had he moved? He had been by the dresser, searching for something in his bag. Now he was right in front of you, one hand on the wall by your shoulder, the other closer to your hip. Almost but not quite pinning you to the wall. None of him was actually touching you but you could feel his warmth. You had forgotten how much of a living furnace Matt was.

"Doing what?" You asked, sounding more breathless than you expected. But how could you be anything else with him so close, those beautiful hazel eyes displaying the first signs of heat.

Matt arched an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten about my senses, sweetheart?"

"What do your senses have —-" You started before you cut yourself off. His senses… Matt would have heard your heartbeat increase at the sight of him. Would have heard your breath hitch when you realized how close he was, how you couldn't stop yourself from inhaling, wanting more of his good man smell…

And speaking of smell….

"You can smell…." You stopped, feeling your cheeks flush again. You couldn't say it.

Matt had no such qualms. "Your pheromones? How much you are soaking those panties? Yes, sweetheart, I can smell that."

Blood flooded your face. But also moved south as certain parts of your anatomy responded to the knowledge that he had noticed it. A reaction that only increased when you noticed the tenting in his jeans. A growl-like rumble erupted from his chest in response, hands twitching toward you before stopping. He closed his eyes, looking almost pained. "Sorry…I had forgotten how good you smell. It's making it difficult to control myself."

"Then don't."

"What?" His eyes snapped back open.

"Then don't," you repeated. The answer had been impulse but you stood by it. You didn't want to spend this entire weekend pretending that you didn't want him to fuck your brains out.

This time his hand couldn't stop itself from grabbing your hip. Or his body from moving closer, one thick thigh lodging itself between your legs. Your own hands hadn't remained idle, flying up to lay flat against his chest. But not to push him away. You just had to touch him.

You bite your bottom lip. He was even more solid under your hands than he looked. Solid enough to give horny brain thoughts. Thoughts of him pounding you against this wall, your legs wrapped around his waist while his hands gripped your thighs…

His hand on your hip tightened to near bruising. "Sweetheart…"

"Don't want you to control yourself," you panted out. "Want you to fuck me."

His hips involuntarily jerked, his thigh forcing your legs further apart. But what really had your cunt clenching desperately was feeling his growing erection pressed against you. There were too many clothes in the way and the angle wasn't right to do anything about but tease you….but you moaned.

That moan must have been the straw that broke the camel's back because Matt was kissing you. This was not the soft kiss you had imagined days ago, no gentle exploration of your mouths. This kiss was all passion. A fiery battle of lips, teeth, and tongues where neither of you could keep your hands still. Chest, shoulders, back until finally you reached his ass. It was just as good as you remembered, ample handfuls that you could not resist kneading like it was dough.

His hands tried to be just as thorough in their exploration but were stymied by the wall and how tightly his own body was pressed against yours. The frustrated whine was your only warning before you were lifted off the floor. Startled, you yelped and had to abandon his ass in favor of holding onto his shoulders.

Your assessment of how muscle was hiding under that sweater jumped another notch by how easily he carried you from the wall over to the bed. The only hint of strain came after that journey as his hands couldn't seem to decide what they wanted to touch most.

It felt good but you wanted more. Or rather you needed less, less of these clothes in the way of his hands and your hands. With this goal in mind, you started pulling your shirt off. Matt made a soft discontented noise when this impeded his exploration, until he realized what you were doing. Then his hands were eagerly assisting you. The moan Matt let out when his hands touched your bare skin went straight to your cunt.

Matt wasted no time in exploring every exposed inch of torso with his hands, followed closely by his mouth, rediscovering the spots that made you moan and squirm underneath him. It also made your hands even more eager for his bare skin. You pulled on his sweater, demanding, "Off, off, Matt, please…"

He whined against your cleavage but obeyed, leaning back to strip off that sweater. You felt your mouth go dry. You had been expecting muscles but the sight still took your breath away. And as beautiful as they looked, they felt even better under your hands. His torso was like satin…warm satin…you had forgotten how soft his skin was…how that lovely shade of rose would blossom and spread…how delightful those little whines he made when your hands found a sensitive spot…how easily he yielded to your desires…

It had been years (too many years) but you found yourself remembering. Where those spots were, how sensitive his nipples were…even the scars he had acquired over the years (so many scars….) just provided another interesting texture, another way to make him moan for you.

Your hands eventually found their way to his waist, drawing your eyes to the erection straining against the zipper….That must be uncomfortable.

A conclusion supported by the relieved sigh that escaped his lips when you popped the button on his jeans. Sighs that turned into groans when you wasted no time pulling down the zipper and reaching inside his boxers for his cock. Wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself biting back a groan of your own. You hadn't forgotten that he was big. But your fading memory was no substitute for actually having your hand around him — he's so thick…You felt another pulse of want between your legs, torn between having this cock buried deep inside your cunt and wrapping your mouth around it and making him scream…

As if he could read your mind, Matt's hands on your hips tightened…

"Please, sweetheart," he panted out, tugging at the waistband of your leggings. "May I? Please…ah!…I need…my mouth on you. Please!"

Oh his begging was just as sweet as it had been all those years ago…how could you deny him?

"Yes, yes," you said, lifting your hips to help him. Matt was quick to accept that help, peeling off both your leggings and panties in one swift action. You needed no encouragement to spread your legs wide for him.

If you thought the moan he made in response was obscenely loud, it was nothing compared to the one you made at the first lick. A slow, long drag of his tongue across your entrance, soon followed by another and another until you were squirming. Until the heavy weight of his arm laid across your hips to keep you pinned exactly where he wanted you. All you could do was whimper and beg for more.

He eagerly gave it to you. He made his way up to your clit where he applied teasing, kitten licks that sent sparks running up your spine. Then, without any warning, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard. You cried out, your hips trying in vain to jerk upward but he had no mercy. His arm kept you down and his mouth didn't relent on the pressure. You felt the coil inside you tighten as you drew closer and closer to that edge.

Then he hummed and sent you screaming over that edge.

You drowned in white hot pleasure. Pleasure that only continued to build with Matt lapping hungrily at your entrance, his eager grunts and slurps filling your ears. And just when you thought you could climb no higher, his tongue pressed inside you. You cried out, your hands scrambling to grab onto his hair. Once grabbed, you instinctively tugged on his hair, urging that clever tongue to keep thrusting in and out of you.

A silent order that Matt happily obeyed, moaning with each tug on his hair. The vibration only made you grip him tighter and pull harder…until he suddenly stiffened, letting a moan against your cunt that nearly sent you back over that edge…

The movements of his tongue didn't stop but they began…clumsy. Sometimes long laps, sometimes little licks…sometimes the pressure was featherlight, sometimes it was firm…sometime he swiped across your clit, sometimes his tongue fucked you, sometimes he lathed at your folds…

It was maddening, feeling good enough to bring you up to that edge but not good to send you over it. Even tugging at his hair only added moans that drive you even crazier….you squirmed under his arm. Funny it wasn't pinning you as firmly as before…you could almost just about ride his mouth but not quite…

"Matt," you whined. "Matt…"

Your voice seemed to break through whatever haze had seized his mind because he lifted his head far enough that you could see his face. And despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched. He looked positively lewd. Hair amess, lips kiss-swollen and shiny….further wetness smeared on his beard. His eyes were heavy-lidded, glassy…He almost looked drunk…The implications of what he was drunk on had only heightened your frustrated desires…

"Matt," you said. "Please….do I have to beg? Because I'll beg."

He looked confused for a moment before he blinked and the haze cleared a little. He smiled. How did that song go? He looks up, grinning like the devil? If so, that perfectly described that smile. Then you felt a thick finger run through your folds, coating itself in your slick before sliding inside you. "Not this time, sweetheart. All you need to do is ask."

The implication that there would be a next time stoked the growing fire just as much as the finger working its way inside you. You were so wet that it didn't take long for that finger to be buried up to the hilt. Nor did he waste any time fucking you that finger. It felt so good, reaching deeper than his mouth and thick enough to ease that empty feeling but it wasn't enough. "Matt."

"What is it, sweetheart? Do you need another finger?"

"Please!"

"As you wish."

True to his word, a second finger joined its fellow pumping in and out of you. Then those fingers curled and stroked a spot inside you that spent white sparks across your vision. You couldn't have contained your moans if you wanted to. Not that Matt seemed to mind how noisy you were being. Quite the opposite.

"Good girl," Matt rumbled out, his voice gone deeper and huskier. "Keep telling me how good you feel…what you need…"

His breath ghosted over your clit, adding more fuel to the growing fire. Your cunt clenched around his fingers. The resulting moan, the sound and feel of it so close to where you needed him left you whimpering and desperate. Close, you were so close…You tried to arch up into his mouth but his other arm had resumed its task of holding you down. You whined in protest but Matt was unmoved.

"Tell me what you need," Matt whispered. "Another finger? My mouth? What does my sweet girl need to cum?"

"Your mouth," you whimpered. "Please, please."

Before you could get out a third please, he drew your clit into his mouth and began to suck. In a sharp contrast to earlier, the suction was gentle. A tease, if your little nub hadn't already been swollen and sensitive. But it was so almost immediately you were babbling out his name as the fire consumed you — body, mind, and soul.

You barely heard his responding moan but you certainly felt his tongue lapping at the fresh slick flowing around the fingers still buried deep inside you, pressing insistently against that spot that made you burn…

You had no idea how long the pleasure held you under. It might have minutes. It might have been hours. You just knew that, eventually, the pleasure began to ebb. You sank into the mattress, feeling boneless and warm as you watched Matt slowly kiss his way up to your mouth.

This kiss was closer to the gentle, sweet affair that you had imagined but the tang of yourself, the edge of hunger gave it an edge. One that, despite two orgasms, began to kindle renewed heat between your legs. A feeling that only increased when Matt sat up enough to finally take off those jeans. Jeans and boxers that you couldn't help noticing were wet, far too wet to simply be precum. Especially with his cock looking only half-hard…

"Did you?"

"Come just from the taste of you?" Matt said. "Yes."

Your cunt clenched. And, of course, Matt noticed. He chuckled. "That pussy still isn't satisfied?"

"No," you said. "Because that cock still hasn't fucked me into this mattress.”

The cock in question twitched which you took as a sign of interest. Judging by the hunger shining in Matt’s eyes, the rest of him wasn’t opposed to this idea.

“Good point, sweetheart,” Matt said. He leaned down and kissed you again, short but toe-curling. You almost missed the hand sneaking under your back but you didn’t miss the sudden loosening of your bra. Or the eagerness with which he stripped it off of you and cupped your breasts. You breath hitched as his fingers teased one already peaked nipple.

“I can’t leave my sweet girl wanting.”

Taglist: @bellaxgiornata, @pastafossa, @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @justvalkyrie, @xoxabs88xox, @flynnethenerd

[pricesprincess]

Back To You | j. price x fem reader

synopsis: Marriage wasn't as easy as you thought it was, now you're suffering the consequences of your actions that you began to think were in haste.

wc: 4.0k

tags: 18+ only explicit smut + breeding + some angst with happy ending + edited repost from my old blog + this is one of my most treasued pieces

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

You tried to jam pillows against your ears when the water made contact with the metal sink in your kitchen, which was a few feet from where you slept, the sound loud and more than annoying.

Since your bedroom is now shut off from the rest of the house because the windows are so drafty that winter makes it impossible to sleep in without freezing, you opted for the lumpy couch with mixmatched cushions and pillows you bought from tag sales.

Which only reminded you of John.

Ironically enough, it felt like everything was falling apart in the house the moment he moved out, leaving you with more than a broken heart.

Now you had leaky pipes to fix along with your life.

With it being two am, you knew John would still answer but when you called, you weren't expecting a woman to answer his phone.

Her sultry voice came over like a soft purr. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to let images become burned into your mind.

Immediately, you hung up and debated calling Kyle; he lived close and would help, no problem, and then your phone buzzed in your hand, hoping it was Gaz, maybe he knew you needed him?

Nope. Not, Kyle.

John was calling back.

"Hello? You okay, sweet'eart?" He asked like there was no rift between you two and he was still your concerned husband, the worry bright and clear under that thick British accent you missed so much,

Part of you wanted to ask who she was but refrained. "I'm sorry, John, but my sink won't stop dripping and it's keeping me awake. Can you come fix it, please?" You asked with a tight throat.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to sink further into the couch, your duvet tucked around you to keep the cold air from penetrating under it and you wanted to stay warm.

There was some background chatter, then John came back speaking in that honey-dipped tone. "I'll be right over." He hung up, leaving you wondering who he was with and what he was doing with them.

Tucking the covers under your chin, you looked at your expenses, wondering if a hotel was out of the question. It would keep you warmer than here and the water would be a lot hotter than it is in your own home and you knew John would chastise you for not telling him.

He wasn't your husband anymore so that wasn't his business anymore; what either of you did or had going on was no longer something you should care about but John moving on hurt more than you wanted to admit, even though you were the one to ask for it.

But John deserved to be happy so when he used his key to let himself in, you didn't ask him about the woman but still greeted him from where you sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket. "Thank you."

"You're livin' in a damn icebox, love." He sighed and made his way over to you, stopping for a moment out of habit to kiss your head but he missed that step and walked straight into the kitchen to work on the sink, which caused him to let out a few colorful cuss words.

Once that was finished, John made his way to the furnace, getting it to start then he checked the vents, making sure hot air was being forced through them. His eyes shifted to the couch you lay on alone.

Silence filled the room as you met his gaze. "I know, the heat stopped working after you moved out and I don't have the money to fix that right now so I was getting by. Thanks again, John." You told him softly.

You only ever called him by his first name when you were irritated with him; during the whole relationship, his name was baby or honey and hearing you call him that made his heart shudder in his chest.

"Why didn't you just ask me?" His question made you prickle.

"Why do you think? You're not my husband anymore."

John took a step toward you, feeling the air become tenser. "Which means I have to stop carin' and lovin' you?" He shot back and sighed, fixing his bucket hat before pulling his keys from his pocket.

John's question left you speechless as he pulled his shoes back on, not wanting to fight with the person he cares about the most. "If you need anything else, let me know, sweet'eart."

Knowing that you were now safe and warm, John could leave and go back to Simon's.

That night you barely slept, tossing and turning, wishing you had asked him to stay the night, maybe for old times' sake but that would only further the crack in your heart and you didn't want to confuse it all, making the divorce harder than it needed to be, really.

The next morning you hardly could get off the couch; the squeaky springs dug into your back all night and it didn't help that the wind kept slamming the shutters against the house, creating so much noise and to make matters worse, you ran out of coffee beans.

John usually kept that stuff stocked.

Slapping a hand over your face, you scrubbed until you felt a little better and snatched something to wear from the tundra that is your bedroom; even with the heat on, it was still too chilly to sleep in.

Once dressed warmly, you set off to work, hoping that the office would be empty. It was a weekend, meaning that no one else should be there, and you could listen to music and crank the heat all the way up. Excitement sizzled through your veins as you drove.

It lasted all but a few minutes when you saw another car in the parking lot, your coworker Lucas, who has been super sweet to you ever since you started, and now that you don't wear your ring, he's bringing you coffee and flowers and lunch during the week.

He was cute and funny so it didn't bother you too much; perhaps you'd finally accept a date from him, seeing that John went on a date, or at least you thought it was because why did a woman answer his phone?

The thought made you clench your fists as you grabbed your bag from the backseat before scurrying inside to beat the chilly air that bit any exposed skin. "There she is. I was hoping you'd come in." Lucas beamed as he greeted you by the front double doors with a smile.

Lucas also held two coffee cups; one he gently thrust toward you. "I always do. I'm beginning to think you're coming in only because of me." You teased taking the cup with a grateful smile and nod.

He stepped in stride with you toward the cubicles where you answered phones, which got your bills barely paid but it was better than nothing and it helped you meet new people. "Is it snowing?"

"Thankfully no, but tonight I think it will start." The idea of having to spend your first winter alone hurts, and being cold isn't your only problem. Being with John for a decade and sharing everything left you stumbling after becoming a single woman after a long time.

The two of you chatted as you began the quick shift; it was something that helped cover the expense of other things you wanted, like the new vibrating clit toy that your friends all talked about.

It was a bit out of your price range but at this point, you'd pay it just to have an orgasm. After almost a year without a man's touch, you swore that if anyone got lucky enough to get you home, you'd hump their leg like a small dog.

"Are you doing anything to stay nice and warm? I could pick you up for dinner tonight." Lucas asked when it approached lunchtime, and you ended up in the break room for a moment to decompress.

Clearly, he was asking you on a date but was too shy to come out and say it outright like that. Being wanted stoked your ego and it had you nodding your head. "I'd love to, Lucas. How does six sound?"

The smile that pulled on his lips had you worried that he'd crack his cheek for a moment as he droned on about the details and how much fun you're going to have with a great man such as himself.

Your idea for a fun night took a dive with how he was bragging about himself. Once you accepted the date, it was like Lucas turned into another person but you didn't want to cancel on him just yet.

Thankfully the four hours ticked by and you were free of people screaming in your ear about getting a refund or how shitty of a person you are for not being able to help them the way they wanted.

You had a few hours to get ready before Lucas came, so you opted for a quick shower and to dive in your closet for something cute to wear. Since the divorce, you hadn't dressed up in such a long time, it felt like.

After applying some makeup and putting your hair in your favorite style, you looked in the mirror, running your hands over your curves that the dress you pulled on clung to and your tits looked good.

With a few sprays of perfume and some accessories on, you texted Lucas you were ready, followed by your address. Like magic, a few seconds later there was a knock on the door that startled you.

Lucas stood on your front porch with a bashful smile, holding a wilted bouquet of flowers that looked like he swiped them from a garbage can and they even smelled like it too, making you scrunch your nose.

"Wow, you're even sexier in a dress." His compliment made you sick to your stomach as he gazed at you like you were his last meal. The facade Lucas used at work was quickly crumbling, making you regret this. Perhaps if you call John, he could come and get you.

The thought was shoved away just as quickly as it came. He's probably on a date right now, and he's probably fucking her—no, you can't think about that or it will drive you insane all night.

You already said yes, Lucas was here and maybe he would cool his jets.

Taking the flowers, you placed them on the table next to the door, making a mental note to throw them away when you came home. Letting Lucas walk you to his car, you stayed a few feet away from him.

The idea of letting him touch you made your skin crawl.

It was painfully obvious he didn't know what to do on a date.

No opening the door, already asking if you could split the bill or at least get something cheap if he has to pay for it all and if he does, then you don't mind putting your mouth to work on the ride home.

You counted down the seconds until you were able to burst free from his car, where you barreled towards the front doors of the restaurant, ready to get this over and done and go home for the evening.

"There's no table available?" Lucas asked the host and then began to argue with the teenager, who seemed uncomfortable and out of his element, as you watched the scene unfold until you finally pulled Lucas back.

"It's okay; it's not that big of a deal. We can go somewhere else."

The angry mask he wore slipped for a moment as he smiled and took your hand to walk you back to his car. "I have a better idea in mind."

The better idea was driving by his ex-girlfriend's house, where she stood in the front window, heavily pregnant and dancing with someone. "That's her husband; she left me for him! Can you believe that?" he asked, white spittle forming at the corner of his lips.

Inside the cabin of the car was dark, making it difficult to see anything else but that or the way he gripped the steering wheel while you stayed silent, afraid to say anything that could set him off even more.

"Did your husband fuck around on you on his job? I couldn't be married while traveling to fuck other women." His voice was cold, void of any emotion at all and you felt your pulse race at his accusation.

You twisted your body to stare at him, your lip curling in disgust. "What the hell is wrong with you? John would never do anything like that and he didn't join the military to fuck around on his wife."

Your chest ached with the soft pulse of pain that never quite went away as you defended your ex-husband. Lucas's face contorted into something dark and dangerous as he pulled into your driveway.

"Sounds like you're still fucking him and I thought you two were over? Why call yourself his wife?" His voice teetered on possessiveness and something sinister as you reached for the door handle, desperate to leave his car and his space as fear took hold of you.

The moment you shoved your door open and stumbled out, you fell right into the chest of the very man you were defending; rough hands kept you upright as he peered into the dark car with a dead look.

John's eyes glazed over, something you've only seen twice since you met him. The first time was when he was talking about his missions and the other time was when a guy slapped your ass at the store.

You curled your fingers into his soft shirt as his scent wrapped you up like a bow on a pretty present. "John..." you whispered, getting his attention. His blue eyes shifted down, softening slowly.

Lucas watched the entire thing with a scoff as he rolled his eyes, not knowing what he just got himself into. John had already texted Simon his license plate and his name so later that night they could visit him.

John guided you into your old shared home. Passing under the threshold made you lean into the man you once promised to cherish and love for the rest of your life; a mistake was what it was, truthfully.

However, you couldn't say that out loud for fear that it was already over. Silence hung over you and John like an umbrella, keeping you two in a bubble of misunderstandings and unasked questions.

"That arseface has been after you ever since you started working there." John broke the silence as he stood by the front door with his arms crossed over his chest, putting you on the defensive.

Your eyes narrowed as you felt the bubble of irritation flare up. It's what the last year and a half of your marriage was like: one wrong move and you stepped on a landmine, and there was more fighting.

That's what did you in. When John wasn't home, it felt like you were single anyway and when he was home, he was more of your roommate. What hurt you the most is you weren't sure when it all started to fall apart at the cracks until it was finally broken.

"I had no idea because I wasn't worried about entertaining another man." You hummed and dropped your purse on the table where the rotted flowers lay, which John picked up, examining them with a grin.

He followed you into the kitchen, where you poured a glass of wine that John took for himself, taking a sip from it. "A man who gives a woman dead flowers wouldn't know how to properly romance her."

You wanted to make some sort of comment about him not knowing either but that was a lie. When you first met John during girls' night, he swept you off your feet and ever since, he has never let you walk.

To him you were his goddess; he worshiped the ground you walked on and there was nothing he wouldn't do for you nor was there any part of your body he hadn't kissed or touched and even though you no longer had the same name, he still felt that way and always would.

"He's unhinged to say the least, and since you're here, will you take a look at the windows in our," You cleared your throat and took the wine glass back from him with a huff to take a sip. "My bedroom, please?"

He leaned over the counter to wipe away the bead of wine on your lip before tasting it off his thumb, making your skin prickle with heat.

"Anything for my wife." With a wink, John headed toward the bedroom, feeling memories haunt him like a ghost attached to his back.

So many nights he carried you to the bed when you fell asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home, evenings you both spent curled up under the covers talking about everything and nothing.

You've seen him in dark times that he swore would take him under but you shooed away the dark, heavy clouds; your light, like the sun, parted them, providing him the warmth and love he needed to flourish.

A few moments later you joined him in the bedroom with two mugs of spiked hot chocolate, a silent apology for snapping at him when he's saved you again.

"I'm an asshole, huh?" You murmured and handed him his mug.

"At least you're a pretty one." He teased taking a drink of it, smearing the whipped cream on his beard that you kissed away without thinking the moment he sat next to you on the edge of the bed.

John stared at you for a moment, drinking in how the light caressed your features. It's been a year since you've been this close to him.

Setting both mugs down quickly, he leaned in to kiss you properly, like how a man should. His calloused palms cupped your cheeks to hold you still as his tongue parted your lips with a deep groan.

You held onto his arms with a whimper, gliding your tongue with his while moving to straddle him, your hands knocking off his bucket hat to grab a handful of his hair as you ground your clothed pussy against him.

It was a kiss that stole your breath as you molded yourself to John; he was the air you needed in your lungs to keep moving on.

He tasted you with desperate licks that made your clit throb with need as his hands trailed down to slowly peel your clothes off you as his mouth left open-mouthed kisses all over your shoulders and neck once they were bare for him; then he lay on his back to touch you.

"I'm sorry John, for letting our marriage come to this." You whispered, your voice teetering between the rush of emotions and the honesty.

With you straddling him, it was difficult to get him naked, and you missed seeing him. He's a bear of a man with thick, dark hair all over his body that softened with age but was still rough around the edges.

His hands roamed your body missing the feel of you after so fucking long. "Stop apologizin' darlin', I'm right where I want to be."

Despite him lying down, you still got him half naked, enough for you to rub your face against his chest with a sigh as he caressed your back with his fingertips and then popped your ass when you licked his nipple with a soft giggle before peppering his face in kisses.

"We should've had a baby." John whispered into the darkness as one hand cupped your cheek with your heart beating in tandem as you stared at him, feeling a rush of warmth wash over you.

It was something you thought about a lot but with him missing so much of it, you let it simmer on the back burner but now your womb was clenching. "Then no man will ask me on a date because I have my husband home waiting for me. No more, John, please, just come back."

Your soft pleas felt like a ton of bricks on his chest as tears matted his hair while you sobbed in his arms, breaking down. John shushed you gently with kisses and rolled you to your back to spread your legs.

He took his sweet time in kissing his way down to your glistening pussy that ached to be stretched out by John. You whined when his tongue finally glided across your sweet and slick cunt, making your back arch off the bed as he devoured you messily.

With slow and measured strokes of his tongue, your ex-husband had you gasping, your fingers curled in the sheets as you humped his mouth.

John slid his hands around your thighs to keep them open as he ate you out like you were made of the sweetest candy that would leave him with aching teeth but that didn't matter when your moans matched just how you tasted.

Everything was covered in diamonds from the sheer amount of pleasure that was pumping through your veins, like liquid desire making your pussy drool as you humped John's mouth.

It's been so long since you've felt his touch and now it was all you could feel; pressure built up the more his tongue swirled and stroked over your aching and puffy clit before he was kissing your cunt.

Then he slid two thick fingers inside you with a wet squelch, hearing you squeal and moan brokenly. "John, give me a fucking baby already."

He chuckled against you and pulled away with a glistening beard. "Being a bit bossy, are we? You're the one who went on a date; steppin' out on me deserves a punishment." He hummed quietly.

Your blood ran hot, making it feel like you were experiencing the worst hot flash of your life. "I only accepted it because you went on one!"

John now laughed as he kneeled between your legs, watching as you propped yourself up on your elbows, your eyes shifting down to his one hand that worked on his belt and then his pants to free his cock.

It sprang free, warm, fat, and heavy. It was thick too and just the right amount of hair covered his pubic bone; a few veins ran up on either side and a bigger one ran from the deep red, engorged head to his heavy and hairy sack that smelled like all John, potent male.

You wrapped your fingers around the base, unable to let the tips meet, and then slowly you jerked him off from the shaft to the tip before wrapping your legs around him.

"When that woman answered my phone, she thought it was hers. I was with my mates, sweetheart."

The sting of jealousy faded to embarrassment. "You never dated?"

"No, lovey, how could I date anyone when I was still married to you?"

You cried out and hugged his neck, pulling him further down to kiss him with passion as he rutted his hips against you blindly, trying to thrust in from the excitement of having you like this again.

When he speared you open on his dick, your mouth went slack, feeling the sweet sting of the stretch. "Keep it slow, John, you're the last person I slept with..." you admitted in between breathy kisses.

John rocked against you with slow strokes that kept you dizzy while you clung to him as he made sweet love to you, his hand cradling your head as he kissed you back with equal fire. Clearly, he missed you just as much as you missed him, and it was shown in hi

His smug grin not only riled you up but also made you want to sit your pussy on his face to give his mouth something to do and dear lord, did you need an orgasm from him? He's the only man who knew your body so well and could make you cry so sweetly for him.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

The Boss’s Heart

Chapter I: When Opportunity knocks

Summary: You’ve had enough of working for your slimy boss, but the bills need to be paid. Just before you give up all hope, a stranger comes in one night and paves a new way of opportunities for you.

Warnings: guns, horrible bosses, sexist behavior.

This is more of a prologue to get the ball rolling :) leave back any feedback you have

The streets lay desolate and cold, a biting chill hanging in the air, occasionally broken by the shadowy figures of drug addicts lurking in the corners. As you walk, your foot nudges a discarded soda can, sending it skittering across the slick pavement. The can clatters and rolls, glinting in the dim light, before finally bouncing off the jagged surface of a weathered brick wall.

Walking home from your job was never fun.

The seedy bar you worked at preferred keeping you during the closing shift. According to them, having a woman working would draw in people, which was true, but the place was still a dump. No amount of skin showing would have people lining up at the door for warm alcohol and unsalted peanuts.

The owner wasn’t a peach either. Mr. Norris was an older man in his sixties, with a bald head and a nasty attitude. When he wasn’t drinking the gross liquor, he was holed away in his office, finding out ways to cut corners with expenses, with a dry cigar hanging from his lips.

The bar, The Purgatory Lounge, used to be a pretty lively and popular place before Mr. Norris took it over. Norris bought out the previous owner after seeing the success and money it brought in, but his cheap tendencies eventually caught up to him. The place was falling apart, multiple staff members were let go, and the patrons went from everyday people to the lowest scum wandering the N109 Zone.

Fishing out the keys from your purse, you pushed open the creaky wooden door and shut it behind you.

Home sweet home.

Your home wasn’t terrible-ish? Eh, it was still a roof over your head. The space was a small one-bedroom apartment with the paint on the walls fading, cracked, and tinted yellow from the previous tenants who were smokers. The only pieces of furniture you had were a small armchair that had torn fabric and a table where you would eat your microwaveable meals. You wanted some little house plants, but unfortunately, natural lighting doesn't exist in the N109 zone. The bright white light flickers as you flip the switch and toe off your shoes.

After peeling yourself out of your work attire, you changed into some comfy pajamas and scrolled through job websites on your computer. The little inbox icon on the website’s toolbar remained empty no matter how many times you’ve refreshed the stupid page.

You have had dozens of interviews for different places, but there was always a reason they couldn’t hire you. The more popular bars in the city thought you didn’t have the look they were going for, which was just a nice way of saying you looked too poor.

Other places were looking for men to do the jobs, as a lot of them were too shady or labor-intensive for a ‘little thing like you.’

You were one paycheck away from being homeless at this point. Norris had cut your pay again, making you just a few cents above minimum wage, which was never enough to keep anyone financially stable. At least before his old ass bought the place, you could save a little bit of money before. Now, you’re counting pennies and being forced to decide if you want your heater on or the water.

Shutting your laptop in frustration, you made some instant noodles before heading to bed. As you lie underneath the covers, you toss and turn.

Maybe you’ll dream about being a princess again, living in your huge castle with a handsome prince beside you, your bellies full with a warm fire crackling across the large king-sized canopy bed.

Maybe tomorrow would be different.

But it never is. It’s always the same routine day in and day out. That's all it would ever be.

——

“Mr. Norris, you left before handing me my check yesterday.” You say calmly, but deep down you are fuming.

You were in the middle of making the customer in front of you a cocktail when Norris walked in. You could tell he tried to duck past you and head straight for his office, but you had bills to pay. The guy sitting on the stool in front of you looks between the two of you curiously.

Mr. Norris sighs heavily, tucking the folded-up newspaper under his sweaty sleeve. “Sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time, we’re getting audited again and-”

“That’s okay.” You smile and pass the customer his drink after garnishing it with a mint leaf. “I’ll just come pick it up when my shift is over.”

“I don’t have your check, Y/n,” Norris says, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Then I should expect it cash then, right?” You look back at him with your head tilted. “Payday was yesterday, sir. Unless you’re going to pay my light bill, I need the money.”

Norris stays silent for a few moments before he rolls his eyes and waves his hand at you, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the only customer you’ve had in hours. “Come by my office before you leave.”

The office door closes behind him, and you roll your eyes at your cheap boss before turning to the gentleman in front of you. “Sorry about him, is there anything else I can get you?”

“No worries, Miss. I’d hate to work for a sleaze ball like him.” He sips his drink before making a sour face.

This guy isn’t dressed in stained sweats either, instead, he wears dark slacks and a grey dress shirt. He almost looks too normal to be in such a place. Maybe he just isn’t familiar with the area, perhaps?

“You want something that doesn’t taste like shit?” You place down the glass you were polishing and don’t even wait for the guy to answer before you duck under the counter and unlock the mini-fridge where Norris keeps his pricier alcohol. He forbids you and the other bartenders from selling it- it’s a special privilege for him only.

“Here.” The chilled amber liquid fills the glass halfway before you slide it over to him. “Sorry about that first one, I can only work with what I have.”

The guy takes a long sip of his whiskey and nods appreciatively. “Don’t worry about it…”

“Y/n,” you smile politely and hold your hand out to him.

“Apollo.”

“Cool name.” You comment and go back to polishing the glasses. Apollo seemed like a nice guy, and he looked to be in his thirties- and the best part is that you didn’t get the vibe that he was a pervert at all.

“Why you workin’ in this shithole, Y/n?” Apollo crosses his arms over the counter.

“Uh,” you drag out before shrugging your shoulders. “I can’t find another job. Trust me, I’d leave if I could. What about you, though? You look like you’re smart. What made you stop in here?”

The man lets out a chuckle. "My wife’s sister a few streets away, and I just finished up at work meeting. Thought I’d catch a drink before stepping into the chaos.”

“Yikes, that bad?”

“I love my wife… hate her sister. That chick is crazy.” Apollo throws the rest of his drink back and holds his glass out to you. “One more for the road?”

You nod and pour him another glass.

“Why are you hiding this stuff? This is some high-end shit.” Apollo asks.

“That’s the boss’s personal stash. I told him we’d make money off of it, but no, he knows the clientele that normally drop in. They deserve what we have, his words not mine.” You give him an awkward smile and raise your hands in defense.

“So why give it to me?”

Once again you shrug and dump out the bowls of untouched peanuts that were strewn across the bar. “You were nice to me. Actually wanted to have a conversation instead of asking if you could hit it.”

Your face turns bright red at your words. “Sorry, you’re like the first person I’ve had a conversation with all night.”

Apollo laughs again and waves it off. “Don’t worry about it, you’re fine.”

For the next twenty minutes, you two engage in small talk. Not a single customer walks in, so you begin to tidy up for the night.

As you wipe down the counters and straighten the liquor shelves, you find out Apollo manages a warehouse on the outskirts of town, he’s got a beautiful wife, and two small kids whom he’d do anything for. All in all, a pretty down-to-earth fella.

He asks why you haven’t found another job yet and you indulged him in your rotten luck with the shitty job market in this city.

Apollo throws back the rest of his whiskey before slapping a few bills on the counter.

Your eyes widen as you quickly count the amount in your head. “Oh no, that’s too much, I was just gonna charge you for the first drink, don’t worry-”

“Nah, take it. I have a feeling you won’t be getting your check after your shift.” Apollo frowns as he glances towards the closed door where Norris disappeared. “He better not see a cent of this, alright? Take the amount that you need for the shitty drink and pocket the rest. It’s a tip.”

You smile at him appreciatively. Normally, you wouldn’t be one for handouts- but money is money, and you have very little of it.

“Thanks, Apollo.”

“Anytime, and here.” He pulls out a business card from his wallet and places it on top of the cash.

“That’s my work address and phone number, call me or stop by when you’re ready to leave this place.”

You stood speechless as he offered one last wave, a smile on his lips. With a tug at his coat, he exits through the door. ——— By the end of your shift, you grab your jacket once the closing tasks are done. Hesitantly, you knock on Norris’s door.

“Come in, Y/n,” Norris says lowly.

Opening the door, the room reeks of his cigar smoke. Your eyes fall to the scattered papers surrounding his desk.

“Do you have my check, sir?”

Mr. Norris chuckles slightly before he wheezes and shifts into a coughing fit. He picks up the small waste bin that was overflowing with crumpled balls of paper and spits in it. Your mouth curls up in disgust at the sight.”

Do you know how much money that bottle costs?”

You stiffen at his words. “W-what bottle, sir?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, did you forget I have cameras in this shithole?” Mr. Norris stands up, and you clutch your jacket tighter as your anxiety builds up.

His hands are in his pockets as he casually walks over to you, but you keep your head up high.

“If I remember correctly… it costs much more than you can afford, right?”

You can feel your heart rate quicken and the blood rushing to your ears. “I don’t know, sir. It was only two glasses, and I told you if we sold that kind of liquor here, we’d have more customers.”

“Doesn’t matter what you think.” His tone is bitter.

“I’m the owner here, not you. Got that?” Norris turns around and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just hold your check as compensation.”

Your eyes widen, and you step forward in desperation. “No, you can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. You stole from me. I can do whatever the hell I want and you’re lucky I don’t fire your little ass. Besides, I saw that stack of cash he gave you, that should cover your light bill, right?” Norris gives you a smile before gesturing you to the door.

“Mr. Norris-”

“The job market is pretty bad right now, isn’t it?” His words cut you off. “I would just hate to see you wind up on the streets selling yourself for a couple of bucks. No one wants to hire a little brat like you, so if you think about it, I’m technically saving you right now.”

You look at your boss in shock at his words. The whole situation makes you want to almost throw up.

He sits back down in his chair and waves a dismissive hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” — The harsh breeze stings your face as tears mercilessly roll down your face. At least you dared to wait until you left the building before you started crying. You were so done. With Norris, with that stupid bar, with having no money to survive. Everything.

You kept your head down as you walked home.

You just dared any mugger or criminal to try and mess with you right now. You had no real way of dealing with your frustration or anger besides a few tears here and there.

When you made it home, you didn’t even want to eat. Stripping to your underwear, you collapsed on top of your squeaky bed and cried.

———

You pulled the sleeves of your thin coat over your hands as if they would cover the nerves. The work address Apollo had given you took you to a warehouse hidden within the desolate city. It was rather shielded, much to your surprise. The walk was relatively creepy, too, passing by barren trees and chipped pavement that you only stumbled on once. Something screamed at you to forget about the job and head back home to your small apartment before being humiliated and taken advantage of by Norris at the bar. Your brain mulls over the possibility of you being kidnapped, trafficked, and killed, all before 7 a.m..

“Maybe I should've called him first," you wondered aloud as you finally made your way up to the rickety chain link fence surrounding the property. Various 'KEEP OUT' signs were strewn along the links.

The fence rattles, aggravating the creepy silence of the night. You can't help wince as the metal chains holding the gate clink loudly together.

"Damn it."

Locked.

You pulled the two gates apart with as much slack as the chains would allow and squeeze underneath the metal. The warehouse rests about half a mile from the fence with prickly shrubs and dirt patches littering the yard.

The large doors at the entrance are locked shut, much like the perimeter fence. Luckily, you were able to find a door cracked open by a small slat of wood around the corner.

The door creaks loudly as you open it, and you cringe at the noise and push it back against the peg gently.

Turning around, you're met face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. The silver metal gleams under the dim white lighting. Your body tenses, and a gasp escapes your lips as you freeze in shock. Instinctively, you raise your hands in a defensive gesture, your heart racing as you brace for what's to come.

"You have twenty seconds to explain who you are and why the fuck you're here." The man holding the gun demands. He stands taller than you with a bulkier build.

"S-Shit, I'm sorry! Don't shoot, don't shoot. Apollo gave me this address! Here, I have his card…" With trembling hands, you reach into your purse and pull out the crumpled business card Apollo had given you not twenty-four hours ago.

The man snatches it from you quickly, and his eyes skim over the small lettering before tossing the card to the ground. He grumbles something under his breath and grabs your bicep, making sure to keep the gun pointed at you. You don't dare utter another word; you can practically hear your gut telling you, 'I told you so.'

This is it. This is how you die.

Your feet move with his subconsciously, your shoes tapping against the metal floors with every step. The gun still taunts you as it's pressed rather snugly against your shoulder. Sweat beads down your neck, and suddenly your thin coat feels extremely hot.

The man drags you to a closed door and knocks rather aggressively.

A loud sigh is heard on the other side, and then you hear it- that familiar voice. "Come in, Will."

Will opens the door, and you're met with Apollo sitting casually on his desk and sipping on a cup of coffee. Instead of the slacks and the dress shirt he wore when you first met, Apollo was in a navy jumpsuit.

"Oh, hey!" He jumps off the desk with a grin that heavily conflicted with your traumatized expression. "I was hoping you'd finally leave that shitty bar. Good to see you again, kid."

"You know her?" Will asks.

Apollo nods and grabs the nose of the gun, pushing it away from your body. "Yes, I do. No need to scare her."

Will nods and holsters his gun, he looks at Apollo, who only gives him a nod before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

"You alright there, Y/n?" His voice breaks you out of your stupor. It takes a second for his question to register in your head.

"Y-yeah. Just ya know, never had a gun pointed at me before."

Apollo nods and gestures for you to sit in the empty chair across from his desk. “Better here than by yourself on the street.”

You sit down and try to stop your hands from shaking so violently- instead, you clasp them together tightly in your lap.

"Can I get you some water or coffee?" He offers, and you shake your head. The silence is a bit awkward for a few moments as Apollo grabs some papers from a desk drawer.

Finally, you break the silence. "What exactly do you guys do here?"

"We distribute weapons." Apollo answers, keeping his gaze on the paperwork in his hands. That's it? No other details…?

"For who?"

Apollo's soft brown eyes meet yours, but they don't hold the same warmth as before—it's as if he was tentative to tell you.

"Onychinus."

Onychinus? That criminal gang you've only heard horrible rumors of from the streets? The same Onychinus that can make people disappear from multiple records in just a few seconds? That Onychinus?

"Oh."

"Is that a problem, Y/n?" He asks, setting down the papers in front of him.

"I just…" Don't know if I want to work for a gang.

“Onychinus isn't a gang," Apollo tells you as if he was trying to be reassuring. Shit, had you said that outloud? "We're the faction that controls the entirety of the N109 Zone."

You miraculously break out of your petrified trance and had to stifle a scoff. "Is that not what a gang is, though? I mean, you guys 'control' the city, and word on the street is that the N109 Zone is run by criminals."

"Look, Y/n, you didn't receive your check from that shitty boss of yours, am I right?" Apollo places down the papers and leans his head on his hand. His words reel you into check and you’re quick to shut your mouth and remember where you’re sitting.

Your only response is to nod.

"I know it seems scary here, but we look out for each other believe it or not. Especially the boss. He takes care of us so long as we follow through on our part. I mean, yeah, sometimes we need to put people in their place if they mess with us, but a lot of the guys here have families. I told you about my wife and my kids, too. Here," turning around breifly in his swivel chair, Apollo grabs a picture frame from atop the metal filing cabinets.

The photo captures a woman with short, tousled blonde hair that accentuates her dazzling blue eyes that sparkle with warmth and joy. Beside her are two children, the perfect blend of their parents' genetics. The smaller child, a girl with chubby cheeks and a playful smile, is nestled in her mother's embrace, radiating innocence and happiness. Meanwhile, the older child, a boy with tousled brown hair, wraps his arms around his mother from behind, flashing a carefree grin.

Your fingers trace around the edge of the frame as you contemplate your choices.

"So I'm gonna ask you, do you want the job or not?"

"…yes."

Apollo nods thoughtfully and turns the stack of papers around to face you. He leans in, the gentle clinking of his pen from his shirt pocket momentarily breaking the silence as he retrieves it. Your gaze glides over the printed words, scanning the dense paragraphs, until it lands on a substantial figure.

There, in bold contrast, the metal ballpoint of his pen hovers, tapping against the dollar sign as if emphasizing its significance. "That's what you can make your first year here, kid. If there are no problems, of course."

With wide eyes, you swallow hard and suddenly regret not taking him up on his offer for a drink earlier. Your dry lips part as if to say something, but before you can utter a word, Apollo interrupts.

"Full-time benefits, too. Paid vacation, uh, what else…" He clasps his hands behind his head and leans back into his chair.

There was no way this could be real, right? I mean, what job pays this well, offers benefits, and vacation, without you having to sell someone's organs on the black market? But, with this salary, you can move out of your small apartment, actually eat healthy meals, maybe even afford a nice car so you wouldn't have to walk everywhere.

"Apollo?"

"Hm?”

“I don't have to like- kill anyone, do I?"

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

"No."

"Then no." A grin spreads across his face. "We'll just have you start processing the orders and deliveries. No violence necessary, kid."

Well,

Oh, what the hell…

"When can I start?"

———

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment or send me an ask <3

[szatears]

inked all over, stack.

summary: stack comes back to you with a new surprise, one that you must say suits him a little too well.

pairing: modernau!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, use of the n word, descriptions of reader.

notes: modernau!stack has finally arrived! ever since i made that post about smoke and stack w tattoos i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are! also switched up the pov to third person for this one. ignore any errors, did not proofread at all. smoke version coming soon :)

"Goddamn, you said how long?!" Stack's eyes widened as he leaned back in the tattoo chair, sat opposite his tattoo artist, Deuce.

"We're looking at 'bout six hours?" Deuce laughed seeing the expression on his client's face.

Stack was always at Deuce's parlour when he wanted a piece done on his body, he didn't trust anyone else to do it for him. Same with his brother. Today, he walked in wanting to get something he had on his mind for months.

"Six hours? Nigga, I'ma need you to cut it down to like, two and a half. My lady already pissed I ain't wake her up with a kiss this morning," he blew out a breath, thinking about the messages his wife had left him a few hours ago.

He'd been up since the early hours, and it was almost 4 o'clock now. He was only meant to be out running a few errands with Smoke and some by himself, but he just couldn't get the tattoo out of his mind.

Deuce laughed, nodding his head as he placed the drawing of what Stack wanted on his forearm. "This good for you?"

Stack looked down at the placement, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to this. "Yeah, it's good."

He knew how the process would go, he just hoped he'd be back home at a reasonable time to not get his ass chewed out. Mrs. Moore didn't play like that.

He made himself comfortable, his arm out on the extendable part of the bed to allow Deuce to do his work. Many Men by 50 Cent played through the speakers, and Stack pulled his phone out of his pockets before Deuce started tattooing.

He already had a few tattoos, but he still wasn't too used to the pain. Smoke on the other hand? Stack would say "you could tattoo that nigga's eyeball and he won't even flinch."

Stack had put a lot of thought into this piece. It would be the beginning of a sleeve he hoped to complete later on, but to him, this was the most important part of it. It had the typical designs of a sleeve ─── shaded clouds with the sun peeking through, cursive writing with some red for that pop. But it was what was written that held the most meaning to him.

With time, Stack came to realise that one of his wife's favourite ways of expressing her love to him was through words. It could be something simple, like telling him she was proud of him or that he was doing well with everything. Or it would be more, like a note in the morning before she left to go somewhere, or one of the many texts she sent him throughout the day.

One of these letters stuck with him the most. In it, she wrote about how he'd become such an important part of her life, the tie that held them together growing stronger each day. The exact words he was getting tattooed on his arm were "you're my favourite person and my forever person, i got you always," something she never failed to mention to him.

It was obvious how in love the two were. You rarely saw them without the other, and even if they were, it wouldn't take long for either to mention the other.

Along with the words, Stack added her lipstick print that she always signed her letters off with. He knew he'd be making a joke soon enough about how her lips were always gonna be on him now.

The rest of the piece had some other smaller yet intricate designs, he told Deuce he could freehand whatever, he trusted him like that.

-

Surprisingly, Deuce actually managed to cut his estimated time in half, finishing the tattoo almost three hours later. As Deuce finished taking pictures and wrapping Stack's arm, his phone rang, looking down at the caller id to see his wife's name with a heart next to it. He accepted the facetime, smiling at the mug on her face.

"Why are you smiling? You must like playing with your life..." she mumbled, fixing her hair in the camera frame.

"I can't be happy to see you no more?" He chuckled, watching her fight back a small smile. "You look good."

"I know," she leaned her face closer to her camera. "Where are you? Come home already."

"I'ma be home in a minute, mama, I'm at the shop with Deuce," Stack turned his camera to face the man who was tidying up his supplies as he held up a peace sign.

"Hey, Deuce. So you're the reason my man's out til these hours when he said he'd only be gone for two tops?" Her head tilted as Deuce laughed.

"It ain't my fault he picks the tricky designs."

"Design─── Baby, you got a new piece?" All of a sudden the frown on her face was wiped off, replaced with a smile.

"Yeah, I did. Look at you, smilin' over there," Stack laughed as he got up from the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stack of 50s, handing it to Deuce.

Before he could even complain about being given too much money, Stack gave him a look. "You really gon' make me argue with my lady on the phone?"

"No, sir," Deuce smiled, putting the money away.

"Aight, til next time Deuce."

He grabbed his coat and left the shop, opening the door to his car that was parked right at the front. "You need me to bring anything, baby?" he looked down at his phone as he put on his seatbelt, seeing his wife already staring at him. The smile that graced his face was just his natural reaction to seeing her; he couldn't get enough of her,

"Could you get some more fruit from Mama Glo's corner? If she's still open."

"Yeah. You gon' stay on the phone?"

"No, I'm gonna take a shower real quick. But I'll see you soon, handsome. I love you," she kissed the camera.

"I love you too."

-

Stack came back with a brown paper bag containing the fruit his wife had asked for, closing the front door with his foot. He slipped his trainers off, walking to the kitchen and placing the fruit on the counter. When he didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down to greet him, he tilted his head, making his way up the stairs.

He found her lying on their bed, dressed only in a bra and a small pair of shorts. She turned her head to the door when she heard the floorboards creak, a smile on her face as she set her phone down on the bedside table.

Stack smiled at her smile, his hands resting on her waist as she stood in front of him. His frame slightly towered over hers, his head dipping down a little to kiss her lips.

"Nice of you to come home, Elias," she hummed into the kiss.

"You know I could never be away from you for too long." His words were like music to her eyes as she used the hands that were around his neck to softly run her fingers over his skin.

"I got your fruit," he told her, tapping her hip twice so she'd let him go briefly, letting him take off his shirt. It was only when he took off the black muscle t-shirt that he wore, that she let her eyes run over the tattoos that adorned his chest and back before she remembered the reason he went out.

She let her eyes wander over him whilst he put his phone on charge, finally spotting the wrapped part of his right arm. Stack glanced at her, noticing how quiet she'd gotten. "You wanna see it?" he laughed at how eagerly she nodded in response to his question.

He stepped closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. He slowly took off the wrapping of the tattoo, much to his wife's impatience. When he finally revealed the finished work of art, the look on her face made his impulse decision ten times worth it.

He let her gently run her hands over the ink, waiting for to notice what made it even more special. He watched her face closely as her eyes flickered over his forearm, holding it with so much care. It wasn't until she turned his hand over so his palm was facing her, that she saw the writing.

"Elias..." she whispered, a pout on her face as she ran over the words and the copy of her lips.

"You like it?" he smiled at her, flashing his gold caps.

"Like it? Baby, I'm in love with it, oh my God," she couldn't tear her eyes off it. Throughout their relationship, Stack would always say something along the lines of "I'ma get your name tatted on my face," but this was far more meaningful.

"Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch," he mumbled, pulling her into his lap. He kissed the side of her face as she held onto his arm. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you endlessly," she took his face in both her hands, kissing him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He turned his head into the kiss, letting his lips leave hers to kiss down her neck to her collar. He flipped them over, bringing her to lay back down in the middle of the bed.

Her hands ran down his toned arms, massaging his broad shoulders. She let her fingers trace over the inked parts of his skin that she could reach, having memorised where every part was.

Stack used his knee to nudge her legs apart, letting him slot in between them as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers whilst she held him closer to her face by the back of his neck. Her soft moans only encouraged him more, as did the growing friction her hips created against his.

"Yeah, you gon' have to come up outta these," he mumbled against her lips as his hands fumbled down to her shorts, pulling them down her legs.

"Elias..." she whispered, tugging at his belt. She was almost naked whilst he was still half clothed.

He smiled at her, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down to her pelvis. "Hold on, baby. I wanna make you feel good first." He kissed her clit over the lacy underwear she wore, and she shuddered, leaning back further into the pillows.

Stack used his thumb to rub her clothed clit, watching how her legs started to close around his hand. "Baby, please," she whined, and it didn't take long for him to give in to her pleas, taking off her underwear.

Just as quick as he had done that, his head lowered closer to her core, his mouth latching onto her creaming opening. His tongue licked up and down, his hand holding either side of her hips as he ate her out. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," she breathed out, her eyes fluttering with pleasure.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against her, the vibrations just adding to the feeling.

Stack lapped at her for all she was worth, the unholy sounds emitting from her lips and his work. He used his thumb to rub her clit as he continued to work her away with his tongue. She writhed underneath him, feeling that familiar coil inside of her begin to surface.

"Why you moving away, huh? You can take it mama, I know you can," he assured her, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he briefly looked up at her. The sight alone almost made her cum right there; his mustache and goatee coated in her fluids.

She couldn't keep it in, especially when he went back to her with his tongue, his two fingers pumping in and out just as fast. "Shit, I'm gonna─── Oh, my God," her moans aligned with her release, all over his mouth.

Stack continued to eat her out through her high, her hips grinding into his face as he sought more. "Baby let up," she groaned, trying to push his face away.

"One more, baby. For me?" How could she say no when he was making feel that good?

It wasn't long before she came again, her body letting up as Stack cleaned her up. Only he could make her tap out like that.

He finally moved his head from between her legs, hovering over her as she grabbed his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. She licked over his lips, moaning at the taste of her on him. His hand travelled to her throat, the same arm that was newly inked now right in front of her.

Stack's tattoos were such a turn on, it was almost impossible to describe. If he wanted to make her orgasm fast, all he had to do was talk her through it, or have her analyse his tattoos. Easy.

"You not tapping out on me, are you?" he smirked, as she gave him a lazy smile. She could feel his dick through his pants at her entrance. Shaking her head, she let go of him to take his belt off, eyes on him as she pulled him out of his boxers.

He briefly got up to take them off all the way, before he settled back between her legs, hiking them up his hips. She let her arms rest over his shoulders as he pushed in, both of them groaning.

He fit so perfectly with her, and he made her feel that way every time, through sex or not. The sound of skin slapping soon took over the room, as did their moans.

Stack ground his hips into hers, his head resting in the crook of her neck, leaving small love bites where he could.

"You're doing me so good, E," she whispered lowly in his ear which only spurred him on. He picked up his pace, finding that spot of hers that had her arching into him.

"Like that, baby? Hm?" he asked as she could only not in reply, too far into it to speak actual words. Stack fucked her so good, without fail every time.

He looked down at where they connected briefly, fascinated by her precious pussy taking him in so well. "You're doing so good for me, pretty." he told her, his eyes back on hers.

She managed to keep the contact for a few moments before he had her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her muscled walls clenching around his dick.

He grunted at that, feeling himself close to unravelling. But like he always did, he wanted her to come first.

"I'm almost there, E, keep going─── Yeahhhh, just like that," she moaned, whining even as she felt herself about to come for the third time. She held his head to her face as he kissed her, groaning as she reached closer and closer to her climax.

"Fuck!" she screamed as he cum coated his dick, spilling out as he fucked her through it.

"You got it baby, shit, I'm gonna cum too, hold on," his words trailed off to a whisper as he came in her, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to the overbearing amount of pleasure only her man could give her.

Stack's thrusts slowed down as he pushed his seed back in her, a lazy smirk on her face as she watched him do so. He pulled out slowly, gently laying on top of her. She brought her legs around his waist, kissing his temple as they caught their breath.

"Damn," Stack sighed happily. "Might have to get my whole body tatted up now."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten

[21wanderer]

Secrets (Part 1 of 4) - Prelude

Originally an excerpt made for a writing challenge, after some encouragement to expand it, I have completed the story and broken it into four parts.

Being the oldest in your class wasn’t noteworthy, at least not most of the time, if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have guessed that I was the oldest in my class, I was small and skinny, tall, but not as tall as half of my classmates. But being the first to turn 18 gave me some attention all of a sudden… Especially when I was the first in my class with a driver’s license, then my usually non-existing popularity soared.

I could borrow one of my parents’ cars quite frequently, and it did make me quite coveted in my class, both the guys and the girls thought it was pretty cool, now I could drive them places… It was nice to get the attention, it was nice to feel unique and special… But again it probably wouldn’t last forever, after all, they were going to turn 18 soon enough, and then they could start doing the same, and I could fade back into obscurity.

“Are you coming to the party, Dam?” asked Alice, one of my classmates. “No,” I answered, “you know I don’t drink.” “You don’t have to, quite the opposite actually, Vicky and I were kinda hoping you could drive us home after… Maybe we could go through a drive-in along the way,” Alice said with a wink, “think about it, will you? It would be so great, if you did.”

My class was a party class to say the least, it felt like they were having a party or get-together every week, usually drinking way too much. It was far from the first time I had been invited to the parties, but I always declined, I don’t drink for starters, so I wouldn’t fit in, but Alice’s words got me thinking, although honestly they were both pretty thoughtful as they were inconsiderate. Now they wanted me at their party as their ‘designated driver’, so I could chauffeur them all home after they got wasted.

---

My father works at a hospital in the next town over, he’s a bit of a workaholic, even after an accident that caused him to break his right foot quite badly, he insisted on getting back to work as soon as possible. That meant my mother or I had to drive him to and from work, the plus side being, that I could get to drive more often and gain more experience.

One day, when I came to pick up my father at the hospital, I had a life-changing moment, well, sort of. He wasn’t at the parking garage, but that wasn’t unusual, if he wasn’t here, he was still working. So I entered the hospital, hoping to run into someone, who could guide me in the right direction.

“Hi,” I said to a doctor heading out the double doors to Section 4. “Oh hi Damien, are you here to pick up your father?” she asked. “Yes, have you seen him?” I said, usually it was hassle to locate my father, especially when he was working overtime, when he wasn’t on the parking lot, I had to try and find him in one of the hospital departments, and that wasn’t always an easy task. “Well, he’s doing some work, in the Dermatology department, the storage room, room 417,” she said. “Room 417,” I repeated, “thank you very much.” “You’re welcome,” the doctor said with a smile as she left.

Sure enough I found my father in room 417, a room filled with shelves containing who-knows-what. My father sat at the only computer in the room with his back turned away. “Hi da-” I began, but I almost stumbled over what looked like two large, incredibly visible paint-cans. “Watch where your going, Damien,” dad said as he turned towards me. “Sorry, I didn’t see them,” I said embarrassedly, embarrassed that I could stumble over something so obvious. “Why are those buckets right in front of the door?” I asked. “They need to be disposed of,” my father said. I read the label on the white paint cans, on a pink label with thick black letters, it said: BodyPlast.

It was an unusual name, and I was kinda curious. “What is it?” I asked my father, who resumed his work. “It’s an experimental substance, meant to be used on skin on burn victims and other people with dermatological conditions. It apparently can replicate the exact skin tones and even hair on the skin that it’s applied to, quite remarkable.” “Then why are throwing it out?” “Because the labelling is incorrect.”

“Really? Seems like a waste.”

“Maybe, but it’s a safety standard, a common hospital procedure, we cannot use something on a patient unless we’re 117% sure, we know, what it is. So if the labelling is wrong, we can’t use it.”

The computer monitor went black, and my father got up from his chair, and began gathering the papers on his desk in a stack, “and although it’s quite interesting,” he said, “I’m not quite sure how helpful it’ll be, because if it replicates the skin of those it’s applied to, then it would take the colour of their skin as it is now with burns, scar tissue and so forth, which means that people would have had to apply it before their skin was affected. Then all of a sudden, it doesn’t sound that useful.” He picked up the papers and got up from his chair. “Listen, I just need to hand these sheets over to my colleagues, and give them some instructions. Can you just go back to the car and drive it over to entrance D? and I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” “Ok,” I answered instinctively.

My curiosity was piqued, well more than piqued. This BodyPlast sounded unbelievable, I had a scar on my neck, that I’d like to cover, but there was so much more to it than that. If what my father said was true, I could replicate the skins of others, that prospect lit a fire in me. My father left and went down the hall, I could hear his footsteps, thanks to the boot he wore on his right foot. Not wasting any time, I picked up the buckets, between them was a little folder, which I assumed was the package leaflet, I quickly stuffed it in my pocket, hopefully it would tell me everything I needed to know about BodyPlast. I left the hospital carrying the buckets, nobody noticed, nobody said anything. Once I was at the car I put them in the trunk, and hit them under the blanket, that always stayed in the trunk. I picked up my father by the entrance, and we drove home. My heart was pounding, but I tried to conceal it. Once we were home, I just needed to get the buckets into my room and hide them there. ---

At night, I opened one of the cans with great expectation. It contained a thick, viscous, pink liquid. I dipped a paintbrush into it, then applied a coating to my left arm, just a little bit above the wrist. Then I waited. 15 minutes later the pink colour had faded completely, it was now the exact same colour as my skin, and it was almost unnoticeable. I found an edge, and peeled it off. It was remarkable. The material was incredibly stretchy too – I could stretch incredibly wide, but would resume its original form, when I stopped, still looking perfect. I had to try it again. This time I painted my entire left arm, all the way up to my shoulder, and then I waited again. I peeled it off like a glove, and it looked exactly like my skin, it felt like my skin, even the small hairs were replicated. This was incredible. I slid on the ‘glove’ again, it was surprisingly easy to put on, and the result was flawless. You couldn’t tell, I was wearing an extra layer of skin on my arm. Then it dawned on me, and it was like being hit by a bolt of lightning… With this stuff, I could do almost anything… Or at the very least become anyone. All of a sudden it did feel like a good idea to attend a party.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

pt. 1

When the hero awoke for the second time that day, they found themselves in a hospital bed.

At first, their surroundings were unfamiliar enough to make them believe they had entered heaven, with those blinding lights above them. But, no. The hero's mind caught up quickly, but for some reason, they weren't quite relieved that they had survived.

They were tired.

Their eyes widened. The villain.

They wanted to get up, but they couldn't. Their entire body felt numb and although they suspected it to be the work of some kind of painkiller, they couldn't help but feel even more helpless than under the concrete.

"Hey, easy." The hero's head followed the voice and for a split second, they thought, they hoped it was the villain right beside them. "Please, have some self-respect."

It was the hero's friend. They were still dressed in their uniform, looking like they were at work, helping some injured kid. The hero cursed internally. How could they have been this weak? They were a hero, they should have been able to do more. To prevent the building from collapsing, to rescue the villain instead. They should have been the one on top of the villain, shielding them from the pain and danger.

They gritted their teeth, feeling the tears rise again.

"Hey," their friend repeated, softer this time. "Hey, do you realise how lucky you are?"

They took the hero's hand and got out of their chair, only to drop to their knees next to the hero's bed. The hero could feel the gentle grip around their bandaged hand. Their friend rested their forehead against the hero's hand they were holding onto so desperately, almost as if they were praying.

"You could have died right there. Do you know how insane that is? What on earth are we supposed to do without you?" Their friend's voice was quieter now and the hero stared. Stared at the person who had saved them countless times, the person they had rescued just as much. The person they had grown up with, studied with, worked with.

And yet, and yet, the hero didn't care about their own survival. They weren't lucky or happy or grateful that they were here. They truly loved their friend, but they feared they didn't deserve to live. Not after their incompetency.

"My nemesis," the hero croaked. "Where...?"

Their friend looked up at them and the hero's heart sank.

"I'm sorry, they are still undergoing surgery. I've been told they are probably not going to make it."

The hero's eyes were wide open, staring at their friend as if they had been told their exact time of execution.

"They saved me," the hero said. Their voice was trembling.

"I know." Their friend's voice was soft. "They seemed to have been protecting your head and vital organs on purpose."

"They saved me," the hero repeated. The tears already ran down their face again and the hero couldn't help but loathe themselves to the utmost degree.

Because of them the villain was going to die, because of them someone was fighting for their life right now. The hero swallowed the tears, but the upcoming headache didn't vanish.

It was them who was incapable. They were the problem. A lousy excuse for a hero. Someone who needed to be saved, someone who destroyed everything. They should have died right there.

"Hey, hey, hey --" Their friend stood up and brushed the tears out of the hero's face gently. "I don't know a lot about your relationship with them, but I do know that that villain in particular is always making their own choices. Them saving you says more about them than about you."

Their friend's fingertips were warm, they were soft. Oh, they were so soft. The hero could feel their heart break. They didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve any of this. Their own fingers were shaking.

They wished the building had buried them, swallowed them whole.

God, the villain had basically confessed their love back then. How on earth was the hero supposed to move on from something like this?

They couldn't. They couldn't do this alone. Their heart started racing.

There was blood under their fingernails. There had been blood everywhere. The villain had bled onto them. Because of them, because of the hero.

The panic attack crept up from behind quickly. Their heart was beating in their throat, the edges of their vision started blurring.

"Listen, you've been through a lot and-" Their friend stared at the heart rate monitor. They didn't hesitate for a second. "Quick, what's my favourite food?"

The hero closed their eyes, took in deep breaths.

"Chicken. Any recipe." Name of my first dog?

"Name of my first dog?"

"You have never had a dog," the hero said. They were out of breath already. They grabbed their friend's hand, even though it hurt. My first job?

"My first friend?" The hero opened their eyes.

"...me," they said. They took in even deeper breaths.

"That's right." Their friend smiled. "We have known each other for a long time now. I know you are blaming yourself. I know you wish it was you instead of them. But they have made a decision that you have to accept. What they did was of their own volition."

They looked at each other and for a second, the hero was convinced that their friend was right. But just as quick, their mind spiralled right back through the thick layers of blame.

"This will take time," their friend said. "And right now, it is unclear what will happen in the future. But no matter what, I am right beside you."

The hero took their time to think about their wording.

"They...they told me..." Their eyes didn't stop burning. "They told me they did everything because of me."

"I think they adore you greatly," their friend said. "When someone loves you that much, when someone gives that much of themselves to you, it is your duty to take care of yourself. That includes healing."

Their friend sat down on their chair.

"I am right here," their friend said. "I am not going anywhere."

pt. 3

[missust3l3vision]

Always Be You

Description: George is so scared of losing you that he puts all his cards on the table. Blurting out his feelings is always a good idea right?

Being friends with George was awesome. So fucking awesome. From being each others bus buddies from the age of 5 to 18 and having almost every class together. Y/n had been his neighbour since he began primary.

Now, several years later they were just as close. Eachothers emergency contacts, biggest supporters, and as you could probably guess long time crush.

His mum told him probably a thousand times that they would end up together. Everytime she caught her son waiting for her to text back or when he'd leave for school early to have enough time to pick her up.

George fell for her after though his soul knew since the first time they met. When he finally figured out she also liked him he thought it was something he had missed his chance on.

The day his mum telling him that she liked him, only for him to shake his head and run off to his bedroom.

Now, he stood infront of her apartment. He was there for a party and to meet her new "friend" Michael.

She had asked him to come as a favour and wasn't given any details.

He seethed at the thought of him. He had not wanted to go, but knew this meant a lot to you. Knocking on the door you opened it.

Wearing a dress he bought for you and earrings his mother gave you. You looked like a dream come true.

"George! Its about time you got here" you said as you ushered him in. He loved the feeling of her hands on him.

Walking in he was met with the smell of something delicious cooking on the stove and the flat empty.

"Where's everyone else?" He asked, he was mentally freaking out that it might just be the three of you.

"No one, just us" she confessed "I have something important I wanted to ask.

A million worries came to him as he stood in the same kitchen he spent many late nights in. He nodded for her to keep going.

"So I know you're worried about me and Michael-"

"I'm in love with you!" He shouted. The fuze of his heart being lit in the same amount it took to explode "And I have been for awhile. I know you don't love me anymore but I can't have you talking about him around me" he wanted to cry "I just can't"

He slumped into the barstool. You watching him with an open open mouth

"I'm in love with you too" you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 8 year old you would have fainted at this point. Admitting it to your diary was nothing to admitting it to the man himself.

She had known longer but let the feelings inside her simmer. She gave up hope, but a little bit of her never gave up. Now seeing the man in front of her she was glad she kept it.

He flung himself up, kissing you passionately. His weight on you a gentle indication of how much he truly loved you. Finally backing away yo let you each breathe. She looks at him with a Dazed look

"Now back to why I invited you over, Michael is getting married and I was hoping you'd be my plus one...everyone else is coming to the party in 20, I just wanted to ask before" George rolled his eyes, not at her but at his own silly jealousy.

"Yeah I'd love to come" he leans in, kissing her again "As long as I can go as your boyfriend" she pretended to think, tapping her finger but before she could answer he leaned in again.

"Your mum is going to explode when we tell her" his face fell. He had to do something he hated, telling his mum that she was right.

[slowdrawl]

| Everybody Loves Contractors | AU NO OUTBREAK| JoelMiller X f!reader |

| 2/? | | Fragile | ~3.6k words | 18+ minors dni |chapter 1|

She’s got a fixer-upper, trauma, and an attitude problem. Joel’s got calloused hands, a tool belt, and a soft spot for crazy. This is going to go great. "You’re nothing but a client. A mess of one at that. Some unhinged girl who moved to Texas on a whim, running away from god-knows-what, sending him cringeworthy late-night texts. And he’s just the man you hired to rip the walls open. He might even be married. You never checked for a ring." |a/n| I love them already, I hope you do too. home depot next!

| Warnings | Explicit language, sexual tension, mutual pining, age gap, a little angst, mentions of DV/Stalking mentions of PTSD, mentions of death, Joel being Joel, etc. Please read responsibly.

You wake up to a bird screaming outside your window and a throbbing in your head. You barely even drank. Maybe had three beers max, but you've spent the last two weeks struggling to acclimate to the hellscape that is Texas. 

The humidity in Austin is no joke, and you’ve been seriously underestimating how much sweat one person is capable of producing.

Back home in Washington, summers were a lot drier. You’re not used to the constant layer of sweat that covers your body, it’s like you could drink a gallon of water in an hour and not even pee. 

You groan and reach your arm over to the bedside table, searching blindly for your water bottle, refusing to open your eyes yet. 

But then the regret hits you, jolting into your brain like hot electricity. Spiky, immediate. 

You snap your eyes open, then squeeze them shut again, like if you cringe hard enough, you could will those text messages you sent last night out of existence. You drink half the bottle of water, it’s lukewarm and has some flavour you’re still not quite used to. Water in the south fuckin’ sucks apparently, you never thought you would be one of those people. You grab your phone to add ‘Brita filter’ to your shopping list, but stop before you get there. 

One unread text message from him.. 

(7:42 AM) 

Joel Miller: mornin’ psycho. 

Your face heats up instantly. He texted you first… technically. He called you psycho. You should really be insulted, but your dopamine-deprived brain decided to interpret it as affection instead.

(8:07 AM)

You: goodmorning contractor. how kind of you to acknowledge my existence after I sent you drunk and kinda mean texts last night.

You wait for a response, it’s agonizing. 

The phone buzzes on your chest. 

(8:12 AM) 

Joel Miller: figured ignoring you would be rude. manners and all. Huh. Okay. A little colder than you expected. You reread it, trying to decide if he’s annoyed or just…being himself.

(8:07 AM)

You: I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had ghosted me.

(8:08 AM)

Joel Miller: I wouldn’t do that Your heart rate picks up. (8:08 AM)

Joel Miller: can’t anyways, you still gotta sign the contract Ouch. Of course, this is business. Duh.

(8:09 AM)

You: ah! yes! Capitalism!! the true foundation of our new friendship. Almost forgot.

You: can we talk about that? wanna know how soon I’m going to be bankrupt, might need to go get a pedicure and snap a few photos of my toes for craigslist.

(8:11 AM)

Joel Miller: you good for a phone call around 10?

You hesitate.

(8:11 AM)

You: yeah, thats perfect. ThanksNo emoji. No more sarcasm. Strictly business. You put the phone down gently and stare up at the ceiling tiles for a while. He didn’t flirt. Didn’t call you darlin’ or throw in a wink like he did last night. He was polite. Blunt. All contract, no fun. And why wouldn’t he be? He doesn’t even know you.You’re nothing but a client. A mess of one at that. Some unhinged girl who moved to Texas on a whim, running away from god-knows-what, sending him cringeworthy late-night texts. And he’s just the man you hired to rip the walls open. He might even be married. You never checked for a ring. Oh my god, you never even checked for a ring. You fucking’ idiot. You’re fantasizing about being a homewrecker.You sit for a while, picking at hangnails, pulling half the stitching out of the hem of your t-shirt, letting your mind chew on it all for a while. You really should stop reading so deeply into things. Just because someone is kind…in a brooding way, or doesn’t ignore you, doesn’t mean they want anything from you. Not really. Not always. At 10:03, your phone buzzes. You’re lying down, flat on your back on the couch in the faux-living room of the Airbnb. You stare at the ceiling fan like you’re about to be sentenced by the royal court. You answer the phone on the third ring. “Hey,” You say, normal. “You sound alive,” Joel says, voice low and rough. “That’s debatable. But yeah. Morning.” You mumble, trying to sound like you don’t care he called. “I’m prepared to hear the details of my financial ruin.”

He chuckles, low and brief, like maybe—just maybe that was funny. “You asked for it, kid.”

You sit up right and swing your legs over the side of the couch. “Alright, alright, true. Tell me about it then.”

“Sent the paperwork over to the office,” he says. “Should have it back by Monday, early. I’ll walk you through it if you’ve got questions.” What if he talked me through it instead? Ha Ha…Ha “Okay. Cool. Thanks.” “You’ll need a 20% deposit before we start. End of next week alright?” You choke. He notices. 

“Still with me?”

“Yup… yeah. Just thinking about you draining my savings account…kinda hot.” You let out an almost believable laugh. “Okay, sign papers, 20% by the end of next week. I can do that.” 

Joel's voice softens a bit. “You sure?” 

“This is what I want,” you say quickly. “I’ll figure it out.” He doesn’t respond right away, just stays quiet. You can hear some background movement—maybe he’s walking. Or he’s searching for an excuse to hang up on you.

“I’m thinking we can do Wednesday through Friday, ten to six, give or take, depending on deliveries. Unless that won’t work for you?” “No, that's fine.” You’re dissociating, “Alright. Mondays and Tuesdays, I’ve got other jobs. Keeps weekends open for both of us.”

“Oh my god, it’s like you’re giving me custody hours, I’m like the mid-week mom.”

“If you want weekends too, you gotta make me dinner,” he responds. 

Your face heats up, you go silent again.

You clear your throat, “So. Ten to six, Wednesday to Friday, weekends maybe, but only if there’s lasagna.”

“I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he says, voice even. “We’ll go from there.”

“Okay. Thanks, Joel. Appreciate it.”

Another second of silence, it feels full, your brain feels like mud. 

“Alright then,” he says. “Try to learn how to behave before Monday.”

You laugh, “I’m making no promises.” You’re grinning ear to ear despite yourself. The line clicks dead a second later. And you’re left sitting there, phone in hand, wondering what you’re doing, and why the fuck you liked that so much. When you toss the phone down, the reality of the situation really settles into your bones. You’re really fucking doing this. Hell, you’re already most of the way through it. You left. You packed your whole life into your Civic and drove two thousand miles, from Bellevue to Austin. Alone. You left him there. Said absolutely nothing about it, couldn’t. Not legally, at least. Instructed everyone who knew the two of you to never tell him where you went. You chose peace. You chose yourself. And somehow, that still feels radical? Like it was an act of defiance instead of survival. You didn’t even cry until Oregon. Didn’t let yourself fully believe you were even actually free until you passed the Idaho border and realized nobody was following behind you. You’d been with him since high school. That kind of history doesn’t go away easy. He hurt you slowly, taking parts of you away month by month, year by year, until you were a shell of who you once were. He broke things inside of you that still rattle around sometimes when you’re not paying enough attention. His hands left burn marks that you’re worried will never truly fade. You sit there for a long moment, letting the silence press in on you. The Airbnb is too clean, sterile, too…impersonal. Like it's holding space for a version of you that hasn’t quite arrived yet. Eventually, you get up. You cross the room to the only thing that really matters to you right now. The box. It’s battered. Duct-taped around the edges. “KEEP SAFE” scrawled across every side of it in big, Sharpie letters like that would somehow protect it from fire, flooding, or the unrelenting hands of grief. It’s slightly smudged from rain, maybe tears, who knows. It’s the only box that’s never made it into a U-HAUL. You kept it tucked in the passenger seat on your way to Texas. Buckled in, riding shotgun the entire drive from Washington. You brought it in to sleep next to you in every motel. Just in case. Just in case he found you. Just in case the house burned down. Just in case the last pieces of you disappeared, slipping through your hands like sand before you could properly hold them again. You carry it over to the bed and pull the top open, hands maybe a little too careful. In it, his watch that hasn't worked since you were 12, his favorite ball cap that somehow still smells like him after all these years if you press it to your nose. And a photo. You and your dad from a birthday party a lifetime ago, you’re wearing a polka-dotted paper hat, blowing out 9 candles. He’s staring at little you like you’re the only thing that existed in his world. Even though it's a still photo, you can almost see his eyes twinkling. 

He’s wearing a hat with The Lion King logo embroidered in it, black with an orange bill, and one of his classic denim button-downs. You smile down at the photo, then your lips start to tremble when you think too hard about whose smile you're really wearing. He probably would have hated the heat here, he certainly would have had something to say about the humidity. Woulda cursed the mosquitoes, the grasshoppers, the very concept of Texas apart from the barbeque. But, he would have still come to visit… because he would’ve understood. 

He always understood. The only reason you could afford the move, the house, was because of him. Two months after you lost everything else, his life insurance check showed up. You never even wanted to cash it. Because it felt like if you did it would solidify it, he would really be gone. But eventually you did. Then you bought the most broken thing you could afford, hoping maybe it would be strong enough to hold the weight of starting over like this. “I’m gonna fix it,” you whisper to the box, voice small. “I swear, I will.” You fold the flaps of the box in on themselves and carry it out the door of the Airbnb with you, like maybe bringing it to the house is step one in bringing yourself back, as well. The air is already warm, the sun is still climbing into place in the sky, and cicadas are going feral in the trees. The street hums with quiet suburbia, children playing, and truck tires. You hold the box to your chest as you climb into the front seat and drive. You keep one arm wrapped around it firmly as you turn the corner to your home. You don’t play music, you just let the silence wash over you this time. When you pull into the driveway and open the door, you don’t put it down right away. You just sit on the floor with it, sunlight pouring in through the broken blinds in the kitchen window, your knees pulled up to your chest. You breathe deep, letting it ground you, hoping that somehow your dad’s things will pour some strength into you, because god, you need it right now. You look around, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way your dad might have reacted to the house. He’d probably shake his head. Probably mutter something stupid like, “Jesus, kiddo, didn’t know the Blair Witch house was in Austin.” He’d probably tell you that he didn’t raise you to be so damn impulsive. But secretly, he’d be proud. Because he’d know, he’d know that you had to go, had to start over. He wouldn’t have wanted you to dull yourself down. He’d hate knowing that you had become someone who kept shrinking herself to make someone else comfortable. And this house, for all its rot, imperfections, and ghosts, it’s yours. Your mess, your future. You tuck the box safely in the hall closet and head back to the car to grab more of your stuff. 

You spend the remainder of the afternoon cleaning the second bedroom, the only one that has windows that don’t stick in the tracks when you try to open and close them. It feels the least haunted, too. You vacuum and take your spot cleaner to a particularly ominous stain in the middle of the floor. It’s the color of rust, hopefully not blood. You wash the windows, wipe about an inch of dust off the ceiling fan blades, and fill a Swiffer duster with so many cobwebs it looks like cotton candy. Gross. By sunset, it finally looks like one of the after shots from an episode of Hoarders. Not perfect, but livable. You put a dehumidifier in the corner of the room and pulled out the air mattress you bought one year. Your ex decided that camping at The Gorge for a music festival would be a good idea. It wasn’t… You got heat stroke and threw up during Kid Cudi’s set. You blow it up and place it in the center of the room. When you flop yourself down on it, you hear a hiss, and you let out the world's heaviest sigh. Of course. ////

Joel was in the kitchen, reheating something from a takeout box that barely counted as dinner. He stood over the microwave, arms crossed, waiting for it to beep.

Sarah was perched on the arm of the couch behind him, legs folded, humming some song he didn’t recognize. Probably something from a playlist her roommate sent her. She didn’t look up until he passed by with his food and collapsed into the recliner with a quiet grunt.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

(7:42 PM)

Opengate Demo Girl: ten bucks says you’re gonna hate my ass by friday.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

He stared at the message, chewing slowly, unsure what to make of it—or her. She was already too much, even through a screen. But she was funny. Quick. There was something behind the sarcasm that kept tugging at him, even though he knew he shouldn’t let it.

He exhaled through his nose and replied.

(7:43 PM)

Joe Miller: by friday huh. do i get extra cash if I already do?

Her reply came fast, but it wasn’t a text.

It was a selfie.

She had one hand pressed to her chest like she’d just been mortally wounded, mouth open in mock betrayal. Hair messy. Eyes wide, dramatic, shining.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. Louder than he meant to.

Sarah’s head whipped around from the couch. “Who are you texting that has you laughing before noon?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

He didn’t look up. “Nobody,” he said, reaching for his fork again. “Just a dumb meme.”

“Mmm.” Sarah didn’t sound convinced. “You only figured out what a meme was last year. Don’t start acting like you’re fluent.”

Joel grunted, annoyed. His phone buzzed again.

He ignored it.

Sarah, of course, refused.

“What kinda meme makes you blush like that?”

“I’m not—” he started, cutting himself off before the sentence could hang him. He set his phone down, face-first on the coffee table. Kept eating like it would somehow defuse the conversation.

She was still watching him.

He picked it back up eventually. Couldn’t help it.

(7:47 PM)

Opengate Demo Girl: glad you’re pretending to be my best friend after a whole 24 hours. ur commitment to the bit is admirable. i’m moved.

He smirked. Barely. Typed out a response without thinking.

(7:48 PM) Joel Miller: charity work’s good karma. gotta get into heaven somehow.

Joel didn’t hear Sarah get off the couch until she was behind him, reading over his shoulder.

“Oh, so you’re going to heaven now?” she snorted.

He locked the screen and looked up at her, deadpan. “Gotta aim high.”

Sarah didn’t laugh. She crossed her arms instead, squinting at him like a bloodhound.

“Who’s Opengate Girl?”

He sighed. “It’s the address. New client.”

She made a face. “You saved her under the street name? Ew. That’s so sterile. You couldn’t even put her actual name?”

Joel shook his head. “Helps me keep track. You know how many houses I’ve walked through this month?”

Sarah was still watching him like he’d just confessed to a federal crime. “Okay but why are you smiling at your phone like that? Are you flirting with a client?”

“I’m not flirting,” he muttered.

“Right. Sure. And I’m not currently watching you act like a teenager.”

“Jesus, kid.”

“You’re blushing, dude.”

“Shut it,.”

“You are.”

He pointed at her with his fork. “Go do your homework.”

She rolled her eyes and backed away, still grinning. “Flirt responsibly, old man.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and went back to his food, trying to pretend none of that happened.

He didn’t open his phone again for a while.

Instead, he asked about her classes. TikTok. What she was watching. Tried to be normal.

Tried not to picture the shape of that girl’s mouth in the photo.

And mostly… he failed. ////

Meanwhile, your hands are full. You kick the front door of the Airbnb closed and make it most of the way to the kitchen before one of the paper grocery bags explodes. You almost break an ankle tripping over a can of soup and curse out the ghost of Campbell’s under your breath.

You throw the perishables into the fridge and glance at the clock. 7 PM.

Check-out for the rental is at 11 AM tomorrow. Thankfully, you’re mostly packed. You never really unpacked anyway—you’ve been living out of a suitcase since you left home three weeks ago. At least this place had a washing machine. You’re already critically low on clean underwear, and hand-washing wasn’t on your bingo card.

When you’re finished stacking your remaining belongings next to the door, you head back into the kitchen. It would be criminal to waste your last night with a fully functional kitchen on Top Ramen or mac and cheese straight out of the pot, so you don’t.

You stare into the fridge for inspiration. Reach into the crisper drawer and pull out whatever isn’t fully wilted or growing a second skin.

Stir-fry it is.

Something simple. Something comforting. You throw on a playlist and grab a cutting board from the cupboard, chopping carrots and peppers while singing No Scrubs at full volume, utterly disregarding the fact that this is a duplex. You cook the chicken that was dated for yesterday because it still smells…fine. You’re pretty sure you’re immune to food poisoning, courtesy of growing up on your dad’s questionable "experiments" in the kitchen. Stomach of steel. It's practically a superpower.

You miraculously don’t burn the rice. You eat dinner on the couch, scrolling through your phone, feeling— Not settled. But maybe… okay.

When you finish eating, you wipe down the counters. You let yourself stare out the kitchen window for a second, It's dark now. The only thing illuminating the yard is the moon; it's peaceful. You contemplate going to bed early, calling it a win, you’re exhausted anyway. But nope. You’re a dumbass with a maybe-kinda crush and too much flour. Plus, you already bought a bag of chocolate chips at Kroeger. Who gives a shit if it’s 77 degrees outside, you’re baking cookies. You throw together a batch, your grandma's recipe that you know by heart. You’re doing this half out of spite, half out of some unspoken womanly urge to nurture the world. But mostly you’re doing it for yourself, and maybe a grown man whose astrology sign you don't even know yet. I bet he's a Scorpio… Scorpios are always brooding. You hum to yourself as you fold in the chocolate, and by the time you’re putting them in the oven, you’re belting Bohemian Rhapsody using the spatula as an impromptu microphone. You burned the first batch, you were…distracted. Distracted googling ‘Can my contractor sue me for emotional damages?’, it was a joke at first, but there are a surprising number of Reddit threads that cover this topic. The second batch of cookies is perfectly golden. You let them sit by the open kitchen window to cool like you’re some housewife in a fairytale that’s bound to end with a wild animal eating your firstborn. You sit cross-legged on the couch, Sharpie and notebook in hand. HOME DEPOT: Hammer (not pink) Lightbulbs LED Paint Extension cord (the ugly orange kind) Coffee maker (duh) Snacks Duct tape (you can never have enough) The will to live You stare at the list for a hot minute, chewing the end of the Sharpie like a feral animal. Maybe you should buy a taser. Or a whole new personality. Or coveralls. Oh my god, what if he wears coveralls… I’m going to be sick. You flop backward onto the couch with a full-body groan, one arm slung across your face, the other clutching your phone. You might not survive this summer. You’re going to sweat to death, trip over all of your boxes, maybe die alone in a haunted house with no aircon and a hot contractor who absolutely doesn’t think about you at all and might be married. You are unwell. You grab the notebook once more, scribbling ‘ant traps, more duct tape’. You giggle to yourself as you write ‘vibrator????’ in bubbly script. Before you head to bed, you check the locks, twice. Not because you’re worried. Just… muscle memory. He’s not here. But your body doesn’t believe that yet.

[hibiskissess]

Lonesome Love

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Summary: You’re about to leave Twisted Wonderland but both Malleus and Leona have yet to tell you their true feelings. Who’s affection will you accept?

╰┈➤ Part 1 (here!) | Part 2 (Leona Route) | Part 2 (Malleus Route)

It had been over a whole year since you were sent into Twisted Wonderland and taken away from your old life.

As the time stretched longer with each month, you were beginning to lose hope that Crowley or yourself would ever truly find a way for you to return home.

So when he called you to his office during class, you had simply assumed that Grim had done something while you weren’t looking and gotten in trouble. Instead, Crowley told you the great news of how he finally found a way back, stirring a cocktail of both happiness and regret inside of you.

Sure, you were happy that you could finally go back home and see your family and friends, but you had also grown a family here too.

Your feet felt heavy as you left the headmage’s office. A week- thats all the time you had before you’d be sent home. Only a week to say goodbye to everyone that had helped and cared for you during your time here.

❀。• *₊°。

Leona found out you were leaving from an offhand comment Ruggie left while walking to lunch.

“Who’re you gonna nap on now? Better not expect me to do it.” Ruggie teased, his eyes meeting Leona’s.

Leona’s eyebrows inched closer together, judging the other student’s words. “Huh? What’re you on about?” he questioned, his tail swiping slowly behind him.

“Haven’t you heard? The prefects going home soon. Finally found a way outta here.” Ruggie quirked his head to the side, “You seriously didn’t know? I thought for sure they’d tell you, considering how close you two are.” he smirked, gaging Leona’s reaction.

“Knock it off.” Leona curtly responded, cutting the conversation short.

Why didn’t you tell him? Out of everyone, surely, wouldn’t you have told him? Maybe your relationship just wasn’t what he thought it was.

Leona’s heart felt heavy in his chest during the remainder of his walk to the cafeteria. The one person who viewed him as more than a waste of space for simply being born too late. The one person who treated him more than just a shadow. The comfort he had yearned for after countless years had finally be bestowed upon him, and now it was being taken from his grasp before it was ever truly his.

Leona’s hands stuffed his pockets, begrudgingly walking to the cafeteria.

Seriously, what was he going to do? Here he was, thinking he had played his cards right and courted you enough to make a real move. But the harsh truth was always there to remind him- things weren’t mean to work out for him. His work would never pay off.

The rest of his idle chatter with Ruggie felt like white noise. While it wasn’t intentional, the news from Ruggie shook Leona more than he would ever admit out loud.

°•. ✿ .•°

Leona bathed in the sunlight peering down from the glass enclosure of the greenhouse, his eyes feeling heavy. That was until his ears twitched, hearing a distinct set of footsteps that he knows all too well.

“Herbivore.” he calls, “Come here.”

Despite the obvious curtness in his tone, you knew him well enough to hear the underlying softness in his beckoning.

You sat beside him, heart feeling sorrowful. This would be one of your last times here together, wouldn’t it?

A slow sigh dragged out your worries, leaving you to focus on the moment instead.

“…I wanted to tell you that I’m going back home in five days. Your company has really meant a lot for me during my time here, and I just wanted to thank you.”

A box emerged from your pocket, being offered to Leona with an unsure look.

“I hope you like it. It might not be up to par with your princely standards.” you jest, hoping to lighten up the somber mood.

Inside the velvety box was a golden bangle. It glistened in the sun, almost as if it was sunlight itself- like how you were the sun that shown through his seemingly endless twilight of self loathing.

“I saw it while I was out in town a few weeks ago and thought of you. I didn’t know when it would be the best time to give you it, so I thought now was better than never.”

Silence washed over the both of you, causing you to feel more hesitant about even giving it to him. “You don’t have to wear it, y’know. I just thought you’d…“

You stopped yourself short once you saw his expression.

Just for a moment, even if it was just a split second, you saw the look of sorrow emerge onto his features. Just as quickly as it appeared, his heartache faded away as he smirked causally as if your sentiment hadn’t phased him in the slightest.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll keep it.” he assured. “You know I’m not one for grand gestures. I’ll appreciate it regardless.”

He bit back the rest of his sentence— ’especially if it’s from you.’

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ｡･ﾟﾟ

The black velvet of the night’s sky was disturbed by the alluring glow of the moon lighting Leona’s room. He laid on his bed, thumb absentmindedly stroking the bangle he received earlier that day.

He had to do something. It couldn’t end like this. For once in his life, he had the control to keep something as his. However, the opportunity was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. If he didn’t act hastily, then he would continue to be alone. The only person who had made him feel at home, like he belonged somewhere, was leaving for good.

He had to do something. He didn’t know what, but anything would be better than nothing. Anything to keep his love besides him no matter what. No matter how much wealth or fortune he possesses, nothing would matter if he was left without you; you who were worth more to him in his heart than any gold or money.

Worry began to slither itself into his mind- what if it lead to nothing, just as all of his efforts had in the past? He wasn’t meant to have a happy ending, he was meant to stay buried in the shadows.

But was that really true?

You had shown him otherwise. You showed him he could be loved, how he could still be cherished despite being second-born. Even if it lead to nothing, he had to at least try. Just this once.

.·:*¨¨*☆

Your nightly walks with Malleus had grown into something of a heartwarming tradition. Even after you learned who he really was, even after he overblotted, you still treated him like he was normal. Like you weren’t scared of him just casually looking your way.

That simple normalcy caused you to sneak into his heart. He thought he would always be alone; sure, he would have Silver, Sebek, and other people there to guard him, but thats all they were really there to do. Guard him because he was the future ruler of Briar Valley.

You met Malleus outside, the midnight’s gentle breeze tousling both his and your hair. A gentle hand came up to your face, brushing away stray hairs obscuring your features.

“Child of Man,” he started, “I’ve appreciated the time we’ve spent in eachother’s company. You brought light to the desolate place of Ramshackle Dorm just as how you have to myself. I wish you well in your future endeavors.”

His hand intertwined with yours, its bigger size engulfing your manus. His adoring eyes met yours, any other words of his getting caught in his throat. Once you left, it would be just him again. No one to understand him in the way you did so lovingly.

“I’ll miss you too. You’ve really done a lot for me while I was here.” you smiled.

“…I was meaning to ask you something before I left.” you broke the silence, your eyes meeting his.

“Oh? And what might it be?” the fae inquired.

“I was wondering if you could check up on Grim occasionally. I think he might be lonely with me gone, but he’ll try to hide it. Just… get him tuna every so often. He’ll warm up to you, trust me.”

Even now, when everything you had known for the past year was being pulled away from you, you were still caring for others. Malleus’ heart clenched, wishing that you could stay, wishing that you could stay here with him.

“I’ll do my best to provide. Don’t worry about your companion in your absence.” he tried his best to assure.

You grinned back at him once more, a tenderhearted expression painted on your visage. What he would do to keep you looking at him like that for eternity.

As the two of you adjourned for one of the last times, Malleus disappeared with a flash of green light. He paced around his dormitory room, being uncharacteristically panicked.

He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get the better of him- he was the crown prince, after all. The epitome of refinement and dignity. However, that meant nothing when it came to you. You, who broke down the walls around his heart. You, who was just a simple human, was making the most powerful fae’s heart blaze with a desire for your affection.

The door to Malleus’ room creaked open, showing just enough to see who had disturbed him.

“You should be sleeping, you know. It’s quite late.”

Malleus pouted, looking over at the door. “Lilia, do not treat me as if I’m a child.” However, he couldn’t deny that it was late. But isn’t it in his nature as a nocturnal fae to crave for the night’s comfort?

Lilia shrugged, smiling ever so casually. “Okay, okay.” he accepted Malleus’ request reluctantly.

The air shifted as Lilia walked closer to him, his tone more serious than before. “Malleus, you need to understand something. Fate comes with a delicate balance, as our endings are already written in the stars. If you chose to dip one end of the scale into your favor, will the world ever end up the way it was meant to?” he inquired, “The choice of whether or not you want to claim the prize of the winner is up to you. Just make up your mind before the opportunity slips away, becoming just another memory.”

Lilia knew all too well what was happening deep inside of Malleus’ heart. After all, he had known Malleus for his whole life, along with knowing his parents. If Malleus weren’t to act on his infatuation now, his heart wouldn’t be able to heal no matter how many millenniums passed.

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　° — choose who you’ll accept:

╰┈➤ Leona or Malleus

[markkiatocafe]

made (or bought) with love

𖠚 warnings: mark calls reader “love,” i have no idea how to write children pls help, mentions of candy, nothing else that ik of!!!

𖠚 synop: mark always makes sure your mother’s day is perfect <3.

𖠚 pairing: f!reader x husband!mark

𖠚 w.c: 535

𖠚 a/n: i lowk kinda hate thisssss (what writing of mine do i actually like tho), but oh well!! happy mother’s day everyone <3 fun fact, my mom is actually obsessed with tulips… i tried to get her tulips this year but i couldn’t find any :( i still got her flowers tho so dw!! i hope you all enjoy today and make sure to wish your mom’s a happy day if you can/if you want to!!!

today was mother’s day. mark and jasmine were strolling through your local grocery store, mark leaning forward on the cart as he inspected the aisle for your favorite candy.

he wanted to make this good, i mean, it was mother’s day, after all. while doing some research for how to make this day extra perfect, he had heard many horror stories from new mothers—and mothers with older children—talking about their husbands letting their mother’s choose how the day went instead of their own wives, or even just completely ignoring their wives as a whole. he did not want to have you feel that way, never.

so, here he was, about 7am, only a few minutes after the store even opened, inspecting for any candy he remembers you even briefly mentioning you liked. mark always put a lot into mother’s day, even though you had only experience 3 as an actual mother. he wasn’t going to break that streak today.

“i think she said she liked these…” he mumbled to himself, running his thumb over the packaging of a candy. he looked over at jasmine, who was sitting in the seat of the cart, and held it up to her, a gentle smile on his lips. “do you think mama’ll like it?” he asked, tilting his head.

jasmine snatched the candy from his hands, looking over it before giving a nod of approval and throwing it behind her, causing a giggle to escape mark’s lips.

once they finished getting the candy for you (and some for jasmine, of course, since who could say no to that little face?), they were off to the florist. mark recalled that one time, on your first valentines day together, when he asked what you wanted, you said you thought tulips were pretty. you were also pretty infatuated with the color pink as a whole, so, he had a pretty good base to go off of.

after jasmine and mark finished making the bouquet, baby breaths sprinkled among beautiful pink shades, the bow adorned with love, they were back off to home.

funny enough, as they were doing all of this, you were peacefully still laying in bed, scrolling on your phone, doing nothing much, really.

then, the door opened. you smiled a little to yourself, sitting up and stretching your arms and neck out. the sound of the door opening was followed by little excited squeals, which you honestly couldn’t tell if they were from mark or jasmine.

after a few minutes of that, mark and jasmine walked into your room, the candy in his and the bouquet in hers, and a warm smile adorned your lips.

jasmine got up on your bed and held out your flowers, and mark walked over to sit next to you, placing a kiss on your temple and placing the candy in your lap.

“happy mother’s day, love,” he said, placing a hand on the small of your back.

you carefully took the bouquet, which helped you see jasmine’s bright smile. “happy mother’s day, mama!” she said.

honestly, with the gifts or not, the day would’ve been perfect with your family, but you were never going to complain about being shown you’re cared for.

[sourbites]

I saw you write for dc comics! Can I get a Jason Todd smut! Like they are enemies and Jason has caught her

Pairing: Jason Todd (The Red Hood) / Female Reader Word count: 6,758 Contents: violence, threats, sarcasm, smut, shitty pacing im sorry, messy not-even breakup, oral sex/cunnilingus, penetrative sex Summary: He works for himself. You're in cahoots with Black Mask. He's not your boss exactly, but you're close enough that Jason comes back to you for your in-the-know experience with a particular deal. Notes: You have no idea how excited I was for this, I'm sorry it took so long — hopefully it's worth the wait! I omitted the "caught her" part of the request, because it was tripping me up, I hope that's okay. Anyway, to preface: Jason does not follow recent canon comics. (Batman 159 Hush 2 ver of Jason... what are we doing?)

Pulling Teeth

Your gait is slanted. Not even the wall can hold up the weeks of bone-heavy exhaustion. Fuck, you want out. Now more than ever. The cool concrete of a random parking lot pillar pushes against your spine, unyielding. Sucking in a breath from your clenched teeth, you set your tired glare on the misleadingly small shadow a good few yards away.

"Why did you wait until tonight to make yourself known? Getting shy?" You watch with amusement as his vague figure shoots up to that normal, behemoth size.

You hadn't expected him to come crawling back this quick. Not for weeks, actually. Of course, news travels impossibly fast in Gotham, so you'd anticipated a visit from the Red Hood himself. But you imagined he'd hold off crawling back to you just a little longer. He's prideful like that. Smug, reckless, stupid...

"Only so we can have longer moments like this together." Jason lazily pads out of the shadows. Though he's still armoured with some fuzzier shadows— the parking lot isn't very well-illuminated, like most places in Gotham. One big, prime area for muggings. Either way, you're not impressed with that red helmet and too-big leather jacket. You cross your arms, standing upright against the pillar. In a perfect world, you'd be halfway home already. Fucking Jason and his timing. You're half-sure he's doing it on purpose: picking the busiest, most draining day to become a bother.

You scoff, his trademark sarcasm not producing the desired reaction. "Get on with it, or I'm getting in my car and running you over on my way out."

He straightens himself up, mirroring you. Did he double in size with his shoulders back? Jerk.

"Need help on a case," His tone is unsettlingly serious, even if it's a little artificial with his voice modulator. You wonder if that's his paranoia to install a fucking voice modulator, or Bruce's rubbed off on him more than he'd like to admit. "You know I wouldn't come t' you if it wasn't important."

There it is. If your phone wasn't on three percent, you'd whip it out and make him say it again after you hit record. But you'll settle for the next best thing. You gesture to one of your ears with a finger, "What was that?'

"Seriously?" He tilts his head. You don't waver— and neither does that infuriating grin that he wants you to lose, like, yesterday. Jason lets out a long-winded sigh, ever the dramatic.

"_____, I am here, bothering you with my vile presence, to humbly ask f' your help on a case." He's at a loss for what else he could possibly say. Should he have prepared an elaborate apology basket, too? You haven't seriously swung for Black Mask's cause, have you?

You nod, unbearably smug. The corner of your mouth lifted, as well as your spirits. Wow, does Jason's grovelling - sarcastic as it may be - cheer you up. "Thought so."

⸻

You tried your hardest to be at least civil with him. Maybe after all the time apart, you'd reinvented your memories to make him meaner. Or he's just too nice now. Whatever the truth may be, your truth is that you don't despise working with him— a fact you wouldn't even acknowledge in your diary. You were both bitter over how everything ended - well, it wasn't much of an ending, just screaming at each other and your hairdryer getting flung across the room - but maybe this is what you both needed. One last job - one last good memory - so you can get the closure you know you've been aching for.

The first step of the plan split into a second, a fourth, and a sixth— until there were too many loose ends and too many outstanding blank spots. Time and time again, you'd tell Jason that you're probably not the best person for the job. (As much as you want to knock Sionis down a few pegs.)

Tonight, the taste of another cup of coffee will make you throw up on the spot. So, you and Jason - an unmasked Jason - are curled around tall milkshake glasses. Sucking the cream-thick mixture through the straw proves to be a Sisyphean task, so they're not touched too often. The stolen paperwork and grainy, printed photos are too headache-inducing to invest in at such a late hour. The seedy diner is nearly empty. The faded, once candy-red booths are worryingly sticky (you're not sure they've ever been washed in the thirty-ish years they've been in use), but the radio over the dingy speakers is playing good music, so there's that.

It’s surprising, how quickly conversation can flow from the Gotham dock shipments to normal-person talk. Jason and you are doing anything but work. If you hear the word ‘smuggling’ again tonight, you’d be morally obligated to roll your eyes into oblivion.

“Y'know— I had a busted lip f' weeks after that hairdryer.” Jason’s the one to address it: the elephant in the room. You and he have done remarkable so far, skirting around the incident talk. The first feeling that peeks out from within you is pride. Then guilt - double the guilt, actually: one for hurting him, and one for briefly being proud of that - bites down, hard, at your conscience.

One of your fingertips absentmindedly presses against the cold glass, wetting your skin with condensation. It pools around on the table in a ring. “I suppose I should apologise for that. I was upset, but I shouldn’t have hurt you. Sorry.”

Like blood in the water, he senses a taste of guilt in your mumbling tone. “It even hurt t' smile, yanno that?”

Your gaze flicks up from the puddle on the laminate table to him. He’s smirking; the corners of his pink lips are upturned, cheeks dimpled. At least he’s not pissed at you. “Alright, you’re laying it on a bit thick.” Your tone is ruthlessly flat, but it certainly makes you look like a hypocrite, considering you’re mirroring his smile.

You'd only just realised that Jason was thinking about it, too. It's probably time to bury the hatchet if you and he are working together to steal half of Sionis' incoming weaponry. The way your smile recedes tells Jason it's time. You've both been running from it - until it finds you on mildly sunny days - the kind that ties strings around ribcages and follows you for when you need a bit of sun. The kind of memory that you've turned to pulp, tumbled into mush in your washing-machine mind.

"Look, ____, the way things—" Your knee juts out to bump into Jason's leg. It doesn't take much movement, considering you're both crammed in a Barbie-Dreamhouse-sized booth. He pauses - just like you intended - and scowls at you. You might be willing to bury the hatchet, but you're not up for dissecting it like a frog.

"Let's just... move on. We can be civil about stuff, can't we?" You squint at him. It's not a question; Jason knows you well enough to tell. As much as you'd despise to admit it, he can read you without trying. It's something innate in him, the same way birds read skies and bears read food-rumoured river currents.

A ripple of discomfort rolls around Jason's expression, but it's gone as soon as it appears. If you were brave and steel-hearted enough, you'd regress and whisper against his forehead that he doesn't have to box it away. He can undress in front of you, strip his mind bare and you'd trace his thoughts that beg to manifest. But it's not summertime any more, and it feels like a thousand wretched suns have spoiled, rotten between then and now.

⸻

Just because he's died once, he thinks he's immortal. As much as you want to gloat: 'told you so', you don't want to be down a partner-in-organised-crime. You narrow your eyes at Jason as you watch him laze his way to your meeting spot. You cross your arms, brows furrowed together. You're shivering, cold Gotham air wracking through you; scratching at your bones. Your hair wisps around, lashing at your stiff cheeks.

"You took too long. You might not have any self-preservation left, but I do— fuck, you could've gotten us both killed." You can't resist lecturing him— just a pinch.

He wordlessly reaches behind him and whips out a flimsy, plastic blue folder. The pages within whip around from the wind. "I got it, didn't I?"

The smugness is oozing from his voice. You don't need to see his face to tell he's proud, holding onto the folder like it's a trophy. You wilt against the side of the car, running on empty. It was probably a fucking trauma response to forget how reckless he is. That, or he has some Scarecrow-level forgetting serum he's slipped into one of your drinks when you weren't looking.

You inspect him, bottom to top. He's resting more weight on his right leg. You decide not to pursue it further when you're out in the open like this. The water spray kicks up against the concrete flooring.

"Let's just get out of here." You're pushing off the car, pulling it open with your momentum.

Jason's safehouse is exactly how you remember it. Tiny kitchen, entirely hardwood floors. His back is still rigid with adrenaline, elbows resting on his knees. A gloved finger stabs at the printed paper, facing you. "Who's that? My informants mention that name."

You lean over to read the paper. Scheduled shifts for a driver of some hijacked cargo ship. Fucking grown men with aliases like Blackbeard. You lean back in the wooden chair, racking your brain to piece together any memory of a Blackbeard. Jason paws at his helmet until it's off.

"All I know is that he's related to Sionis. Sorry it's not much help." You press your lips together, sympathetic. Jason did risk a lot going in there— even if you didn't tell him to. It gets too much sometimes, looking over your shoulder. Home never feels safe enough. You want to be done with it. You don't want to end up the victim of some drive-by. But the more you dig into this, the more you feel like you're digging your grave. And for what, because Jason asked you to?

He laughs - quiet little huffs - smirking with bright-white teeth, shaking his head. "Y' have no idea how much that helps."

Oookay. A little cryptic, but reassuring. Your brows raise, with a dull pulse of warmth flaring within your chest. "I'm just happy you didn't get killed back there."

"I'm jus' happy we're not fighting." He replies, watching you with winter-blue eyes, twinkling like dreams on the edge of consciousness. He's said that - or something similar - before to you.

Back when you were a criminal chauffeur for hire. You didn't want to drive Jason anywhere. He smelled of chaos: gunsmoke and gasoline, leather. Too loud, too attention-grabbing in a red helmet. In his usual Jason fashion - as you'd come to recognise it - he twisted your arm with an offer of enough money for you to end your night early. You could still feel it: that restrained wonder at the first time you saw him in person. Your gaze was split between him and the neon-sign-illuminated roads. It was back when everything was exciting. You'd told him back then, You haven't paid me, when he climbed out of the car, still facing you. It was like you were magnets— faces pulling together, poles always oddly close. Haven't I? He held up your wallet between two gloved fingers, tossing it through your rolled-down window. It was a manual car, some shitty '98 Ford Escort. You'd set aside the impressed thought, replacing it with a scowl you sent his way. You remember glaring at him, uttering something about privacy, even though Jason merely shrugged. But we're not fighting, are we? I'd bet it has something t' do with that gift in your wallet. You replayed every second of that interaction, swearing you'd never drive him again. You'd say that to yourself every time you picked him up.

You feel like you've just come out of a coma. Mileage, gasoline, the speedometer arrow; it all feels like cotton in your throat. Those days are long, long gone— but you can recall them in such vivid technicolour. Your eyes glance over Jason's shoulder, to the microwave that still has its plastic wrapping.

"Well, we're not really the fighting type." You hear your own voice chiming in, the cadence unlike you. Sombre. Your mouth has moved on its own accord.

You watch Jason's head bob as he nods, pushing the papers up the table, away from him. "No," He agrees, his tone a near-clone of yours. Absent of all the passion that colours his voice— even if it's rage or cockiness. "Nah, was just th' one time..."

Your head shakes, eyes on his. Pinning his train of thought, you dismantled the tracks it was running on. Deep down, you knew he wouldn't surrender from this conversation permanently. Months and months of memories that he's aching to address press from within your skull. It disturbs the ear-ringing, murderous silence of the kitchen. Even the mismatched clock on the wall has stopped ticking, hands held in limbo, hanging in suspense.

Undeterred, Jason holds up a hand. "Let me finish." He's firm with you. A lick of anger reveals itself within you. There's so much you don't want to say, and yet so much you do. Your shoulders square, bracing yourself.

"I don't like how things ended, _____. I wasn't fair to you; I knew that back then, too, but I was stupid. I knew you felt somethin' more— it was a dick move, reacting the way I did. I just... I wanted you mad, I wanted to push you away. I'm sorry for treating you like crap." Jason says. His voice reaches you— and there's no escape. And far, far too sincerely for his or your liking, he whispers, "I'm sorry f' everything."

"Is this some sort of step in your program?" Your brows furrow. Then, softer, you add, "We agreed no feelings, I should've expected it."

You'll probably never get the taste of him out of your mouth— the grime and the softness that lingers beneath, like drying blood that gets tacky, sticking on everything that's touched. You're tired - bone-heavy and weary - of climbing into your usual, lonely bed. Jason gave with no seeming end. Warmth, safety, laughter, and it's all over. Nothing real between you even really began, and yet you cling to those memories each night you're on your own. You'd savoured each memory where your nails raked against the grain of the baby hairs at the nape of Jason's neck. You'd both pass out, curled nose-to-nose, and he'd lay sloppy and wet kisses on your skin. It was so easy to believe it meant something. Pathetic as it may be, your avoidance of talking about how it all fell apart before it could be built is your way of preserving the innocence— the tenderness and the potential it held. But now, when you try to find solace in the usual jewellery box of memories, the only thing you can see in the usual vivid, picturesque display is the repeated: over, over, over, over.

Jason flinched. Somewhere on the other side of this wide fever dream of months, you know you would've read his thoughts without needing to detangle them. But here and now, sitting at the table in the tucked-away kitchen, you and Jason watch each other like you're strangers. Like you're both starved animals, wearily stone-faced, waiting for the other to pounce. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip before he scrapes up the courage and the right words to engage in your response, "I'm apologising f'... everything. Everything. I'm sorry I was a hypocrite, and I was too— too fuckin' scared and pathetic to level with you back then."

You feel like your entrails have been scattered along the Gotham highways, abandoned to rot with any good feelings Jason had ever left you with. You want to collapse in on yourself and sob— find some Etsy witch to curse his bloodline for generations to come. "You felt the same, didn't you?"

You scoff, scowling, and without waiting for whatever ridiculous response he can come up with, you continue. "You threw everything away because you couldn't stand that we could've had something good. And the worst part is— even if you were too scared to have something real, you still strung me along, and I was a fucking idiot to let you."

Jason sputtered on his answer, all his rehearsed replies feeling like a ball of yarn bunched up in his throat. Of course, he's sat there, pulling at the dregs of his thoughts to come up with some worthwhile reply, because of course he can't keep his head straight when it comes to you. That's the whole problem.

He squirms in his seat. "I know what I did— Believe me, I know I deserve shit f' it. I just missed you, okay? I don't get why I can't spend time with my friend." You know he wants to get up and walk around, ramble with animated gestures. Your heart feels like it weighs a thousand tonnes. Anger has already covered half your reason, luring you to just scream and beat at his chest with your fists.

Stiff and rigid with anger, you press your spine into the hardwood chair. "We've kissed - done more than that, actually - you've been there for me when no one else has. I've fucking washed you when you couldn't even raise your arms. Am I seriously just your friend? Is that all I am to you, Jason?"

Your throat feels sore with unshed tears— acid climbing up your throat. Emotionally strained, you want to beat Jason to it, blasting out of your seat with your palms flat on the table.

Jason stares up the barrel of your furious gaze. In a rush he says, "Of course you're fuckin' not! That's why I'm here, pretending I need help stealing from Sionis. Fuck, ______, can't you see how much I care about you? That's the whole reason we fell out in the first place— the second I let you into this - into my world - you'll have a target on your back f' the rest of your life!"

Your mind shifts and turns and blurs. It's always something with this guy. Both you and Jason are standing up, gazes locked on the other. At any second, a tumbleweed could just roll past you in the distance like in those corny westerns. You'd whip out your gun and then what? You couldn't bring yourself to shoot him - even if you want to, sometimes.

"I'm already in your world, Jason. I'm already in enough danger to make me look behind my shoulder every day. We're both living on borrowed time!" You wrench yourself away from the table, hands braced at the kitchen counter at your sides. You need to cool down by the window before you burst a blood vessel. Gulping down a shaky breath, you add, "Life is so short. Why are we wasting it playing these games? Wouldn't you rather we spend the precious time we have actually building something together?"

You literally don't have the emotional capacity to acknowledge the fact that Jason basically invented a case just to get you to spend time with him. It's equal parts romantic and weird. The perfect Jason fashion, you suppose. It's taking every iota of control you have not to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into that thick skull of his. You're sick of having this fight, you're sick of living in this open-air 'what are we?', like you're in some TV show.

He can't help but be pulled toward you. No matter how hard he fights it, or tells himself it's not happening, you have a rope around his neck like he's fucking leashed— he's always coming back to you.

At first, you feel the warmth that comes with him. Then comes the sensation of his hands on you; just cupping your arms. There's no point in roaring or screaming at you. Jason rasps, "I don't ever want you thinking - even for a second - that I don't want you. That I don't love you."

You feel like you're choking. Your eyes squeeze shut; tears already skulking down your cheeks. Starving, you lean in and manage to bump your forehead against his. Jason's leaning down a whole lot so you can reach. "I want this. I'm all in— but you've gotta get over this fear."

Truth is, there's not a thing Jason wouldn't do if it meant keeping you happy and safe. He's reached his limit worrying about what will happen to you if things are official— if they're real. It's a shot in the dark, being an item. A darkness that he's afraid of losing you to - but a shot he's willing to take. Maybe the less ambiguity and distance between the two of you, the better. That means he can keep a real eye on you. So would Bruce, and Dick on occasion. It might not be so terrifying to let you in.

"I know, sweetheart," Jason utters against your temple, whispering so molasses-sweetly that it feels like silky ribbons across your skin. The pull to hold you grows too great to even think about resisting, and Jason is helpless to it as he cradles the back of your head. "I want this, too. I'd do anything— everything f' you. You've gotta know that, alright?"

You huff out a laugh, cheeks wet. "You're so..." The words die on your tongue, as your palms scrape up his arms. You had forgotten how delicious his arms were. It puts a bittersweet smile on your face. He's back, letting your hands explore him again, but there was a gap wedged between the two of you. A hurt like that isn't soothed the instant you two make up.

Jason's breath is hot as he soaks up the scent of your hair. His thumb strokes the side of your neck in languid swipes. He's silent for a moment - telling himself over and over that this is real - before he asks, "So what?"

"Smug. Pompous..." You pause, gingerly squeezing his well-muscled shoulders. You can't resist the magnetic pull of him. You suck in a breath, before adding, "Bratty."

Jason chuckles. He's missed this banter that the two of you have. He's not even offended— how could he be? If anything, you insulting him just makes him more attracted to you. His warm palms scoop your cheeks, feeling the damp skin from your tears. Jason's parted lips sweep across yours, his hair brushing against your forehead. You feel your body going slack— the crushing pressure on your heart immediately banished. This is all you've wanted: to be kissed stupid like he'd done to you many, many moons ago. It's amazing how you and he can physically just pick up from where you've left off. Even his breath is hot and sexy, exhaling against your mouth, the far-away taste of cigarette smoke smouldering into your tongue. Your eyes just... flutter... closed, like you're relishing in every millisecond. This is how it's supposed to be. Even the once-awkward, tiny kitchenette feels right now. It's a space with established intimacy— you touch, with your hands, what he will put in his mouth to eat.

He sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, tugging lightly and rolling the flesh between his incisors. He releases your mouth to speak, "What's next on your list?"

You've got that brightness to your eyes that he loves. "Condescending," You whisper smugly against his mouth.

Jason leans forward, boxing you in with his hulking frame. Chuckling into your lips, he nips at your jawbone. His half-lidded eyes roam over you, watching you as if he's witnessing something he's been praying for. Your every atom lures him in, like a siren to a sailor. He'd happily be your victim. He'd throw himself into murderous waters, offer his neck for you to eat and succumb to the inky waves with a smile on his face. "Any other words of praise? Or would you like t' be able t' walk tomorrow?" He murmurs - already hard - already half-blind with lust. You make him so hard so easily.

Your eyes are like saucers - beaming despite the very real threat. How dirty. A willing participant in your demise, you put on your most seductive face and purr into his neck, "So arrogant, you know that?"

His fingers bite into your hips before he hauls you on top of the table. You slide up against the surface, while he guides your legs apart to fit himself between them. Your stomach flips, your body immediately on that knife's edge like it always is when he's in close proximity to you. Jason lays kiss after kiss onto your mouth: nipping and sucking and too much of those hungering teeth. "Me, arrogant? Never."

Desire is a cup - a foreign object - lodged deep within your body, and it's overflowing; pouring into your flesh. Jason's hands are snaking beneath your shirt now, his skin warming yours. One hand wanders up to your bra clasp, and the other cups your sides - your ribs - gingerly brushing his fingers over your skin, tracing bones and veins and everything you're made of. He digs his rock-hard bulge into your belly, bucking in response to the breathy moan that flutters out from your mouth.

You're not really Jason's girlfriend, and he's not your boyfriend— but Jason makes you an item - makes you his - with how he handles you. He jams his hips into yours, biting back an evil little grin as the rough denim of his jeans scrape across your abdomen. Taking two greedy handfuls of your shirt, he lifts it up and off of you, groaning at the picture of you.

His nose mashes into your neck, a low hum rumbling from him. "What d'you want, baby?" His voice muffles into the hollow of your trembling throat. Those delicious hands of his cup both your thighs, grabbing at you with such an insistence that it makes you dizzy. Your body recognises this routine. Even subconsciously, you know what comes next, because you know him. You're instantly shifting your hips, panties wet.

Sucking in a breath, you scramble to answer him, "Just want you. Jus' you, Jason." You've already chugged his love potion. Thinking is impossible, especially when Jason's so warm and touchy. After his soul-stealing kiss and panty-dropping show, you've gone to putty on the tabletop. The air burns - and you fight with it - as your world shrinks away until there's a spotlight on him.

He's shrugging your jeans down. They hit the floor with a heavy whuff. His hands are already creeping up your legs, appreciative, angling your knees over his shoulders and tugging you towards him. He's hungry tonight, shoving his face between your legs like you're an antidote to the poison he's gulped down. Oxygen melts, and you're quick to follow. Jason smushes his face into your sopping panties and groans - deep and bassy from his throat - a low, "Beautiful."

With the pad of his thumb, he grinds into your clit, burning the fabric of your underwear into your brimming-with-nerves flesh. He's not stopping there. He kisses his way down your stomach; open-mouthed and starving. Both arms curl under and then over your splayed open thighs, pawing at your panties and tugging, fingers hooked, until he rips— them open—!

"Fuck!" You're immediately reacting, squeaking. Holy fuck, your hands brace themselves on the convex edges of the table. "Jason, you can't just...!" You can't even finish your sentence, brain flickering in and out. In the middle of all your surprised and half-baked protests, Jason is chuckling something rich and low from within his chest.

"No?" Jason wets his fingers - slightly - while using his thumbs to spread your pussy open. He leaves a big, wet kiss on your clit. "Can't I?" He grins, watching you from beneath his eyelashes— so thick and dark, you've always been jealous of them. He suctions his mouth around your sex. All that smug energy bursts back into the room like lightning pounding the earth. You hate it. (You love it.)

The room ached with sex, and he's all over you. Your heels scramble up and down the broad plane of Jason's back. His body is fever-hot. His tongue flattens, laving up the valley of your cunt in one long, drooling swipe. You're obscenely wet — even more so now his spit is mingling with slick, stringy arousal. You scrub a hand over your face, trying to swallow the high, shrill noise that rests in your throat. It lacks the usual restraint Jason used to reserve for fear of falling too hard for you. No, now he's shameless (and it shows), and starved for the taste of your pussy that never fails to get him hard.

His nose grinds into your mound - snuffling against your sweat-tacky skin - and his stubbled face strokes your sensitive skin. It rubs your inner thighs, your clenching-around-air cunt, forcing tingles and shudders into your skin. Fuck. Fuck, you missed this so much. He sucks a fold into his mouth, all tender with pursed lips. You feel like you've fused to the tabletop. Jason stares up at you like you're a four-course meal; his eyes hungry and dark. Just deep blue and dolly-thick eyelashes.

Every wave of your moans, each savouring lap of his tongue has Jason fisting his too-tight, suffocating bulge. He's groaning into your glossy cunt, one-handedly working at his belt, the stiff button on his jeans. Trying to give as well as you get, your hand snakes down to palm his erection. The sound he lets out into your pussy could bring you to your knees. He comes off of you with a pornographically wet pop, his face falling against the surface of your honey-soft thigh.

"Take it out." Jason grins, nodding towards you. Your heart stops. You push down the drool in your mouth with a swallow. Hesitantly, your fingers curl around his waistband and guide it down Jason's waist.

You joke, "Are you always this lazy?" In an attempt to distract yourself from the very real, very visceral heat simmering in your entire body. It's not a regular, 'get the ice cream out', heat, but a rapturous: 'holy hell. Holy fucking God,' kind of heat.

Jason chuckles, just as his cock springs free and his head bumps against his abdomen. Great, he's still fucking huge. "Jus' with you, sweets. I know how independent you like t' be."

Without a moment's notice, he's leaning forward, slicking his cockhead through your sex, catching his tip on the notch of your perky clit. You squeal, jerking a leg up that he guides around his hip. His hand appreciates your ass, yanking you down until you're hanging over the table. Two thick fingers pulse deep in your pussy; which blooms around the base of his heavy, bruised knuckles. Each pump of his fingers elicits crude, squelching sounds from you. Cheeks burning red, you watch with obvious interest, lips parted. Even you are scandalised by him.

You're only strong enough to pull your gaze from his hand to his face for a brief moment to ask, "D'you ever shut up?"

At your remark, he twists his fingers, thumbing at your clit again. "You know the answer to that." He simpers sarcastically, his brows caught in a furrow as he watches your gorgeous sex flutter around his fingers. He wants to get his cock in there - in you - but this pocket of intermittent, sweet slowness is a good change of pace for now.

Jason sinks forward, palm flat as he braces some of his weight onto the table beside your body. His warmth rolls around against you. Dazed, your hands reach up to take his shirt off. You almost sigh like some wistful schoolgirl once you see him shirtless. Your head tips up so you can press your face into his neck. It's gorgeous— all those gentle dips, his bobbing Adam's apple, the delicate span of his collarbones. You whisper into his boiling hot skin, voice coloured with intimacy, "Jason?"

His breath heaves, a patchy blush climbing up his chest and neck; even the tips of his ears. The sizzling heat of his huge palm scoops up your hip, gingerly squeezing it in his hand. He tucks your earlobe between his teeth. You swallow a moan. As composedly as he can muster, he answers you with a cool, "Whassup, baby?"

"Can't wait any longer," You murmur, a little coyly. You've never once wanted him this terribly before. You want the tender intimacy to soothe you. Jason sucks in a rattling breath. Romantic. It's so, fucking, romantic. On fucking fire, Jason sinks his mouth onto yours - deepening the kiss until it hurt - teeth clashing and lips feeling liver-bruised and hot to the touch. His hand sweeps to the base of your skull, holding you there like it kept him tethered to this world.

His mouth only rips off of yours to savour the taste of you on his fingers, licking them clean with suggestive swipes of his tongue. Evil little fucker. He holds your gaze as he does so, brows raising boyishly. Then, he's laying a kiss on your clammy forehead - wisps of hair stuck to your skin - and he whispers, "Then don't."

You're split in two with one lazy, indulgent pump of his hips. His cock is nestled deep within you - you almost feel it against your lungs when you breathe. Jason grins as he watches you writhe, bucking your hips up like you're about to be slaughtered. It feels that way, with how you're impaled on his dick. If this were any other time, Jason would just go wild. You know he would; your face down and ass up as you're drilled into nothingness. But this is his chance to prove he well and truly wants you.

Your greedy hand dips down, feeling the velvet of your sexes, tracing where he's got your cunt pulled open. You could plot the way the light bends on the curves of his abs well enough to paint, you could taste the earthy-saltiness of his skin on your tongue. All you know is Jason, Jason, Jason.

He takes your hand, thumb playing over your knuckles reverently, and guides it to thread with his inky black hair. The startlingly white streak is mussed, hair all over the place from your exploratory fingers. He hums, tipping his head back just enough to display his throat, like he's waiting for you to model some marble from the dips between tight tendons; from his fluttering pulse.

A wild, wanton part of you wonders why you ever stopped this— why you ever gave him up. He's too good, too precious. You don't care that people look at him and see wolf teeth and gunmetal. There are stars in his eyes, and they are lit because you are the someone that needs them, to look up into the skies of his eyes and navigate around the world. Inside your pussy, he's making room for himself, stroking the length of your thigh each time you squeeze him, tight as a fist with your chest heaving. It's like he gets bigger each time you have him.

Your other hand splays over his taut pelvis - skin against his happy trail - bracing yourself. Your eyes roll back, mewling lewdly once Jason eases himself back, tip still inside, and wholly rolls his hips until his cock fills the channel of your slick sex. Your nails bite into his skull, tufts of hair poking from between your clenched fingers. Jason groans, filling you with that perfect outlaw cock.

"Oh my God," You nearly cry, eyelids heavy. Heat creeps up your neck. Your leg joints lock into place, hiked up Jason's swinging hips. His heart gives a pathetic flutter as he cups your head and shoves his face into your neck. It's wonderful how things have managed to fall into place— but you suppose Jason did invent an elaborate heist with your kind-of-boss as the victim just to get you talking to him again, so how much of this was left up to fate?

"I know, baby." His voice oozes something sounding fond, releasing butterflies in your too-warm belly. Sticky heat rushes between your legs. Just all wet from him - from his fingers and tongue and cock— God you can't breathe! Jason drives into you with a mean force, punching air from your lungs in fast, hard, eager snaps of his hips against yours. Something is definitely going to bruise.

"Juiciest - fucking - pussy." Jason swoons, each word suspiciously timed with each kiss of his aching cockhead to your softened cervix. His hand - the one on your hip - lifts your leg up until it's canted across his shoulder. The back of your knee fits perfectly against the scalding muscle of his broad shoulder. Tears collect around your waterline, wetting the base of your eyelashes once you squeeze your eyes closed. Your hand climbs, nails digging into the delicious muscle of his taut bicep, the other fisting at his hair.

The whole world hums with cosmic, dizzying harmony that you only manage to hear when you're like this: fucked stupid on Jason's gloriously hot dick. You can't hear your own moans through your heart beating in your head like you've got an ear pressed to a heavy metal drum, cymbals crashing and all. Your back arches, feeling yourself sway limply with each jarring plunge of his filling cock stuffing you full and then some.

He's leveraging his weight on the table - it skids up the tile floor with a squeak that almost makes you cringe - his cock dumbing you into a state of loved-up bliss. Every drag of his cock forces your overwhelmed pussy to pulse around him. The harsh, prickly sounds of slapping explode across the four wallpapered walls of the compressed kitchen. With every nasty curl to his hips, you taste the same violence of a whack he'd bestow upon some guy. All while Jason's tilted forward, just trying to engulf you, consume you and love you. God, he loves you.

Bursts of shock and absolute awe shoot down your spine. Your heart is aching within your chest. Jason feels it too, considering his fingers dig into your hip while his other hand bites so rigidly into the table's edge that you hear a worrying crack of wood. Your whole body is sent into shudders - going tighter and tighter around him - until he's half-sure you've cut off his blood flow. His eyes gleam with pure, carnal delight. He hisses out a well-intentioned, "Oh, baby," as his cock spits thick rivulets of steaming cum into your pliant sex.

You feel like you're choking around nothing - maybe just your hitched breath. Your head is on fire, and the skin going down your back feels like it's melted to the wood of the table. Your thighs hang open and Jason watches, slack-jawed and gawking, as your stuffed-too-full cunt drips with pearlescent cum. With a shaking hand, you smoothe the base of your palm down his shoulder. There are nasty-looking marks in maraschino-red where your fingernails were hooked into his skin.

Satisfied and truly exhausted, Jason sweeps his mouth across yours for one of the most fairytale-esque, sweetest kisses in recorded history. His breath ghosts across your burning face, cooling your skin a little, as he brushes the welded-on baby hairs out from your face. His pink, bite-plumped lips split into a lopsided grin, and you just know he's got some cheesy quip coming.

Right on schedule, he hums out a teasing, "Are you done being mad at me now?"

Your stupid smile mirrors his. You quip back: "You'll have to make it up to me again."

[marvelwitchergilmore]

A Cup of Coffee

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky make a promise to share a cup of coffee when he gets back from war. But sometimes a promise has to be broken.

Disclaimer: Fluff, hurt/comfort vibes, little angst. Asgardian!reader. 40s!Bucky/Winter Soldier. Kinda ignores the full MCU timeline but follows it enough to make sense...I hope. Mentions of death and violence (but not too much). Not Proof Read.

“Just a cup of coffee, please.” A voice spoke beside you before stradling the stool, two seats down from you. “Thank you.”

You’d been seeing them all day. Young men fighting for an old man’s cause across the water. A lot of them wouldn’t return. You knew that. You also knew the ones that would, would definitely have a few stories to tell. Most would probably take them to the grave. 

You’d seen plenty of men die in war. Some were stories. Most were beside you. 

“When do you leave?”

“Sorry?” The man turned and looked at you eventually. You hadn’t looked at him when you spoke. Your eyes remained fixed on the cup of coffee in front of you. 

You looked at him, eventually. A soft look in your eyes. “I asked, when do you leave?”

“Oh,” he seemed a little embarrassed. He should have known what you’d asked him. “A few hours. Got my orders this morning.”

As the waitress came back with his coffee, he went to pay. But you beat him to it. It’s the least you could do for him. 

“No, I’ve got it.”

He seemed a little surprised but thankful all the same. “I feel like I need to pay you back somehow.”

You shook your head with a light smile. “No need.”

He nodded, looking at his coffee cup before looking back at you. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You smiled, “Y/n.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

He motioned to the seat beside you. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“No. But I would have figured you’d be waiting on someone special.”

He chuckled a little, but shook his head. “No. Not tonight.”

Bucky moved to sit beside you and you turned your stool to face him a little better. It was up close you realised his eyes were blue. The corner of his mouth raised slightly as he talked, his voice deep. There was still a youthful and hopeful glint in his eyes. 

You hoped he held onto that. 

The conversation between yourself and the soldier lasted two hours or more. Eventually, you walked with him to his train station. Wives were kissing their husbands goodbye, sisters were hugging their brothers, kids were kissing their fathers and uncles goodbye, and mothers were drying their tears from the thoughts that they’d never see their sons again. 

“You really should have let me walk you home,” Bucky told you. 

You smiled and looked away, shaking your head. “No. It’s better this way.”

“If you say so.”

You nodded and looked back up at him in time to see his expression change. The smile faltered for a moment as his thoughts took over. 

“You asked me before if I was meant to be meeting someone special tonight.”

You nodded, stepping a little closer. “I did.”

The smile returned on his face as you felt his hand take yours. He raised it between you both. “I think you were meant to be that someone special.” 

You smiled, closing your eyes for a moment as he kissed your knuckles before kissing your palm. Soon, you felt the scratchy green material of his lapel under your palm, his kiss searing into your skin. You made a decision. 

Pulling him in by his lapels, you leaned up and kissed him. 

It was like electricity inside you before a calming wave of serenity took you over as he held you closer to him. All the other passengers on the train melted away; their voices became nothing but white noise behind you both. 

Laying a hand over his heart, you heard the final whistle being called. 

“Good luck, soldier.”

“Will you be here when I get back?”

You’d been moving from place to place on earth for the last five years. You never stayed in one place longer than a few months. You also never returned. 

But that was the first time you’d broken your promise to yourself. 

“When you get back, I’ll meet you at the cafe. You buy the coffee.”

Bucky chuckled. “Deal.”

He kissed you once more before one of the wardens walked by and tapped him on the back. “Better get on the train, son. Before it leaves without you.”

Bucky nodded, holding onto your hand and kissing your knuckles as you closed the door to the carriage with him. 

“Wait, I-I need your address. To write to you.”

The train was starting to move. You didn’t want anyone to have your address, just in case. 

“Write to the cafe!” You called over the sound of the horn. “I’ll write you back, I promise!” 

The train was moving faster than people on the platform could keep up with and eventually you had to let go of his hand. 

From the distance until the train disappeared, Bucky continued to wave goodbye to you. 

A letter was waiting for you at the cafe two weeks later. You and Bucky wrote to each other for almost a year. Little did you know, those would be the only thing you’d have left from him. 

A little over a year later, you found a thick letter waiting for you at the cafe. The waitress, Dottie, handed it over to you with a saddened look in her eye. 

“The mailman dropped this by, this morning. I’m so sorry, honey.”

You sat down with a weight on your chest as you opened it. A sob caught in your throat as four letters fell out. Three of them you recognised immediately. Bucky’s handwriting. But the fourth…

In the cafe, sat in the same seat you’d first met Bucky on, you read from Captain America’s own handwriting. What had happened on the train, what had happened to Bucky, how he’d talked about you enough to let Steve know the final letters and pictures should be sent to you. He wrote about how sorry he was. A real funeral couldn’t be held until the war was over.

Without a body, it was simply about raising a toast for another young life given to a cause. 

“Can I get you anything, honey?”

You wiped away your tears, quickly. “Yeah, um, can…can I get a cup of coffee. Please?”

Dottie nodded with a sad smile. “Of course, honey.”

So. 

Sitting alone in the cafe you were meant to see him again, you raised a cup. 

“I love you, soldier.”

When you finished, you thanked Dottie for everything and left her a large tip. That evening, you moved away and tried to move on. 

It proved more difficult than you expected. 

You’d lived thousands of years, seen thousands of people die, seen thousands of people fall in love. And yet, Bucky was the one person out of it all that never seemed to leave you. 

After twenty or more years, you stopped running. Asguardian soldiers stopped hunting you, Loki came to find you and you both hashed out your grievances. 

But despite all of that, you ended up settling back in Brooklyn. You watched as people went to and from work, forgetting the histories you’d lived through; creating futures they dreamed of. 

You heard of Peggy starting up Shield. And one afternoon you strolled past the memorial set up in the soldiers’ memories. 

And the first name you spotted was Bucky’s. 

He’d been lost years before Shield, but Peggy still continued to honor Bucky alongside the rest. You kept your eye on his fellow Howling Commandos. Watched as they had kids, who eventually had kids of their own. 

You watched them grow a family part of you still dreamed about with Bucky. 

As the years passed by, you settled into ‘normal’ life. You dated every now and again, but none of them ever lasted. None of them contained that spark you had with Bucky. You didn’t mean to compare them, but what had happened in the 40s…

That was the kind of love that lasted a lifetime. The kind grandkids would look up to and say, “That’s the love I want out of life.”

Yet, as the years rolled by, things started to happen that even you had never seen before. Men came back from the dead. Men you had known. 

First it was Steve. It was all over the news. A fallen soldier pulled out of the ice. A man out of his time. 

You could still remember the thundering in your heart as you watched him run through Times Square. 

He was alive?

He was alive.

“Oh, god.” You held a hand over your heart. 

Three weeks later, all hell broke loose. Loki, a man you’d once considered a brother, an enemy, and then a friend. He decided to have a moment in the spotlight for all the world to see. 

You had ran round New York, helping those you could. You tried to find him. You might not have seen each other in five decades, but you couldn’t just let him tear the world apart. 

But The Avengers beat you to it. From there, Odin and Thor would handle the rest. 

You thought about going back, but you never did. Something in you told you to stay for the sake of Steve. He didn’t know you existed. To him, you’d been long gone since the 40s. Probably dead. 

If he only knew. 

However, everything changed when he was made an enemy of the State and footage from a fight on the bridge made its way to social media. You watched as a masked man with a metal arm jumped onto a car and swaggered his way over, changing the clip in his gun. 

CCTV footage that was shown on the six o’clock news revealed a fight between the ghost dubbed The Winter Soldier and Steve. 

From there, your research began.

Decrypting Hydra files, travelling to countries you hadn’t seen since England’s Tudor era, facing climates some people would never know. But it was just before a bomb had been detonated outside the UN building that you came to discover the first successful subject of the Winter Soldier programme. 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

Bucky. 

You’d eventually found yourself in Serbia, but you were far too late. All that was left were scratches on walls in place of a fight. And, considering Steve was on the run, it didn’t take a genius to work out who it had been between. 

You searched for two years. 

You had tried to contact Thor and Loki. Maybe they could help. But they were no use. Off world and fighting someone else, probably. 

After a year and half in Wakanda, Bucky was finally free of the Winter Soldier’s control. And, ultimately, joined Steve to help weed out the final members of Hydra and The Red Room. 

But the longer he spent with his fellow man out of time, he started to feel like he was being watched. Not by the Wakandans. Not even by his team. But by…a ghost. 

He’d look across the street and see someone. But it was only a flash in his memory. Someone who’d been in his dreams long before the nightmares of Hydra took his mind over. 

But it wasn’t. 

Because a moment later, they were gone. A shadow in the dark. A sunray behind a tree branch. 

It took another year, but Steve and his team somehow received a full padron. Probably had something to do with the whole world going to shit. But even as he lived a semi-normal life outside of the Tower and training facility, the memory seemed to constantly follow him. 

Buses through the city, subway staircases, busy street-corner food trucks, green parks with enough space for kids and cyclists. 

Then one day he found it wasn’t a memory at all, but rather a person. 

The part of his mind that longed for his past was playing tricks on him. So, he made a decision. 

And it was in a cold warehouse with a dusty concrete floor and broken ceiling lights, Bucky came face to face with his ghost. 

You breathed heavily and smiled a little as his blue eyes landed on your gaze. “Hey, Soldier.”

Bucky couldn’t breathe. His hand still held onto your arm as you lay on the floor below him. “You…you…you’re not…this isn’t real.”

“I can explain.”

He was shocked, which you expected. 

“Mind helping a girl up?”

Bucky, for a moment, did so. But then stopped, pinning you back onto the dusty floor. “How do I know this is even…you? Who are you?”

You understood completely. “The day we met, it was in a cafe. I bought you a cup of coffee and our waitress was called Dottie. You asked for my address and I told you to write to the cafe, instead.”

He believed you. You could see it in his eyes. You could also see that he didn’t believe it could be possible. 

“I know I made you promise to buy me a cup of coffee the next time we saw each other, but I think I should buy this one.”

It took a little more convincing but eventually Bucky helped you up from the ground and walked with you to a cafe. 

“Is this?”

You smiled and unlocked the door. “Yeah.”

You locked the door behind you once more and lowered the shutters a little more. Walking around the cafe bench, you started up the percolator. Turning around, you saw Bucky look around the place. Photos scattered the walls. Some that were still on the walls when he was young. But the more he looked, the more he noticed. 

Old signs, posters and pictures. But the ones that stood out to him the most were the ones he was in. One from a pub table in London. Him, Steve, Peggy, and the Howling Commandos. A few more were filled with the same people. Others had soldiers Bucky had met or seen when he was still in the army. A few love letters had been framed and hung up, too. 

“Couples.” Bucky looked at you as you spoke. “Turns out this place can bring people together in unexpected ways.” 

He kept looking across the walls. That was when he saw an old receipt, the paper aged with time. 

The receipt from the night he met you. Dottie’s name was scribbled across the top, the bill was at the bottom. 

“Here,” you said as you began pouring the hot coffee. “Get it while it’s hot.”

Bucky took his old seat across from you, holding the mug in his two hands. 

“Thanks.”

You smiled, “You’re welcome.”

“So,” Bucky took a sip of the hot drink. “When did you buy this place?”

“Mid 90s, I think. It was a cafe for a long time. Then a sandwich shop, then a laundry place. Eventually, it went on the market and…I took it on. Restored it back to what I remembered it to be. 

Bucky nodded, impressed. But one question remained on his mind. And just like that night on the station floor, you watched as Bucky’s smile fell from his face. But this time, it didn’t return. Memories haunted his mind, part of him still not believing it to be true. 

For all he knew, he was about to wake up. 

“How are you here?”

You took your time explaining your past. How you were not from the world he knew…once knew. You were from a completely different one. 

Asgard.

A few earth years before Bucky met you, you’d upset a lot of people. Specifically one of the princes. Eventually, you were pardoned when they realised you’d only meant kindness when you gave your opinion in the court that day. 

You’d voted against Loki. 

He was one of your closest friends, but you knew he wasn’t ready. Considering he was Odin’s son, most people voted for him. 

As his closest friend, you’d not only betrayed him but also the throne he sat on. 

You nearly got caught a few times, but managed to evade them. But despite all being forgiven, you’d decided to come back to the one place that had felt like home since you’d left Asgard. 

“And you’ve been following me ever since?” 

You nodded. 

“So…in London? And Edinburgh?”

You nodded. “I didn’t think it was time for you to know, yet. But I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Does Steve know?”

You shook your head. “No. Peggy didn’t either. But I kept my eye on him when he came out of the ice. I waited for him to walk in here one day. He’d passed this place so many times. He would have known instantly considering the pictures I keep in here.”

“Why do you keep them here?”

You shrugged and smiled, if a little sadly. “Reminds me of a life I nearly had. Of a life others have had. That…” you gave a deep sigh, “that life keeps going but the past should never be forgotten. You never know when it might show up again.”

Bucky looked at you, and for the first time since the day he left you, he smiled. 

Your soul felt light again. 

Sheepishly, he looked at the cup in his hand before looking back at you. “I know I might be…”

Bucky took a guess at the amount of time. 

“Eighty years too late. And that you might own this place but…would you mind me buying you a cup of coffee sometime?”

You nodded, trying to suppress the glow in your smile. “I’d love that.”

[atzinwonderland]

Ateez react to their s/o calling them by their full name

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。

fluff, humour, a bit of angst | ateez x reader

Hongjoong

Working at his home studio all day, Hongjoong felt exhausted. All he wanted was some good food and sleep. Stepping out of the studio, he left everything in a hurry and grabbed his phone out of his pocket. Arranging dinner with the members was an easy task. In less than a minute, he was already putting his shoes on and heading towards the agreed restaurant.

Dinner was going great, the mood was chill, and the only thing left on his to-do list was to sleep. Nothing could ruin this peaceful night…or, well, that’s what he thought.

Today was a long day for you. You’d been asked to cover a late shift at work, and since you couldn’t say no, here you were, counting the minutes until it was over. Unexpectedly, for this time of day, your phone rang, and it was none other than your neighbour. You’d never gotten calls from them before, so you thought that it might be important.

“Hello?”

“Hi, um, I didn’t want to call, but—” the neighbour began explaining, but you could barely hear them over the loud music that was playing in the background.

“I’m sorry, but I can barely hear you. Is it possible to turn down the music a bit?”

“That’s the thing… it’s coming from your apartment. It’s also not the first time, that’s why I’m calling”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Really?! Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’ll be finished with my shift in a few minutes, and I’ll head straight home. I’ll talk to my boyfriend since he might be at home, and I’ll tell him to turn it down”

“Okay, thank you”

“No, thank you for your patience. I’ll solve the issue as quickly as possible,” you ended the call. Your blood was boiling at this stage. Your poor neighbour—they must’ve had to endure that for a long time.

You immediately called Hongjoong, hoping to find a good explanation.

"Hi, honey, how's—"

"Kim Hongjoong!" you interrupted, and his sense of calmness was immediately gone. He had never heard you call him by his full name.

"Should I be scared or turned on?"

"Tell me why our neighbour just called and complained about loud music playing from our apartment??" you asked, anger rushing through your veins.

"What?! There's no way I—wait, maybe I did forget the music on..."

"Maybe?!"

"Okay, I did forget it, but I'm not home"

"Then go home now and stop it—we'll talk there"

"Okay, I'm sorry. Just please don't drive mad, okay? Be careful...," he said, making sure that you come home safe.

"Okay, Joong...see you later," you replied, to not worry him, and then hung up.

Somehow, the two of you ended up arriving home at the same time. Not saying a word to each other, you just rushed to get to his computer and turn the music off. After the click of a button, the apartment became dead quiet. That's when Hongjoong knew it was time to apologise and make up for his mistake.

"I'm sorry, honey. This must've caused you a lot of stress," he apologised, as he gently approached you and placed his hands on both sides of your waist.

"To be honest, that call was the last thing I needed—my day was already draining enough. Just please be careful next time. They said it wasn't the first time it has happened"

"There won't be a next time, I promise. I don't want to hear you say my full name ever again"

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry about that, by the way. The anger just got to me..."

"I think I deserved it...although, It did turn me on, so if—"

You couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "Shut up, Joong!" you said, as you playfully punched his shoulder.

He knew how to make you smile.

Seonghwa

The other day, you decided to buy yourself a little present—a flower Lego set that you were going to build on your day off.

After you brought it home, you placed it on one of the display shelves in your living room and stared at it for a while, satisfied with your purchase. You were so excited for the weekend to come, so you could build it and put it in your bedroom.

It was finally Friday. You finished work and headed home, excited for the eventful weekend ahead of you.

You unlocked the front door to your apartment, entered, and, one look later, your whole world was crumbling at your feet.

"Park Seonghwa! Noo—how could you do this to me?" you disappointingly shouted at the sight of your boyfriend finishing up the Lego set that was on the shelf, waiting for you to build it.

Your loud entrance scared Seonghwa, and he jumped out of his seat on the couch.

"What happened, love? Wait, did you just call me Park Seonghwa?" he asked, feeling the effects of hearing his full name.

"I was meant to be the one to build that set. I've been waiting all week...," you explained whiningly, at the verge of tears, as Seonghwa walked up to you.

"Really? I had no idea, my love—I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you by building it and putting it in our bedroom, but I should've asked you first. What can I do to make it up to you?" he asked softly, pulling you into his arms, because he couldn't stand looking at your pouty face.

"I guess if we go and buy another one to build together, that would be nice..."

"Let's do that, love. I would love to build another set with you"

"I also wouldn't mind a massage...and chocolate...," you added cutely, and Seonghwa couldn't help but chuckle at how adorable you were.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then agreed to your requests.

"Consider all of these done, love. I just have a small request as well..."

"What is it?"

"Can you go back to calling me bun again? I don't really like it when you call me Park Seonghwa," he innocently asked, and you couldn't help but smile.

"Of course, bun," you said, and watched as his eyes sparkled at your words.

Yunho

It was yours and Yunho's day off, and some of your closest friends invited you for a girls' day out. You couldn't say no, because you barely saw them nowadays—it was only right that you go.

Although he was happy for you, Yunho couldn't help but feel upset that he wouldn't be able to spend his day off with you, and pouted until the last minute.

You knew him well—he always acts upset until you leave, and then, once you're gone, he has the time of his life playing all of his favourite video games—so you weren't too worried about him.

Plus, he wouldn't be completely alone. He had to take care of your recently adopted puppy.

You gave Yunho a goodbye kiss, then headed out.

The day spent with the girls was amazing, and you had a very fun time. You had so much fun that you'd completely forgotten to contact Yunho and see how he was doing—and you realised that too late.

You were already on your way back when you decided to call him. Strangely, he wasn't picking up, and that was very unusual for him. Wondering what he was doing, you rushed to get home as quickly as possible.

Taking the keys out of your bag, you unlocked the door, only to be met with an incredible sight.

Yunho, sleeping on the couch, with your puppy asleep on his stomach, all kinds of snacks—even dog treats—spilled all over the living room table, as the tv played his favourite show.

When you got closer, you realised that he had given so many treats to your puppy that now his tummy was poking out. You were mad that he didn’t think of your puppy’s health, but before waking him up and scolding him, you took a picture of the cute scene. Even when he was in the wrong, he was still cute.

“Jeong Yunho, what's happening here?” you said quietly enough not to scare him.

“Who? Oh hi, bug, I didn’t realise you’re back already…I must’ve fallen asleep”

"Why is our table a mess? And how could you give Sparkles so many treats? Look at him, he probably feels sick," you scolded, and Yunho's face turned from happy to embarrassed.

"I'm sorry...My plan was to clean up before you came home, but somehow I fell asleep. I'm also sorry about Sparkles, but I couldn't resist his cuteness—though I know that I should've been more careful," he apologized with his lips pouted, still laying down on the couch, looking down, not having the confidence to face you.

Seeing him like that, you couldn't stay mad any longer. "I'm the one that can't resist your cuteness," you said, giving in with a sigh, kneeling close to him on the couch.

"Next time, just be careful with giving him treats, okay?"

"Okay...," he replied, as a slight blush appeared on his cheeks.

"Actually, I think I also had a little too many snacks," he confessed in a soft voice, and you couldn't help but chuckle. The two of you exchanged looks, then simultaneously looked in the direction of his tummy, poking a little out of his t-shirt.

"Aww, Yuyu, please stop being cute or I might just die..."

"At least I'm Yuyu again. That means my strategy worked," he shared, and you giggled at his remark, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Yeosang

You and Yeosang got invited to an important event, and both of you were quite excited to attend it.

You’d thought of everything—your outfit, your makeup look, and today was finally the day to get ready.

You finished work early and headed to your apartment. Arriving there, you noticed that Yeosang’s shoes were placed near the door, meaning he was already there.

You thought that’s great, because he’ll be able to get ready first, and then you’ll have the bathroom all to yourself. It wouldn’t be a problem to get ready together, but since your bathroom is really small, that’ll make it harder for both of you.

“I’m home, pup”

“Okay, precious, I’m getting ready in the bathroom,” he shouted in a happy voice across the hallway.

“Perfect, I’ll have some food in the meantime,” you said, thinking that in not more than 30 minutes he’d be out of there—but you were very wrong.

After more than half an hour passed, you decided to check on him and see what was happening.

"Pup, are you done yet?" you asked impatiently and hoped for a positive answer.

"Give me five more minutes..."

"Okay, but hurry up—I also need to get ready, and I take longer, so..." you warned, and just like that, way more than five minutes were already gone.

At this point, you couldn't believe how long it was taking Yeosang to get ready.

"Kang Yeosang! You're taking way too long, and I have to get ready as well!" you shouted outside the bathroom door, and when he heard his name being called out, he dramatically opened door.

"What did you just call me?"

"Your name...?" you said, confused, acting like you had no idea what he was talking about.

"Okay, so because I'm using the bathroom, you dared to call me by my full name? How is that fair, when I never said that you can't be in here getting ready with me?"

"Our bathroom is too small, Yeosang," you complained, and without another word, he placed both of his hands on the sides of your waist, gently pulling you close to him, both of you now standing in front of the bathroom mirror.

"See, it works... Plus, I wouldn't mind standing this close to you, precious—it makes me feel good," he flirted, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"You're unbelievable...," you didn't get to finish, before he questioned the end of your sentence.

"Pup?" he said, eyes twinkling with hope that that's how you intended to call him at the end of your sentence.

"Pup," you confirmed, and a wide smile formed on his face.

Yeosang wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

"Thank you, precious. Now let me help you get ready, so I can make it up to you"

"You better..." you responded cheekily, and he just giggled at your cute anger.

San

You and San have been friends longer than you've been together as a couple. Since the two of you haven't been together for long, he still hasn't had the chance to meet some of your family members—one of them being your older brother. You felt like it was finally time for them to meet.

In your head, the way you described your brother was normal—fitness maniac, extremely protective, hates unhealthy food, but sweet. To San though, your description seemed quite scary.

After hearing your description of him, San thought that the only way to get his approval was through preparation.

A week in advance, San not only worked out harder, but also ordered different types of fitness machines for your shared apartment.

On the day that you went to pick up your brother and bring him to your apartment, while you were gone, he also went to the grocery store and swapped out all of the food you had in your fridge for only healthy food.

Once he prepared everything, he couldn't sit in one place, so he paced around the apartment, hoping that everything would go well.

The sound of the door unlocking made him freeze in his place, standing in the middle of the living room.

"Welcome, y/b/n—" you said, cutting yourself off after taking a look at the sight in front of you. Your whole living room, filled with workout machines, weights scattered all over your shelves and living room table. Walking further in, different kinds of protein bars were displayed on your kitchen counters, two extra-large boxes of protein placed next to your fridge.

"Wow, sis, since when did you get into fitness so much?" your brother exclaimed, surprised at the sight of his sister's home.

Anger rushing through your body, you turned to San as he already felt what was coming his way.

"CHOI SAN! What is all of this??"

"Well, I just wanted to—"

"Do not even finish that sentence. This is all so unnecessary and expensive..."

"But you said your brother loves fitness and healthy food, and that he's also very protective, so," San said quietly, sad that he didn't receive the reaction that he was hoping for.

"Didn't you hear the part when I told you that he's also super sweet??" you asked, still annoyed, but a bit more calm, seeing his embarrassed state.

"No... well, kind of—but the other part scared me, so I had to be prepared," he replied, staring at the ground, his cheeks red from all of the embarrassment.

"Why did you describe me so harshly? San, don't worry, bro—I'm not like that. Y/n just loves to exaggerate"

"Hey, that's not true—I just didn't realise that I made you seem so horrible"

Your brother's words made San really happy, and he finally looked up, not feeling as embarrassed.

"Well, I'm sorry to both of you... I did go overboard," San apologised, and your eyes softened at his words.

"It's okay Sannie," you started, and he felt relieved to not hear his full name again. "...Actually, I'm the one that should apologise—I was too harsh on you," you said, and your brother just couldn't resist teasing you.

"That's right, poor San just tried to be nice"

"Oh shut up, don't get involved in my relationship—you just got here," you teased back, and San couldn't help but chuckle at your bickering.

Mingi

One of your closest cousins growing up texted you that he wants to see you, since the two of you hadn't hung out in a long time. You agreed to meet for lunch at a restaurant you'd been to with Mingi before, because you remembered that they had amazing food.

Going in, you sit at a table with a nice view and start ordering your food, chatting away.

While that was happening, on the other side of the restaurant, there was a person you knew all too well—and he had noticed you. It was Wooyoung.

His first instinct when he saw you giggling away with a guy that wasn’t Mingi was to call him and let him know about the situation.

“Hey, where are you?”

“I’m at my studio, why?”

“Do you know where y/n is, by any chance?”

“Oh, she said she’s quite busy today, so I haven’t spoken to her yet—but what’s up with all these questions?”

“Well, I’m at your favourite burger restaurant, and I can see her from my table”

“Oh, really?! She’s there? She’s probably just getting some lunch”

“That’s not why I called, though—she’s having lunch with a guy”

“A guy? Do I know him?”

“I don’t think so, but they’re really hitting it off—she’s full-on giggles with him,” Wooyoung said, and Mingi’s blood started boiling.

“What?! She can’t be laughing at a random dude’s jokes—wait, is she cheating on me? That can’t be right, there haven’t been any signs whatsoever,” he said, anxiety and anger rushing through his body.

“I just think you should come over here”

“I'm already on my way, but she better not be cheating—otherwise, I’ll be heartbroken,” he said, then quickly hung up the phone.

After rushing to get to you, he dramatically walked into the restaurant, not a care in the world other than you.

“Y/n, how could you do this to me?! You’re the love of my life and I thought I was yours—but I see that I was wrong. How long has this been going on for? Who even is this guy?” Mingi said in a dramatic, loud voice with no breaks between his words, not giving you a chance to say even a word.

As he spoke, the whole restaurant became quieter, and the more nonsense he said, the more it got on your nerves—until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Song Mingi! Pull yourself together! What the hell are you talking about?! This is my cousin!” you exclaimed, and he froze in his place.

He wasn’t sure what to do—beat up Wooyoung or apologise and leave. He decided to go for the second option first, but he was definitely going to do the first one as well.

“Oh, uhm, I’m sorry… I just thought that—you know what, I’ll just leave,” he confessed, disappointed at his actions, and then turned to leave, embarrassed by the whole situation.

You excused yourself and followed him outside.

“Song Mingi, why did you do that? What happened?” you asked calmly now that you were outside, getting some fresh air.

“Please stop, don’t talk to me anymore…” he said, lips pouted.

“Why? I’m so confused”

“I’ll do the talking and explain everything… Wooyoung called me. He said you were here having lunch with a guy I don’t know, giggling at his jokes, and I just—what was I supposed to do? I needed to make sure I wasn’t losing you, so I came here and embarrassed myself,” he confessed cutely, making you regret how harsh you were with him at the start.

You found his reaction really sweet. And although he made a mistake, it was very adorable of him to go and fight for you.

“That’s so sweet—”

“Wait, before you say anything, I can take you being mad, I don’t even mind if you punch me or slap me, but please—don’t call me by my full name. It just hurts hearing you say it,” he pleaded, eyes glossy, almost like he was about to cry.

“I promise I won’t call you that again, and I’m not mad anymore. It wasn’t your fault—you were misled. I actually think what you did was adorable, Mingming”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, you silly boy. Now stop acting dramatic and come give me a kiss, I haven’t seen you all day,” you teased, and the usual smirk on his face returned within seconds.

Mingi approached you confidently, then placed his hands at your lower back, pulling you into a strong kiss.

“Now that this is sorted, I have one more piece of business to finish…” he said mysteriously, heading back into the restaurant.

…“WOOYOUNG!!”

Wooyoung

Wooyoung and the rest of the members were in the middle of a fun dance practice, just goofing around with the other dancers and practicing some moves.

Wanting to surprise him, you picked up some food and drinks for everyone and headed to their practice room.

Walking towards the room you could hear loud music blasting through the walls, making you think they were deep in a tough rehearsal—but you quickly realised you were wrong.

Opening the door, you were greeted with full-on chaos. Some guys were chasing each other, others doing karaoke, and then in the midst of it all was Wooyoung—testing your patience like never before.

By now, you should’ve been used to him doing that, but this time he was really doing too much.

There he was dancing in the center of the room with a girl, having the time of his life. Everyone else was watching and cheering them on—but not you.

You angrily dropped the bag of food on the ground, then stormed through everyone in the room, finally getting to Wooyoung.

“Oh hi, queen—”

“Jung Wooyoung! Outside, NOW!” you snapped, and the whole room went silent.

You pulled his arm and yanked him out the door, leaving him with no time to react.

“Wow, I haven’t heard that name in a while—what’s wrong? Why the sudden attack?”

“What’s wrong?! Are you seriously asking me this?”

“I have an idea... but you know I wouldn’t cheat. So, it must be something else”

“I know you wouldn’t. But dancing like that with a girl who's clearly into you? She’s definitely going to try and kiss you, stealing you away from me!”

“Ohh, I see... my queen is a little jealous," he said with a mischievous look.

“Of course I am! Who does this girl think she is…”

“She’s no one. You know I wouldn’t let her kiss me or flirt with me, right? I mean, I can play around, but there’s a limit”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you said, finally calming down.

“One thing though—if you’re mad at her, why scream at me?”

“Well... I don’t know. It just makes more sense?” you mumbled, feeling self-aware.

“Yeah, right," he chuckled. "Actually, you made me realise something… I think you should call me by my full name more often. It’s kind of growing on me,” he confessed with a smirk.

“Really? You want me to call you Jung Wooyoung?”

“Yeah, why not? It shows the authority you have over me. That’s why I call you my queen, right?” he flirted, and once again didn’t fail in making you flustered.

No more words were needed, as the two of you went in for a kiss, closing the distance between you.

Jongho

You and Jongho were in your shared bedroom. You were scrolling on your phone, as Jongho played his favourite video game.

“Yess! I’m so good at this,” Jongho suddenly exclaimed after winning a round of the game.

After another few comments like this, you were done with his cockiness. You were more than ready to humble him.

As he just finished another round, you scoffed loudly, getting his attention.

“What’s your problem, dumpling?” he asked, turning around.

“I’m not your dumpling, I’m your rival…” After a moment of silence, Jongho started laughing.

“Oh wow, that’s so scary,” he teased, leaving you more annoyed than ever.

“Choi Jongho! Do not tease me, because you will regret it!”

“Choi who? Who is that?”

“A person that’ll get humbled really quickly”

“I doubt it, but since you’re prepared to lose—let’s play,” he further fuelled your anger, and you grabbed the other controller, plopping yourself next to him at the edge of the bed.

“I hope you’re prepared for what’s coming your way, Choi Jongho,” you confronted.

“Don’t worry about me so much, and focus on yourself, y/n y/l/n,” he replied.

After a long, dramatic game, you accomplished your mission, and you could just see the shock on his face.

“I hope you learned your lesson, sir—never tease me again”

Being faced with the facts and surprised by your gaming abilities, all he could do was accept the fact that he lost.

“I’ve definitely learned my lesson, dumpling—congrats on your win,” Jongho said as he faced you, and bowed slightly with his head.

“Can I stop being Choi Jongho now?”

“Uhmm…okay, I won already, so you’re not a rival anymore”

“Wow, thank you for kindness,” he joked, and you placed your hand on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, honey bear!” you exclaimed with a smile, and he couldn’t help but feel happy at being called his usual pet name, showing off his gummy smile.

[everythingmp3]

being farmer!Van’s younger lover - headcanons 𐙚 🌾

I couldnt get the idea of her as a farmer out of my head, so here are all the thoughts I had while imagining, mostly what she’d be like with a lover! I dont know much about the actual life of a farmer, so I kept her activities rather vague, it’s more about the vibe and the fantasy of it all, you get the idea <3 hope u enjoy

warnings: the second half of this is nsfw! some very brief mentions of substance abuse/addiction

her backstory:

(feel free to skip this intro if you just want the main plot)

she moved to NYC after high school, broke, not in college, unsure what to do but too stubborn to give up on her dream to live in the city she had idealized since she childhood, so she fought and bled for her right to stay, worked many bone-crushing jobs, got into friend groups with people who were also just trying to survive, which worked out in her favor for a while, but. eventually she got into the wrong kind of drugs and fell off, partying instead of working, getting fired from one job after the other, barely scraping by, somehow cheating her way out of ruin again and again, sleeping on friends couches, until she was in her mid-twenties and couldnt take it anymore, physically, spiritually, so she and her girl at the time packed their things and moved the country-side in the south, dreaming of a quiet, normal, mundane life, hoping and praying for some respite

at first, they managed, but the relationship was crumbling due to Vans refusal to address her substance abuse issues and her overall disregard for her health, her hermit lifestyle of only going to work so she could come back home and crash, so eventually they broke up, dramatically so, her ex screaming at her that she had to get her shit together or she’d die before hitting 30, which did wake her up - it hurt like hell but she knew it was true - Van was tired of everything, people, cities, even small towns, she didnt wanna see or talk to anyone, so she looked for jobs that would allow her to shut down and be quiet, which she found: an older couple, in their 50s, was looking for help at their farm nearby, in exchange for a spare room, so it was settled: she packed a few things and showed up at their door ready to leave her entire life behind and just be a pair of helping hands

she got lucky. the man and woman who ran the farm - which would be hers one day - immediately showed her a parental kind of tough love when they realized how desperately Van needed help and guidance, they didnt make her talk about it, but they could tell that she was recovering from some heavy shit, so they gave her a very clear schedule and made her stick to it, even when she was tired or grumpy, they gave her clear instructions and made her work with the animals a lot because they knew the effect that kind of contact can have on a suffering person

sure enough, Van blossomed after an initial period of disciplining her body, eating better, and growing stronger each day, it took a good amount of sweat and tears to settle in, but after a few weeks she adjusted and found out that she was much better at physical labor than she´d assumed, her stubborn streak came in handy, she pushed and pushed herself until the tasks came more easily to her. she also went to AA meetings in the area on and off, whenever she felt like she needed some extra help to stay sober

once the couple both neared their mid 60s, they were so close to Van that leaving the farm in her hands only felt natural, they didnt have any children of their own, so she was the closest thing to a daughter they ever got and trusted her to take care of their beloved spot of land well and to eventually leave it to someone else whod keep that tradition up as well (at first she felt unworthy, incapable, but they convinced her and urged her to do whatever she pleased with her little spot in the world, expressing how grateful they were for the years shed spent with them, having given them a chance to feel like someones parents later in life)

Van decided to work with groups that use animal therapy to help people who are in a tough spot in one way or another, people in rehab or people who deal with either mental or physical pain that might be eased for while by having close contact to horses - she knows first-hand what caring for animals can do for a person who is struggling with self-worth, shame, or chronic pain, so she always makes a point of inviting those groups to her farm, making it a safe haven in a way, she also lets riding instructors teach their classes there

she makes money by letting people keep their horses in the stables, taking care of them, so people can come by whenever they want to ride them, she also sells some of her produce to surrounding farmers markets, its not a ton of money but more than enough to get by and live a comfortable life

how you started dating

your college town is near her farm and you decided to stay there during summer because the season is beautiful out there and its enough for you to back to your hometown for a few weeks during August before the next semester starts

one day you were a bit reckless and walked out further beyond the town limits than you usually did because the weather was so nice and you wanted to see some some pretty fields, but you underestimated the heat and had to take a break somewhere because you were afraid you might pass out and couldnt just turn around and walk all the way back

the tree you decided to take shelter under for a moment was right at the entrance of Vans farm and she come out to check on you because she saw you sitting there in the midday heat and got worried that something was wrong or that someone might have ditched you by the side of the road, since she wasnt used to having strangers wandering around out there

you were a bit embarrassed at first when she she said "hey there, you okay?" but you she was sweet from the get-go, joking around a bit, asking you what on earth made you come out there in that intense weather, gently chastising you for your lack of drinks and snacks, she ended up urging you to come inside and rest and cool down, to eat and drink something so you could regain your strength before going back home

you got along immediately, it took less than a few minutes for you to talk about anything and everything as she prepared some iced coffee, iced tea, and fresh blueberry pancakes for you - you told her again and again that she was being way too nice but Van insisted and told you that she spent more than enough time on her own, so once you werent hungry or thirsty anymore and seemed more lively again, she gave you a tour of and introduced you to her cats which was a sure way to get you to stay for longer (maybe that was calculated on her part)

after a while of you laughing and enjoying your time together, she offered to drive you back to your place and gave you a little pot of homemade jam to try as a parting gift, a raspberry vanilla mix that tasted divine and was your breakfast of choice for the coming days. as you said goodbye that night in the car parked outside your house she said "come by whenever you want, really, you dont even have to ring, just walk around to the porch and I will be around somewhere" which felt like flirting, not just southern hospitality, so you promised that you would take her up on it, your skin tingling where her arms rested when you said goodbye, her voice a bit strained when she told you goodbye, as if she was flustered from embracing someone that way, a sign that it had been a while maybe, a sudden rush of hope on your part that she wasnt seeing anyone, that you werent delusional to think that she might have been less friendly with strangers who didnt intrigue her, who werent as easy on the eyes to her..

she’d confess to you a while later that she didnt give you her number or asked for yours because she knew that shes a horrible texter and enjoyed the idea of being surprised by another visit by you, she also liked the vibe of leaving the ball entirely in your court, the fact that she had no way of reaching out to you and had to trust that you would keep your connection going (this same energy is palpable whenever she waits for you to come and touch her, she loves pushing your patience to make you initiate intimacy, even when its just a hug, thats her preferred way of teasing)

for the next few days you couldnt get her out of your head and kept clinging to the memory of how hot shed looked: dressed in a white tank-top and jeans that were cut off at the knee, working boots and white socks, her bronzed heavily freckles skin glowing in the midday sun, just like her wavy hair that seemed to burn like flames in that light, her cheeks and lips rosy from the heat, her voice raspy and low, her calves toned, just like her shoulders and arms... you remembered how your knees had touched when you sat outside on the steps together for a moment, how your fingers had brushed when shed handed you a glass, how shed looked at you while you ate the food shed made you, attentive, curious, and intense, like she was holding something back, the same way you had been. it was torture. you couldnt stop obsessing over every little look shed given you, everything shed said, reading into all of it until you were certain you werent just imagining the instant chemistry

after a few days of holding back, you couldnt wait any longer and went back to her place, and just as you stepped into her house it started thundering and pouring rain, which immediately made the atmosphere intimate and private as she lit some candles and put on all the warm orange tinted lamps to offer a contrast to the dark storm outside - you played it cool at first, but it was clear that you hadnt just come back for no reason, and the tension made both of you a little nervous at first, thrilled too though, pleased by the sense of "she feels the same way, doesnt she?"

one thing lead to another, some jokes at first, then more earnest words, you confessing "I thought of you a lot the past few days, you were so sweet to me" her brushing it off "basic decency" you caving and coming to sit next to her, a pleading look on your face, a bit of fear on hers, held breaths, beating hearts, soft eyes, you taking the leap, kissing her eagerly until she gently broke it and needed a second to breathe, to calm her burning nerves, so you told her to keep touching you, to just keep her hands on you, so she did, grabbing at you until she was ready to continue, dying to - a switch flipped in her when she felt you going slack in her embrace, sighing from the feel of her palms on your back, your arms, your face, a bruising kiss from her that quickly turned into more and more and until your clothes were scattered next to the couch and the rain kept clashing against the windows as you got lost in each other, kissing and touching and grinding up against each other, making each other come just from a few touches, using your burst of passion and intense sensitivity to each others presence to keep going and going, finally ending up in her bed, making out for ages, taking turns making each other moan and surrender

that night you slept over and the next morning you laughed about how cliché it was for her to invite you to move in for the summer before even having gone on a proper date, but! you couldnt have cared less, you were so overjoyed at the idea, both of you agreeing that it would be unnecessary to make you take the drive over to her place every day (she had no idea what got into her when she just straight up asked you if you wanted her to help you get some of your stuff so you could stay with her as long as you wanted because it had been so long since shed: a) had anything romantic going on b) had sex with someone and c) didnt shudder at the idea of sharing her space with a lover, quite the opposite, that first morning she woke up to the sight of you there in her bed, all peaceful and content and warm to the touch, she wondered how shed gone all those years without it

sfw

Van quickly comes to love the feeling of never knowing when she might turn a corner and see you laying in the sun on a blanket, in your bikini or underwear, tanning, or reading, or napping - she always stops in her tracks and takes a moment to just look at you while youre blissfully unaware, until the urge to touch takes over - unlike others, shed never think its funny to startle you by splashing water on you or taking your headphones off or anything, shes as gentle as possible, always, either lowering herself until she can press a soft kiss to your back, or picking a flower to lightly sweep over your arm <3 you usually pull her down onto the blanket and get all over her to keep her from walking away and continuing her work, which shes helpless against, shes never denied you, not once, always caving

loveees seeing you in her clothes! when you put a flannel of hers over your shoulders if it gets a bit chilly at night, or when you jokingly try on her working boots, she lets you steal whatever you want from her wardrobe and has a particular thing for seeing you in jeans of hers that are a bit too lose on you because theyre worn out, when you kneel down and she can see your underwear peeking out at the top... you wont stay in those jeans for too long, lets put it that way.

shes always been good about sun screen, its the one self-care aspect she never abandoned even during her worst times, but! she usually never splurged on the expensive kind, she used generic cheap sun screen until you started dating and you gave her some fancier kind, selfishly picking a scented one, a mix of vanilla and coconut because you knew it would mix very well with her sweat while working and the tabacco when she smokes - you also help her apply it, its ritual she came to cherish deeply, the way you carefully apply it not just on her face and arms but where she cant reach, always savoring the feeling of your palms massaging the creme into her back because she used to have to bend herself herself into a pretzel to apply it to her shoulder blades and the surrounding area (you dont care that it tastes bitter when you kiss her on her freshly lotioned nose <3)

when Ethel Cain said "he looks like he works with his hands and smells like Marlboro Reds" yeah thats her… the cigs are her little vice that she allows herself to keep, she doesn’t chain smoke, it’s more of a relaxation thing, usually not more than two a day, sometimes she also goes a while without any, and you dont convince her to quit because she looks too hot smoking 💘 you love those warm late nights where you sit on the porch together, your legs on her lap, her free hand massaging you as she stares off into the distance and smokes (you also got her nice lighter at the thrift store, gold with an etching of a pin-up model, it was more of a joke but she loves it)

for obvious reasons she much prefers cats over dogs and when you started dating one of her cats was heavily pregnant, so you ended up staying in the barn with her for an entire night when the cat gave birth to make sure it all went well, to see that the kittens were all healthy, and it made her fall for you even more, the care and adoration with which you handled the little babies and soothed the mother after she gave birth to all three of them, she also let you pick the names <3 you love to joke by saying "she’s stealing my spot" whenever one of the kittens crawls up onto her chest

Van always relies on her lovers to braid her hair! whenever shes single, she just accepts the fact that her hair wont be braided until someone does it for her again, she likes being incompetent that way, she mentioned it off-handedly that she cant braid her hair at her grown age, and you took the bait immediately, offering to style it any way she wants, a smug grin on her face when you first gently parted her hair into three even strands and gave her exactly what she wanted, that soothing feeling of having her love rake her fingers through her hair, her favorite part is when youre done fuss with her front pieces a bit to make it look more effortless and natural, shes pliant as hell, lets you do whatever you want (her mommy issues havent gone away, even in her forties it does make her blush when she sits between your legs and feels you tighten her braid the way a mother might)

speaking of hair: she doesnt trust hair dressers with her hair at all because shes way too scared that theyll take off too much or give her weird layers, so she usually did an okay job cutting her own split-ends, but you decided to buy actual hair-cutting scissors and looked up a few tutorials until you felt prepared enough and gave her a nice trim, taking about half an hour to really make sure all the strands flow nicely together, and she loves it, shes gone so long without getting her hair cut by someone else that it makes the whole thing feel super intimate - also, she loves that you picked up on the fact that her hair is the one and only aspect about her appearance where she embraces a kind of femininity, its her one point of true vanity, and you taking care of it fore her is very pleasing to Van as someone who knows that people usually focus on her more masculine traits when they call her hot, warms her heart that you take care of her hair like its your own :)

youll often cut up some fruit for her or bring her a bottle of cold water when shes been out in the soon for a little too long, its a simple thing but she remembers how it was to never have anyone do those little things for her, its special for her and makes the work feel a little easier on her not-super-young bones <3

she has a medium sized tattoo on her left hipbone that she got in her 20s and for the longest time she hated it because she didnt have enough money back then to get it done by an actually good artist, so the lines are kinda faded over time, but.. once you started dating, she realized how hot you think its looks, so she started using it to tease you, relentlessly, stretching her arms over her head on purpose so her shirt rides up and you can see the top of the tattoo peeking out above her waistband, more times than not youll get handsy with her and pay her back for tempting you (as if that wasnt her goal all along)

for a long time her polaroid camera just collected dust but one day she got the urge to take pictures of you around the farm, which started out innocent at first (you caressing the horses, laying in the sun, leaning against the fence, picking berries) but it quickly turned more and more erotic, you shed your clothes, she took some pics of you in your underwear, you convinced her to caress your face and put her thumb in your mouth while taking a picture of that, which got her good, so eventually you abandoned all shame and told her to get some milk so she could pour it in your open mouth and over your chest and take a picture of that, you in the grass.. kneeling... eyes closed.. mouth open.. milk dripping down your chin... shameless vulgarity, but so incredibly hot to her that she ended up putting the camera down and licking you clean. both of you laughing in the grass afterwards once you realized what you just did (she keeps a few of those pictures on her wallet, old fashioned romance is her thing sometimes)

she taught you how to properly ride a horse and definitely almost had a heart attack the first few times your horse picked up the pace, she always makes sure youre safe - you sometimes take the horses to a nearby forest and leisurely ride through it, slowly, chatting and laughing and holding hands whenever your horses are close enough to do that (you also fore sureee convince her to take you out on her horse sometimes, you love holding onto her waist and resting your head on her back)

her farm is so lush and rich in color during spring and early summer!💐 flowers of all kinds bloom all over the place, and before you were dating she never bothered to pick some of them for inside decor, felt kinda silly to her as the only one living in her house, she was never the type to play homemaker just for the sake of it, but you lovee picking little bouquets for her, you always take note of which flowers she points at and calls pretty, so next time you gather more of that kind, it became a sweet ritual for you to put little vases with all kinds of wildflowers around the house and she for sure dried the first bouquet you ever made for her and keeps it on her dresser or pressed in a book <3

one of your favorite things to do with her is to go out for a big dinner after shes been working hard all day! shell be starving by that time, so nothing feels better to her than sitting down at her favorite sandwich shop or restaurant or fast food chain and devouring a greasy salty comfort meal - I think she fucks with veggie burgers when theyre drenched in good sauce, pizza with a good amount of toppings, spicy too, I think shed dip everything in hot sauce, shed also love mexican food I think like a good burrito with a bunch of fresh ingredients and chips and salsa on the side, anything thats savory and mixes a bunch of textures! you dont do it too often because she does try to eat rather healthy but once or twice a week you both need it and cherish it, you will sit there for a while just eating and chatting and sharing a bunch of side dishes, people watching or gossiping, her giving you inside scoop when she sees a familiar face, making small talk here and there while referring to you as her "friend" even though nobodys naive enough to believe that thats all you are, still, she likes being coy about it

you realize that all the people who own her favorite spots know and love her, so they give her bigger servings and drinks on the house, which you benefit from as well ;)

if you have a difficult relationship with food or simply dont take good enough care of yourself diet wise, thats gonna be taken care of with her, always - Van prides herself on her harvest of fruits and veggies, the time and care she puts in them each season, she collects fresh eggs from her chickens, bakes her own bread, makes a beautiful summer salad that she perfected over the years with some strawberry slices and honey vinegar dressing and a bunch of different greens and cucumber to make it fresh and delicious, among other recipes that she makes you try and approve of - you eat wellll and healthy with her, and you take up baking because you wanna repay her for her cooking and know that she has a sweet tooth! she also keeps fresh home-made iced tea and a bunch of other beverages that you both enjoy in the fridge at all times when its hot and keeps reminding you to drink, you wont be dehydrated on her watch!

when she was younger it was a sign of luxury to her when she was over at a friends house and their family had Ben and Jerrys ice cream instead of the no-name brands, so as an adult she likes buying all those little things that used to seem expensive to her, and you two sometimes share a pot on particularly hot days, trying all the flavors and rating them, you kept a sheet with the scores, and its a thing she looks look forward to, going to the store and picking your flavor for the night <3 (she’s partial to anything with caramel and doesnt really care much for the ones that are heavy on the chocolate, prefers the creamy vanilla bases ones, she also always lets you scoop out the last few bites, whereas you let her have the first few spoonfuls (you also like to fuck with her by kissing her while you still have some ice cream in your mouth and transfer it onto her tongue with a sloppy kiss, she pretends its nasty but shes turned on by it, every time)

she likes to pretend shes a grumpy anti-tech country woman who hates all things pop culture but she does love that youre teaching her things here and there about whats going on, shes been so out of touch with everything that its fun for her to have someone there who gets a kick out of trying to explain a new slang term to her or a trend thats happening on social media or gossip about celebrities (you sometimes jokingly speak in a way that sounds obnoxious and like something a teenager on tiktok would say just to watch her give you a look of utter confusion and disbelief, like telling her that she has "rizz" when she says something smooth, laughing when she says "jesus christ do I even wanna know what that means...")

even though shes worked with animals for years and years it never got easier for her to watch any of them suffer, shes a huge softie! none of them are "just" animals to her, ever, doesnt matter if its a horse or a cow or a chicken or animals that arent "hers" but live around the farm like little mice or birds, she always feels her heart shatter when one of the animals gets sick or needs medicine or a visit from the vet, she keeps it together on the outside but youve consoled her a few times when she was scared that an animal might not make it or be in too much pain - she also still tears up whenever she talks about her cat who passed away five years ago, she still misses her sometimes and youre the first person shes shared that grief with bc she feels safe with you, its nice for her not to shed her tears in the dark by herself when shes scared of a possible loss or feels haunted by yelps that a sick animal made, you always reassure her that shes doing her best and that any animal would be lucky to end up there with her <3

loves to make you do little physical tasks with her so she can watch you struggle with something thats muscle memory for her, its very amusing to her when you get pissed off and start groaning and eventually give up and tell her to do it by herself because youre clearly too slow with it, shell say things like "come on, lets put those young bones to good use" and gesture at you to follow her and you always act like a petulant child even though you clearly love being bosses around by her and watching her be much better at whatever it is that youre doing together, sometimes youll just sit and blatantly stare at her while shes doing strenuous work so you can watch her break a sweat and jokingly cat-call her

she keeps to herself but she built strong connections with a good amount of people in the area over the years, so shes never truly isolated or unable to require help when she needs, people know they can count on her and that shes about as reliable as they come, so she often comes home with a basket of fresh peaches or a few bottles of freshly made syrup or coffee grounds because people like her and treat her like a daughter/sister/friend depending on how old they are (I like to think theres a mutual aid sentiment that she sticks to, shell give money where she can to those who need it because theyve also helped her out before)

on that note, she is usually way too stubborn to ask for support but if you get sick, she calls some people who can help her around the farm, so she has the time to tend to you and doesnt have to leave you alone in bed all day <3

you offer her massages whenever she seems a bit tense or worn out, sometimes youll just come up behind her and start massaging her neck and shell say "baby im okay really" at first, but then audibly gasp as you knead away some tension, melting under your touch and making little "hmm" sounds

she loves ending her day by sitting on the couch with you and watching a show or a film together while snuggling, she used to spend all of her nights alone, so the simple act of eating dinner together and then watching something with you is a luxury to her that she savors every time <3

you convince her to venture out a bit more than she usually did, so you end up taking little trips to more urban cities nearby (ones that are 1-3 hours away) and have fun days there, trying out cafes and restaurants, browsing through stores, getting some clothes (you know she likes brands like Carharrt and splurge on stuff here), getting drinks if you stay until nightfall, watching movies at the cinema, or just walking around and seeing where the day takes you

during the road trips you are in charge of the aux because her music is too depressing for summer days.. she has no idea how to curate a playlist thats lighthearted and fun, so she leaves it to you (I can see her enjoying it when you blast like an Oasis song that she remembers from her youth and make her sing along to it because you know damn well she remembers the lyrics)

also! you love to fuck with her by putting the most vulgar rap you can find on full volume, blasting lyrics that make her look at you in shock while asking “is this what you fucking listen to?? really?" only half-serious about it, you catch her smiling when shes imagining herself in the place of the guy saying out of pocket shit about his girl

you like to do the laundry because you never got to hang it up to dry in a beautiful spot of land like that before - it feels cinematic to you in a way when youre standing there clipping your shirts to the clothesline with the wind blowing in your hair and the horses nearby, but! Van does the laundry that has to be hand-washed, she likes the attentive act of getting out all the little stains in clothes that are too delicate for the washing machine, she has her tricks to get even the most annoying red sauce stains out, and she also has a thing for washing your underwear, something about washing her lovers intimate clothes is very romantic to her, so you let her do it even though you were a bit embarrassed about it at first

regardless of your usual style you started dressing a bit more "country" to fit her vibe and it’s hot to her - she likes when you thrift stuff like white linen dresses or shorts, cowboy boots, belts with bigger brass buckles, you always ask her for her opinion and maybe drag her to the store with you so she can decide what you try out next (she’d make you get a skimpy bikini for lake days, for sure, you’d be like "this is too much...." and she’d just say "not in my eyes" and buy it for you)

loveees to share all of her knowledge with you but in a teasing way, she likes to play teacher and make you memorize the names of plants and flowers, so she can randomly point at one and ask "whats that one called again, hm?" fully aware that you forgot, repeating it to you and asking again the next day, which makes you shove her and roll your eyes but shell press for an answer like "I didnt hear you baby"

you introduce her to the app that can identify all kinds of bird calls and she gets over her skepticism really fast and becomes obsessed with it, whenever youre in the forest by the lake or just out in nature and she hears an unfamiliar call she gets so thrilled when the app shows her a picture of the bird shes hearing, and she definitely makes you remember the names of her favorite birds and gets offended when you forget them, drilling you like a teacher until theyre seared into your brain

she knows from her own experience that the best way to beat a depressive mood is to get outside and find something to do, so whenever she can tell that youre feeling a bit off or blue she makes you follow her somewhere so she can try and cheer you up :) one afternoon when you were kinda sad she took you cherry-picking and lifted you up on her shoulders so you could reach all the cherries further up and your mood switched completely without you even being conscious of it, she’s great at coaxing joy out of you whenever you need it

in general you felt your nervous system recover from any stress you mightve dealt with before during those days where your senses were never overstimulated by too much noise or too many people around or a lack of access to fresh air and pretty nature, she never outright said it but she definitely kept her eye on you and made sure you felt better than you did when shed first met you, even just sitting in the grass and feeling the earth beneath you and hearing the natural noise of the farm for a few minutes often helps you unwind and relax 🕊️

you know from what she told you about her past that she never got to be carefree as a kid/teenager, that she had to grow up way too fast, so you make her do little things with you that girls might do at sleepovers, like putting on face masks or playing online games or buying little arts and crafts kits to make each other keychains and! you convince her to get one of the mystery boxes with little figurines in them like those sylvanian family animals, which you end up keeping on the windows isle, adding to them whenever you indulge in the frivolous joy of ripping open a package without knowing which little creature youll get (shes the type to put on a poker-face or make sarcastic remarks during the whole thing to disguise how much fun shes actually having)

master of home remedies! whether its a rash or a burn or a cut, she knows exactly what salve or creme to apply, she has a bunch of teas for any kind of ailment, stomach pain, period cramps, headaches, she knows how to dress any kind of wound (because shes had to patch herself up, many times) so any kind of pain youre in, shes gonna do her very best to relieve you of it (not just by giving you head, although thats always worth a try, to her)

shes somehow alwaaays chewing on something, either gum, or tooth picks, or even just random pieces of grass (which you make fun of her for, lovingly) its pretty rare that she goes a whole day without reaching for something to mindlessly chew on (one time you offered her your finger and said "if you need to always have something in your mouth... here" and she swatted your hand away and told you off but the blush on her face betrayed her because she does love to have your fingers in her mouth, she cant help it)

loves to kiss you on your hands/knuckles, the chivalrous feel of it, the devotion, its just a go-to move for her and you never ever tire of it or lose those butterflies you felt the first time she did it

her other favorite places to kiss on your body while youre not undressed are your cheeks and your shoulders!

sometimes she worries that youll get bored of spending all your days out there with her so she makes it clear that shed drive you to a friends place and be fine with it if you needed a few a days away (blatant lie, she wouldnt be fine) but you make it clear that youre not interesting in going anywhere, unless its together with her! you love your new routine of having time to yourself in the house or outside until shes done working and you spend the rest of the day together

she might be sober but she’ll gladly make you a nice cocktail or buy you a drink every once in a while because she thinks its very cute when youre tipsy and get even more touchy-feely and affectionate with her than usual

you like to spoil her by giving her hands some love, she uses them so much that she needs to use very moisturizing thick cremes and youll take some of that and massage her hand and and really make sure it seeps into her skin, sometimes shell just lay in bed at night and let you work away at her hands as she almost dozes off from how good it feels <3

nsfw

one might think she has less energy when shes been working hard all day but its actually the opposite, whenever shes breathing heavy and sweating and her blood is rushing from the strain of the heat combined with her physical work, she is so easily turned on by the sight of you, its primal in way, so sometimes when she comes inside all dirty and sweaty and flushed you can tell just from the look she gives you that youre about to be ruined (she will drag you to bed, tear your clothes off and lick and kiss and bite you all over, she gets so into it so fast that all you can do is lay back and make pretty sounds for her as she gets all the pent up energy out of her system, which is a new pleasure for her, the pleasure after-work sex)

shes a very even mix of gentle and aggressive! even though shes much stronger than you, she doesnt get off on the idea of domination, it turns her on way more to think that she is your protector when you when youre having sex, while youre in your most vulnerable state, it turns her on to know that she can hold you in a way that makes you feel weak and eager to sink deeply into that weakness, always gripping you and handling you with a firmness that feels caring and loving no matter how nasty the sex is (she could be in the middle of losing her mind while deep inside you but shed never let that lust and hunger turn her careless or too harsh, you know youll never feel used with her, no matter how hard you fuck, its always tinged with tenderness)

shes strong. very strong….shes been handling animals who weigh much more than the average human for years and when you first started dating you definitely felt a rush when she first grabbed you and you felt the sheer strength of her, it drove you crazyyy to feel how easy it was for her to pull you onto her lap or flip you over or carry you around 😵‍💫

at first, she held back, but when you told her that you trust her and want her to really make you feel how strong she is, she started to get into it during sex, holding you in place or wrapping her arms around you so tight and firm that you mightve just come from that sensation alone... she has stamina that never runs out and prides herself on it, but! when youre giving... its over. doesnt matter how physically strong she is, how firm her muscles are, shes so sensitive to your touch that all of her strength melts away that moment your touch your tongue to her or feel her up or fuck her, shes definitely less composed when youre inside of her than you are when shes in you, she whines and moans so intensely...

shes for sureee big into overstimulation, shes an eager giver when she tops, through and through, so she’ll keep going and going until youre shaking and sweating through the sheets, never in a way that’s punishing, always kissing and caressing you all the way through, whispering sweet things as you come for the fourth or fifth time and eventually tap out, laying on top of her, both of you drenched head to toe but so satisfied, so in love, dozing off until an hour later when you clean up and devour some good food together <3

her sex-drive is prettyyy high but its a consistent thing so she’ more of a "whenever youre down, im down, just tell me" type of person, whereas your bursts of desire are more intense and out of the blue, youre more needy and desperate with it, which works out well because sometimes shell just sit back and wait for you to come onto her, aware that it hardly ever takes long for you to get gripped by a feeling of "i need her now or ill die"

will take risks when it comes to having sex outside, any time, its her property, her land, so she will use it as she sees fit, which includes having you wherever and whenever you two feel like it - it’s rare that youre actually in danger of having someone walk up and see you, but it’s definitely happened once or twice that you lost track of time while messing around in the stables and someone quickly turned back around while coughing loudly to signal to you "wrap it up, people are coming", which always makes her feel kind of smug, the fact that people know damn well how lucky she is, having a girl like you to pull into a stack of hay, savoring the sweet dusty smell of the surroundings mixed with the taste of you while she hikes up your dress or pulls down your shorts and gives you head right there <3

it was a huge fantasy of hers, to have a lover that way, so sometimes you leave the stables with visible prints on your ass and thighs where they hay dug in, picking it off your clothes with her help, shaky legs as you leave her to deal with the people who came to ride their horses, a smile from her when she sees you struggling to walk straight as you go inside to freshen up (or jerk off, to finish what she started, telling her about it afterwards to make her get off to the idea of you in her bed touching yourself while she was outside being all professional..)

she can never ever get enough of seeing you on top of her!!whether it’s you riding her fingers or her strap, grinding down against her thigh, she doesn’t care how, all she wants is to see you lose yourself on her, she’s obsessed... 🫠

also, when shes the one fucking you, you both love using the furniture.. you bent over the kitchen table, one leg propped up on a chair so she has good access, her chest flush against your back, her kissing your neck as she holds you with her arm around your waist and gives to you from the back.. fucking you like that until she turns you back around to have you lay back and relax on the table as she finishes you off, really making use of the steady wooden table when youre squirming and losing it..

early morning sex 💘 she usually wakes up naturally around between 5 and 6 am because as a farmer her days always start pretty early and she loves when you stir and smile at her, still half-asleep and and all cozy and soft, it makes her wanna spoil you, so you often wake up to her gently moving your blanket away, so she can caress you and kiss your body and give you head, nothing too overwhelming, but enough to give you the kind of orgasm that makes you fall right back asleep all satisfied and limp and dazed from the feeling of being half-lucid half-dreaming while she ate you out

youll sleep for two more hours or so while she already gets to work, until you get up and prepare some coffee for her, so she usually takes her first break around 9am and has breakfast with you! you sometimes like to repay her for the way she woke you up by getting on your knees in front of her chair and taste her until she cant take it anymore and gets back up to continue her work, a bit scared she might mishandle a tool with the fresh memory of you looking up at her with a slick chin making her all weak and dizzy..

spit. shes more filthy than she is kinky, give her some intense loving passionate sex with a lot of spit involved and shes over the moon, loves when you spit in her mouth and then kiss her afterwards, when you lick over her chest or neck and leave a glistening trail where your tongue traveled up, when you suck on her fingers to lube them up before she fingers you or jerks you off, when you give her strap sloppy head before taking it all the way in with ease because youre so turned on and it is so wet with your saliva, loves when you let your spit drool onto her cunt before you eat her out 💞

very into sensuality in general, she could spend hours just lazily playing with your pussy and feeling you get wetter and wetter without ever getting bored, she loves to just feel you, having you sit comfortably as she switches between rubbing your clit, your whole outside area, teasing your entrance, and fingering you, shes in love with your cunt and wont ever turn down the chance to just hear you whimper and whine as you relax with your legs spread while she watches your pussy swell and get wet and take her fingers - will coo at you and kiss you wherever she can reach as she tells you how good you feel, will keep it up for as long as you want and you love those moments when you dont feel pressured to orgasm because she loves touching you just for the sake of it, not to get an ego-boost from making you cum (even though she always does, youre too in love with her not to drench her fingers when shes teasing you like that and whispering in your ear)

if you squirt... yeah shes licking it all up and doing exactly what she did before to try and make it happen again, as I said shes filthyyy 😵‍💫 would get so turned on from the sight of you ruining her sheets, would shush you if you apologized and insist that you never ever hold back even if it means she has to do laundry more than usual

her tits are a weak spot, super sensitive </3 her nipples will get hard if the wind blows a little too strong... and before dating you she kinda ignored her chest for the most part but with you she rediscovered the thrill of having her tits sucked while being pleased, sometimes you’ll randomly push her onto the couch and lift up her shirt to kiss her chest just to hear her moan for a few seconds, a little treat for yourself (and her) during the day

vocal. so fucking vocal. she can never ever keep quiet and you only go harder whenever you can tell that shes trying to stifle the sounds, you want them all out in the open, and it usually takes very little time for her to lose her composure which she gets embarrassed by for sure, once the orgasm subsides shes like oh... great. I sounded like ive never had sex in my life. yet again. perfect. but you loveee it, its so hot to you that this woman who is usually perceived as tough and strong and reserved is such a mess in bed

shes spent many years with her beloved truck and for the longest time she had fantasies about fucking in there, which came true once you started dating <3 you love straddling her in her seat when youre parked somewhere secluded, or when you come home from a late night drive, youve definitely fucked in the backseat a few times when she drove you out to a lake or a nice spot where nobody else was around, you both get a thrill out of it, the leather seats, the semi-public feel of it all, the risk factor, the way the car kinda smells like sex when you drive home afterwards (you also love to gawk at her when shes fixing the truck, makes her take her sweet time with it)

loves pillow talk and savoring the post-sex glow, its something she never rushes or skips, shes will move you onto her chest and caress your back or let you lay where you are and kiss your body, eventually resting her head on your stomach so you can stroke her hair, or youll just wrap your arms around each other and stay like that for a while

that post on here thats like "dont shave your bush I will kill myself" thats something she might actually say bc she is for sure soo into bush its one of the most erotic things to her, everything about it, she loves when it tickles her nose, loves the soft feel of it when she puts her hands in your underwear to jerk you off, loves the look of it when you get dressed and your underwear is see-through enough for your bush to peek through, hottt as hell to her

if youre the type to wear lingerie, she’d be very into it, never takes it for granted - one of the hottest things ever to her is when her girl wears clothes that are not what you’d consider fancy or special while wearing the most beautiful, delicate underwear, the contrast kills her every time, the sight of a nice lacy bra peeking out of a tank top that you stole from her... phewww shes on her knees. immediately. same thing with panties, she always interrupts you when youre getting dressed to admire you when youre wearing nothing but a pair of lacy underwear, also loves when you wear regular comfortable cotton underwear, the sight of it wedged between your cheeks somehow makes her wanna take a chunk out of your ass every time.. also loves you in her boxers. everything really, shes a lover of whatever you have going on beneath your clothes <3

face sitting. being the giver in a submissive way is so deeply satisfying for her, so shell often just ask you to ride her face, you might be lying in bed in the afternoon just relaxing kissing a little and shell straight up ask if you want to use her face for a bit, shell happily lay back and use her strength to hold you up by your waist when you get tired and cant really brace yourself against the wall/headboard that well anymore, shell take it all without ever complaining, doesnt matter if you suffocate her, drench her whole face, kinda fuck up her neck, she doesnt care, shell be too drunk on the feel and taste and sight of having you on her like that, staring up at you with glazed over eyes, maybe using one hand to jerk herself off because shes too turned on and cant take it..

maybe one time she was feeling wild and told you to do it while you were wearing a dress outside, her just laying down on the lawn and telling you do it right there bc you could climb off her fast if someone did happen to come around the corner - again, she might be private and reserved but being caught isnt really an issue for her, shed just be like "and what. I will have my girl the way I want when I want, deal with it."

didnt use any toys on her own but can definitely get down with them when its with you! I think she might be too shy to suggest this but she’d absolutely lose her mind if she saw you riding a toy to get off, like you straddling it on her bed to give her the chance to see you from whatever angle she wants, unlike when youre riding her and she cant see you from far away etc. - I also think shes the type of lover who wants to know/see how you masturbate, or how you did it before you met her, its such a private thing and I think she loves the idea of being trusted with that information <3

rediscovered her love of receiving/bottoming with you - with hookups she usually only let them do things that didnt feel too vulnerable, i dont think she let any of them see her in positions that made her feel too exposed, but with you she feels safe enough to admit that she does like being on her hands and knees, that she likes to be finger-fucked until shes near tears, that she sometimes likes to just have her face in the pillows as you eat her out or touch her from the back, its not something that happens too often bc it does require a lot of trust on her part, but when shes really horny and youre being sweet and kissing her all over to get her worked up shell sometimes cave and beg you to just do whatever you want and get rough with her

especially with a younger partner shes turned on by the idea that someone who has less experience can ruin her like that, its a nice secret to have because she knows a lot of people would look at a lesbian who looks like her and assume that shes a top, but shes a switch through and through, would never give up one or the other

she wears a thin gold chain that she hardly ever takes off, so sometimes when youre fucking it dangles over your face, or you pull her in for a kiss by gently tugging at it <3

one time you found a playboy from her exact birth year and month at the antique book/magazine store and brought it home for her, which was more of a silly present but she did find it sweet/hot and left it on the coffee table as decor (you made her flip through it with you and teased her by pointing out which models you assumed she found the hottest, which she shut down by saying "well I would do the same to you right now but theyre all like what.. twenty years too young for you?", so you doubled-down and said "oh dont flatter yourself, I like women my age too", so she did briefly have a fantasy of you getting with a girl your own age as she watches you two, which struck a nerve, but she kept that to herself, at least for the time being..)

youre obsessed with her physique because she has the distinct shape of someone who earned their muscles through hard work, who didnt try to grow them out of a need to become as big as possible but who genuinely needs to be strong to do their daily tasks, so her muscles are not cartoonish or over the top, she just has a firmness to her stomach and thighs and back thats hottt as hell to you, her abs are subtle but theyre there, and your absolute weak spot: her V-line. when shes wearing a shirt thats too short to cover up the spot right above her pants and you can see those lines that lead down into her underwear.. it’s over. youre staring shamelessly, and she pretends she doesnt notice but she loveees it, shell lay back and stretch out her legs and count you gawking at the sight of her exposed stomach 😵‍💫

sometimes when shes tired she’ll just lay flat on her back on the bed, arms and legs spread out and let you crawl all over her, feel her up, do whatever the fuck you want, shes happy to just lay there and take it all, so you usually spoil her and kiss and touch her all over before getting to anything more intense, straddling her, playing with her hair, teasing her, kissing her neck, massaging her, biting her, you know she loves being trapped and helpless while shes exhausted and eager to be showered in affection <3

the first time you were with her when she said "good girl" to her horse you grinned and asked "who, me or her?", so she shot you a smug look and said "what are you doing right now thats praise worthy, hm?" but she definitely took note of it and brought it up later on in bed, which did make her say it less to her horse from that point on (oops..)

one time during your first weeks of dating you couldnt ride your designated horse because you were too sore from the night before and the friction hurt too badly.. she felt a little guilty so she kissed it better after she couldnt help but laugh when you climbed off and said "yeah not today, no fucking way" while pointing between your legs

loves having her hair pulled, sometimes she puts her hair up in a ponytail during sex just so you can easily tug on it to bend her neck and kiss her skin there <3

if you 69 she is always the one whose face is getting smothered, always, she wouldn’t like it if it was the other way around, but every once in a while when youre both in heat and desperate to fuck the other person, she’ll eat you out while you’re trying to hold your hips up over her mouth while you’re jerking her off/struggling to taste her bc of your moaning </3, you both love orgasming at the same time, being together in that state of helplessness, it’s something you crave

if you lost your virginity to her, I think shed offer for you to do something to her that nobody has ever done before to make it kind of even that way, its mostly her way of adding to the sentiment of "I want us to be equals" because she never wants you to feel like shes eager to overpower you or see you as a girl she gets to "corrupt", maybe you laid in bed once and she told you this and she took a moment too long to try and think of something that no lover has ever done to her so you jokingly said "whore." - but youre creative, so you definitely found things that you would be her "first" for

if youre feeling freaky hear me out.. maybe youre the first to ever put your whole hand inside of her. would take a good amount of patience and lubrication but I can see her getting off on it sooo intensely once you manage to slip all of your fingers inside of her... you staring in awe and telling her how hot it feels, and slowly, very slowly, moving your hand a bit.. I think being so full of her lover would ruin her so hard. and she’d be turned on from knowing that none of her longtime girlfriends ever got to do it to her. anway.

her sexual preferences always depends on yours in the sense that she wants to know what you need and then give it to you, if you just want your brains fucked out she’ll gladly give in, if you want to pleasure her without being touched in return shes down as well, if you want both shes never gonna deny you, which means! that when she does allow herself to take charge every now and then by manhandling you and telling you "come here" or "lay back" it ruins you because youre not used to it, she looves the look you get when she decides to be a bit rough for once

to put it plainly: your pleasure is her pleasure, always!

thats all for now! feel free to let your own imagination fill in the rest 💌

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

This is just a little embarrassing but I LOVE your final and how you write bill and 👉👈 would you ever do chunky epilogue Bill x a dorky also chunky fem reader totally chilld if you don't I'm just (´TωT`)

(Its a continuation from the first chubby reader x bill dickey I did)

Title: “You're Mine. Don’t Forget It.”

Chubby Nerdy Reader x Epilogue Bill Dickey | Birthday Scene | Denial, Horny Bill, Self-Loathing, Soft Dom Vibes

The room was dim, the buzz of the con barely fading from your ears. Bill was sulking next to you on the couch, arms crossed, fidgeting with the hem of his shitty T-shirt like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. The soft flicker of birthday candles danced on your cake, but Bill was absolutely not acting like he was even aware of the gesture.

“Happy birthday,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm, but you knew he meant it. You could hear it in the way he wasn’t quite meeting your eyes, despite trying to act like he couldn’t care less.

You grinned, pushing the cake closer to him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to get me anything. I was expecting a half-assed insult.”

Bill snorted, eyes trailing down your outfit — a snug black dress you’d grabbed because you thought it was cute and made your curves pop. Your thighs looked thicker in it, and your chest? God, it was all you’d hoped for. But Bill? He was acting like he was still too cool for school, despite the noticeable bulge pressing against his jeans.

“Yeah, well, figured I’d give you somethin' nice for once. Even if it makes me look like a sap.” He gave a rough chuckle, though his eyes didn’t look like they were laughing. They were soft in that way that always made you wonder if he was thinking of something else.

“You’re so full of shit,” you said with a smirk, tilting your head. “You’re definitely hard right now.”

He froze, posture stiffening. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You didn’t let him off the hook. “C’mon. Your pants don’t lie. You act like you can’t stand my fat ass, but you sure seem to love it when I wear tight dresses.”

Bill shot you a glare, but you could see it — the way his chest was rising a little quicker, the way his eyes flickered to your legs and back up to your tits. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Cut the crap. I ain’t attracted to you like that,” he grumbled, trying to sound convincing, but it only made you chuckle under your breath.

“Really?” you asked sweetly, pressing your hands against your hips. “Then why the hell were you so eager to fuck me in that parking lot two years ago? I didn’t even ask.”

Bill went dead still, face twisting in a mixture of denial and anger. His lips parted as if he were about to snap, but the words never came. Instead, he just growled, “That was different.”

“Yeah, because you were so desperate for my fat ass you couldn’t even wait to take my virginity on the hood of your car. Real classy, Bill,” you teased, poking the edge of his pride just enough.

He glared at you like you were the one to blame for everything—his growing frustration, the heat building in his pants, the weird knot in his chest that felt a little too much like longing. He hated it. Hated how you could always make him feel like this.

“You think you got me all figured out, huh?” Bill spat, leaning forward and gripping your chin a little harder than necessary, eyes cold and calculating. “You really think I give a shit about you in a tight dress?”

“Oh, I know you do,” you replied smugly, running a finger over his hand on your chin. “You’ve been pretending like you’re not into me the whole damn time. You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel how hard you get when I move in close? You think I don’t hear you when you groan at the sight of me in my clothes?”

He tensed, mouth tightening, jaw clenching. “Shut the hell up.”

But you knew. You could see it, even if he tried to deny it. The truth was right there, hiding in plain sight.

Bill couldn��t stop himself. He was angry — angry that you knew exactly how to push his buttons, angry that you saw him for what he was: a messy, broken man who had no idea how to be loved, but couldn’t stop wanting you like a damn animal.

“Fine,” he bit out, eyes dark with a twisted, possessive glint. “You wanna talk about that night? You want me to admit it?”

You leaned back, arms folded, waiting for him to crack. He was too proud to admit it, but you knew it was coming.

Bill leaned forward, gripping your chin harder, forcing your gaze to meet his. His voice dropped low, thick with an anger that wasn’t quite anger. “I wanted to fuck you because I wanted you. I’m into you, alright? I like you with that fat ass. I like every damn inch of you, and I don't give a shit who knows it anymore.”

You smirked, pressing closer, feeling his cock twitch under your fingers when you reached up to grab the back of his neck. “Good. About time you admitted it.”

But Bill wasn’t done yet. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Now, you’re gonna remember who the fuck you're with.”

You gasped when he tugged your dress down just enough to expose the curve of your chest. He was still grumbling, even though he was clearly hard under his jeans, fingers now brushing the soft skin of your thigh.

“You’re mine, got it?”

You didn’t respond with words. You just kissed him — hard, desperate, hungry. Bill’s hands immediately slid down your body, gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away if he loosened his hold.

He pulled back with a messy, frustrated groan. “You’re so fucking distracting, y'know that?”

“Is that a bad thing?” you purred, already undoing his jeans.

Bill’s eyes flickered to yours — a flash of something like regret, but that faded quickly into the familiar anger. The anger he used to cover the way you made him feel.

“No,” he said, breath shaky now. “But you’re still gonna regret saying shit like that.”

“Then make me,” you whispered.

Bill’s anger burns bright, but it’s an anger that’s tinged with something darker, something desperate. He’s controlling the moment now, but you can see it in his eyes — he’s barely hanging on. His usual defensive walls are crumbling, and you know exactly how to tear them down.

He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from the waistband of his jeans. The sudden force makes your heart skip a beat, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you hold his gaze, steady and defiant.

“You want this, don’t you?” you challenge, a grin playing on your lips.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his hands move aggressively, shoving your chest down onto the couch cushions, his body hovering over yours, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bill growls, his voice a low rasp, but there’s a certain rawness in it that he can’t mask. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulls you flush against him, grinding his hardness against you, showing you exactly how much he’s been denying.

You moan, unable to hold back the sound as your body responds to his touch — to his heat, his dominance. It’s intoxicating, the way he’s taking control, the way he’s reminding you that he’s the one in charge.

“You think you know me, huh?” Bill spits, his grip tightening around your neck as he leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “You think you can just walk in here and control me?”

He’s panting now, and you know he’s fighting every instinct that’s telling him to stop — but there’s no stopping him now. Bill’s cock is hard, pressed firmly against you, and you can feel the way his body shakes with the effort of holding back.

You smirk, turning your head to whisper in his ear, “You like the way I look, Bill. Don’t lie.”

The words hit him like a slap. You see the way his eyes flash with anger, but there’s something else there too. Something vulnerable, something he’s never been able to admit.

“Fuck you,” he snarls, but it’s weak, desperate. He’s struggling to keep up the bravado, but you can see how much you’ve broken him down.

Bill’s hands shift to your shoulders, shoving you further back into the cushions, as he climbs on top of you. His knee pushes between your legs, forcing them apart, and you’re completely exposed now. Completely at his mercy.

“You think you’re in charge here?” Bill taunts, his voice dark with lust. “You think you can control me? You’re the one who’s gonna end up begging for it, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he thrusts against you, hard and unforgiving, making sure you feel exactly how much he’s been holding back. He’s not gentle, not soft. This is Bill Dickey — angry, frustrated, and finally breaking down all the walls he’s spent years building around himself.

“You don’t get to tell me what I am,” he growls, his voice thick with desire. “I’m not the nice guy, sweetheart. I’m not your fucking prince charming. You’re gonna take it — take me — and you’re gonna love it.”

You push your hips up, grinding against him, making him groan, but you can tell he’s still holding back, still fighting it. He hates the way he’s reacting to you, but he can’t deny it anymore.

His hands move to your dress, ripping it down, exposing your bare chest to him. His eyes darken even further as he glares at your body, and you know he’s fighting every instinct he has not to touch you, not to worship you in the way you both know he wants to.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice strained. “You think I’m some kind of weakling? You think I’m just gonna fall for you like a fucking simp?”

You reach up, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss you roughly. You don’t let him deny it anymore. You don’t let him get away with pretending.

He whimpers in the kiss, lips trembling as he’s forced to confront everything he’s been avoiding. He wants you — and he’s so fucking tired of pretending he doesn’t.

You break the kiss, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, and you whisper, “Admit it, Bill. You want this. You’ve always wanted me, you’re just too fucking scared to admit it.”

Bill freezes. You can see the internal battle raging inside of him — the shame, the anger, the desire, the need.

He pulls back slightly, his hand hovering over your neck as if he’s about to choke the life out of you. But instead, his grip softens, and his thumb brushes over the delicate skin, as if he’s almost too afraid to touch you the way he wants to.

“Fine,” Bill snarls, his voice a mixture of rage and desperation. “You want me to admit it? I’ll admit it. I’m into you. I like the way you look. I want you. Happy now?”

You smile. This was the Bill you knew — the broken one, the messed-up one, the one who wanted more but couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Good,” you whisper, your hands gripping his hips and pulling him down closer to you. “Now fuck me like you mean it.”

Bill’s expression shifts — no longer angry, but desperate. He’s so close to losing it, and it’s all because of you.

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands on your body, forcing your legs further apart, his cock pressing against you as he slams into you, hard, desperate.

The moans that escape his mouth are guttural, raw — not from pleasure, but from desperation. He doesn’t know how to handle the overwhelming need, the overwhelming emotion coursing through him.

His thrusts are messy, wild, like he’s trying to put you in your place, trying to prove something to you — and himself.

But you don’t need him to prove anything. You’ve always known. Bill Dickey needed this. He needed someone to take charge, to demand it — and he needed you.

He’s a mess — whimpering, moaning, completely at your mercy — and for the first time, Bill isn’t in control. And you love it. You love seeing him unravel, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but raw desire.

He’s not just yours. He knows it now.

---

[iggyshippingcorner]

alright... a bit of medical malpractice stobotnik as a treat <3

the intro formatting on this is going to serve as a teaser for the rest of the long fic :3

tags for this include: medical procedures, questionable medical procedures, surgery, in house surgical procedures, medical inaccuracies, a lot of hand-waving, unwise medical practices, ivo "i have a medical doctorate i didn't plan on using" robotnik, hurt stone, stone's unconscious for this entire thing actually, mild gore, medical gore

< disclaimer: i am not a medical professional. i am an over-caffeinated fic writer with access to the world wide web and a very VERY minor background in medical terminology. medical inaccuracies abound, because i sourced all my info from the internet. >

RIBCAGE, CHEST, BACK (v1.05 - 2018.08.21 - NEW EGGLABS, SEATTLE, USA)

If Robotnik never has to use his medical doctorate again, he’ll die a happy man. His eyes burn, his arms ache, and his hateful childhood habit of grinding his teeth has resurfaced despite decades of suppression. AL02B hovers near his left shoulder, providing a helpful steady light. The other girls whizz about behind him, collecting equipment and fetching materials and carting off the corpses littered about the main lab floor. It stinks of gunpowder and blood. The mask he wears doesn’t stifle the smell as much as he’d like it to-- he adds it to his mental to-do list.

His fingers spasm slightly, and he grunts in frustration, teeth creaking as he clenches his jaw. Careful, careful, he adjusts his angle as much as he can, mindful of the clamps and the detractor, until the pressure on his wrist alleviates. The EKG beeps in time with every flex of his left hand, carefully carefully pressing Stone’s heart downwards against the firm ridge of his vertebrae. His molars grind together in a steady slide, keeping rhythm with the rocking motion of his wrist. 

“You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth,” he tells Stone, who doesn’t respond. He blinks hard, breathing in and out slowly. Of course he doesn’t respond-- Robotnik’s got his fucking heart in his hand. (Breathe in, breathe out.) The latex of his glove squeaks as he squeezes the ventilator with his other hand, keeping careful time. For as dire as it started-- Stone bleeding freely into his thoracic cavity for several minutes until Robotnik could finally open him up-- things have plateaued into this awful waiting game. If only the doctor (and what exactly does he think he’s doing, calling himself a doctor? Can’t even keep his hands steady-) could do more than just hope he’s buying Stone enough time to stabilise on his own. 

AL02B beeps. Robotnik doesn’t glance at her but he does tip his head towards her, gaze fixed on the steady artificial pulse of Stone’s heart in his palm and the manual flex of his lungs as he works the ventilator. Keep the blood and oxygen flowing to his brain and other important organs until his body decides to pick up the slack once more. His eyes burn, and he wants to wipe at them but if he takes them off Stone--. 

AL02B whistles sharply then, cutting through his thoughts, and he sighs. “Mommy’s a little busy, darling.”

She trills all high and urgent, and he finally tears his gaze away from the glistening, terrible meat that houses the one human life he’s allowed himself to truly care for, in order to see what’s gotten her in a tizzy. ALPHA pointedly shifts her light from Stone’s open ribcage to his pallid face, and-- 

His eyes are fluttering. 

Robotnik freezes, hands going lax, and--

The EKG machine crammed onto the work bench beside the gurney continues beeping. Stone’s heart flexes stubbornly against his palm, and his lungs take a breath of their own volition, the ventilator sagging against his chin as Robotnik’s brain reboots itself. AL02B nudges his shoulder. Forcing himself to move feels like wading through quicksand, but he carefully extracts his hand and pulls the ventilator away as Stone takes another breath, and then another. There’s a chirping at his elbow, and when he turns to look, it’s C14N001, extending a coil of cannula tubing towards him with her single metal arm. Her flickering lens whirrs as she glances between Stone, breathing on his own once more, and himself, gloved hands drenched and trembling. 

He takes the tubing. She bobs in place for a moment before moving to hover over Stone’s legs, scanning him. The space she once occupied is summarily filled by W475.N3 and W475.L11, carefully toting an oxygen tank between the two of them. They bump against his legs once they deposit their cargo, and disappear into the depths of the lab once more, likely joining the last of the clean-up efforts. 

Robotnik takes a deep breath. The rest of the procedure unfolds in his mind’s eye. Hook Stone up to oxygen and monitor his levels carefully while he attempts to close and reinforce his sternum. Send one of the girls out to “acquire” antibiotics, because he’ll be damned if Stone contracts something horrific after all the effort Robotnik just went through to save his sorry ass. Stitch up the incisions. Check that the gunshot wounds hadn’t re-opened in the chaos. Set up a blood transfusion. Scrub down. Watch his vitals. Assess the footage to see how exactly the rats entered his domain. 

The gloves come off first, latex squeaking and stretching as he methodically removes them and places them in the biohazard bin one of the girls helpfully fetched from the janitorial closet. A new pair snaps back on in a matter of muscle memory while Robotnik solidifies his plan of attack. 

Much later, when he finally gets a break and collapses into his chair beside Stone’s gurney, free of his scrubs and the latex gloves, Robotnik creates a new high-priority project to place at the forefront of his workload. A pair of medically-focused drones-- maybe three, or a whole fleet? It should be a cakewalk, given the complex works of art he’s already created. The prototyping period might take a bit longer than the weaponry drones, if only because they’re in the exact opposite field he’s been paid to work in for years now, but sheer determination will make up for any unfamiliarity. 

He’ll do anything to avoid holding Stone’s life in his hands like this again. He’d thrilled over it, once, before they’d begun their little… arrangement. The power trip of holding his very existence in his hands— placed there so willing and trusting by a man who could break every bone in his body— was headier than any drug Robotnik had ever fooled around with. But, now, to know that every tremble of his hands and every panic-driven moment of hesitation could jeopardise Stone’s survival? He simply cannot avoid the facts any longer: he is not as impartial as he once was. There is undeniable proof now, pressed into the atria of Stone’s heart and every layer of dermis and intercostal muscle and bone separating the very meat of him from the vile mortal world. Proof that Dr. Ivo Robotnik is not the unbiased, inhuman observer he once was.

He should rest. His arms still ache. His head pounds with the looming threat of a migraine. Instead of retreating to his quarters or curling up on the secondary gurney, Robotnik tugs his control gloves on and drags a holo-screen over to his careful perch beside Stone. The thick fabric and metal sensor caps hide the traitorous shake in his fingers just enough for him to pretend like it isn’t happening. He opens his self-built schematics program, ignoring his work flow playlists in favour of keeping one ear trained on the steady beeping of the monitors tracking his agent’s vitals. 

If he doesn’t sleep until Stone finally rouses for the briefest of moments, early the next morning, well. That’s between him and the girls (and Stone’s unconscious body).