#this is going in the tag i put too much thought into it

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part four]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Tags: 18+ content minors dni, nudity, female masturbation, fem reader, panic attacks, bucky is touch starved, mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, safe word/motion use, bucky barnes needs a hug, angst, bickering, major arguments, sparring, training, mentions of alcohol, reader is lowkey depressed, trauma, mentions of past violence and death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10k

A/N: it's ready early! thank you everyone for the support. um i'll keep it brief but this is a pretty rough, angsty one. please trust and bear with me. it will get better. thank you for putting up with my silly ideas. also a big thank you to @soelstress and @buckybarnesfic for reading this over for me and giving feedback while i was pulling my hair out a bit! as always, sorry for any typos!

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In the split second it took for you to twist around, an arm half-heartedly lifting to cover your chest, Steve’s complexion had lurched from deathly white to a deep, mortified crimson. One hand clamped desperately over his eyes, as if that could undo what he'd already seen. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, floundering for something to say, before he choked out a strangled “Sorry!” and spun around so violently he almost took the doorframe with him.

The silence that followed was somehow worse. Beneath your hands, Bucky turned to stone, all his warmth leeched away, as if he'd been sculpted into a gargoyle mid-breath. You remained straddling his lap, dress tangled around your waist, nipples peaked against the air. 

“Well,” You muttered dryly, glancing down at him. “That’ll give him something to think about during his little jogs around the compound.”

Bucky didn’t laugh. 

His eyes were wide, glassy. He jerked his head towards the door, then back to you, panic flickering across his features. “How much did he—What do I—”

His hands left you completely, raking his hands down his face, as if he could claw the moment out of existence. You caught it then, the way his shoulders started to shake, breath stuttering in his chest, fingers balling into a fist as he pressed his knuckles against his forehead. You reached for him gently, two fingers grazing his wrist, the start of a soft coaxing, just enough to try and ease his hands away from his face. But he caught your wrist mid-motion.

You went still, dread curling behind your ribs.

His grip was trembling, the cool metal of his vibranium fingers tightening around your skin. Wordlessly, he motioned, three firm squeezes in quick succession.

Stop. 

You were already sliding off his lap, kneeling in the tangle of half-kicked sheets and discarded pillows next to him in a futile attempt to give him more space, but it was already too late.

“Bucky?” You breathed, and he visibly flinched. You were unsure where the panic had pulled him, nor what thoughts drowned him, but you knew you couldn’t let him stay lost. “Bucky, talk to me.”

“I can’t, I can’t—” He gasped, voice thin like every breath was a fight. 

“Bucky.” You interrupted him firmly. “I need you to breathe.”

The super soldier ignored your instructions, crumpling in on himself as you hovered, unsure if touching him would make it better or worse. His breaths were coming fast, too fast. You could hear how each intake rattled in his chest, lungs not fully expanding as his body was quickly switching into a fight-or-flight mode. 

“He’s going to be upset.” Bucky managed to choke out, his voice breaking.

“Why would he be upset?” You pushed, keeping your voice steady and calm. “He’s your friend.”

“I don’t know, I just…” His voice was rising, near frantic. He was tugging at his hair now, stuck in a panicked spiral of his own making. 

“You’re panicking. You’ve had a shock,” you said quickly. “That’s all it is. Just breathe, okay? In and out, like we always do. We’ve done this before, remember?”

His chest heaved, a desperate sound clawing up his throat.

"I can't... I—”

"Just breathe," you repeated quickly. You needed to make yourself small, unthreatening. You dropped off the side of the bed, kneeling on the floor in front of him. "Bucky, look at me."

His eyes were wild. You reached out, gently, just brushing his kneecaps with your fingertips. "Let's rationalise this for a second, okay? You’re safe. Nothing bad happened."

He shook his head in short, jerky movements, like he couldn't even hear you over the roaring panic inside his skull.

"He's gonna hate me," he gasped, chest spasming. "I—fuck—he's gonna be disgusted—"

"Hey, hey, stop," you said firmly, voice low and steady, even as your heart hammered in your own chest. You pressed your palm lightly against his thigh. "Steve is not disgusted. Embarrassed? Sure. Mortified? Definitely. But not at you, Bucky."

"I—he—" He couldn’t even get the words out anymore. His hands tore away from his hair to clutch at the sheets twisted around him. 

You frowned, your mind racing as you tried to decide your next move. The shift had happened so fast. Alarm prickled at the back of your neck. You needed him to come back to you, to breathe, to move, to thaw out before he became solid ice.

You leaned closer, gently but firmly capturing his wrists in your hands. Your fingers curled around the tense line of his forearms. His skin was clammy under your touch, his pulse erratic just beneath the surface. You drew his arms down, guiding them from where they hovered and settling them across his lap. 

"You’re not in trouble," you repeated, slowly and carefully. "Nothing bad is happening. Steve just walked in at the wrong time. That’s all."

He made a broken sound in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. His vibranium hand was twitching uncontrollably against your grip.

"You’re okay," you whispered. "Look around. We're still here. No one's yelling. No one's mad."

He shook his head again, tiny tremors wracking his whole body.

"You're not back there," you added quietly, knowing exactly where his mind wanted to go. "You're Bucky Barnes. You’re safe. You’re home."

The words seemed to reach some small part of him. His breathing was still ragged, but he cracked his eyes open, glassy and rimmed red.

"There he is," you murmured, giving his wrists a soft squeeze. "Hi. Still with me?"

He nodded shakily.

"Good," you praised, shifting your grip to run a hand slowly up his arm, grounding him. "Breathe with me, Buck. In through your nose... hold it... out through your mouth. Easy. Like we always do."

You exaggerated the breath yourself, making it big and obvious, hoping he'd mimic you. You tried not to let your mind flicker to how ridiculous the situation was, you half-naked, the remnants of arousal now a cold, wet patch in your underwear as you guided a super soldier through his panic attack. Was he in over his head? Were you in over your head? He had used the safe motion. Had you pushed him too far this time—? 

No. No, you had to remind yourself. It was all fine, all controlled and okay until Steve walked in. He was the unpredictable element. Each time you and Bucky had lessons, he was handing you a piece of himself, handing you all of his trust. He was vulnerable in these moments, entirely raw and exposed. And you hadn’t even taken a second to ensure the damn door was locked, too caught up in the moment, the thrill. Why had you done that? Why were you allowing yourself to be so easily swept away?

It took a few tries, several messy, half-choked inhalations, but finally, finally, he caught the rhythm. You sat there with him, counting out soft beats under your breath, refusing to let your thoughts drag you under.

When the worst of the tremors had faded, you eased back just a little. Bucky shook his head slightly, another ragged breath escaping him, but this time there was something like life in it. His hands were still shaking, but he wasn’t clawing at himself anymore.

"You're okay," you soothed. "We’re okay."

"I’m sorry," he croaked.

"You don’t have anything to be sorry for," you replied simply. "It’s not your fault. Steve should’ve knocked. If anything, I should be charging him rent for getting a free show."

That dragged a real, if frail, smile out of him.

You grinned back, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead gently.

“Listen to me,” you leaned in closer. “Let me talk to him. I’ll get Steve to come back. We’ll clear it up, face it head-on. It’s only going to make it worse if we pretend it didn’t happen.”

His blue eyes met yours, unsure. The colour looked almost unnatural, too bright against the bloodshot whites. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Bucky,” you replied, voice firm with conviction. “You think I’d ever do something to hurt you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t speak, but you saw the tiny shift, his fists uncoiling, his breathing slowing, no longer tearing through him like it might rip him apart. You stood, tugging your crumpled dress back up to cover your chest again, hooking the thin straps over your shoulders.

Bucky stared down at his hands, gears in his vibranium arm whirring slightly, still sat among the dishevelled sheets. You knew he was overthinking, already surrendering to worry in those brief seconds. Against your better judgment, you reached out, cradling his head in your palm as you forced him to look up at you, shell-shocked and miserable. 

“I’ll be back," you promised. He blinked up at you, throat bobbing with a hard swallow, and you had to trust he believed you. You pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple, fingers dragging across his jaw as you pulled away. You could’ve sworn he tilted his head to follow you, chasing your touch as you marched towards the door. “And hey, atleast next time we’ll remember to lock the fucking door.”

You weren't sure if he replied or if he even heard you. Some part of you, the jaded, self-destructive thing that had learned it was safer to be alone, whispered that maybe there wouldn’t be a next time. And that perhaps it was for the better. You’d survived so far, tearing down anyone who got too close, keeping parts of you locked away in solitude for your protection…You crushed that thought before it could bloom any further and slipped barefoot into the hallway. Steve hadn’t made it far, and you caught him halfway to the elevators. 

"Steve! Steve, can we just talk?"

He didn't even turn around, just threw a hand up over his shoulder. "I don't think I want to know what I just walked in on—"

"Listen," you snapped, stepping sharply into his path before he could retreat any further down the hallway. He tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored him without hesitation, cutting him off cleanly. He shifted again, impatient, but you were faster, darting to block him completely. You planted yourself firmly in front of him and crossed your arms, chin lifted in a challenge. You were sure you looked a right state, hair messy, lips swollen, and the remnants of your makeup smudged. "He’s freaking out in there, okay? He thinks you’re mad at him. Please just come back and reassure him it’s fine—"

“Is it fine?” Steve cut in, slicing clean through your rambling. The edge in his voice made you falter, your brows knitting together in confusion. 

Was he… angry? 

Steve Rogers was ever the serious figure in the compound, tightly wound, controlled, the kind of man who dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’. But you’d never heard his voice drop in such a way before—low and tight, his jaw clenched and his posture stiff, as if he was stewing on something unspoken. 

“What?” You managed to stumble out.

Steve looked you up and down, unimpressed. His arms crossed over his own chest in a mirror of you, biceps bulging against the fabric of his sleeves. “What you’re doing. Is it really fine?”

You hesitated, thrown completely off-balance. This wasn’t anywhere on the radar of reactions you’d prepared for. You’d expected embarrassment, maybe a flustered apology, half-hearted but well-meaning. Perhaps even a flash of happiness, pride that Bucky was finally confident enough, safe enough, to take a step forward in his life. You’d braced for fist bumps, for some awkward bro code moment, whatever the hell men did. What you hadn’t prepared for—what hadn’t even occurred to you while you were coaxing Bucky through his panic—was that Steve’s anger wasn’t aimed at Bucky. It was aimed squarely at you.

Steve watched you expectantly, and all that tumbled out of your mouth was a bewildered, “I don’t understand?”

“Listen, I don’t think there is a polite way to put this…” Steve said, voice low, tight with restraint. His weight shifted forward like he was gearing up for a fight he didn’t want but felt he had to have. You braced yourself instinctively, steeling yourself with a deadly calm, ready for an outburst, accusation, or insult. But to your surprise, when he spoke again, it wasn’t anger that flooded out. 

It was fear. 

Fear that you had no problem deducing came from a desire to protect Bucky, not just from H.Y.D.R.A., any other foe or the world as a whole, but to protect him from you. 

“He’s vulnerable. If this goes south, it could break him.”

“You don’t think I know that?” you shot back, sharper than you intended.

Steve’s eyes flickered with surprise, but from the way he was gritting his teeth, it didn’t take a genius to tell he disapproved. He took a slow breath, like he was trying to hold back everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Just—” His voice cracked slightly. He ran a hand down his face, visibly struggling. “I need you to understand. Ever since we got him back, I see pieces of him. Fragments of the man I used to know.” 

He paused as he motioned vaguely into the air, as if he was trying to stop the floodgate of words spilling from his lips.

“And it kills me, it kills me every day, knowing we’ll never get all of him back. That parts of my best friend are just… lost forever. I don't know what H.Y.D.R.A. took from him—hell, maybe none of us ever will—but what I do know is that he’s hanging on by threads. Whatever you’re doing with him is a bad idea.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to desperation. “It won’t just hurt him. It'll undo him. And I can't…I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you play with his emotions like that. I don’t want you damaging him any further than he already is—-”

Any sympathy you felt for Steve quickly drained as you felt heat rising up your neck, and before you could stop yourself, you snarled, “I’m not damaging him—”

You knew this look. 

The thinly veiled judgment behind it. 

It had followed you like a shadow from the moment you were freed from Dreykov’s clutches. You weren’t oblivious to the way people glanced at you when they thought you weren’t looking, the way prejudice soured even their best intentions. You were not naïve. You were not feeble enough to stand there and be quietly condemned.

“Are you sure?” Steve cut back, ignorant of the frustration now festering in your gut. “He’s not ready for whatever you’re pushing onto him—”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you struggled to hold onto your temper, but it was slipping through your fingers fast. You could see it in the stubborn line of his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes.

“I’m not pushing anything onto him!”

You took a hard step forward. The movement made Steve tense, like he half-expected you to swing at him, but you didn’t. You just stood your ground, daring him to keep going, daring him to say something worse.

“I think this attitude is part of the problem, Rogers," you bit out. "How is he supposed to overcome anything, experience anything if you baby him? If you cut him off before he has the chance to grow? I’m not hurting him, I’m just helping him.”

Steve opened his mouth like he had a retort ready, but whatever words he had dried up halfway to his tongue. His hands, balled into fists at his sides, finally sagged open in helplessness. His whole stance wilted slightly, shoulders bowing under the weight of doubt.

“I don’t know...” he muttered, the words dragged from him reluctantly, like they tasted sour in his mouth.

You didn’t give him a chance to wallow. The anger was already riding too hot in your blood, crackling in your chest.

“He consents. Every time. I check with him every time.” You hissed. “Because I know how important that is to him, because it’s important to me too, but that’s a topic none of you will ever address, is it?”

Steve stared at you, breathing heavily through his nose, his chest rising and falling like a man trying desperately to hold onto his last thread of composure as you continued your rant. “We never go past his comfort zone. I never pressure him. I never trick him. I respect him. Why would you even think that?”

His mouth contorted into a scowl before he finally answered, “because I don’t know you.”

You recoiled a fraction, brow lifting in disbelief. You could’ve sworn there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, like he was watching something familiar but hadn’t quite put the pieces together yet. You stared back at him, heat flushing your face, and when you finally found your voice, it came out quieter, but no less biting.

“No, you don’t,” you spat, the words ripping from your throat. “I know I never put the effort in, but you can’t say you ever tried either.”

The hallway fell into a suffocating silence. The kind that rang in your ears. The kind where neither of you wanted to be the first to speak, where the air between you burned with the things you couldn’t unsay now. Steve’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, his eyes flashing with a storm of emotions he clearly didn’t trust himself to voice. He finally just looked away, the tension radiating off him like static.

It would have been so easy to leave it like that, to turn your back and let Steve stew in his distrust. But that wouldn’t help Bucky. And he was the only thing that mattered right now.

So you spoke up, catching the thinnest, fraying thread of truce before it would fade entirely.

“Look, I don’t care what you think of me," you tried to calm your voice, keeping your tone neutral despite the fire licking up your spine. "I don’t care if you even like me to be honest, but what I do care about is that if you say you’re his friend, if you say it’s your job to look after him, then I need you to go back there and reassure him before he spirals.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. A rare, raw show of uncertainty from Captain America himself, usually so sure of himself and his actions. “You’re... you’re probably right.”

Before he could hesitate, before he could get cold feet, you reached out and grabbed his arm. His muscles went tense under your grip, but you didn’t let that deter you. You pointed a finger at him, close enough that he had no choice but to meet your glare head-on.

“Don’t treat me like the villain because I care.”

Steve gave one stiff nod, but he said nothing. You stared at him a second longer, making sure it stuck, before you finally released him with a shove of your hand.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stalked back down the hall. You didn’t look back to see if Steve was following.

You didn’t need to.

His footsteps, reluctant but steady, fell into place behind you.

The silence prickled along your skin as you navigated quickly back to Bucky’s apartment. His anxious face plagued your mind, the way his breathing had turned shallow and scared, like a caged animal. 

The door to Bucky’s apartment was still ajar, just a crack, like he'd been too afraid to close it. Or maybe he hadn’t even noticed it was open at all.

You pushed gently at the handle and stepped inside.

Bucky was still sitting on the edge of the mattress, hunched forward, elbows digging into his knees, hair half-clinging to the sweat still damp on his temples. His shirt was still wrinkled from earlier, his vibranium hand flexing unconsciously, twitching in small stutters as though trying to grasp at something he couldn’t hold.

His eyes lifted the moment he heard the door creak, wild, wide with nerves, and then they landed on Steve.

“Hey Buck…” Steve started, voice soft.

“Steve, I can explain—“ Bucky’s words spilt out in a tangle of panic, but Steve raised a hand, halting him.

“It’s alright,” Steve said quickly, the kind of quick that begged not to make it worse. His eyes scanned the room like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I’m not mad. I just… didn’t expect it.”

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, giving a weak, crooked sort of smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “So, uhh… how long has this been happening?”

“Since the gala,” Bucky muttered.

“The gala?” Steve echoed, blinking. “You two really hit it off then, huh?”

You resisted the urge to groan. There was a pause, awkward and brittle.

“So are you like dating or—”

“No—” You and Bucky answered in perfect, rapid unison.

Maybe too fast.

The silence that followed was deafening. Steve raised both brows, then glanced between the two of you slowly, clearly re-evaluating everything. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at his jaw while you picked hard at the raw skin around your nails. 

“Alright,” Steve said after a moment, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not judging. I’m just trying to understand. It’s a whole new century, Buck. I guess we gotta adapt to the times.”

He was trying, that much was clear. His voice gentle, his posture no longer combative, though the tension in his shoulders hadn’t quite let up. It was the kind of compromise only a man like Steve Rogers could offer—discomfort wrapped in compassion.

You opened your mouth, the words slow to form on your tongue. “We’ve just been… I’ve just been…”

You hesitated. Your eyes flicked to Bucky, trying to read him, trying to decide whether he wanted this out in the open, whether he’d say anything at all. But his body locked up like it expected pain, arms folded, metal fingers curled tight. His expression was a mix of shame and fear.

He looked like a man staring down a loaded barrel.

“We’ve just been fooling around,” he cut in, voice flat and even. “Nothing serious.”

Nothing serious.

You tried not to flinch, tried not to let the words sting like salt in an open wound, nor assess why you felt that way. You didn’t understand why it hurt so much, considering you had repeated those same words to Natasha not long ago. He wasn’t lying. What he said was true, even if he carefully sidestepped the messy reality of the lessons. That was a whole other rabbit hole Bucky clearly wasn’t ready to admit to Steve. Maybe not even to himself.

Still, you forced yourself to nod along, pretending the hollow feeling in your chest wasn’t there. Pretending you hadn’t gotten a little too attached to this— to the lessons, to the quiet understanding, to the broken man sitting right in front of you.

Steve’s gaze shifted between the two of you, his mouth tightening. He didn’t press, but the flicker in his eyes said enough. He noticed something, but he just wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge it.

“Alright, I believe you,” Steve said carefully. “You told anyone about this?”

“Just you,” Bucky muttered, still refusing to meet his friend's eye.

You shifted your weight, the guilt gnawing at you sharp and immediate. You forced a breath through your nose, nails digging into the tender skin around your thumb. Neither super soldier seemed to notice the way your jaw tightened, or how the metallic taste of iron bloomed across your tongue from how hard you bit down.

You couldn’t keep lying. Not now. Not after everything you had just preached about trust and care, not if you wanted Bucky to keep believing in you. You had to tell him. In the spirit of being truthful, you would tell him. You had to own up to the fact that you had foolishly confided in Natasha, that you had allowed her to get under your skin, left yourself vulnerable in a way that could very well undo everything you had built together.

The word caught your throat on its way out.

“Well...” you interrupted, voice soft, bracing yourself.

Both men turned to you, and you already regretted your decision. Steve straightened subtly, his arms crossing over his chest as he glanced between you and Bucky with wary eyes, as if already preparing himself to referee whatever was about to happen. But it was Bucky’s reaction that truly cut, his whole body going rigid where he sat, muscles locking beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. His brow furrowed, deep lines creasing his forehead as he stared at you with a mixture of confusion and something rawer, something alarmingly close to hurt.

“You told someone?” he questioned, voice tight.

“No, it’s just... Nat,” you admitted, the words spilling too fast, too desperate to soften the blow.

Bucky's face twisted. “You told Natasha?”

“No! She, uh, kinda pieced it together?” You fumbled over your words, blindly and furiously picking at your nails.

“What?” 

“Look, you’re not exactly subtle,” you rushed to explain, feeling Steve shift awkwardly at your side as the conversation nosedived. “I was going to talk to you about it first, but then she cornered me, and I didn’t know what to say—”

“When?” Bucky cut in, voice rising. “When were you going to talk to me about it?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, exasperated with yourself more than him. “I was trying to figure out how to bring it up—”

“You lied to me.”

“No, I was just—” you tried, stepping forward instinctively, but the look he gave you rooted you to the spot.

“I asked you if you had said anything to Natasha or Yelena,” Bucky interrupted, voice low and wounded, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “And you said no.”

“It just didn’t feel like the right time—” you mumbled weakly,

Bucky rolled his eyes, a sharp, bitter sound escaping him. He looked past you, to Steve, as if hoping for some escape.

“So Natasha knows,” he muttered darkly. “And then we can assume Yelena probably knows as well—”

“Nat wouldn’t say anything—”

Bucky’s laugh was hollow, almost humourless. “Do you know that? For sure?”

“Why are you so worried—”

“Because I don’t want people to know!” he snapped, voice cutting sharper than you thought he could bear to be with you. “Are you not embarrassed?”

You recoiled in shock.

Steve exhaled a breath that came out sounding suspiciously like a curse, entirely unexpected and out of character for the golden super soldier.

“Why would I be embarrassed?” you asked, voice steady despite the way your chest ached.

Bucky opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes darted away, landing on the sheets crumpled around him like they held some escape, some answer. His whole posture shrank inward, collapsing in on himself.

You didn’t let it go. You couldn’t.

“Why would I be embarrassed?” you repeated, louder this time, forcing the question into the space between you.

Bucky still wouldn’t look at you. His shoulders hunched, head bowed. Scolded dog—but for once, you didn’t find it cute. 

“Are you embarrassed by me, Bucky?” you asked directly. 

“No,” Bucky said immediately, shaking his head. “No. That’s not what I meant—”

“It sure sounded like it,” you scoffed. 

The silence that settled over the room was uncomfortable enough to make Steve squirm, the blond opened his mouth to try to smooth over the situation. You stopped him before his tongue could even form a syllable, holding up one finger as you stared across at Bucky. He blinked up at you with an expression cut somewhere between guilt and horror as he realised there was no coming back from what he had just implied. The insult had hit, the damage done, and all that was left was a chasm between you. 

“I should go,” you said at last, voice clipped.

“Now, hold on—” Steve interrupted, stepping forward slightly. 

“No, it’s fine," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You two should talk alone anyway."

Bucky's head jerked up slightly at your words, expression stricken. He didn’t move from where he sat, just watched silently as you crossed the room with stiff, deliberate motions. He didn’t stop you as you gathered your bra from the floor, nor when you collected your coat and shoes from where they had been haphazardly tossed.

At the door, you paused, squaring your shoulders before gesturing vaguely between them with a small, almost pitying smile. Your eyes locked onto Bucky’s, not angry, not scolding, just exhausted.

“Remember, in and out. Use your words. Talk to him, sort it out.” you reminded him, voice gentle but unwavering. “You’re on your own now.”

“Wait—” Bucky reached out instinctively, voice cracking under the strain, but it was too late.

You snapped the door shut behind you, cutting off whatever apology or excuse he might have tried to offer.

—

You’re on your own now.

The words had echoed through your mind like a curse, looping over and over.

They whispered back every time your phone lit up. They rang louder when Natasha tried to corner you with soft girl-talk after long missions or training sessions. They surged again whenever Steve hovered too close after briefings, or loomed beside the coffee machine like he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you alone.

You’re on your own now.

You were beginning to think those words weren’t for Bucky but for yourself.

It was your mess—a slow-burning wreck of your own making. Bucky had reached out in the aftermath, trying to bridge the silence with texts asking to talk, explain, and understand. You’d read them, every one, then locked your phone and buried it like that would bury the damage too. You were too exhausted. Too goddamn ashamed of how much you’d let him in.

You’d broken your own rules and now, predictably, you were bleeding for it.

Two weeks later, you were doing better, or at least performing the illusion well enough that no one dared question it. You’d buried yourself in work with single-minded fervour. What started as six-hour recon missions inside Karpin’s club had stretched to eight, then twelve. You hadn’t missed a shift or turned in a report that wasn’t pristine, timestamped, and drowning in intel. You were producing results so efficiently that it bordered on obsessive. Another compromise, another calculated smile, another night letting your soul rot beneath the thump of bass and leering stares in the club’s smoke-slicked VIP rooms. Progress came steep and you were the currency.

The black dress you wore clung like regret, stitched tight across your thighs and chest, sweat seeping through the synthetic fabric. Glitter clung to your skin like a rash, and your heels had carved angry grooves into the backs of your feet. The thick eye makeup you’d smeared on hours ago had begun to crumble in the corners, leaving your reflection a cracked porcelain doll in the glass door you passed. But none of that mattered. You just wanted to make it to your apartment, scrape yourself clean, and pretend, if only for a few hours, that you hadn’t given up everything just to feel nothing.

You slapped the final handwritten debrief into the data analyst’s hands, your signature barely legible. 

Another mission done, but you had the sinking feeling your day was far from over, mainly because Steve was standing by the elevators with a little too much casual ease. The kind that wasn’t casual at all. He’d been lingering since you arrived to complete your debrief protocol, hovering just close enough to be noticed, but not close enough to call it out. Hands shoved in his pockets, one foot angled toward the hallway like he was trying to look like he had somewhere else to be, even though he didn’t. He was waiting, watching, hoping to intercept.

You knew better than to take the elevator. Not just because it was a coffin on cables, but because he would follow. You could already picture it, his voice low in some lame attempt not to spook you, trying to reason with you, explain himself, maybe even apologise. You didn’t want it. You didn’t want any of it. Not his concern, not his guilt, not whatever sense of responsibility he’d suddenly found like loose change in his pocket. He’d said his piece two weeks ago—said you weren’t good for Bucky. So what was this? Regret? Or worse, another excuse to tear into you?

You ducked your head, ignoring the burning ache in your heels, and made a sharp turn toward the stairwell.

“Hey,” came Natasha’s voice, too light, too amused.

You didn’t stop walking. What was this? Some kind of coordinated attack? 

“Trouble in paradise?” she added, like this was a game. Like any of this was remotely fucking funny.

“Jesus, give it a break.”

“Not when you keep moping around like you’ve had your heart broken—”

“My heart isn’t broken—” you snapped without turning, pace only quickening.

“Look. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realise things were so serious between you and Barnes. Let’s just talk about it—”

You stopped at the stairwell door, hand on the bar. Your spine went rigid, and you turned slowly, fixing her with a scathing look that could've flayed skin. She faltered under the heat of it.

“Oh, fuck off, Nat.”

Her smirk dropped. And just like that, you shoved the door open and disappeared into the stairwell.

Two weeks of silence, two weeks of pretending, two weeks of giving everything you had to missions because it was easier than sitting still. Easier than thinking about how much you’d given away and how little you had left.

You should’ve talked to him. Should’ve answered. Should’ve tried.

But you hadn’t. You hadn’t had the strength, or maybe just hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable one second longer than necessary. Because once you were vulnerable, once you opened that door, you couldn't un-feel what was felt. You couldn’t un-know the way he looked at you. 

You hit the fifth landing when it happened, and your heel caught.

A sickening skritch, and your ankle jolted back, yanked by the spike of your stupid, overpriced, Stark donated shoe catching in one of the grid holes in the grated metal step. You cursed, gripping the railing, yanking once, twice—harder.

It wouldn’t budge.

A breath shuddered out of you. Your hands trembled as you crouched down, fingers scrabbling to free it. The heel was wedged deep in the hole, warped just enough that it wouldn’t twist loose. You gritted your teeth, tugging again. Nothing.

The pressure inside you, simmering, festering, unspoken for days, snapped like a wire. You stood abruptly and kicked your other shoe off with a grunt, the heel clattering against the wall with a hollow thud. Then you grabbed the stuck one with both hands, tore it loose, and flung it with everything you had.

The shoe hit the concrete wall with a loud crack, then fell limp to the landing.

You let out a dry, broken sound—half laugh, half sob—and dropped to sit on the step, barefoot, legs shaking. No tears came, but the pressure behind your eyes stung. You pressed the heels of your palms hard into your face, breathing ragged through clenched teeth.

You’re on your own now.

—

The shower hadn’t helped.

You’d stood under the stream far too long, letting the water scald down your shoulders and rinse away the tension, the sweat, the last remnants of Karpin’s perfumed hell. Now, dressed in an old t-shirt and soft shorts, you stood at the foot of your bed. The sheets were untouched, cool and smoothed from disuse, undisturbed like a hotel room no one had ever checked into. You blinked at them like they might blink back.

You hadn’t been sleeping well. Not for weeks. Then again, sleep had never come easily. Most nights, you crashed on the couch, half-dressed, half-conscious, the TV humming in the background. There was something final about beds, something about the unspoken history soaked into the mattress and pillows. 

With a small, habitual sigh, you pulled back the covers and slid beneath them, curling slightly onto your side, picking absently at the skin around your thumbnail. You winced when your nail caught a sore patch, your skin already raw and torn, but didn’t stop until the sting sharpened.

You reached for your phone, trying to distract your nervous hands. The light burned your eyes, too bright in the dark room, but you navigated by muscle memory. Messages. His name. Your thumb hovered, heart slowing as the thread opened.

The last ones sat like ghosts, pale and greyed, still waiting for a reply.

Just talk to me.

Please?

I’m sorry.

I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it like that.

Can we please talk?

You stared at them, lips parting slightly. That sick little ache twisted low in your ribs. You scrolled past, skimming quickly until the tone shifted, until the anger and desperation faded into something older. 

Are you still awake?

Come over?

Can’t sleep.

Still can’t sleep.

I made tea. It’s too strong. You’ll hate it. Come fix it?

You could almost hear his voice, tired, soft, and just a little grumpy, the way it got when it was too late and he didn’t want to be alone but didn’t know how to say it.

You scrolled further, reading the back-and-forth, the playful jabs, the dry jokes, the quiet check-ins he always offered at the end of your missions, even when he already knew the details. You closed your eyes and saw it clearly, his apartment cast in low, amber light, the muted hum of the fridge, the TV murmuring. His arm would hang lazily over the back of the couch, like he wasn’t obviously waiting for you. 

You could picture how his lips would twitch into a grin when you finally walked through the door. The quiet press of his hand against the small of your back as he led you past the threshold. How he had grown more confident with each night, how he laughed now, full and unguarded, at the sarcasm that used to make him flinch. How he looked when he was unravelled beneath you, breathless, red-cheeked, eyes blown wide.

You didn’t know when your hand had slipped beneath the sheets.

But now it was there, curled between your thighs, brushing past the waistband of your shorts as memory and longing swelled in your chest like a bruise. His voice in your ear, the way he would shiver when you whispered to him. The little whines he tried to swallow down.

Your fingers found slick heat, and your breath hitched as you brushed against your clit, circling slowly, gently. You kept your eyes closed. It was easier that way. Easier to summon the image of him pressing kisses to your sternum, the chill of his vibranium palm cupping your breast, thumb skimming over your nipple. You could almost feel it.

A soft moan escaped your throat as your fingers dipped lower, working in a rhythm that was steady but hollow, a poor mimicry of what you really wanted. Still, you chased it—chased him—through every flicker of heat and memory.

You ground the heel of your palm against your clit and gasped into the pillow, hips twitching upward. 

“Bucky—”

His name slipped from your lips, barely a breath.

And everything stopped.

You froze. Fingers stilled. You sat up sharply, yanking your hand away like it burned, chest rising and falling beneath the old cotton of your shirt. You would’ve thrown your own damn traitorous hand across the room if it wasn’t attached to your wrist.

You stared into the dark, lips parted, throat tight, wondering how the hell you’d ended up here, half undone in an empty bed, chasing a ghost who hadn’t spoken to you in weeks.

—

You stepped into the gym, the doors swinging shut behind you with a dull thud. The air greeted you like a punch to the lungs, rubber mats, dried sweat, and stale air conditioning. Your routine had become muscle memory by this point. Drop the bag by the bench. Roll your shoulders. Stretch until your bones stop screaming. Pretend everything is fine.

Except it wasn’t.

You blinked against the harsh fluorescents, scanning the space. No flash of red hair. No high blonde ponytail bobbing by the punching bags. No snide commentary lobbed across the sparring ring. Just quiet. Not peace, it was never peaceful, but that suffocating kind of silence that settled just before the ground gave out.

And then it did in the shape of Steve Rogers.

“They got pulled last night,” he said, emerging from the weight racks where he and Sam had been mid-stretch. “Mission came in late. Left before sunrise.”

You nodded once, jaw tight, masking the drop in your stomach. Of course they did. Of course, they left. Probably Nat punishing you for being a bitch to her by the stairwell.

Steve offered a vague, practised smile, too quick, too knowing. “But don’t worry. We’re subbing in.”

Your gaze flicked to Sam, who gave you a friendly wave. Then to Bucky, who was hunched over, lacing up his boots with a quiet intensity that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. His eyes caught yours for only a second, just enough for you to register the damage. He looked as wrecked as you felt. Pale, bruised beneath the eyes, mouth tight. He hadn’t slept properly in days. Favouring his right side again, you could see the subtle strain as he stood up, rolling his shoulders in faux nonchalance. 

You hesitated. “You’re... stepping in?”

Steve shrugged. “We usually run around this time anyway. Figured we’d help cover.”

You glanced back toward the exit. The door was still there. Still functional. Escape was still an option, and you were a pretty good liar when you wanted to be. But selfishness was a slippery thing, and you didn’t move.

So you nodded, slow and controlled. “Right. Okay.”

You dropped down into a lunge, one knee kissing the mat, the other bent clean above your ankle. You held it steady, focusing on your breathing as your muscles slowly stretched awake. 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, using that easy posture he adopted when he wanted to appear relaxed. It only made you suspicious.

“What do you three usually run on Mondays?”

You shifted into a hamstring stretch, straightening your front leg and folding over it with practised ease. “Sparring,” you said, voice calm despite the tightness in your shoulders. “Nat’s idea. She says it sets the tone for the rest of the week.”

Steve gave a small smile. “Great. You’ll go with Bucky.”

You stilled mid-fold, hands hovering above your shin. The mat felt suddenly unstable beneath you.

Lifting your gaze slowly, you tried not to flinch visibly. “Is that… necessary?”

Steve tilted his head. “Why? Is there a problem?”

Sam raised a brow but said nothing, sensing the tension but clearly not sure what to make of it. You sat back on your heels, drawing your arms overhead in a stretch you didn’t need, using movement to mask your hesitation.

“No,” you said evenly, rising to your feet. “No problem.”

Across the room, Bucky had stilled, his jaw locked tight, a muscle ticking as he shot Steve a single, withering glance. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The reluctance in his movements said enough as he pushed up from the bench, slow and stiff, like gravity was suddenly working against him.

This wasn’t training. This was theatre. A stage set under fluorescent lights and recycled air. And Steve? Still over by the weights with Sam, pretending to be engaged in some idle conversation? Their voices were hushed, but their eyes flicked over too often, too deliberately? This had been arranged, choreographed behind your back like some well-meaning intervention. You wondered who else knew, who had caught wind. Had Sam pieced it together? Had Yelena? Was this their way of ‘helping’?

Bucky stepped into place across from you, feet shoulder-width apart, arms loose at his sides. He shifted, rolling his shoulders in a slow motion. The right still caught slightly. He still hadn’t gone to physio, that was clear. Stubborn as ever. Just one more thing for you to worry over.

“Ready?” he asked at last. His voice was dry, flat. 

You swallowed the knot in your throat and gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

The first few rounds were predictable. You struck low, swept a leg, and knocked him off balance. He grunted, hit the mat, and bounced back up without a word. Then it was your turn. He twisted past your arm, hooked your leg behind his, and took you down in one smooth motion. You landed hard, breath puffing out of your lungs in a curse.

The fourth time you clashed, your forearms locked, both of you panting, he finally spoke.

“You always fight this sloppy when you're pissed off?” he muttered.

You bared your teeth. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He pushed off with a sharp motion, shoving you back with more force than necessary. You staggered but caught yourself.

“You said we were done,” Bucky said, jaw clenched, circling you again. “Figured that meant you wouldn’t be sneaking glances at me every five seconds.”

A guttural laugh left your lips as you stepped in, aimed low and fast, but he blocked you easily. “I’m sorry, are you embarrassed, Barnes? Must be so embarrassing for you to have someone like me near you—”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped.

You hesitated just a second too long, and he used it, sweeping in, gripping your arm, twisting you toward the floor. But instead of letting the momentum carry, you pivoted mid-fall and slammed your elbow into his side, dragging him down with you. You both hit the mat in a tangle, limbs locked, breath heavy. Your chest pressed to his. His fingers curled tightly around your wrist. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm.

You shoved off him roughly and stood, pacing back toward the centre, sweat prickling down your spine, adrenaline and something uglier twisting in your gut.

“You really wanna do this?” you said, voice hoarse.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flashing. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Your blood roared. 

Steve called out from the other side of the gym, something about keeping it light.

But it was too late.

You charged again.

No more feints. No more dancing around it. You drove into him with a fury you hadn’t realised had been coiled so tightly in your chest. Bucky blocked, returned, shoved—your bodies collided again and again, a flurry of jabs, kicks, twists, and takedowns. Your knuckles ached from where they connected with his forearms, your legs trembled from exertion. Neither of you held back anymore. This was the type of sparring that Nat was desperate to get out of you, messy, dirty plays that she praised.

He got a hit in against your ribs. You grunted and retaliated with a kick that swept his leg, sending him crashing to the mat. He growled, rolled, pulled you down with him, and suddenly you were grappling, arms locking, muscles burning.

Then he flipped you.

You hit the mat hard. Your breath left you in an abrupt wheeze.

His weight came down over you, solid, full-body pressure, his knee between your thighs to brace, his forearm across your collarbone pinning your shoulder. His hand gripped your wrist, and your other hand was caught somewhere beneath your own hip. The mat pressed into your spine. His face loomed above yours, his jaw clenched tight, and his breath fast and uneven.

You struggled.

At first, it was instinctual. A jerk of the hips. A twist of the arm. Trying to buck him off like you always had before. The sparring was routine, muscle memory, a thing you’d done with a dozen people a hundred times. But Bucky was heavier than you remembered. Stronger. His grip was too tight, his weight too much. Maybe you’d never quite realised how gentle he had been with you before, how soft and malleable he made himself when both of you were in bed.

Something primal and old stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

Your limbs started to go rigid. Your throat tightened. You blinked, but the edges of your vision were already going dark, tunnelling inward, compressing the world into a narrow box with no air. His weight pressed down on your hips, his knee solid between your thighs, your shoulders pinned in place. You couldn’t breathe. You tried sharp, gasping inhales, but it wasn’t working. The more you pulled in, the more the air seemed to thin.

Your body twitched beneath him, useless, trapped, every muscle locking up. You felt yourself whimper, but it barely escaped your throat. You bit down hard on your lip to stop it from turning into something worse.

You tried to scream, to yell his name—Bucky, stop, stop—but no words came out. Just pressure and panic and the unbearable rush of tears behind your eyes. They brimmed but didn’t fall. You refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

He didn’t move. Didn’t notice. He thought it was part of the fight. He thought you were still in it.

You tried to suck in a breath and choked on it.

You lifted your hand, every motion sluggish and jerky, and tapped three times on his forearm. 

Bucky froze.

His entire body went still like someone had hit a kill switch. The pressure lifted instantly as he pushed himself off, retreating back on his knees. His face was alarmed, eyes wide and scanning.

You sat up slowly, not looking at him, not looking at anything. Your hands were flat against the mat, supporting your shaking frame. Your lungs worked overtime, trying to stabilise, trying to ground yourself. Your face flushed hot, not just from exertion but also from shame.

“Hey…” Bucky reached a hand toward you, but you cowered before he could touch you.

You forced yourself to your feet, knees stiff, stars swimming across your vision. 

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just knelt there on the mat, his eyes locked on you, searching your face like he was trying to read between the lines, like the truth might be scrawled somewhere in the way your mouth trembled or how you blindly picked at your nails.

His expression had dropped into something taut and drawn, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. His brain catching up with what the tap meant—what it truly meant.

“Shit,” he breathed.“I didn’t know. I—I didn’t see it.”

He looked like he might be sick. Like he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t. Knew he shouldn’t. His weight shifted, knee lifting like he was going to get up, close the space between you, but you took half a step back before he could. That was enough. He stayed where he was.

You hated how badly you wanted to fall into him.

Your whole body screamed for it, for safety, for the press of arms you trusted around you, for the warmth of him. For the feeling of a steady heart under your cheek, a voice in your ear telling you you were okay, you were here, it was over.

But you didn’t move. You locked your arms around your middle instead. Drew in a breath so deep it scraped your ribs raw and shoved everything down.

Still, your eyes lingered on him for a beat too long. On his worry. His guilt. His panic. He had remembered. He had known what the signal meant, even after all this time, hadn’t argued, hadn’t questioned it and hadn’t made you explain.

And that—that meant something.

Slowly, with herculean effort, you rolled your shoulders back and let your face go blank as Steve and Sam approached. 

“What are you two doing?” Steve asked, brows drawn together. He didn’t sound accusatory, just cautious, like he was testing the temperature of a room already on fire. “I told you to spar, not kill each other—”

“I—” Bucky started, lifting his hands slightly, almost in surrender. His voice was steady, but there was a slight tremor beneath it. You heard it. He was trying to smooth it over, or maybe like the words had just slipped from that place inside him that wasn’t guarded. He ignored Steve, eyes firmly locked onto you. “You alright, doll?” 

He said it with such casualness. Casualness that indicated he didn't realise what had just slipped past his lips. It was instinct, probably. 

Still, it hit you like a slap.

You didn’t even get the chance to level him with a look of ‘well-you’ve-gone-and-done-it-now’ before Sam’s head whipped around, armed with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and horror.

“What did you just call her?” 

Bucky said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin line, and you swore you saw the slightest tinge of red creep up his neck. Steve exhaled through his nose, loud and irritated, dragging a hand down his face like he was already regretting whatever scheme he had been plotting. Whatever it had been, it was clear to you that Sam hadn’t been brought up to speed. 

“I’m fine,” you said, too quickly. 

You didn’t look at anyone, just grabbed your bag from the bench and turned, heading for the locker room without a word.

Behind you, silence lingered on the mat.

—

Tony’s penthouse glittered like a scene from a luxury magazine shoot, all sleek lighting, glass walls, and a sky full of stars pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Music thumped low and rich through the space, some jazzy, remixed classic that Tony swore gave the night ‘class’. Outside, New York burned electric, skyscrapers blinking like a million eyes. Inside, the air reeked of expensive cologne, champagne, and politics.

You stood by the bar, posture poised, gown clinging perfectly in all the ways it was meant to. The colour was deep and dark, with a silky fabric cascading down your body like liquid shadow, explicitly chosen to flatter, distract, and hide. Your hair was swept into a neat updo, not a strand out of place. Lipstick matched the shade of your nails, the polish partly to distract from the skin you had picked raw. Sleek, practised, controlled. You looked the part.

God, you hated looking the part.

But the board had insisted. Visibility. Cohesion. Unity. The Avengers, Agents, Consultants, Freelance, everybody needed to be seen tonight, in public, together, smiling. To show the sponsors, the donors, the shareholders or whoever the fuck had power that everything was fine. That the world was still being held together by its favourite, dysfunctional little family.

You sipped your drink and nodded when someone from marketing passed by and forced a tight-lipped smile when a UN delegate’s assistant asked for a photo—laughed, genuinely for a moment, when Yelena shoved a canapé into Kate’s mouth mid-sentence and nearly made her choke.

Thor had clearly been overindulging in full Asgardian regalia and a black bowtie hanging comically loose around his thick neck. He was halfway through recounting an epic battle tale to a group of mortified interns, sloshing golden liquid onto the white rug as he gestured too grandly, his booming laugh echoing off the glass.

You laughed with him. Or, rather, around him.

You weren’t drunk, hadn’t dared allow it. The buzz you wore tonight came from anxiety. You had perfected the art of looking like you were fine. Fine in heels. Fine in silence. Fine in a room full of people where the one person you couldn't stop thinking about was also pretending he was fine.

You were on your millionth fake laugh when Steve stepped up beside you.

“I come in peace,” he said quickly, hands raised, like he expected you to throw a punch.

You shot him a flat look and started to turn away. “Whatever it is, Rogers, I’m not in the mood—”

“Hey—” he cut in gently, lowering his voice. “Nat was looking for you. Said she wanted to talk. Something important. She’s out on the balcony.”

That made you pause.

You glanced at him, reading his expression, trying to discern if there was more to it. But Steve had always been a terrible liar. This wasn’t his idea. There was definitely something sketchy about it…but you’d bite.

“…Fine,” you muttered, setting your glass on the bar. “Thanks.”

You peeled yourself from the crowd's edge, careful not to make eye contact with anyone too important or drunk. The floor beneath you pulsed faintly with the bass of the music, the champagne-fueled laughter, the click of heels and the hum of fake conversation. 

Out of habit, your eyes scanned the room for him. You didn’t even mean to. It was muscle memory by now. A flicker of dark hair. Broad shoulders. The kind of presence that stood out, even when he was trying not to. But you didn’t see him.

Maybe he left. Perhaps he found a corner to vanish into, away from all this noise.

You dodged a passing executive with a knowing smile and a polite excuse, dipped past a photographer angling for candids, and spun gracefully on your heel to avoid getting cornered by a senator’s wife with a diamond necklace and a mile-long list of questions.

Finally, you reached the balcony doors and slipped through them.

The cool air of the balcony kissed your bare shoulders the moment the sliding door clicked shut behind you. You exhaled. Finally, quiet.

Except—

He was there.

Leaning on the glass railing, gazing out over the city, hands braced as if the skyline could offer answers.

He didn’t turn at first. Just stood there, tall and tense, framed by the hum of the city lights below. His suit fit too well, with sharp lines and immaculate tailoring, the black lapels catching faint glints of light. The tie was knotted tight against his throat like a collar, strangling something feral just beneath the surface, like dressing up a wild, wounded animal and calling it tame.

You knew how much he hated this, the attention, the stiffness, the shallow, gleaming pretence. He hated how the suits itched, how they never accommodated his arm, and how they made him feel on display. Something was jarring about seeing him like this. Clean-shaven, hair slicked back and perfectly parted. Like someone had tried to iron out all the edges and polish him into something smooth and forgettable, it didn’t work. It never did.

And then you saw it—the glove. Smooth black leather over his left hand. Hiding it.

Shame. Fear. Judgment. You knew what that glove meant, what it had always meant. Just another mask he was forced to hide behind, or maybe a mask he forced himself to hide behind. And even now, he felt ashamed among people who called him a hero, who toasted him with champagne and wanted him in photos. And maybe he was right to feel wary, not to get too comfortable around the puppeteers who pulled all the strings.

It broke your heart.

Your heels clicked softly across the balcony tile as you approached. Bucky turned at the sound, startled.

His eyes locked on yours.

You stopped a few paces away, your breath catching for just a second. His gaze darted to the door, then back to you.

“Let me guess,” you said dryly, arms folding over your chest, “Nat came to you and told you Steve was looking for you on the balcony?”

Bucky blinked. “How did you—?”

“Because Steve just came to me,” you said, arching a brow, “and told me Nat was looking for me on the balcony.”

He swore softly under his breath and looked away, exhaling like he’d been sucker-punched. The wind tugged at his jacket, and his hand ghosted near the balcony rail.

“I think we’ve been set up.” You hummed.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quickly, already stepping back. “I can go—”

“No, it’s okay.” You cut him off. “We should talk.”

---

hello! thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to keep being notified of my updates please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications! <3

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - lots of tension, angstyyy, misunderstandings, emotional, some kissing and heavy desire but mostly this chap is sfw, mutual pining, lots of feelings - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part Four - Masterlist - Part Six>>> (coming soon)

Part Five

It’s been two hours since Satoru said he’d meet you, and you are as dressed up as you have been in years, hair curled to perfection, beautiful dress that’s hugging every inch of your body, pretty and dark red, long sleeves with lace all over them, and black tights underneath with thigh high boots. Your parents had been gushing over you when you’d walked out, doing a little spin and giggling.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re touching up your highlighter, blinking mascara coated lashes that are far longer than you’re used to. He was used to models, so surely your skills wouldn’t be that level, but you wanted to at least try to look pretty for this… date. Yes it was going to be a date. He's only seen you casual so far, you're literally wearing lace panties and not Sailor Mars this time too.

The thoughts of last night make you blush, even as the moments tick by. To feel like that underneath him, so fucking beautiful and desired, with the boy you adored? It seemed worth whatever hurt that was coming when he went back home. You want to believe him, that he won't forget you again, but as the clock ticks it's hard to know if he's staying true to his word.

You call again, it's the third time in two hours, you hope it's not too much but now you're almost a little worried, shooting him a text instead, biting your lip as your fingers dance across the cool screen. 

Satoru, are you okay? It's fine if you can't make it! Just let me know you're safe, the roads are covered in snow.

You sigh, setting down the phone as your mom walks in where you're sitting by the window, watching the snowfall gently. “Hey honey, are you staying for dinner?”

It's your mom's sweet way of distracting you. “He might still come, mom.”

“Absolutely! But I am getting ready to cook, you know.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle now. “You're so stunning.”

“Aw, mom...” You look back to see her blinking emotions, making your heart ache.

“He'd only be so lucky to see you like this. You know that?”

You look down shyly. “You see him. He's a whole model.”

“And you're you. And that's special too. Don't get too upset if…” She trails off a bit no. “Just, seeing you like that after he left was really hard for me is all.” You stand now, hugging her and inhaling the familiar scent of her as she blinks back emotion.

“You're scared I'll get hurt again.” She nods, sniffling now as you brush aside a tear.

“That was worse than watching any breakup. I'm really scared for you, it's not that I don't still love Satoru. I promise it's not that. But you're doing so good now.” you smile sadly, remembering the days you laid in bed after, crying and not leaving your room for weeks aside from essential needs.

You wouldn't get that way again. Even if he…

“Just watch your heart, it's a million sizes too big.” You smile tremulously up at her, holding her hands now.

“Get that from you two.” You both smile now, and a knock sounds at the door, making you jump in excitement, rushing to where your dad was opening the door now, and then pausing.

“Sukuna how have you been!?” Your dad says, and Sukuna chuckles, coming into view as he puts his hand on your dad's shoulder.

“I've been good, how about you, old man?”

“Old man!? I'll show you ‘old man’. Got a football you know!”

“Oh yeah? I'm down for a challenge.” He grins, and your mom blinks in surprise, looking at you, then at the door, when your dad invites the tall man in, and his ruby eyes catch you, making him falter, his lips parted.

“Sukuna…” You trail off, while his gaze drifts over you, heating you up with his look, before clearing his throat, walking over to you.

“I was right in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi to the family. You look… beautiful, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck as he murmurs it, and your dad shuts the door to the cold, leaving you all basking in the warmth of the well heated home.

Beautiful, Sukuna had never said that sort of thing when you dated - maybe sexy, hot or whatever ridiculously horny statement he used to make, but then he had changed a lot. So had Satoru Gojo, and here you were, still the same girl, with two famous men back in town showing up, the doubts creeping as you realize how excited you were for it to be Satoru at the door.

“Are you going out or… getting back?” He asks then, you watch as snowdrops dissolve on his black overcoat, he brushes some off his pink locks, just a little damp from them melting.

“Thank you, I’m so delayed in my responses.” He chuckles as you get just a little flustered, he’s eyeing you so intensely right now, while you’re fidgeting with your hands in front of your lap. “I had a date but… he hasn’t um, showed up or answered the phone. So I don’t know my plans.”

“Idiot.” You glare, and he sighs. “Sorry, but only an idiot would not show up.”

“He could be… caught up with the show, or something. So I don’t know, he should still come. But for now, um… I may help mom cook?”

“Looking like that?” He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, as your parents walk up now, and your dad has busted out his football, Sukuna chuckles over at him - he’s much thinner than he probably remembers, but he’s so much stronger than he was years back. “You’re ready to get your ass kicked, old man?”

“You’re a pro, but I’m old school.” Your dad winks over at you, and you giggle just a bit. He’d always loved Sukuna, where your mom was not his biggest fan, they had some weird male football bond happening.

But you haven’t seen your dad so excited in forever, he was a huge fan of Sukuna’s team, so you’re sure this is a trip for him. “You came to see my parents, or me?”

Your soft question earns a raised brow and an arrogant smirk, smacking you right back to the girl fawning over him in high school. “Both, I didn't know if you’d be home or not, but I was hoping. But also I wanted to… see him too, if that’s cool?”

“Of course it is.” You grin now, a hand on his broad shoulder, and he exhales, leaning a little low. “How are you two gonna play in the snow!?”

“Tch, it’s nothing brat.”

“Brat!? No, no. Not calling me that again.” You shove at the big man, as your dad starts bundling up, and you look at him with concern. “Dad are you okay to…”

“Honey, let him. He needs this.” Your mom whispers, and you nod then, smiling as your dad looks at you curiously.

“You worried about your ‘old man’?” He teases, kissing your head affectionately, and you’re so thankful for Sukuna then, something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Don’t catch a cold, now! Sukuna, take it easy on him.”

“Psh, no way.” Sukuna grins deviously as the two men run outside in the cold like psychos in the darkening sky, you stand by the door and giggle as you watch them, the sky a snowy mix of purples and pinks as nighttime comes.

“You’re awfully popular again, I feel like I need to make these boys ask permission again.” Your mom teases, you roll your eyes, hugging your arms as the brisk air hits, then peeking back at your phone.

No response.

But your text was read.

You swallow a bit, feeling sick to your stomach - was he… with Samantha? He said he wasn’t interested, but they had a history. This morning you’d laid in his bed for longer than you should have, inhaling his scent, lingering memories flitting through your mind until you’d finally left - and it took far, far too much effort, that room really felt like you and Satoru’s personal snowglobe.

“I’ll call one more time,” you say, and your mom nods understandingly, bundling up in her jacket now. “You headed outside?”

“I gotta see your dad like this for a few. Then we can cook dinner together, maybe Sukuna can stay?” You nod and smile at her, hand shaking when you’re left alone, pacing nervously. Your heels click on the old hardwood floors as you do, as it rings and rings and rings.

Did Satoru break his promise?

*****

“Shit, shit, shit. No reception. Fuck, do you have any, Samantha?” The blond model pouts, brushing back her blong locks.

“No, I wish! Ugh this town is so fucking stupid! Why aren’t we moving!?” She leans out of the window then, screaming out - “Move, townies, I have to take a fucking piss!”

He’d been stuck in this car in traffic for an hour with her, barely moving inch by fucking inch from some really bad accident, a four car pile up according to the radio - which is the only thing that’s working. Neither of them have reception, and no internet access on any of their devices in this particular area, maybe because of the storm, he’s not sure.

But this is hell.

You’re going to think he broke his fucking promise, you’re probably already giving up on him coming, and he had everything perfectly planned, for it to all start to fall apart, and now in this car with a psycho brat and nothing to pass the time, just the windshield wipers and the fucking heat blasting, with some fuzzy radio. He peers at his phone again, glaring at it.

“Boring, so boring! Ugh this whole trip! I can’t wait to fucking get back home, out of these backwoods.” She rolls up her windows and pouts, pressing closer over to the heat that’s blasting from the vents.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve hated being in a ‘small town’ you yap about it enough.” She scoffs, crossing her slender arms and scowling at him.

“Well you’re no fun, all fucking broody over the little girl from the bar.”

“Yeah we are not talking about her.” His jaw clenches, blue eyes flashing, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just gonna fuck her, so do it and get on with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s what you do - fuck women, leave them. Or fuck them when you feel like it if they’re cool with sharing. Lucky for you, I didn’t give a fuck, because I had my own roster,” her words are the first serious things he’s ever heard from her, while she looks out the windshield, hugging herself under her jacket. “But that girl won’t.”

“What are you even on about, you didn’t want more than sex,” Satoru trails off then, when her eyes meet his again, softer than he’s used to. “You were fine just fucking, we never dated.”

“Well yeah, you don’t date, everyone in the industry knows, you have serious issues, you know?”

“Me, issues!? Samantha-”

“No. You do. Soon as we fucked you had a ride waiting for me as if I was some… escort? And all my friends say you did the same. Ever think it made any of them feel shitty?” Satoru’s stomach twists, looking back down at the phone and then at the road, avoiding her gaze. “Well, it did.”

“You felt great under me, all of you did. I’ve never had a complaint in the bedroom, okay?” She laughs a bit, sighing.

“You are a superb fuck, but if that’s all you’re gonna do to her, leave the poor girl the fuck alone.”

“You don’t know shit of how I feel for her.” He scowls at her, and she just shrugs a narrow shoulder, a nasty smile on her face.

“I know you, I know men like you, you’re an industry standard.”

“And so the fuck are you.” She snorts now, rolling her eyes again.

“Sure am, but I know what I am - you’re trying to act like you’re any better. Go fuck her then, and leave her like you do. Think that’ll be good? She’d be better off with me.”

“With you!?”

“Mmm, yes. At least I’d give her some affection after.” Satoru’s heart races as her words hit. “I kept fucking you because I liked you, I really liked you - until I realized you’re shallow.”

“You are not calling me shallow, you tell everyone in the city they’re poor because they don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re as shallow as me.”

“You know, shut the fuck up please.” He keeps peering at the road, as the cars finally start moving, he checks the time and curses.

“Best you don’t make it, save her the heartbreak.”

“You’re suddenly really deep, Samantha. I don’t like it anymore than you being annoying as fuck.” She looks out the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t know any of the women in your bed. You don’t bother to.”

Satoru can’t argue it, he knows Samantha is right, and she’s read him like a fucking book, her words swirling through his mind - would he just hurt you? No, it’s different, you’re different, you’re the reason he became this way. The hurt that day, the rejection he thought he was going to get, along with Sukuna and everyone, it had made him high tail it and run.

And he changed.

Fuck who was he? Sometimes he’d look in that mirror at his perfect features and contemplate just that - who was he? Satoru Gojo, a model, a famous man on the runway with endless women, or was he that nerdy boy, the one who laughed with you till your tummies hurt? Who made popcorn and oreos for the two of you - the weirdest thing ever but you loved it - and watched movies in your room?

Could he ever be that boy again truly, was last night any sort of real attempt, or would he fuck it all up and hurt you again?

He can’t live with himself if he does.

“You’re right,” his murmur brings her attention to him, he’s exhausted from the shoot and the drive, and so is she, but her eyes soften a bit. “I was a dick to you, and everyone.”

“Understatement.” He just sighs, clenching the wheel with tight hands.

“Were you different before you were famous?” He asks, he’s never asked shit about her, it’s true - she was just fun when he wanted a psycho in the bed, he didn’t even see her as a person.

Sure she was indeed insane, but he didn’t have to treat her like shit.

“No, I’ve always been this way honestly. I didn’t change because I got famous, but I grew up rich.”

“Ah.” It’s quiet, as he takes a breath now. “I feel a lot for her.”

“I know, it’s written all over your face when you talk about her.” He looks at her once more, before focusing on the road again. “If you feel something, say it, I never hold back shit I want to.”

“No you don’t.” He laughs a bit and so does she, shifting a bit, eyes brightening now.

“I have internet, oh fuck yes. I can drown out your moody ass.” He sticks his tongue out, and she returns it, slipping in her ear buds as they come to a red light, and he pulls up his phone finally, seeing your missed calls come through and texts.

Shit, shit, shit.

He picks up the phone, calling it finally, but it keeps ringing, and he hangs up and tries again, only for it to do the same thing, making his stomach twist in knots. Did you think he wasn’t coming!? Were you upset, or mad? Were you ignoring his calls- god a million what ifs occur as he tries to focus on driving, to get Samantha back to the hotel so he can see you.

*****

“Oh god, yeah I remember that! So embarrassing!” You’re covering your face as your mom starts getting the plates ready and you have busted out your old pictures, Sukuna and you in football and cheerleader gear.

“You sucked at cheer, you were only allowed because you were so pretty.” He teases, and you gasp, shoving at him playfully.

“Oh whatever!? No way!” His hand comes to the small of your back as he grabs the plates you can’t reach, pressing him too closely against you.

It’s been another half hour or so, and at this point your phone was just by the entryway, you couldn’t keep calling and texting, you would come off super pathetic, so you’re just enjoying the ambience of being with your parents and Sukuna. He’s made your dad damn near giddy, and you’re thankful for that, but your mind keeps drifting to Satoru.

“I think everything is ready! Drinks?” You say then, and Sukuna smiles a little. “Let me guess, beer?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’ve got.” His tone and eyes make you tremble just a bit, as you remember being with him - sex was never your problem, your problem was Sukuna was a little shit then. He was your first, and the memories hit your mind a little too vividly, and he seems to notice, leaning low. “What ya thinking about?”

“Nothing!? Nothing. Um…” The doorbell rings now, you figure at this point it’s a neighbor, your hopes of Satoru are just shoved back so it doesn’t hurt as much.

“I’ll go get it.” Your mom says then, smiling over at you two, when Sukuna brushes his rough, calloused fingers against your delicate cheek.

“Kuna…”

“There’s that nickname?” You glare, and he just chuckles, tilting your chin up to make you look at the tall man then. “What is on that mind? Memories?”

“Of you being a dick.” He sighs, dropping his hand then.

“Yeah, I was. A big dick to you. An idiot.”

“No, I mean, look at your life? It’s amazing.” His jaw clenches a bit, hands gripping the counter a bit tightly as you hear murmurs coming from the living room, but your heart is hammering in your ears, blocking it out.

“It’s not all amazing, okay? I thought of you alot. I wanted to reach out-”

“Satoru is here, honey.” You blink in shock, as you turn to look at Satoru Gojo, for once a complete disheveled mess, breathless almost as he smiles at you and then it falls, as he sees your proximity to Sukuna. “Sukuna came over and is having dinner, do you want to join us?”

Satoru wants to kill him, he wants to rip his arms off for being near you - which is irrational, it’s stupid, but it brings back every memory of longing and need while he watched the girl he loved in Sukuna’s arms. When Sukuna dated you he stopped being an ass to Satoru, it wasn’t until after the split he started being a dick again - a big dick to many people too, just particularly Satoru.

The hatred and resentment burn him so badly, he hardly notices you until he blinks it away, sighing, seeing your gorgeous dress. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, you’re so fucking beautiful tonight, dressed to go out and dressed to kill, that dress hugging every curve he was dying to touch, to hold, to kiss upon. Earrings dangle off your pretty ears, reflection against your dress as you look at him.

“I am so sorry, I… can we talk?” He asks then, softly, and you nod, trying not to let your hurt or worry make you angry at him, you need to hear him out.

“Sure. Just a minute, Sukuna.” He nods then, and you walk out to Satoru, he takes your wrist gently, pulling you over by the stairs, exhaling as he eyes you up and down slowly, as if he was caressing you with his blue eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, my god.” You look down nervously, biting your lip a bit, and he tilts your chin, leaning low, making you vividly remember his kisses. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, thank you Satoru. I didn’t know where you… were… taking me.” Your pause speaks volumes, and he sighs, pulling out his phone now.

“I called so many times after I got service, there was a horrible accident and we got stuck for hours. I’m so sorry.” You hear it then, the desperation, as he shows you his phone. “Your messages didn’t come until then, I am so fucking sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as I could. But… I guess I’m too late.”

“What, no, no. You’re not too late.” You step closer, and he exhales, pulling you against his chest now, resting his head against yours. “Sukuna came to see my parents, we’re not on a date or anything.”

“Fuck…” His relief makes his shoulders slump.

“Were you… worried about that?” Your whisper makes him laugh softly, pulling back to look into your eyes, cool hand cupping your face.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, while your hands cling to his soft sweater under his black jacket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How serious can we get if you leave soon?” Your voice is full of hurt, full of worry, and he can’t blame you one fucking bit, especially after soaking in what Samantha said.

“I will never just abandon you again.”

“Will you forget me again?” Your tears swim in your eyes, and you step back, shaking your head. “Fuck, ignore me, I’m tired I guess.”

Your words crush his heart, he feels it, the pain he put you through now, blinking back his own emotions. “I never forgot you, how could I?”

“You did.” You look away, and he turns you back to him, you fall again and again, over and over, body reacting, heart gravitating toward him against any better judgement you should have.

“No, I never fucking did.” His husky declaration is met with your mom peeking out now, concern on her face.

“Are you all going out or staying for dinner? There’s plenty, Satoru.” He clears his throat, watching you rub your arms nervously, a million things he’s dying to say to you, to tell you, all stuck in his fucking throat.

“We could just hit the movies and eat here, what do you think?” You say to him then, looking back up, as he runs a hand through his white locks.

“Think you look too beautiful not to take to a fancy restaurant, but I also think I’d love your mom’s cooking again.” You smile tremulously at his answer, sighing and trying to compose yourself.

“Then let’s go.” You take his hand, it feels too good, your little one engulfed in his warm palm, while Satoru sets his jacket and pulls out a chair for you, glaring over at Sukuna, who just smiles.

“Satoru, I should… say sorry for being a dick.” He says then, making Satoru blink in surprise.

“What?”

“I was a dick. Football makes us go to therapy, it’s really making me a little bitch but, here it is. I’m sorry.” He blinks once more, while he sits on the other side of you.

“Shit um, thanks I guess.” He mumbles, he still hates him, but he’s not going to keep the tension at the family table. Sukuna reaches around you to pat his shoulder, smiling a bit.

“It’s like a reunion huh?” Sukuna says teasingly, hand now finding your thigh under the table, making you look wide eyed at him, burning over your black tights. “It’s kind of nice being here again.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Satoru’s hand comes to your thigh now too, and you shift just a bit, Satoru’s is higher, thumb brushing circles on your soft inner thigh.

Some reunion.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along, and seeing you all again. I know she really missed you a lot, Satoru.” Your dad says then, and you hear it, the tone. Your dad was very protective, and he was never cool with his daughter being hurt - with Sukuna you both mutually broke up, but Satoru…

He really just left.

Satoru feels it in his gaze, sighing now. “Yeah well, certain people made High school shit for me. So I left.”

Sukuna looks away, sighing, and you feel the pain in his voice. “Not everyone was so bad.” You say softly, he nods then, hand on your thigh squeezing as Sukuna’s eases off.

“No, someone was amazing, and I shouldn’t have just left her.” His words are said in front of the room, and the tension eases, your dad smiles just a bit.

“She is amazing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“She is.” Satoru agrees, then he nibbles on the food in front of him, sighing. “I’m losing my abs this week.”

“You are not, silly!” You giggle with him, as all of you begin to reminisce, to talk softly, until food is done, and you’re going to help your mom clean up, but she stops you.

“You have a movie to get to, go on.” You smile at her knowing gaze.

“Satoru, have her home safe.” Your dad says, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty six!”

“Still!”

“I’ll have her home safe. Unless she… wants to stay at my place again. But we’ll let you know, promise.” He nods then, hugging Satoru firmly.

“Please do, the roads are slick, be careful you two.”

“We will be, dad.” You look to see Sukuna saying his goodbyes as well, and Satoru glares at him, he can’t help it, the jealousy raging.

“Let me warm up the car, mmkay sweets?” He says softly, and you nod, but he shocks you by planting a kiss right on your cheek in front of everyone, making your skin heat up against his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Satoru.” You go to grab your jacket, but Sukuna has already gotten it, gently placing it over you as you two step outside into the cold, and you look up at him in the now dark night, just the porch light illuminating his silhouette. “Thank you so much for coming over, Sukuna. Truly.”

“I had fun catching up, your old man’s strong, he’ll be fine.” He pats your head affectionately, when you hug him tightly.

Satoru watches from his car and feels sick. He can’t hear a word you fucking said, but Sukuna showing up when he was supposed to already left him one step behind. Sukuna wraps his arms around you, you literally disappear in the big man’s embrace, while he gets the heat going, looking away before he does get sick.

He wants you to be his.

Is it selfish, is it fucking foolish? What future could you two even have? And you were a girl who needed a future, security, loyalty. You weren’t a girl he could just have and ever let go, but all he can think of is having you, over and over. All he can imagine is his lips bruising and marking every inch of your skin, not leaving the bed for days and just ordering food when you need it, fuck he’d hand feed you.

Shit Satoru Gojo has never thought of doing.

“You’re welcome, brat.” Sukuna says softly, after you thank him for spending time with your father.

“No, it meant alot. Truly. You’ve changed so much, but you weren’t all bad back then you know.” You tease, he chuckles then, sooty pink lashes lowering over those ruby eyes as his breath comes out in a puff of condensation.

“I fucked up with you. If you ever… figure out… all that.” He gestures his head to the car, and watches as you blush furiously. “And it’s not what you want, you have my contact info now. I’ll always answer your call, okay?”

“Sukuna, that's corny!”

“Fuck off, I know.” He glares, and you giggle again.

“That therapist should be famous.”

“Bye, now, brat.” You giggle and smack a kiss on his cheek, up on your tiptoes, watching a blush form on his cheeks. “It’s an open offer.” He says, husky toned, you nod then.

“Please drive safe!”

“You too, be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night, Sukuna.” He nods with a half turn of is lips and walks over to his own sports car as you get inside the warmth with Satoru, smiling and then gasping as he yanks you against him. “Satoru?”

“I’ve been dying to do this all day.” He whispers huskily, before pressing his lips against yours, holding you against him in the warm confines of the car. He drinks up your sighs as you melt in his embrace, those shocks coursing through your veins from his plump lips, from his touch.

“Mnh…” Your soft cry makes him throb in need, but he tries to hold back, taking a breath instead, looking down at your now swollen lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“I never forgot you.” He repeats what he said earlier, you kiss him again, eagerly, tenderly, and he moans as you do, tongues dancing as lips keep pressing, melding against each other. “How could I?”

“Toru, I’m scared.” Your whisper makes him pause, he pulls back a bit, hands on your face now, shaking his head.

“I know. And I’m sorry you are. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing when I forgave you long ago, just… don’t hurt me again. Okay? I can’t handle it.” He nods, feeling your vulnerability, and you then relax, kissing him over and over, until he presses you against the door, leaned over, his hands dragging down your body, you whimper so sweetly he almost devours you there in that car.

“Shit, shit. I need to…” He backs off, watching your breasts rise and fall, he has never felt this, the insane need, once you all kissed he knew it was over, but every kiss drives him more out of his mind, as he falls just as bad as he had then. “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t go.”

“In front of my parents!?”

“Full high school nostalgia.” You laugh then, and so does he, to break the tension, as you shakily put on your seat belt.

“None of that, gonna give my dad a damn heart attack. He has enough shit to deal with.” He presses one more kiss before he backs out of your driveway, an arm over the seat, brushing against the back of your neck.

“He looks healthy and good, I was really glad to see that.”

“Sukuna cheered him up playing football.” Your words are innocent and sweet, but he feels it hit - the inadequacy. He was supposed to be your best fucking friend in the world, and an ex had a better connection and was more involved.

The pain and guilt eats at him, and it’s quiet then, as the snow lightens up, and Satoru drives carefully in the night, you put a hand on his thigh, and his falls right over yours, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for even going out with me tonight.”

“Of course, I want to… spend as much time as we can.” Your soft voice hits his ears, as you lean close, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Me too, I was so stressed out, god being stuck in the car with Samantha was torture.” You laugh a bit, but he can hear it’s tense. “Sweetheart,” you two come to a stop, and he looks at you now, the streetlights casting a red glow over him while the snow finally stops falling, and the look he gives you makes your breath catch. “I only want you, okay?”

“Satoru you don’t-”

“No, I do. There’s nothing between me and her alright?” You nod then, swallowing nervously, as he kisses your forehead far too sweetly. “I used to sleep with her. But we never dated, I… never dated anyone.”

“Never?” You asked quietly, and he laughs without humor, looking back at the road now.

“Never. I guess I had someone in my head. I guess I had someone’s faded picture in my pocket.”

“You… what?” He taps his pocket, and you reach down now, emotions hitting your throat when you see it, the last picture he’d taken of you. You’re bright, cheerful and so, so happy. “You kept this?”

“You didn’t like it, and were gonna throw it out, remember? I got mad about it, so I swiped it. It was beautiful.” Your tears fall on the faded, crumbled up polaroid, taking several shaky breaths now as the meaning sinks in.

“I didn’t like it then, but… now I do.” He smiles, the weight off his chest while you put it back in his pocket. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Satoru sighs, pulling up to another light, hand on yours gripping tightly as he studies you with that lidded gaze, with his plump lips parted just so, eyes that you have always loved looking into. But now they’re different, they’re jaded eyes yes, but there’s so much unsaid in them, so much it makes you falter, when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips brushing your knuckles.

“I was terrified of feeling it all again. Every feeling I had for you, I just… thought it was best to shove down. But, I guess they never left.” The words in the yearbook flash across your mind now.

Did he mean them?

“I guess I never shared all my feelings, either.” You say softly, he is driving once more, but keeps your hand up by his lips.

“You have no fault in anything, here. You were just… you. And I love that, how you’re you. You are still you.”

“You’re still you, too, Satoru.”

He blinks a bit, sighing again. “Am I?”

“I think so.”

You hope so.

You wish it so.

You have never felt what this is, even with him before, the intensity of just being near him enough to drive you insane, every breath and motion leading you deeper into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo. Opening your heart to someone who could so easily crush it all over again, who can tear it all apart so casually, but it’s as if you would take it all if it meant having him for just a bit.

“What movie are we seeing, hmm?” Your whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, of how the fuck he could make this work, of how he could express everything that’s been bottled up inside. Of how he could be that Satoru for you again.

He looks over at your gorgeous face, bathed in moonlight, as beautiful as the day he first met you in school, the inner beauty just radiating with your kindness, your heart, all too much to even look upon. Momentarily stunned he doesn’t compute your question at first, instead just drinking in the love in front of him, the love of his life that he shoved aside like she was nothing.

He’s not even sure he deserves you near him, but he’s not going to fuck this up, aside from life literally already fucking the first part of the evening up.

“It was your favorite, they’re doing a whole re-run of it. And we have time to catch the last showing.”

You bounce just a bit in your seat, so cute then, he fucking melts, he aches, your smile so precious he can’t fathom how he lived with just the memory of it. You’re brightening up his heart, his world, as he just stares at you, so enamored that he has to get honked at to drive at the light again.

When the two of you arrive in that movie theater, he can hardly focus on anything but your laugh, your glittery eyes as you two settle with your snacks in the old theater, that hasn’t changed one damn bit. He’s so lost in you he can’t remember what the movie is called, or what it’s about, an arm wrapped around as you nibble on popcorn, snuggling up.

It feels too perfect, and Satoru can’t fuck this up. Knowing he’s had you for years existing across the country and could have had this the entire time makes every bit of money he’s had feel hollow. His phone keeps going off, he keeps ignoring the vibrations until you pull back curiously.

“It may be important, Satoru, check it.” He sighs, looking now that it’s his manager. “Go ahead, take a call, I'll be fine.”

“Fuck it, he can wait.” He says then, checking the texts and his heart drops as he sees it.

He has a shoot coming up tomorrow night and then he has to get back to Hollywood for a magazine interview and photo shoot for Vogue. One more measly day with the girl he’s been missing like a piece of his heart? How the fuck could he even tell you?

“What’s wrong, Toru?” You whisper, he just turns the screen off, leaning close and kissing you, tasting salty popcorn on your lips and licking it, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Nothing, it can all wait.” His words reassure you, despite the lingering concerns, as he pulls you back against him and reclines the big black leather seats, the two of you snuggling under the blanket he’d brought as you fall into your favorite movie.

But you also fall deeper for him, for the boy you knew and the man you’re trying to learn, who’s heart thuds steadily under your cheek.

Could you handle him leaving you again, or just enjoy this while it lasted, savor every moment, could you let him go again?

Next chap will be smutty AND emotional AND angsty, yayyy hehe

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dog Tags (2)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You're still keeping his Dog Tags safe.

Disclaimer: This is Part 2. Part 1 can be found here. Mentions of injuries and blood, Bucky helps carry you to safety (kinda), little angst/hurt/comfort moments, some fluff moments plus friendship moments with Wanda and Kate. Not Proof Read.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked you for the millionth time. “It’s just that those arrows…I know I make them but sometimes I can put a little too much after kick- Clint tells me I need to find a substitute but the black market-”

“Kate,” you smiled and held your hand on her arm. “I promise you, I’m okay.”

“But that blast was big. Like, big big.”

You nodded. “I know. But I’m okay, I promise.”

“Kate!”

She turned and looked down the jet. 

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

She looked back at you, “You swear?”

You nodded, “I swear.”

Once Kate finally left, you let the wall drop for a moment. You didn’t blame her. The kick had been big, but it had also saved your life. Maybe you got a few bruises to remember it by, but you knew you’d be okay. 

It would just hurt in the meantime. 

“Here.” A voice spoke somewhere above you.

You looked around you until you found where the voice was coming from. Bucky. 

What the hell did he want?

You looked down at the hand where he was holding an ice pack. “Take it. For your ribs.”

You swatted his hand away, “I’m fine.” 

Bucky just stood and rolled his eyes. Even watching you lift your arm to swat him away looked painful. He’d seen the blast with his own eyes, which also meant he knew that if it was him in your position, he wouldn’t have walked out completely unscathed. 

“You’re not fine.” Bucky broke the ice pack before shaking it as he crouched in front of you. 

For a moment, you recoiled back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m gonna help you. Would you let me help you?” 

This time Bucky didn’t fully wait for an answer before he placed the ice pack against your ribs for you. And, for a moment, you recoiled from the cold until your body melted into it. 

Okay. Maybe you were hurt, a little. But that still didn’t mean you needed his help. 

“I can hold it myself.”

“You can barely lift your arms.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Bucky shrugged, “You’re getting it anyway.”

“Why?” The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. But it was a reasonable question. 

Save for a few questionable moments outside of the ten minute window you and Bucky could be alone, you weren’t two people that helped each other. Fought with was probably the more likely statement. 

“Because you need it.” 

It was the best explanation Bucky could come up with at that moment. But it still gained him something. 

You were looking him in the eyes. It was rare he ever got to be this close to you and actually see the colour of your eyes. He didn’t quite know how the feud between you and him had started out. But what he did know was that he would happily drown in your gaze. 

And it was thoughts like that, that sent him into a spin. 

So, regrettably, he looked away. But even that gained him something. 

You watched as a smile ghosted its way onto his lips and you followed his eye line to the metal chain around your neck. 

“You’re still wearing them.”

The Dog Tags. The one’s he thought he’d lost nearly three months ago, only to work out you’d had them all along. It had nearly been almost two months, alone, since that night in the training room. 

You raised a hand to touch your chest. You could feel the outline of the tags underneath your clothes. “You told me to keep them safe.”

You watched as a corner of Bucky’s mouth slanted up slightly and, just for a moment, you let your mind wonder what it would be like if you kissed him right in that spot. 

You shook your head and this time, you looked away. You dropped the hand from your chest just before a rattle came over the jet. 

“We’re coming into landing.”

You just nodded, not trusting yourself to use words at that moment. But you gained them again when you stood to get off the jet only for Bucky to put your arm over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing? I can walk on my own, Barnes.”

“You’d only collapse three feet from here. Thought I’d save myself the trouble of catching you.”

You scowled, “Like I told Kate-”

“So help me, God, if you tell me you’re ‘fine’ I’m gonna call Sam. You’ve got a sprained ankle, a few fractured ribs, if not, broken, and a lifetime of bruises to remember today by. And that’s just what I can see.”

You just looked at Bucky, your arm still over his shoulder, his hand still clasping yours. You didn’t know how or why, but you let him help you off the jet. 

But when Wanda asked you about it later on, you just told her it was because you were too tired. 

“It was a moment of weakness.”

Wanda hummed as she sat on the edge of your bed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean, ‘maybe’? There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

Wanda chuckled, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you, Shakespeare.”

Wanda hit your leg before climbing up the bed to sit beside you. She grabbed a pillow and crossed her arms over it. 

“Oh, come on. You and I both know you have feelings for him.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, he’s a massive pain in the ass.”

“Those aren’t the feelings I’m talking about.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. “Stop reading my mind.”

Wanda was calm as she shook her head. “I don’t have to read your mind for this one.”

Your shoulders sagged for a moment and you looked at your hands, picking at your fingers. “It’s not like I meant to let it happen.”

“Nobody ever lets feelings happen. They just happen. It’s what makes you human.”

You just shrugged your shoulders. “He is still a pain in my ass.”

Wanda chuckled. “Have you ever thought to talk to him-”

“No! No. No, absolutely not. No. Never.”

Wanda hummed again. “Maybe it might help. Who knows? Maybe this isn’t a one sided love affair?”

You recoiled a little, again. “Love? Who ever said anything about love? I’m sure it’s just a stupid…work crush.”

Wanda looked at you. She didn’t have to read your mind to know that even you didn’t believe what you’d just said. 

“Hey,” Wanda tapped your leg. “Can I get you anything? You know, since Sam has banished you here for the next week.”

You chuckled. “I’m still allowed to leave…when he’s not here.”

When Bucky had taken you to the medical bay, you’d been given a full diagnostic. A sprained ankle, two fractured ribs, a little bruising around your internal organs that would heal itself, plenty of pulled muscles and, like Bucky had put it, enough bruises to make sure you remembered the day for a lifetime. 

Once Sam had found out, he’d doubled down on the Doctor’s orders to maintain bedrest. 

A few hours after Wanda had left, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. And for a while, you just started thinking whilst absentmindedly fiddling with the dog tags still around your neck. 

You thought about the ending of the movie you’d just watched with Wanda. You thought about the pain in your side. You thought about the feeling of Bucky’s fingertips gently pressing at your side as he held the ice pack in place. 

He’d been checking to make sure nothing was broken. That was how he knew. 

Then you looked at the dog tags. Like every night, your thumb traced over the letters. 

Little did you know, the next time someone else traced their thumb over the letters, it was because your blood had been splattered across them. 

[nakylvr]

— DESCENDING

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

summary: after your first mission together and sophia staying the night in your apartment, you don't hear from her again. until one night you're awaken by knocking on your door, revealing the girl.

warnings/tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mild language, marvel!kats au, kate bishop!sophia, yelena belova!reader

hell yeah we back on our marvel!kats agenda 🙂‍↕️ deadpool!dani next? let me know 😋

you fucked up.

after the first mission with sophia became a mess with her getting shot and ultimately ruining what was the original plan, you were put "on hold" for missions for some time. you assumed she told the director what happened, and to say you were irritated would be an understatement. you were pissed off. this was your job, you lived off this. for days you had been sitting in your apartment doing nothing, letting time flow by as you drank more beer than you knew you could.

it was another normal night. you were on your couch, legs propped up on the coffee table with a beer in your hand and a few scattered on the table around your feet. you were half-awake watching the television and what it was playing.

and then the knocking came. hard and fast.

you jolted up, grabbing your knife from your table and slowly heading to your front door. you peer through the peephole and your gaze falters, putting your knife down and opening the door, revealing sophia.

she's a mess. hair tousled, scratches across her face and her glasses cracked in the center of the left lens, her shoulders slouched like she's about to pass out.

"sophia?" you let out. "what are you–"

"i didn't know where to go," she wheezes in response, her voice raspy.

the words stick with you for a moment before you shake it off and grab her arm to pull her inside. closing the door behind you, you turn and really look at her. she looks like shit. but you know better than to question what happened, for now, at least.

"come with me," you say, grabbing her arm and gently pulling her with you to the couch. "ignore the mess, i wasn't really expecting anyone." you add before going off into your kitchen.

sophia didn't even notice the beer bottles scattered around, her head pounding too much to even hear your words as she practically collapsed onto the couch. when you come back, her eyes are nearly closed.

"hey," you say softly, making her look up at you. "here's this." you hand her a ice pack wrapped in a towel.

"thank you," she manages to get out, taking the ice pack and holding it against her shoulder.

you stand there silently for a moment, debating what to do. and just as you open your mouth to speak, she beats you to it.

"i'm sorry for showing up like this," she murmurs, her eyes barely open.

"it's alright," you reply. "what happened?"

"nothing," she says quickly, shaking her head.

"okay." you nod, sitting down beside her. "do you need anything?"

"i don't know," her voice is barely above a whisper. "i just...needed someone."

you're taken aback by her response, but try not to show it, putting the cocky smirk on your face like you always do. "someone that tried to kill you?"

"someone that saved me," she says after a moment, making your breath catch in your throat. she looks over at you then, her eyes glossy with tears that she's trying to hold in. "i think i really messed up, yn." her voice cracks softly.

your smirk immediately disappears from your face the second she looks at you. "why?" you ask softly.

and the dam inside sophia breaks. she's bursting into tears the moment after you ask her why, and you instantly panic, not knowing what to do. "i-i thought i could do it on my own, b-but they followed me a-and i didn't have my equipment a-and–"

you're wrapping your arms around her shaking frame before she can finish, pulling her close to you as she buries her head in your shoulder. she's sobbing now, fully crying in your arms. "it's okay," you say quietly. "it's okay, you're safe here, i promise. i promise."

sophia holds onto your shirt in a tight bundle in her hands while she cries, barely hearing what you're saying over her sobbing. but she hears it. and it just makes her grab you tighter, the words hitting her like a truck despite only a few being spoken. your hand runs through her hair in slow, soft movements, bringing her closer to you when her cries amplify.

you don't know what to do. never once in your life did you think that she could be like this. she was always so strong, and didn't take anyone's shit. but here she was, breaking down in your arms like she was an entirely different person.

before you can even begin to think of something to say, sophia's crying slowly quiets. she doesn't move, a few sniffles coming from her, but she doesn't move or say anything. her arms remain wrapped around your torso, gripping your shirt tightly as if you were going to disappear. you glance down at her, not knowing if you should pull away first or if you should stay.

"are you okay?" you ask quietly.

"yeah," she replies in the same voice. "can we stay like this for a minute?" she hesitantly asks.

"we can stay like this for as long as you want," your response is immediate, your voice still being soft.

she doesn't say anything after that.

you're not sure how long you stayed in that position. and you honestly thought she might've fallen asleep sitting up with how quiet she was. until she finally unravels her arms from you and removes her face from your neck. her eyes don't meet yours for a minute, as if she's trying to think of what to say.

"i'm sorry about that." is what she ends up with.

you shake your head. "it's nothing, i don't mind," you reply. a moment of silence passes between you two before you speak again. "are you gonna leave now?"

another moment passes.

"do you want me to?" sophia asks.

"no." you shake your head.

"okay." she nods.

"okay," you say. "so what now?"

sophia takes a second to respond, not knowing either. "you got anything to eat?" she eventually responds.

"yeah." you nod. "i can make you–"

she suddenly stands, making you stop. "no offense, but i doubt you can cook something when the last time i saw you eat something it was mac and cheese out of the pot. i'm sure i can make something," she says bluntly, back to her normal self.

"i–uh–okay," you stammer over your words.

and for the first time, a smile curls on her lips. and then she's turning around and heading towards your kitchen, leaving you sitting there dumbfounded.

you sit there for a few minutes, hearing the clanking noise of pots and pans hitting each other before getting up and walking over to the kitchen. standing in the doorway, you watch as sophia appears to perfectly move around your kitchen like she had been there before. her hair swayed as she walked around to find the items she needed. her shoulders weren't scrunched up anymore, now relaxed and not tense. and despite the crack in her glasses, she looked peaceful as could be.

you felt a tug on your heart watching. for so long, you had been alone. you lived the same day every day. wake up, go to work, come home to no one, drink until you passed out, and repeat it. you had lived this way for so long now, that just seeing someone else in your home had you feeling things you weren't familiar with. and it scared you. you couldn't even remember the last time you were genuinely happy. you couldn't remember the last time you laughed. you couldn't even remember the last time you smiled genuinely. every day the darkness grew bigger, the void becoming more appealing to jump into and never come back. but at this moment, you wanted to stay.

"yn?"

you're shaken out of your thoughts when you hear your name, blinking a few times and seeing sophia looking at you.

"are you okay?" she asks.

"huh?" you let out. "i'm fine," you answer.

she studies you for a moment, clearly seeing past your lie but deciding to not say anything about it. "then help me with this," she tells you before looking back at what she was cooking.

"yeah, yeah. okay." you regain your composure and start helping her.

but that feeling doesn't entirely leave you throughout the night. you're not sure entirely what it means, and it terrifies you. you don't know what's going on in your head anymore or what to do. you're stuck. but so is sophia. and maybe that means something.

[steveseddie]

rush

written for the @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event & the round one main card | prompts: start & store | rating: g | wc: 2,4k | tags: different first meeting, post season 3, coworkers steve and eddie, pre relationship, fluff

read on ao3

“So, when does the new guy start?” Steve asks, spinning away on the chair behind the counter while Robin restocks the candy display.

“Friday,” she says, nearly dropping a Snickers bar.

Steve stops spinning abruptly, going a little dizzy. “We have the closing shift on Fridays,” he says and Robin makes a vague noise of assent. “Does that mean I’m stuck on closing duty with the new guy?”

“Yes.”

Slumping back on the chair, Steve groans. “Robin!”

“What? It’s not my fault my dad is dragging us out of town to visit his family, dingus!” She snaps, throwing her hands up in the air. The Snickers bar lands on the carpet. “You know I hate my dad’s side of the family, I will be miserable too.”

Steve sighs. He’s heard enough stories about Grandma Buckley to know that Robin is telling the truth. “It’s just that the thought of working an entire week without you is–”

Robin cuts him off with a strangled, “Uh.”

“What?”

“Did I say one week?” She asks sheepishly. Steve narrows his eyes at her. “More like, two.”

“Robin!”

**

Friday comes much too soon.

It’s not that Steve has ever been excited to go to work, but knowing that Robin won’t be there makes this shift seem ten times worse. Especially when he knows he has to show the ropes to some high school kid who wants to be there probably even less than Steve does.

As he drags himself through his morning routine, he weighs the pros and cons of quitting but ultimately decides against it– he enjoys free movies and working with his best friend far too much.

Eventually he makes it to Family Video, ten minutes before opening time and finds that Keith left behind a mess like he always does. There are empty Cheez Balls bags behind the counter and half finished soda cans, one of which got knocked over at some point, spilling soda on the carpet.

Grumbling, Steve crouches down to pick up the other ones before they end up spilled over too. While ducked down behind the counter, the door to Family Video opens and the bell chimes.

“Greetings!” A vaguely familiar voice says.

Steve checks his watch. Five minutes till ten. “Sorry, man, we’re not open yet.”

“Actually, I work here,” that same voice says. Right, Robin’s replacement. Steve totally forgot about him for a second. The voice sounds deeper than he expected, not that of a high school kid and it definitely sounds familiar.

Standing up, he realizes why when he sees–

“Eddie Munson, reporting for duty,” the guy says, offering Steve a dorky soldier salute.

Steve blinks. Eddie Munson isn’t who he expected at all. He doesn’t know him personally but he knows of him. Still in highschool, despite being older than Steve. A nerd. A metalhead. Can be found selling drugs in the woods behind the school. Likes to stand up on tables and complain loudly about The Man. Not necessarily the poster child for a stellar employee.

Steve’s nose scrunches up. “I thought you sold weed, not movies.”

Eddie snorts but Steve’s bitchy tone doesn’t seem to affect him. “I’m branching out,” he says with a shrug. Then he leans his elbows on the counter. “So what’s first, boss?”

“First,” he starts, grabbing a spare vest from behind the counter. “You put this on.”

Now it’s Eddie’s face that scrunches up. “Do I have to?” He asks, eyeing the green piece of clothing like it personally offended him.

Steve’s lips tug up at the corners. He shrugs. “Company policy, Munson.”

With a sigh, he reaches for the vest and shrugs it on. It definitely doesn’t go with the metalhead look he’s got going on but it doesn’t look bad either, in fact–

“Green looks good on you,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Jesus Christ, why did he say that?

Luckily, Eddie takes it as a joke, glaring half-heartedly at Steve. “Fuck off, Harrington,” he says, shaking his curls out. “Okay, what now?”

Steve ignores the sudden urge to reach out and smooth down Eddie’s curls and gestures at him to follow him to the return bin. “Now we start by processing overnight returns.”

“Fun!” Eddie says with feigned cheerfulness, trailing behind Steve.

“You gotta make sure the right tape is in the case and separate those that are rewound from the ones that aren’t. Think you can do that?”

“Piece of cake, Your Majesty,” Eddie says, throwing a wink over his shoulder that makes Steve’s stomach flutter a little.

He brushes it off and leaves Eddie to it, focusing on cleaning Keith’s mess and doing his best to ignore his new coworker’s humming.

**

Steve walks Eddie through the rest of their morning routine– logging the returns into the system, restocking the candy display, facing tapes. He teaches him how to use the rewinding machine and the cash register. All of that before a single customer comes in.

“Is it always this dead?” Eddie asks, sticking another tape into the rewinding machine. He got the hang of it pretty quickly and Steve was happy to let him take over, even if he’s determined to be annoying about it and make weird noises with his mouth while the tape is being rewound.

“Mornings usually are,” Steve says, looking away from Eddie’s mouth and back to the computer where he’s supposed to be logging tapes in. “We’ll probably get a small rush around lunch.”

“How do you pass the time then?”

“Uh, by working?”

“Bo-ring!” Eddie loudly says, making Steve jump. “You work at a video rental, Harrington, don’t you guys watch movies?”

“Well, most of the time Robin and I can’t agree on one.”

Eddie leans back against the counter and looks Steve up and down. He tries not to squirm under his gaze. “Mm yeah, you look like you have bad taste.”

Steve scoffs. “How do you know it isn’t Robin’s movies that are bad?”

Shrugging, Eddie turns his attention back to the rewinding machine. “I just do, Stevie.”

Stevie.

The name has Steve blurting out some lie about being out of plastic bags and heading to the backroom, his cheeks pinking up.

He stays there for at least five minutes trying to make his blush go away.

**

Steve’s gotta hand it to Eddie– he handles the lunch rush pretty well.

It’s not the same as working with Robin but it definitely beats working with Keith, who disappears into his office for most of their shift, even during the busiest hours.

Despite doing his job well, Eddie still insists on being annoying about everything he does. He starts arguments with customers over which movie they pick, steals candy from the display when he thinks Steve isn’t looking–

“Steve! Help, the cash register is stuck!”

Excusing himself to the elderly couple he’d been helping, Steve steps behind the counter where he smacks his hand against the cash register, making it work again.

Eddie huffs out a snort. “Thanks, big boy,” he says, and a shudder travels down Steve’s spine.

That’s another annoying thing. The names.

Stevie. Big boy. They make his face flush, his stomach flip flop and his tongue trip over its words.

“Uh, sure, yeah. It’s– uh, no problem.”

Jesus Christ, he used to be smooth. Then again, he used to be the one doing the flirting.

Not that Eddie is flirting with him.

For some reason, that thought makes Steve’s stomach twist again, this time with disappointment.

**

“I saw that,” Steve says when Eddie grabs a Snickers bar from the candy display in what he thinks is a subtle way. It’s not.

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You keep stealing candy.”

Shrugging, Eddie pulls back the wrapping and takes a bite. “I’m just making use of my employee discount,” he says through a mouthful of chocolate.

Steve snorts, leaning on the broom he’s using to clean the mess a kid left behind when he opened a bag of chips and they exploded. “That’s not a thing.”

“Well,” Eddie says, waving his chocolate bar. “It should be.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Keith,” Steve says sarcastically before going back to sweeping.

Eddie goes back to cleaning the sticky counter where another kid spilled his soda. “What about movies?”

“Mm?”

“Do I get a discount for renting movies?” He asks, scrubbing away at a particular stubborn stain, his tongue peeking out in concentration. Steve’s eyes get stuck on it and he forgets he’s supposed to be sweeping and that Eddie just asked him a question.

“Oh, well, technically no, but no one will know if you take it with you and return it the next day,” Steve says with a shrug.

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. “Didn’t take you for a rule breaker, sweetheart.”

Steve’s fingers tighten around the broom handle so hard he worries it might snap, his stomach filling with what feels like a swarm of butterflies.

God damnit, he thinks. He can’t get a crush on a coworker again.

Especially when things wouldn’t go any differently with Eddie from how they did with Robin.

**

“So what’s the deal with you and Buckley?” Eddie asks when they’re alone again after the afternoon rush. He’s shamelessly munching on a string of licorice since Steve has long since given up on stopping him from stealing candy. He’ll just tweak the inventory later, it’s fine.

What’s not fine is that Eddie’s lips are tinted red from sucking on the candy, which makes them incredibly distracting for Steve.

“What?” He asks, having completely missed Eddie’s question.

“I said– what’s the deal with you and Buckley? Are you guys together or something? You talk about her a lot, dude.”

“Oh, no. No, man. No way.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “She’s not cool enough for you?”

“Actually she might be cooler than me,” Steve says with a fond smile. “Just don’t tell her I said that. She’s– she’s my best friend but she’ll still be insufferable about it.”

“So you don’t like her?” Eddie asks curiously. “Like like her?”

Steve can’t help but snort. “I know you’re still in high school, Munson, but really? Like like?”

Eddie simply rolls his eyes.

“I don’t, not like that,” Steve says, shrugging. “I kinda did when we worked together last summer, but she didn’t like me back.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in his face. “She wasn’t interested in you?” He asks and when Steve shakes his head, he adds, “Damn. Maybe Buckley’s the one with bad taste, after all.”

Steve cocks his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Eddie quickly says, taking a bite from the candy before holding it out to Steve. “Want some?”

Steve’s eyes follow Eddie’s tongue as he licks over his red lips, leaving them wet and shiny.

Boy, does he ever, he thinks, the words dangerously balancing at the tip of his tongue.

Luckily, a customer comes in and Eddie’s attention drifts elsewhere but it takes a little longer for Steve to snap out of his thoughts of tasting the candy straight from Eddie’s lips.

**

A girl walks up to the counter but Steve doesn’t notice her until she waves her hand in front of his face and says, “Hi.”

He was too busy watching Eddie as he gestured wildly at a group of nerdy teens that asked for a movie recommendation.

“Hi, welcome to Family Video,” Steve says sheepishly, turning his attention to her. “What can I help you with?”

The girl asks for a recommendation too but it’s clear that she’s just using it as an excuse to talk to Steve, probably hoping that he’ll ask her out. She’s pretty and nice, and Steve would probably enjoy taking her out, but as of seven hours ago, he’s had his eyes set on someone else.

Someone who, once the girl and the teens leave the store, walks up to Steve, ruefully shaking his head.

“Damn, Harrington, no wonder you’re single,” Eddie says, leaning his elbows on the counter.

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“That chick was obviously interested in you!”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking over Eddie’s shoulder at the girl as she gets into her car. “I guess.”

“Why didn’t you ask her out?”

Steve simply shrugs. He can’t exactly admit that he doesn’t feel like asking anyone out unless it’s him.

Eddie rolls his eyes and huffs. “Unbelievable.”

“You can go and ask her out yourself if you’re so offended,” Steve says bitchily, though the words come out sounding a little more bitter than he’d like.

With a sarcastic laugh, Eddie says, “First of all, she wouldn’t want to go out with a guy like me. Second of all, I wouldn’t want her to.”

“Not nerdy enough for you?” Steve asks, resting his elbows on the counter too, their faces only a couple of inches apart.

It gives him a good view of Eddie nervously biting on his bottom lip before he says, “Not guy enough for me.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

He sees Eddie almost imperceptibly gear up for whatever Steve is going to do next. He remembers Robin doing the same thing once, and can’t help but think about what this means. That he might have a chance with Eddie after all.

“Well, I’m sure a– a hot guy will come around that you can ask out,” he stammers out, feeling his cheeks warming up– from the proximity, the anticipation, the way Eddie’s eyes dart down to his lips and back up again, his mouth ticking up at the corners–

“You might be right, pretty boy.”

**

Closing time comes faster than Steve expected.

Eddie actually proves very helpful, and in no time, the two of them are done and walking out of the store.

Eddie hovers as Steve locks the door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, shoving his hands into his jacket.

“You better,” Steve says, bumping their shoulders together. “Don’t leave me hanging, Munson, weekends are busy.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here. I actually had fun working with you, Harrington.”

Steve’s stomach flutters. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

Eddie laughs as they reach the parking lot. Steve can see Eddie’s van parked in the opposite direction of his Beemer, but instead of heading that way, Eddie scruffs his feet against the pavement. “You know maybe we, uh, we could take a movie home sometime and watch it together?”

Oh. Now Steve’s stomach fills with a million butterflies, at least. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Eddie bites his lip around a smile. “Alright, pretty boy. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

With a two fingered salute, Eddie whirls around and starts walking towards his van. Steve walks over to his car with a smile.

He’s actually excited for the next two weeks. Who would’ve thought?

[piroulinewafers]

Is there any way we can possibly pretty please get some more dad Caleb 🥲

Im seriously obsessed with how you write him .

𝐚/𝐧: i personally think caleb would be quite the boy-dad... i also think most of his kids would end up being carbon copies of him but maybe that's just me hehe.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: none. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the morning sunlight poured through the curtains in soft streaks, slanting over the floor and catching in golden strands on the kitchen tile. she stood barefoot in front of the stove, her sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, spatula in hand and stray strands of hair splayed over her forehead. all the while, she balanced her squirmy toddler on one hip.

“don’t touch that,” she muttered to the small boy, who had made it his mission to poke everything within reach, including her cheek, the spatula and the edge of the frying pan. “it’s hot. that means ‘ow’. you say ‘ow’, remember?”

the boy blinked up at her, then cheerfully repeated, “ow!” before grabbing at the hem of her shirt instead. 

“great,” she sighed fondly. 

behind them, caleb’s voice rumbled from the table as he leaned forward in his chair, one arm draped over the back.”i told you he’s like me. reckless and charming.”

she turned just enough to shoot him a sleepy-eyed glare. “that is not the compliment you think it is.”

caleb grinned. their son, now squirming free from her hip and toddling unevenly toward his father, was a little carbon copy— tousled chestnut hair, same thick lashes, stubborn chin and a faint smattered of freckles at the apples of his cheeks. 

but those wide, curious eyes? all hers. all hers, warm and thoughtful and a little too observant for a child his age.

“he looks just like you,” she mumbled, going back to flipping pancakes. “my genes didn’t even put up a fight. i carried him, fed him, didn’t sleep for a year, and all i get is my eyes.”

“best part of him,” caleb said, completely serious, scooping the boy up onto his lap. their son immediately began fiddling with caleb’s dog tags, like he always did. 

“he’s gonna swallow those one day, caleb, be careful.”

“he won’t. he’s got a mouth too small for trouble. for now.” caleb looked down at the boy. “ain’t that right, buddy?”

the boy gave a gummy grin, and immediately tried to shove a tag in his mouth.

she pointed a spatula like a warning. “told you.”

“alright, alright.” caleb gently pried the tag free and sighed dramatically. “your mama’s always right, huh?”

caleb watched them like he always did when he got the chance— quietly, like it was a view he didn’t dare blink and miss. the sunlight caught in the flyaway strands of her hair, the ones she always grumbled about but never bothered to pin down this early in the morning. her shirt hung off one shoulder and she’d yet to fix it, exposing the soft curve of her collarbone and the tiny bruise he had left last night.

his throat tightened a little at the sight.

she sdidn’t even know, didn’t realize, just how much she softened everything. even the dull hum of the ship, the sleepless nights, the bone-deep weariness. she didn’t know that just standing there, barefoot in the kitchen, fussing about pancakes and hot pans, that she had already built something out of all the things he thought he’d never have. 

family.

their son, tucked against caleb’s chest now, made a triumphant sound as he yanked the dog tags again and gave them a hard shake after they’d moved to stand at the kitchen island counter.

“hey, gentle,” caleb murmured, smiling as he gently plucked them from tiny hands and tucked them back under his shirt. “those aren’t toys.”

the boy blinked up at him, then gave a wiggly grin , and reached for a pancake on caleb’s plate. 

“you’re just like your mama,” caleb said under his breath, balancing the toddler with one arm before setting him into his high chair as he broke up a small piece of fluffy pancake with the other. “always tryin’ to steal my food.”

he fed him slowly, careful to blow on each piece. the kid chewed with the exaggerated gusto of someone who thought every bite might be his last, syrup smudging his chin. caleb used his thumb to wipe it off, then kissed his cheek, ignoring the sticky mess. 

the freckles there would darken in the sun, just like his had when he was little. 

but those eyes… god. those were her’s through and through. when the boy stared up at him— steady and sweet and searching— it was like looking into the part of his life he never thought he deserved. 

he glanced up. she was humming under her breath now, flipping the last pancake with a satisfied hum. the light hit her face in that soft way again and her heart swelled too big for his chest. 

this— this was everything.

“hey,” he said, voice low so it wouldn’t startle her, “we ever talk about givin’ him a little sibling?”

she froze mid-hum, spatula hovering over the pan.

their son chose the exact moment to mash pancake into caleb’s collarbone. 

caleb didn’t even flinch, just smiled, eyes fixed on her. “i mean, c’mon. you’ve got strong genes, maybe they’ll fight back this time.”

she turned slowly, staring at him like she didn’t know whether to laugh or launch the spatula at his head. 

“you’re asking me that,” she said, “while our son is making a mess of his breakfast on your clavicle?” 

caleb glanced down at the syrup-slick mess on his collarbone and shrugged, entirely unfazed. “what can i say? he’s passionate.”

she sighed, setting the spatula own with a quiet clink and crossing the kitchen toward him. her steps were soft, but there was a familiar look on her face— an exhausted fondness buried beneath a view of exasperation. 

“you’re lucky i love you,” she murmured out, grabbing a wet wipe from underneath the sink and gently wiping at the mess on his skin. she was precise about it, but her touch was soft, almost unconsciously careful. 

“i know i am,” he murmured, watching her intently. he reached out with his free hand and caught her wrist. “but i mean it, you know. ‘doesn’t have to be now. or soon. but someday… i think we’d be good at it. again.”

she stilled for a moment, her fingers flexing slightly in his grasp.

“i don’t know if i’m ready for more sleepless nights,” she said quietly, eyes drifting to the toddler now making a mess of his pancakes like nothing mattered. “he’d already so much. and i’m tired. and scared i’d mess it up. twice.”

caleb let go of her wrist just to gently curl his fingers around her hand. “you didn’t mess up once,” he said, voice low and serious. “look at him. he’s happy, he’s bright. he’s got your heart, and he’s safe. that’s all you.”

she didn’t answer for a moment, just let out a soft, trembling sigh and leaned her forehead into the side of his. their son wriggled in his chair with a syrup stick squeal and she gave a small laugh in spire of herself. 

caleb kissed her temple. “no rush,” he said again. ‘we’ve got time. right now, i just want pancakes and you. in that order only because i already started eatin’.” 

“you’re lucky you’re cute, she mumbled, reaching up to his cheek to gently wipe some syrup from his face. 

their son picked up a  bit of pancake, falling apart in his little fist, and offered it to her as a little gift. she blinked, then took it with a little, “thank you” and a peck to his forehead.

caleb smiled, watching them both— his whole world, in syrup and sun and sleepy smiles— and thought, maybe, just maybe, he’d already gotten everything he ever wanted.

but still, he wouldn’t mind another set of those eyes, someday. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday mornings are usually those where you wake up restless. It’s the day you work on chores. Yet when you rouse, you only want to sink back into the bed. You could spend all day in the faded afterglow. 

You roll onto your side and squeak. Your thighs are tender. Every bit of you is sensitive to the point of twitching. Even just the touch of the duvet is too much. 

Yet the man who made you feel this way is gone. Your chest tweaks. Is he gone? Was this all just a twisted plot by him? That would make your life so much easier. If this could just be a fantasy, 

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s drawl makes you tense. 

You lift your head and look at the door. He fills the frame easily. He’s in a pair of grey boxers and nothing else. His muscle-forged shoulders are round and firm, his middle thick and padded too. You can see all the strength you felt the night before. 

You sit up and hug the top of the blanket. You look around. “What time is it?” 

“Take your time,” he assures. “I was just looking in on you.” 

“Oh,” you rub your neck. “I-- I should--” you search for anything to cover yourself. “Get up.” 

You turn your legs over the side of the bed and keep the duvet up. He hums. “You don’t gotta.” 

“I do. I have to get the laundry. The dishes. And groceries--” 

“Laundry’s folded, waiting in a basket. I did the dishes. And we can grab groceries later.” 

You blink at him, “huh? No, you didn’t--” 

“You know, being locked up, the little things, they’re almost fun these days. I don’t got some guard glaring at me or barking at me for standing the wrong way,” he chuckles and crosses the room. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about all that. We got a road trip.” 

“A road...trip?” You echo. 

He sits next to you and caresses your bare shoulder, “mhmm. As much as I’d like to stay in bed all day.” 

You squeeze the blanket tighter and blush. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Going to see your brother. Like mom said we should.” 

“What?” You wince. “No, I’ll go. You don’t have to--” 

“I don’t have to. I want to. We’re together now.” 

You gulp and lean away from him. You stand up and brush by him. You take your robe off the dresser and open it. Before you can pull it on, there’s a tug on the other end. 

“Why’re you running?” He yanks until you face him. 

“I’m not,” you angle it in front of your body as best as you can. 

“You’re hiding--” 

“I’m cold--” 

“You could’ve stayed under the blankets--” 

“Steve,” you tug until he lets go. You wrap yourself up. The robe smells like him too. “You shouldn’t... come yet. It’s just Vaughn, he can be...” 

“A brat. Oh I know it. It’s why you’re lucky I was there to watch over him. But what about now?” 

You search his face. “You don’t think...” 

“I’m just saying. I was in there. He wasn’t making any friends.” 

“Steve,” you gasp. 

“I can’t lie to you, baby.” He puts his hands on your arms. “Not ever. Your brother needs a heavy boot to keep him in place. I might not be inside but I still got connects on the inside. And he needs to see that I still got his back so he stays in line. Make sure he gets out one day. I’d like our kids to know their uncle--” 

You choke. Kids? That’s not an argument for today. Hopefully, it never truly comes to a head. 

“I didn’t... I don’t have an appointment,” you say. 

“I do. Special request for a family meeting. The two of us.” 

“What? He’s not—He's not going to like that.” 

“He’s going to like what I’m tell him too,” Steve’s voice deepens and he brings a hand to your chin. “He should like whatever makes his sister happy. Especially after all you’ve done for him. And if he isn’t, well, then, I guess he’s on his own.” 

“It’s just—he's—he's just very--” 

“He needs to grow up. You go out there and see him and he doesn’t appreciate that. Well he’s going to start or he’s not going to see you anymore. You got a life to live here. With me.” He pets your cheek with his knuckles. “And I spent enough of mine behind bars. I’m not waiting any longer.” 

He steps closer and leans it, drawing you to him. You don’t stop him. You know better. He kisses you as you close your eyes, hiding the anxiety brewing in your heart. You have a bad feeling about this. 

💙

You’ve only ever gone to the prison alone. Being with Steve feels strange for several reasons. He keeps your hand in his as you step inside the visitors’ entrance and approach the front desk with its thick plexiglass windows. 

He lets you go to take out his wallet. You glance around as you sense the gazes of several guards. Even out of his prison garb, they must recognise him. As ever, his blond and silver hair is tidily combed and parted. He wears a blue-grey short-sleeve button up and a pair of grey slacks. The sleeves are tight around his biceps and a gold watch flashes on his wrist. 

You take out your ID and hand it over with his. You swelter in the judgment of the errant eyes around you. What must they think? You show up here with a former inmate... He might have been acquitted on appeal but how much do they know about that? 

“Step over on the x’s,” the woman directs. “Officers will search you and escort you in.” 

You follow her instructions. The officers sweep over you quickly but you notice the extra attention they give to Steve. He chuckles. 

“Miss me?” He asks. 

One of the officers clucks. 

“Outside’s treating you well,” the one feeling him up turns his wrist to admire the watch. 

“Well, you know, I got a good bag for the settlement. False convictions are a cash grab,” Steve scoff, “low pay for time done, though.” 

The officer huffs with a hint of doubt. 

“Alright, go in,” he points down the hall. “They’ll get you seated.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve salutes him and reaches for you. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

You let him drag you down the hall to the visitors’ room. Another officer greets you and checks his clipboard. He takes you to a spot at the desk with two seats and two receivers. The chair on the other side of the transparent barrier is empty. 

You fidget as you wait, staring at the white seat across from you. What will Vaughn think? What will he do? The last question worries you most. 

“Damn, I’m just thinking about the days it was me over there,” Steve chuckles and puts his hand on the back of your chair. “We’re you this nervous then? I could never tell.” 

You shrug. 

“I can tell you now. I counted down the days. I’d be on my cell bed, sat all pretty and patient for you, ‘til they sent one of these bozos to get me,” he sighs and slaps his thigh. “I can’t hardly believe I’m sitting right next to you now.” 

He plays with your sleeve. He leans over and kisses your other shoulder. You shiver and twine your fingers together tightly in your lap. 

You wince as a door shuts with a muffled thunk. You sit up as you sense the approach on the other side. Vaughn drags his feet between two guards and stops behind the chair. He snorts. 

You can’t hear through the glass as his face twists. He tenses and the guards struggle with him. You stare at him as his eyes scour you venomously, then flick over Steve. His lip curls and he tries to shake off the guards. They finally get him to sit. 

Steve clicks his tongue and sits forward, bend one arm over the table. He chuckles as he picks up the receiver. Vaughn crosses his arms and squares his jaw defiantly. You hesitate but lift your receiver too. 

Steve points through the glass. Vaughn sneers. Steve leans forward and taps the glass. Your brother rolls his eyes then reaches for the phone. The guards cautiously back off. 

“What the fuck is this--” 

“You watch your mouth,” Steve warns. “We came all this way. The first thing you can start with is thanking your sister for being here and telling her how much you love her.” 

“Fuck off, pal.” 

Steve laughs. A dark rumble that unsettles you. You’ve never heard that from him. He gets an edge now and again, the kind that makes you nervous, but this is something more dangerous. 

“I’m giving you another chance to show some respect,” Steve warns. “So clean up the language and thank your sister.” 

“You fucking him?” Vaughn sets his sight on you. 

“Vaughn, please, settle down.” You plead 

“Huh? Is that it? How the fuck did that happen? I mean--” He snarls against the phone. “I love you, sis, but I got nothing but this for a slut.” 

He swallows and spits at the glass. Steve bristles and squeezes the receiver tight. You look over as his knuckles turn white. He leans forward. 

“Last fucking chance. Apologise--” 

“Fuck you, dude. You’re out. You got nothing in here. You run shit. So I’ma say what I want to my sister and you’re going to sit there like an old decrepit man and choke--” 

“You’re walking the line,” Steve is terrifying calm. 

“Me? Me?! You’re fucking my sister--” 

“I’m gonna marry your sister. I’m a man. Unlike you.” Steve insists. 

“Marry?!” Vaughn erupts.  

He stands and gnashes his teeth. He slams the receiver against the glass. You drop yours and sit back as he hammers at the barrier until the phone breaks in his hands. The guards grab him and drag him off away from the table. 

Steve is unfazed. He watches the tantrum. You stare at the pieces of the broken receiver as the cable hangs limply. Vaughn kicks and writhes as he’s wrestled to the door. 

Steve hangs up the phone. “Ungrateful.” 

“Steve, you should’ve let me speak--” 

“And what? Let him call you a slut?” 

“I could’ve talked to him. You didn’t let me--” 

“I’m not letting anyone disrespect my woman,” he stands up. “Not even your brother. You understand me?” 

“Steve, I understand, but he’s my family--” 

“You don’t get it sweetheart,” he takes your hand and tugs you up. “You need me. You don’t take care of yourself like you should. You let them walk right over you. Well, that’s not happening anymore.” 

You get up and sniff. “I’ll come back on my own. I’ll talk to him--” 

“You’re not coming back. He can deal with consequences.” 

“Steve.” 

He squeezes your hand. You quiet. He doesn’t let up as he drags you from the room. You pass the guards with your head down. He doesn’t stop at the front desk as he marches you out. 

Finally, he stops. Right by his car. He puts his hand on the passenger door and faces you. 

“Get one more thing, doll. You don’t argue with me like that. Especially in front of other men.” 

Your mouth falls open, “I wasn’t--” 

“You were,” he puts his other hand on his hip. “I’d do anything for you but I need you to meet me halfway, got it? We’re a unit so you stand by me. Your brother wants to act like a child, so let him mope like one. He spit in your face and you’re going to take it? Nah. Not my woman.” 

“He’s upset--” 

“You’re too soft. I love that about you but it’s no good,” he tuts. He stands straight and opens the passenger door. “Come on. We got business to take care of.” 

You get in, hiding your confusion and chagrin. You knew it would go about as well as it did. So did Steve. He's not stupid. And he’s not telling you everything, not like he said he would. This business... what exactly is that? 

You would ask but you’re not sure you’d get an answer. Knowing won’t do anything to change whatever he has planned. Just like you can’t do much to stop all those big dreams of his; wife, kids... you’re caught in the whirlwind of his lost years. 

[prettyiwa]

Relationship: Sakura Haruka x GN!Reader Content Tags: Domestic Fluff, Talks of Marriage/Proposals, Awkward & Nervous Sakura, Established Relationship, Small Insecurities, Sakura & Reader are in their late 20s, Sakura still falls for Suo's light deceptions, Pre-Marital Hand Holding Summary: Suo once teased Nirei when Sakura was around and Sakura took it to heart. You don't find out about it until it leads to an interesting conversation that changes the course of your relationship. Word Count: 1,945

A/N: This has been rotting my brain for the last couple of days. Very special thanks to @startcarvingdarling and @owoasis for putting me on this train of thought and preventing me from being able to move on. Also tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics because it's important to me that she's here for my Haruka thoughts. I love you all very much.

Additionally, I make a furin reference: the gaiken is the shell of the wind chime, and the zetsu is the bell clapper. Forgive me for the blatant wind breaker simile.

It happens after dinner one random Saturday in June.

Beyond the sounds from the sink as you wash the dishes and gentle clink as Haruka loads the rack beside you, the apartment is silent. Dinner was perfect, a combined effort between the two of you, something that would’ve been unlikely even just three years ago. The night has you feeling content in the domesticity, earned after a hard week’s work. Every now and then, your cat will meow, asking for attention, but it’s not enough to pull you from your thoughts.

“Hey, Haruka?”

Beside you, he offers little more than a quick glance, eyes returning to the last pan you offer him. “Hn?”

“What if…,” you start, the thought still forming, “for our next trip we visit a ryokan?”

He scoffs, the sound lacking any real bite. “Next trip? We just got back from Osaka last week.”

“I know.” Clicking your tongue against your teeth, you catch the slight uptick of the corner of his lips. “I was thinking maybe sometime next summer? When things slow down for us again. We could choose one that offers kashikiri.”

He stills, hands freezing where they hold the pan and dish towel, though you think little of it, drying your own hands. Deliberately, he places the pan in the dish rack before turning to meet you, asking, “Wh-Why’re you talkin’ like we’re already married?”

You hum, taking a moment to process his question before it hits you, causing you to pause. There’s a slight strain in his voice that urges you to turn. Your favorite blush adorns his cheeks, not as pink as you’ve ever seen, but certainly enough to know he’s feeling a little flustered. Your eyes flit to his fists, to the one resting on the counter’s edge and the other that grips the dish towel so tightly his knuckles are turning white. It’s clear to you that he didn’t mean it as a complaint, more like… he’s surprised.

“Does it bother you? Me, making plans for us like this? So far ahead?” The question is sincere, a quiet worry of yours coming to life. He’s always had a hard time telling you no. Whenever you two go out, he seems to have fun, so it’s possible he doesn’t want to tell you no, but could you have pushed some boundary he’s struggled to voice?

Blush deepening, his eyes go wide. “N-No! That’s not what I meant! It doesn’t bother me!” His voice hitches in the way it does when he worries he’s offended you, and his hands come up, the dish towel swaying as he frantically tries to find a way to remedy this supposed slight. Cute. “I didn’t mean it like it’s a bad thing!”

With your smile, he breathes again, still a little strained. The cat meows again, this time coming to rub against his leg, and his shoulders start to relax. “It’s okay. I never know if I’m pushing us when you don’t want me to, and it’s okay to tell me to slow down. This is your relationship, too.”

Four years together and he still worries about insulting you, just as you still worry about moving faster than he’s ready.

He bristles, brows furrowing as his hands come down, and you can guess his next words before he utters them with a pout. “Stop that, will you? It’s not like I don’t wanna marry you or anything. I-I was just—”

Your body registers it before your mind does, the breath seemingly stolen from your lungs as your heart kicks into overdrive. It hits, ringing like the zetsu as it claps against the gaiken, a startling clarity as his words take hold, sparking your slow smile. Though you understand, it takes a moment for your voice to catch up, and you step forward. He remains frozen in place, his eyes tracking your movement.

Just like you, it looks like he struggles to breathe.

“You want to marry me?”

Your words do the trick, snapping him out of it as he takes half a step back, pointing a finger at you in surprise. “That’s—! I—!”

Does he think he’s said too much? That he’s scared you off?

“You know,” you say, unable to help yourself, your smile growing until it reaches cheek to cheek, “I wouldn’t say no if you asked.”

“You—!” He’s always been so easy to read. His breath catches once more, chest frozen with his sharp inhale as he holds onto it. Your words float between you two and he begins to catch them, one by one, piecing them together with eyes that start to soften. Dropping his finger, his mouth opens and closes before he blurts out, “You’d wanna marry me?”

Incredulity sits heavy on his tongue, and you’re reminded of the way he once hesitated to accept your confession years ago, still carrying lingering adolescent insecurities.

Again, you step forward, lifting your hand with your palm facing upward. His eyes flicker down to your offering and he finally sets down the dish towel, placing his hand in yours, letting you ground him as you’ve done countless times before. It’s a little clammy, though you’ve come to expect that from a nervous Haruka over the years, always something you’ve found a little endearing.

“Yes.”

His fingers come to squeeze your palm and you squeeze back, encouraging the stress to escape on his exhale. Needing a moment, his eyes drift around your home. It’s not technically shared, but he’s over enough that it almost feels like it. You watch as he looks around, undeniably catching on the signs of you two together—the dishes you both finished, drying in the rack; the framed pressed flowers from your first date, still hosting a lovely red hue; the table and chairs he once helped carry up; the black cat you once joked about naming after him because of its white mittens and golden eyes.

When he meets your gaze again, he’s softer, though worry still sits on his brow and in the set of his mouth. You’re patient with him as you always are, watching his slow inhale, his slow exhale, the way he builds the courage to speak.

“You’d really marry me?” There’s still doubt lingering, the same minute disbelief that you’ve been combating the entire time you’ve known him.

“Yes, Haruka. I would.”

“Oh,” he breathes, lowering his gaze to your joined hands.

“Oh?” Tilting your head, you try to catch his attention.

His eyes flicker to yours and pink dusts his cheeks before he pulls on your joined hands, bringing you close. There’s this flash of triumph at your surprise, though it’s diminished by the pink across his nose. That doesn’t stop him from leaning in and rewarding you with a chaste kiss.

Unable to maintain eye contact after, he lets you lead him to the sofa. Flicking on the television, you put on that movie you two never finished, letting him stew in his thoughts, more than aware of what’s been dropped in his lap and what it means to him. Fingers intertwining with yours, he relaxes when you loosely press against his side. Not enough to feel your full weight, but enough to know you’re there.

Your mind starts to wander again and you decide to broach your original topic. “If you don’t want to go to a ryokan, we could visit Sendai for Tanabata instead.”

His fingers tighten around yours, subtly requesting your attention. “Never said I didn’t wanna go to a ryokan,” he mumbles, watching you from the corner of his eyes.

“Oh? I just assumed— Wait. What made you associate the ryokan with being married?”

“It’s— Just… It’s nothin’ to worry about,” he sighs, looking away as his ears turn pink.

A smile pulls at your lips, one you actively try to suppress. “No, no, I want to hear.”

He pulls away slightly, leaning against his left arm as he pointedly looks anywhere but you. It does little but stoke your curiosity, so you lean into him, aware of the way it encourages him to spill.

His brows furrow as he looks at you, his resolve crumbling. When the words come, he glances away again. “Suo and Nirei said—”

“Hold on, really quick. Did Suo say and Nirei ‘agreed,’” you clarify, well aware of Suo’s propensity for tricking his old classmates, “or did Suo and Nirei actively say this?”

Warmth radiates from him as his cheeks flush, eyes flicking to you, then away. “Nirei was talking somethin’ or other about taking his fiance to a ryokan in Kyoto and Suo said something about how kashikiri was only for married couples and… He was lying again, wasn’t he?”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder, your fingers tighten around his. You shift, instead pressing your lips to his shoulder, barely able to contain your laughter, but not your smile. Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching with glee as disappointment hits. His free hand comes up, hiding his face for a moment before continuing, running his fingers through his hair. You watch as it falls back in place before speaking.

“You’ve gotta stop believing him.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nudges you with his shoulder, looking down at where you remain, that soft smile of his present, just for you to see.

The topic of marriage and future vacations doesn’t come up again for the rest of the night, though his relative silence speaks volumes. The two of you bask in each other’s company, in a movie whose plot you lost a half hour before, in the cat that’s always loved Haruka a bit more than you. It’s not until you’re both getting ready for bed that it comes up again.

The air around him shifts, tenses like it does when he has something important to say but is struggling to find the words. He pauses, fingers pulling on his pillow, and his eyes remain fixated on the bed when he finally finds his voice.

“I… don’t have a ring or anything,” he starts, each word strung together with such astounding effort, “but I… I want…”

When he looks at you, you see all the times he’s ever been careful with you, all of the times he’s worn his heart on his sleeve and has been obvious about his love for you. Your throat goes dry and your heart feels full in your chest, fluttering against your ribs, making the rest of you feel light. His eyes follow the curve of your smile as it grows and you hear it clearly without it being spoken.

“Would you like to get married, Haruka?”

The blush is instantaneous and full bodied, reminding you of when you confessed four years ago. You know his answer, even as he sputters and tries to calm his stuttering heart. He tries to get it out anyway, and he does, sort of, his smile slow to come after everything settles. He’s warmer than usual when he pulls you to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

About a half hour later, when his lips are pressed against your shoulder, he murmurs, “H-Hey. Shouldn’t I be the one to ask you?”

“You want to ask me?” As much as you try to turn to properly look at him, he keeps you in place, arms forming a vice around your center (probably to try and prevent the very thing you hope to accomplish). Accepting that you’ll get nowhere right now, you rest your arm on his, letting your fingers trace delicate patterns on the back of his hand.

You take his silence as a quiet ‘yes.’

“I can wait, Haruka. I’m not going anywhere.”

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XX/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, nudity? (Is that a warning?), depictions of wounds, death.

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble I'm so done. Anyway, here's the shower scene, enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The basement was too quiet. Not silent—quiet in the way a place goes after someone's last breath was wrung out of it. No shouting, no talking; just tears and shivering —and Jackson's body on a stretcher laid on the floor, with an itchy blanket covering his torn face and the stillness of his chest.

No one acknowledged Don when entered the cellar turned bunker. No one cared enough.

"Y/n," he called gently. I blinked away the patrol's darkness to stare at him. "Speirs cleared the officers' showers for you." His gaze flicked to Jones momentarily. "I'll stand watch."

I limited myself to nod, offering the ginger a quiet 'okay'. I, too, turned to check on the distressed Lieutenant, who seemed to be doing his best to navigate a situation he hadn't expected to deal with.

"Go." He allowed, still caressing Vest's crown. "Sergeant?"

"Sir?"

"Get that checked at the aid station."

I tilted my chin, an instinctive move that shifted my attention to the shoulder that didn't hurt yet.

"Will do, Sir."

Malarkey stretched out his arm for me to go with him, and only came down limply at his side when we fell into step together.

We moved in silence through the cold, mindful to avoid getting too close to the river. The mud on my uniform crunched when I moved. My fingers ached. My legs moved on habit.

"I'm sorry." I whispered after taking the third turn.

Malarkey gave me a sideways look. "For what?"

"For the showers, earlier. With Jones." I clarified, sparing half a second to examine my friend's expression in the dark. "Didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"That kid was born with a stick up his ass." He commented distractedly, pushing the officers' billet's door open. "You didn't put it there, did you?"

I cracked a tired smirk as I followed him inside a much nicer space than the one Second Platoon had huddled into.

"You really shook him, though." He went on, turning on the hallway's flickering lightbulb. "Taking off your shirt like that? Think he's never seen a woman naked. Probably had to go lie down after." I breathed out something close to a laugh, tired but genuine, and followed Don to a door tucked away behind the main house. "At least you get to take a fancy shower."

"Lucky me." I muttered, taking a look around me.

The officers' showers were smaller, yet definitely of better quality than the company's communal tent, solid walls and tiles protecting the pair of showerheads jutting out. The inside was dim and smelled faintly of rust and lye, pipes groaning somewhere behind the cement.

"Take your time." Malarkey reassured me before I could even ask how long did I have. "I'm not moving."

"Y/n," The ginger called from the opposite corner of the room, where he stood with his gaze trained on his boots. "Anything happened?"

I shook my head affirmatively and began peeling off the uniform piece by piece, each layer heavier than the last. My sweater clung to dried blood and dirt.

"During the patrol?" I inquired, pulling my undershirt over my head, flakes of dried something—sweat, blood, grime—fluttering to the floor.

"This morning. With Lieb."

I froze on the spot, half a second too long. "Define 'something'." I tried to play off the halt in my motions as a struggle caused by the straining pain puncturing my back.

Malarkey let out a tired sigh. "He made you cry?"

"What? No," I threw a confused glance over my shoulder to meet his eyes on the ruined mirror hung across from us. "where'd that come from?" I didn't give him the chance to question further, scared of where his suspicions would land if he caught me off guard again. "We had an argument. You know how it is with him."

"That's it?"

I nodded. "That's it."

That seemed to settle my friend's uneasiness, although I wasn't sure if he bought it or was just humoring me. He sure didn't look like he had the energy to dig deeper.

The faucet opened with a screech, giving way to what soon turned into a scalding purge.

At first, nothing came off; the filth clung to me like skin. My palms turned gray with it, my nails filled with sludge. The blood down my arms—Jackson's, I realized in a nauseous wave—ran down the drain in thin, pink streaks. More and more of it. I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin turned red.

Aside from the promised bruises a bad landing had earned me, there must have been a gash across my shoulder blade my body had forgotten to tell me about.

The water ran brown, then rust-colored, then finally clear. I got rid of my underwear and hung it nearby. My scalp stung with the hot water, matted locks slowly untangling until I could fully run my fingers through it all.

The knots on my muscles eased up, and the scorching feeling became soothing in a way that made a lump crawl up my throat.

"Don, I need a minute." My words were rushed and quiet, which told the man more than he needed to know. With a decided ''course', he stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him.

The moment the lock clicked, I broke. A single sob stole the breathing out of me, and, due of the rare moment of privacy, I allowed myself to feel it. Just for one minute, arms around my stomach, eyes shut, shaky shoulders that wouldn't settle.

Just one minute to rinse myself clean inside and out.

More than most would get.

JOE'S P. O. V.

I told myself it was just the uniform.

That's why I walked over to the officers' billet. That's why I folded her spare shirt and pants under my arm like it mattered. Like it wasn't just a poor excuse to see her again. Thanks to the full moon, the sky was still gray like it hadn't moved all day. The ground squelched under my boots.

Malarkey was right outside what Luz had described as the gateway to the officers' showers, his hands in his pockets, head hanging low.

"She got a clean uniform?" I questioned, mostly to announce myself, stopping a few feet short from the Sergeant.

"I was gonna go grab one."

"No need to." I motioned at the folded ODs I carried. "Saved you the trouble."

"Saved me the trouble." Malarkey repeated with wary eyes, but he still pushed the door open just enough to call through. "Y/n? Lieb brought you a clean uniform."

At first, there was no reply. The water was still running and for a second, I doubted she'd heard Malarkey at all. Then her voice came out, a bit jagged, a bit rough, but loud enough for us to hear.

"Tell him to leave it in."

The ginger left the door ajar and tilted his head to the showers, arms folded over his chest; his go-to way of holding himself together lately. "You heard her."

"Right." I circled his form to reach the entrance, but hesitated half a step out. "Hey, I was thinkin'," my tone was strained, as if I was pretending real hard something didn't matter. "maybe I could take it from here."

Malarkey raised an eyebrow. "Take what from where?"

"Someone's gotta stand watch, right?" I began, doing my best to keep my demeanor even. "I ain't got shit to do."

There was a beat of silence in which I had to fight the urge to resort to my usual attitude, triggered by the ginger's squinted eyes trying hard to read between lines. To my surprise, he didn't make a single question. Just took a step back and, darting one last glance to the showers, warned me, "don't make it worse."

Yeah, right, I thought to myself, 'cause it's always that simple with her.

I stepped in, the air thick with steam, the sharp sting of soap and something older. Maybe copper. Or dirt. Or maybe the months of rot boiling off skin and soul.

The weak light buzzed overhead like it could give out any second. I didn't look straight at her. I didn't have to —the cracked mirror over the rusted sink caught enough.

Her back was to me; water traced the curve of her spine, slow, reluctant lines cutting through reddened skin. Bruises bloomed along her shoulder, dark and angry. There was a tremble in her arms I chose to blame on the cold.

I crossed the small space and crouched near the stall. "I'll leave it here." I informed her, setting the uniform down and away from the water's reach.

She mumbled something that reached my ears as a 'thank you', one hand braced against the wall and her forehead pressed to the tile.

"Want me to wait outside?" I questioned, taking two strides in the door's direction with no real intention of crossing it.

"You can stay."

So I did, leaning on the concrete wall, searching desperately for something to do with my hands.

"Mind if I smoke?"

"Since when do you ask for permission?" I scoffed at her question, although my fingers had already dug into my jacket's pockets for a cigarette I was placing between my teeth and a lighter that wouldn't catch. "Lighter's in my pants." She added, like she already knew I'd ask.

I didn't say a word; just made my way over to the pile of discarded overused fatigues and rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for, doing my best to focus on lighting the cigarette and not on how easy it'd be to see her —actually see her—. Just a slight tilt to my left, no reflections, no distance, just the soft silhouette of her body, battered and bruised and perfect. It wouldn't be the first time I saw her, but it was starting to feel like it.

Maybe it was the privacy offered by these showers, the quietness begging to be broken, or the ghost of her lips still making mine tingle.

Light the damn cigarette. Once. Twice. The flame caught and I took a long drag, tossing the lighter back over the olive fabric.

It wasn't until I had returned to my previous spot that I spoke again, voice too controlled to sound natural. "Regiment wants another patrol tomorrow night. Same roster, same plan."

The water shut off with a sharp clank. She stood there a second. "Wonderful." She said, "Wanna bet on who goes down in this one?"

Y/n stepped away from the drain and the wet tiles, grabbing her soaked underwear and wringing it out. My eyes kept stealing glances on the mirror, catching flashes—her hip, the rise of her ribs, the old scar near her navel.

Our gazes met twice before she even pulled up her pants. She didn't comment on it.

"To be fair, chances are it’ll be me." She commented, almost offhandedly.

"Think that's funny?" It came out sharper than intended, but then again, wasn't that how it always went with her?

"You're the one who said I'm getting sloppy." She grabbed her bra next and rinsed it without much care. "Maybe you're right."

I heard it in the lack of bite or sarcasm. Something off, making it sound more like a confession rather than a smart quip.

"Something happen during the patrol?"

She turned a little —enough to catch my face in the mirror, this time with intent. Her own were flat. "Fell off the stairs while we were grabbing the prisoners. Landed on my back." As if on cue, a small wince twisted her face when she turned further. She held the bra loosely in one hand. "Can you help me clasp this?"

I was moving before she finished the sentence.

Up close, her back was a goddamn mess. A new scrape cut through her shoulder blade; skin torn in uneven streaks over purple and blue. I let my fingers graze the bruise as I reached for the hooks, and took my sweet time —time I didn't really need for the simple task. She didn't flinch.

She didn't move, either. But I lingered for too long, my mind wandering places where it had no business going.

"You're being weird." A call-out I didn't want but needed. My touch exchanged her damp skin for the cigarette trapped between my lips.

"I'm not being weird."

She turned around, chest rising slowly beneath the now clasped bra, arms slack at her sides. I reached instinctively, brushing off a small streak of something—mud, maybe, or ash—on her collarbone that had refused to detach during the shower.

"Stop."

There it was. That tone she used when she wanted to pretend she held some kind of moral high ground over me. The one that got under my skin the most. I paused before lashing out. Exhaled through my nose, looked off to the side so I wouldn't have to look at her.

"We should talk." I stated, rubbing my forehead.

"I don't feel like it."

Again.

I snapped before I could think better of it. "Look, I don't fuckin' care how you feel." I tore the cigarette from my mouth and put it off on the sink. "We should talk."

She crouched to grab her undershirt, and threw it on like a barrier between us. "You're acting like talking would fix us."

Us. The nerve.

"Can you not be a bitch for five seconds?" That shut her up. Her mouth opened a little, like she might have found the will to actually say something, then closed again. "We kissed."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's what you wanna talk about?"

No.

I wanted to talk about the shit dazing my mind since God knows when, all of them related to her in some degree; about how everyone but her seemed to notice she was driving me crazy; about the way I thought kissing her stupid would fix whatever was wrong but only made it worse.

"Now? Yes." I half-lied, because this was the best I would get.

She bent over. Didn't look at me as she tugged on her shirt, focusing on the buttons instead. Then came the sweater. More layers to guard herself.

"It was just a kiss."

"Just a kiss." I echoed, gaze digging into her form with a mix of confusion and resentment.

"Just that." Her voice wasn't cold, but it was empty. I found myself unsurprised by Y/n trying to make herself believe it. Because it couldn't be true, could it? "I felt fuckin'... awful and I needed something to…" she sighed. I searched for the truth behind her irises. Couldn't find it. "That did the trick, okay? It doesn't have to be anything else."

It doesn't have to be anything else.

I blinked at her, standing still while she put on her boots, digits slightly shaky when she laced them up.

It doesn't have to be anything else.

She threw on her new jacket, scrambling to bunch up the old uniform in her arms. Her lighter found a new home into her breast pocket.

It doesn't have to be anything else.

"Joe?"

"Alright." A step back, two, I pivoted on my foot, signalling her to follow me out of the showers. She complied without pushing it.

It doesn't have to be anything else, she said.

Like I could choose what it was. I couldn't.

[mediocrecowboyhat]

hc share since you're looking

arthur sketching [whatever love interest] constantly. or getting caught sketching them etc.

said smut is okay so... bondage + sketching them

I said what I said

I was actually thinking about that the other week! I was in the mood to write something for Arthur again and thought of his lasso

Tags: no use of pronouns, explicit sexual content, bondage, reader receiving oral

Arthur Morgan loves loves loves to draw you! Half of the sketches in his journal are pretty much of you. Some are more detailed, when he has the time and opportunity to sit down and put your features onto paper. Others are a bit more rushed, but they're still wonderfully drawn.

As much as he loves to capture you in his journal, he also likes to keep it a secret. Whenever someone gets too close, he shuts the book with an audible slam and stores it away. It's always on him in some way, either in a satchel or tugged into his belt when he's in a hurry.

At some point, you find out about it, of course you do. Arthur, your loving partner, would like to get a proper portrait of you after all, one where you sit still for him and perhaps even strike a pose. It's fun, throwing on various clothing items to switch it up. One time you tied his black bandana around your neck and put his worn hat on and that sight alone had him go absolutely crazy.

Of course the man has thought about drawing you nude, but could never bring it over himself to suggest it. There are hints here and there that he sneaks in during conversations and more private moments, but nothing outright. He doesn't even have to, because you bring it up when you two find yourselves forced to book a room at a hotel one day.

You've thought about it a long time by now and he can't help but flush and clear his throat when you tug at the rope he carries around to catch folks or game. Arthur is good at tying knots, knots that don't give in under any force. Though they're not as tight when he slings the rope around your naked body, his calloused fingers ghosting over your bare skin.

Now you're laying there between the soft and fresh sheets, the restraints squeezing your muscles in an almost comfortable way. The outlaw is lost in the dips and curves of your body and his eyes linger on your form longer than usual when he takes your picture. Some incoherent grumbling from him and the sound of his pencil on paper are the only sounds filling the warm room.

He can't deny that the sight excites him and the more time passes the tighter his jeans feel. You catch his hand drifting down to adjust himself and it gets a proud smirk from you. It feels good to get him like this with just the mere sight of your exposed body. No words, no touches, just you. That's all he needs.

Once he's finished with the portrait, he goes to free you from your binds, but you have a better idea. Arthur can't argue that he hasn't thought about it either throughout the evening, so of course he's on board. Now his face is buried between your legs, his fingers digging into your soft thighs while his mouth pushes you towards the edge. Back arched and lips parted, you push and pull at the rope, but not to break free.

[eternal-sunflowers]

Sunbaked

AO3 | written for @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event | prompt: sunshine | rating: t | wc: 2.6k | cw: language, minor child abandonment allusions | tags: established relationship, platonic soulmates stobin

“Hey! No running, shitheads. I’m really not in the mood to go to the hospital today.” Steve’s got one hand gripping the door frame, the other on his hip, as he yells at the gaggle of teenagers absolutely ignoring him as they run around his pool. Well, his parents’ pool, but they haven’t been here in, like, 2 or 4 years or whatever, so it’s Steve’s, and they just told him as much on the phone, said a bunch of paperwork would be over in the morning,along with a big injection to his bank account with a promise of steady flow for the foreseeable future.

Turns out, life’s a lot more interesting outside of Hawkins. Who’d have thought? 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters to himself, drags a hand down his face before stepping outside, shutting the door behind him. He walks down the patio, over to where a laughing Jonathan is working the grill, chatting away with Argyle, making their lunch. “Hey, man.”

Jonathan smiles up at him, turning from his conversation. “How’s it goin’, dude?”

Steve shrugs. “The usual.”

Jonathan nods, a somehow stoic smile plastered on his face. “Ah, yes, the usual. A very clear way to be goin’.”

“Fuck off, Jon.” Steve chuckles. “You know what I mean. Just, usual bullshit.”

Jonathan squints at him. “Like, usual bullshit as in parental bullshit or usual bullshit as in you’re too deep in your head bullshit?”

Steve ducks his head. “Both, I guess. Mostly the first.”

Jonathan hums, clicks his tongs. 

“‘S no big deal. I just–”

One of the kids screams then, Steve’s head jerking immediately to the sound to see Mike where he’s splayed on the concrete.

“Shit, Mike! Are you okay?”

Mike waves him off as he stands up, brushing his hands down his swim trunks. “I’m fine.” He then takes off running after Lucas, a big smile on his face. 

Steve scrubs his hands down his face and groans. “Jesus christ. These kids are going to put me in an early grave, I swear. Watching them running around the pool makes me want to scream.”

“Those lifeguard instincts kicking in, huh?” Jonathan nudges him.

“Somethin’ like that.” Steve chuckles.

Argyle nods. “I got you, man. Shit’s dangerous.” He turns then, cups his palms around his face, and, before Steve can stop him, raises his voice. “Hey, lil dudes and dudettes! Chill the running out, alright?”

The kids, surprisingly, stop and look at Argyle, sheepish smiles on their faces, call out a variety of sorry, Argyle’s as they shift to a walk. Some of them sit instead, their laughter and conversations picking right back up.

Argyle nods, drops his hands as he turns back to Steve and Jonathan. “There you go, my man.”

Steve’s mouth is slightly agape as he stares back. “Yeah, uh, thanks, Argyle. ‘Preciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Jonathan knocks his shoulder, gestures with his tongs to where Eddie is laid back in a pool lounger, talking animatedly with Robin. “Go relax, man. We’ll smoke you three out after food’s done, alright?”

Steve smiles, pulls Jonathan into a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Jon.” He turns and hugs Argyle. “You too, Argyle.”

“Of course, my dude. We gotta take care of each other.” Argyle nods, pats Steve on the back.

“Yeah, we do.” Steve smiles, pulls back. “Let me know if you need any help with the food.” He’s got one hand shoved in the pocket of his swim trunks, the other gesturing to the house. “Or need anything–”

Jonathan shoves him back slightly, tongs pointed at his face. “I know where everything is, and if I don’t, Robin or Eddie does.” He snaps his tongs. “Go chill.”

Steve laughs, holds his hands up. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

He turns then, walks over to where his boyfriend and his best friend are curled up in their loungers, talking a mile a minute. 

“Hi, sunshine.” Eddie smiles, immediately makes grabby hands at Steve, to which the latter chuckles and acquiesces, sits on the side of Eddie’s lounger, lends back against his propped up knees. 

“Hi, dingus. Took you long enough.” Robin grins at him. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s been a day.” Steve sighs, offers an apologetic smile.

Robin’s eyes quirk up, a million questions floating through them as she scans Steve’s own expression. She must find what she’s looking for, because her eyes soften. “Your parents called.”

Eddie leans up, whispers out a quiet, “Oh, shit.”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it.” 

Eddie snakes his hand to grab Steve’s own. “You sure, sweetheart?”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Yeah, I just–” He sighs, rakes his free hand through his hair. “I’ve been done with their bullshit for ages, so it doesn’t really matter anymore. Just always throws me a little off when they make their quarterly phone call or whatever.” 

Robin sits up, swings her legs over the side of her own lounger so they’re pressed up against Steve’s. Steve smiles at her, grateful for the contact. It’s grounding, in a way, to be surrounded by the people he loves most, their physical proximity soothing the aching fissures inside of him. “Any…developments?”

“Robbie. I just said–”

“I know, I know. But, like, this isn’t the usual time for their call, and we both know that, so don’t try to even dodge that point.”

Steve grimaces, drops his head, because yeah, she’s right. 

She carries on, seemingly unfazed. “So, that must mean something’s changed, and it’s clearly bothering you. Are they, like, starting a corporate cult? Or moving to Norway?” She snaps her fingers. “OH! Maybe they’re–”

“They’re giving me the house.” Steve sputters out, stares at their knees knocking together. He drops his voice. “They’re…they’re actually done with it.”

Eddie shifts behind him, gently props Steve forward as he swings himself so his legs are curled around Steve’s body, his chest pressed against Steve’s back. Eddie snakes his arms around Steve’s chest and leans forward, cheek pressed to Steve’s shoulder as he presses a soft kiss there and squeezes tight. Steve wraps one of his own arms atop Eddie’s, laces his fingers through one of his boyfriend’s hands. 

“Steve?” Robin reaches out for his free hand, which he easily lets her have. He nods to her, presses his finger once to the back of her hand. 

“Just give me a minute, yeah?” 

She nods back, starts rubbing tiny designs into his palm.

Steve thinks about the phone call with his parents, about everything that is being thrown into his lap now. He’s not really upset about it in the way people would expect him to be. He’s not upset that he’s not going to see his parents anymore, or that they won’t come back to Hawkins. He’s not upset that he’s now going to be a homeowner at the ripe age of 21, and will have to deal with all the management that comes with it – though, at least his parents said they’d be sending a couple lawyers and other officials over, so Steve assumes they’ll just be putting his name on all the contracts for the people who manage everything. 

Steve’s always felt really fucking weird about having people constantly in and out of the house to clean and primp it. He didn’t really see much of a need considering he was the only one who was ever there, and he cleaned after himself well enough.

Like, do they really need someone to cut the lawn twice a week? It doesn’t even grow that much. 

All the workers were always kind to Steve, and for that he’s incredibly grateful. They were some of the only real human interaction he had for years, after all. He decides maybe he doesn’t need to sign all of the worker contracts. He’ll talk to them and give them fucking massive leaving bonuses for dealing with his family’s bullshit for years. He’ll offer up himself as a reference and put in calls to make sure they get other jobs if they need him. As much as he despises it, the Harrington name holds a lot of weight. Might as well use it to help people, unlike his parents.

Steve shakes his head, earning a look from Robin, but he just presses his finger to her hand again, so she keeps her mouth shut for now. He does the same to Eddie, squeezes his hand to let him know everything’s okay. 

Steve’s mostly upset that his parents took this long to do it. That they danced around not coming back here, always talking about business trips and mergers and corporate bullshit. Steve could’ve dealt without the years of aching for his parents to return, the hope always kind of there. The ache settled and dissipated after meeting everyone here, but that last bit of hope only died the second he hung up the phone, like, 20 minutes ago.

But, now Steve owns this place. Or, well, he will tomorrow. He doesn’t have to tiptoe around anymore. He doesn’t have to keep up the god awful decor. His parents made it clear they’d send people to pack up what belongings they wanted, and the rest Steve could do with what he sees fit. God, is he excited to actually make the house feel like a home. To make it feel lived in.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feels some of the last dregs of his parents’ bullshit come flying out with it. 

“I’m fine, really. Just – I actually, like, have this house now. I’ll own it come tomorrow.” Steve lifts his head to look at Robin, her face impassive as she scrutinizes his own. “I’ll have this house and will be able to do whatever the hell I want with it.” He laughs. “Holy shit, we can cover up the wallpaper now. I never have to see that plaid again.”

Steve feels Eddie’s laughter deep in his chest. “Oh, that’s absolutely the first thing we’re doing, Stevie. I’ve been itching to tear it down since I first stepped foot in your room.

“Me too. It’s atrocious.” Robin shudders. She squeezes his hand, offers him a kind smile. “You sure you’re really okay with this, though?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Like, I’m a bit pissed, but mostly relieved? Excited?” He turns to look at the kids who’ve now migrated into the pool, splashing around and laughing. He looks up at Jonathan and Argyle, a laughing Nancy now with them. He smiles as he continues. “It’ll be mine and then I can really make it a space for everyone, you know?” He turns back, squeezes both hands he’s holding, levels Robin with a hopeful look. “I can make this our home.”

Robin’s eyes widen. “Steve?”

“I’m being serious, Robin. You’re practically living out of that room anyway. I can actually give it to you now. If you want it, that is.”

“Are you – if I want it? Dingus, I have been dying to move out since the second I graduated from the hellpit of Hawkins High. Of course I’ll move in.” She launches herself forward, arms clumsily wrapped around him and Eddie, the latter of which chuckles again. 

The laughter, and double hugs, and the sun, and the everything around him in that moment fills the pit in his chest that’s now no longer holding on to that tiny sliver of hope that his parents cared enough to come be parents – that pit fills with warmth and love, swirls around and coats every surface it can reach. 

Eddie lifts his head off Steve’s shoulder. “As much as I’m happy for you, Buck, and really, I am – I can’t help but be a bit offended, though not entirely surprised, that my beautiful, amazing, wonderful boyfriend here asked you to officially move in before me.” 

“Oh, screw off, Munson. You live here already.” Robin pulls back, plops down onto her lounger again, knees bracketing Steve’s as she leans forward.

“And so do you! But not officially, since our beautiful Stevie here was trying to be respectful of his shit parents and not cross that bridge yet.”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Sorry, babe, but, you know–” He gestures with his free hand to Robin, then back to him, then back to Robin, back to him.

Eddie chuckles, disentangles himself, moves to sit beside Steve to better access the conversation. He reaches over and grabs the hand Steve is gesturing with, links their fingers together. “I know, I know, platonic soulmates before romantic soulmates.”

Steve blushes, knocks his shoulder against Eddie’s. “Will you officially move in with me, Eddie?”

He’s met with his favorite, blinding grin of Eddie’s. “I thought you’d never ask, sunshine.” Eddie leans in and kisses him, ignores the gagging sound Robin makes in response, before he turns to face her, his grin turning manic. “Now, we have so much to discuss, Buck. First being, what should cover the currently – sorry, sweetheart – atrocious walls of my new shared bedroom?”

Eddie and Robin launch into a conversation as Steve turns, tosses his shirt off to the side, lays back in the lounger to finally relax. Feeling the warmth of the sun seep deep into his bones, blanketing over the lingering coldness left by his parents, filling the marrow with a burning ache that makes Steve sigh in contentment. He’s always favored summer, and now he gets to enjoy it, gets to let it bake into his skin without the biggest stress of his life looming over him. 

Steve vaguely picks up on the conversation beside him, but he’s not particularly up for joining it, and he’s grateful that they understand that – that they’ll let him rest or tune out when he needs it and will pull him in only when it’s necessary, mostly. Eddie shifts sideways a bit, then lays his hand on Steve’s thigh, starts tracing soothing patterns up and down his leg. 

Steve melts into the lounger a bit more, some of the lingering tension leaving his body at the gentle touch. He smiles lazily up at Eddie, watches the expressions crossing his face as he talks to Robin. The words romantic soulmate float back through Steve’s head. He really thinks about it for a second, thinks some sort of panic should come with it, but all he’s met with is a tingling warmth radiating through every nerve ending in his body. His heart thumps a bit faster. 

Eddie turns, smiles at Steve and squeezes his thigh, before turning back to his conversation with Robin. Steve blinks once, twice, as a realization floods his body, hotter than anything the Indiana summer sun can offer. 

He wants to marry Eddie. 

Holy shit.

Or, at least as close as they can get here, which he guesses is really just living together, having that conversation and committing to each other, maybe a small service in front of their family, just as a showing of their love for each other. Maybe they could even exchange rings, or some token to symbolize all of it. Steve swallows hard, feels a bit of anxiety – okay,  a lot of anxiety – bubbling up inside of him, but it feels good? It feels right?

Fuck, he’s going to propose to Eddie. 

The feeling washes over him, exploding beneath his skin, everything turning prickly, vibrating in intensity. The biggest, most bone-deep happiness radiates throughout his body as a massive smile takes over his face.

“You alright, sunshine?” Eddie squints down at him. “You getting too much sun?”

Steve laughs. “It’s been, like, 10 minutes. I need at least another 3 hours before you can ask me that.”

“3 hours?” Eddie shakes his head. “Your ability to bake in this sun is unnatural.”

He grabs Eddie’s hand, runs his fingers over the rings that never leave it. He thinks about what kind of ring he’d buy for Eddie, where Eddie would wear it if he said yes. Would he wear it on his ring finger? Would he switch off his current rings and only leave that one? Would he alternate rings around the one Steve gave?

“Better get used to it, roomie.” Steve smiles, soft and fond. Eddie matches it, a fierce intensity bubbling in the current of his gaze. 

And it’s there, with the summer sun baking down on him, with the laughter of the family he built ringing out, with the smell of grilled meat and veggies carrying on the air, with the touch pressed against him of the two most important people in his life, that Steve knows he’s going to be okay.

That his life can finally move forward.

Tags (open): @sunshine-daydreams0809

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

just let me know if you'd like to be added to my permanent taglist :) thank you for reading <3

[strawbairicake]

the kitten incident- dr. ratio x reader

synopsis: the four times you tried convincing Veritas to get a kitten, and the one time he gifted you… an “unexpected” surprise. 

warnings: ummm pacing, my kinda bad (read: beginner/novice) writing, pls be nice to me. bad (/non existent) characterization of Ratio! other than that, none! this is disgustingly fluffy haha! 

word count: ~1.3k (idk dude i stopped counting after 1010 words)

tagging: @sqgeism, @vyyper, @your-sleeparalysisdem0n (since you eat up all of my writing), @fairycourts (would like to know what you think of this!), @m1ckeyb3rry, @sheyfu, and @cmiru!

author’s note: my first attempt at writing a full-length fic! don’t expect this to happen much from me, haha (unless requested ofc!)! this is a birthday gift to myself, so this is very self-indulgent! for reference, you have a best friend in this story named Ares! she’s amazing and based off of my real life bestie! hope you enjoy; worked very hard on this! <3

a… very convincing car ride home.

after a date at a cat café, Veritas was regretting taking you out anywhere. you would not stop talking about getting a kitten. his internal monologue was filled with thoughts about you shutting up. he wouldn’t voice hurtful thoughts to you, of course, but if you could shut up, that’d be great.

“Veritas?”

“yes, (name)?”

“can we please get a kitten?” 

Veritas glanced at you before returning his eyes to the road. 

“I’ll consider it if you keep your mouth shut the rest of the drive home.” 

you were as quiet as a mouse for the rest of the drive, much to Veritas’s enjoyment. you both made your way to your shared apartment. Veritas led you both into the apartment, where he was slightly surprised to see how quiet you still were. that lasted five minutes- oh, off you went rambling about getting a kitten again. ah well, surely this is a phase that will pass? it’s like when children beg their parents to get a pet and they won’t drop the topic until they get what they wanted. surely this won’t be the same situation with you, right? 

oh well, only one way to find out.

a quiet chat over dinner.

after arriving home after the initial conversation, you and Veritas decided to prepare a light snack to go along with dinner. your routine with Veritas when it came to meals was simple: you prepare any snacks you both wanted, and he would prepare dinner. you set a bowl of fruits and other snacks on the table while your partner finishes preparing the meal before joining you at the table. for once, he initiates the conversation. 

“are you still thinking about a kitten?” 

“yeah, why do you ask?” 

Veritas sighed and you smiled- there was just no winning when it comes to him, is there?

“hypothetically speaking, if we were to be adopting a kitten- don’t get your hopes up- what breed are you most looking into?” 

your eyebrows raised. what a hypothetical. but answering honestly seems to be the only way to answer. 

“probably a calico or a tortoiseshell. my childhood friend had the latter and she was very sweet. plus i have experience with cats, so it’s not like i’m picking a breed i couldn’t handle.” 

Veritas hummed, slightly amused with your statement. he made a mental note for when he goes to the animal shelter next weekend while you’re away. 

”bothering” him while he works in your home office. 

to say you bothered your lover is an overstatement… probably! Dr. Ratio shows his love to you in his own ways. they may not be the most conventional of ways, but they are ways! you put in love in the relationship, too, more upfront in a way, with him. you’re both happy, healthy, and for the most part- content, with how things are. until the damn kitten talk comes up again, and that makes your partner want to rip his hair out (lovingly). it’s not that he dislikes animals, he seems to be very neutral towards them, while you’re definitely the animal magnet between the two of you. Dr. Ratio loves you, he really does! but if he hears about this damn kitten one more time, he might combust, mentally… maybe! you can’t help it if you want something, you just HAVE to tell everyone everything about said thing! it’s human nature, or something!

so here you are, sitting in your lover’s office in your reading nook while he quietly works on grading his students’ essays or whatever- you stopped listening a while ago, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) for him. you were reading a book, he was working, and all seemed well with the world. at least, he thought so. he heard you shuffle your way out of your nook over to his desk. you just stood next to him and watched as he wrote (surprisingly nice handwriting for a “doctor”) some comments on a student’s essay. he could tell you were waiting for when he wouldn’t be as busy, and he was glad you had that courtesy, if nothing else. so when he input the student’s grade and set the paper essay to the side, he sighed and looked up at you. 

“if it’s about a kitten, could the conversation wait until after we bathe?” 

and the shine in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. 

overhearing you on a call with your friend (and the aftermath). 

your best friend, Ares, has risen from the dead, hooray! but in all seriousness, she had been so busy with her job that she hadn’t gotten in touch with you in what felt like FOREVER. you’re listening to Ares talk about her job, books, and a whole bunch of other things. and then the call goes pretty quiet on your side, just long enough to be noticed by your friend.

“oh yeah,” she pipes up after a few minutes of silence on your end, “how’s the cat debacle going? has he come around?” 

“he told me he’s thinking about it, but it was kind weird the other day! he asked a hypothetical question that did not sound like a hypothetical at all.”

“well, what’d he say?” 

“he said, and I quote, ahem, ‘hypothetically speaking, if we were to be adopting a kitten- don’t get your hopes up- what breed are you most looking into?’ i don’t know, Jade, it just seemed… off. like i should be expecting something, and i’m not, if that makes sense.” you answered.

“girl, how the hell did you remember what he said verbatim? anyway! that totally makes sense! maybe he’s planning a surprise for you and can barely keep the secret together.” she smiled at you through the screen. 

you replied a quick “yeah, maybe” before realizing Veritas was just outside the door to your shared bedroom, overhearing your conversation. he waits for your conversation to end before coming in the room. but before he enters, he quickly shoots a message to Ares herself: “do they know?” and he gets almost excited when Ares texts back almost immediately, “no, but i almost accidentally spilled what’s going on. you NEED to tell them soon! good luck!” 

that was suddenly all of the confirmation the astute doctor needed. 

the kitten incident (a good one, i promise!)! 

Veritas greeted you in your shared home, which was odd. he always came home after you, so it was mildly strange he was waiting for you. but you paid this slight change no mind- maybe he just wanted to spend time with you and got his things done early. he greeted you from the kitchen. you made your way over to him. 

“hi, love. how was your day?”

“oh my god! today was sooo long!” you reply as you cling to his waist. Veritas hums and puts a hand on one of your forearms and rubs little circles into the flesh. he finishes preparing a light snack for himself since you already ate dinner with some friends an hour ago. you moved away from him as he took your hand, which got your attention.

“come see, i have a surprise for you.”

“oh god, what did i do?” 

Veritas lets out a light chuckle. 

“i can’t spoil my significant other without them thinking they did something wrong? i’m hurt, (name).”

you laughed as he set his snack down on the counter and led you to the living room where a small box was sitting on the coffee table. 

“here, open it.” he handed the box to you carefully. you looked at him skeptically before sitting on the sofa and opening the box. inside the box was a tiny calico kitten, the one you had been talking about visiting for at least two weeks now. she was so tiny, most likely the runt of her litter, and you kept telling Veritas how much you liked her. you were devastated when you found out she was adopted. you gently picked the sleeping kitten up from the box, and she opened her eyes, and then proceeded to let out the tiniest and most polite meow you’ve ever heard. you looked to Veritas and then the kitten back and forth about five times as he laughed and nudged your shoulder.

“look at her collar.”

you looked at the tag on her collar and your breath hitched. marry me, the tag read. as you turn to face your lover, you find him sitting next to you with a ring box in hand, proposing to you out of the blue, with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. 

©2025 strawbairicake. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

[kilojulietsierra]

Two thoughts from your Ellis blurb:

Shen was Jack’s first duckling - met him as a scrawny intern then Sam adopted him and started sending extra food. Jack liked Shen was unflappable, and a little quirky. Kept him on his toes.

Ellis gets invited to girls night, “but don’t tell Jack” - when Jack gets wind of Ellis going to girls night he turns to the three ladies and says “do not corrupt her. She’s mine.”

Shen

- Shen kind of gives me stray cat vibes, like we didn’t pick him but we somehow ended up with him 🤷🏻‍♀️

- Jack picked Ellis and then he picked King, basically outright stole them out from under Robby’s nose. But Shen I feel like Robby pawned him off on Jack a little bit.

- Robby and Jack go out for beers and Robby tells him “Brother, I am going to strangle this kid I swear.” Jack snorts “is this you trying to convince me to take him? Because it’s not working.”

- Shen ended up on night shift anyway

- He’s book smart, like really book smart. Which makes Jack nervous. Nights are for the street-smart kids and Jack is a sink or swim kind of teacher.

- Shen gets on his nerves too and boy does Jack give Robby hell because “fuck you man” but one thing, the only thing at first, that Jack can cling to? This kid does not bat an eye.

- Nothing phases him. Nothing. The kid is rock solid, stone cold, unflappable.

- Shen maybe wasn’t ever a “favorite” but Jack still memorized his ungodly complicated Dunkin order. Still told Sam about him. She starts to throw in a little extra food here and there because Jack’s pretty sure he lives on coffe, vending machine snacks and food service cart sandwiches

- Shen will make a good doctor and Jack is going to help get him there, but he’s going to scowl. A lot.

- Jack hadn’t ever really cared to go the extra mile with any of the residents before Shen. They were there to learn and Jack therefore occasionally had to teach. Thankfully not often because no young doctor wants to start on nights.

- So Shen was kind of the test run because, as much as he may have got on Jacks nerves at first, he liked the kid. He wanted to see him succeed.

- A little tipsy on a night off Jack and Sam are cuddling on the patio, Jack is complaining about something Shen did wrong the night before. “I taught him better than that, he should know by now.” Sam starts to giggle “everyone always says you make all the mistakes with the first kid. We’ll do better with the next one.” Jack sips his bourbon with a smirk and nods, “I’m sure he’ll be fine”

- So maybe Shen never got the full Jack and Sam Abbot adoption package, but he’s definitely the one that started it all

Girls Night Out

- They keep it low key. A rooftop bar with a cool vibe and a bougie drink menu

- Because Jack cornered them before they left the house, mostly Emery and Yolanda “do not, look at me, do not get her in trouble, do not corrupt her, do not try to convince her to switch specialties. She’s mine. Am I clear?”

- Walsh gives him a snarky salute.

- Garcia “ok daaaad, whatever you say”

- Sam puts a hand on his chest “best behavior baby, I promise” Jack looks her up and down and tips her chin up for a kiss “don’t believe that for one second” but he has to bite back a smirk

- Parker feels a little out of place at first, like the little sister just tagging along

- Yolanda takes care of that quick tho because she is the friend that can drag you into anything. Good, bad or otherwise.

- Emery has been at PTMC the longest so she gives Parker all the tea. Who’s sleeping with who, who used to sleep with who, who wants to sleep with who. Who costs the hospital the most in malpractice litigation. Who had to retake their boards and how many times. Why Langdon is so bitchy.

- They have a firm no work talk policy apparently but they make an exception the first night because there’s a lot they need to o catch her up on.

- It’s eye opening

- It’s informative

- It’s like cheat codes to the hospital

- Parker learns that Sam used to work as a PRN nurse at the Pitt (second job before she got promoted to charge nurse at the VA) which explains a lot about her relationship with everyone.

- She doesn’t remember the last time she had this much fun and it makes Parker feel a little warm and fuzzy when Emery adds her to a group chat so they can do it again soon

- They stay out until closing time and at the end of the night when Sam snatched the bill and dropped a card on the tray that very clearly had Jacks name on it she must catch the nervous look on Parker’s face because she laughs “told you you’re his favorite”

~~~~~~~~~~~

A part of the Save Me From Myself universe!

[tkomptgoedluv]

revenge.

tear you apart pt.2

pt.1 here | pt.2

grumpycafeworkervampire! joost x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, internetcafe & vampire au, reader doesn’t know how to cope very well, joost’s heart is too big for his body, they’re both desperate to be the other one’s peace, so much hurt, possibly even more comfort, plenty of angst, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 8,489.

warnings: very detailed descriptions of blood and self harm, descriptions of an un-specific mental illness, semi-heavy stalking, breaking and entering, mentions of gore, brief mentions of violence + abuse, rpf.

notes: hello my lovelies <3 thank you so much for being so patient with this one! it’s not only the longest fic that i’ve ever written, but also genuinely my pride and absolute joy. i fear that i might not ever be able to top this one, actually, so please enjoy it! just keep in mind that this fic comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING.

also once again, a big big shoutout to my BABY @joosthead for putting up with me constantly asking her to check the doc every time that i added something. please go check out her work if you haven’t already — she’s got some mad shit coming 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you never really were too good at knowing when to stop, were you?

it’s always been easy for you to get lost in it, lost in the feeling of your old razor blades carving line after line into your skin. once you started, you just had to keep going until you physically couldn’t. not until you’d get too dizzy to focus, until you just couldn’t quite keep your grip tight enough on the razor anymore.

you never learned how to cope any other way; since you were fifteen, it had been your default. cutting yourself up whenever you started to feel too much, or whenever levi would push you too far. as a kid, it was more of a punishment but with him, it was your way of controlling all the pain that you felt.

that’s why you’d done it again, why it’s been the only thing that you’ve managed to do over the past five days or so. you were trying to control things, trying to come to terms with what you had seen and all the big feelings that came right along with it.

you’d spent so long wishing him away — daydreaming of all the terrible things that could happen so you’d finally be free of him. you never actually thought that it would happen, though. that you’d witness your own boyfriend get ripped apart limb from limb; devoured as if he was nothing more than a piece of meat.

you hated that some sick and twisted part of you deep down, missed him. that you just couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he was gone now. and you hated that when it came to joost, you weren’t quite sure what you felt. for less than a fucking hour he’d been the closest thing to friend that you’d had in years, but then he’d gone and done that and —

blood dripped down from your wrists, the tops of your arms, and your thighs, and onto the dirty white tiles of your bathroom floor. you’d never gotten this carried away before, and you had made such a mess of it. all the cleaning up would have to be done tomorrow because right now you doubted that you’d even be able to stand.

at least you weren’t feeling quite so much anymore; only the stinging of each and every single one of the fresh cuts. it all hurt, but it was a better thing to feel than the guilt that had kept you confined inside the walls of your own home for so long. you couldn’t help but wonder if you would die here, alone and bleeding on your bathroom floor, or if the police would find you before you’d get the chance to.

you’ve seen bits and pieces of what his friends had been saying online— knew that they wanted to report levi as a missing person now. you wondered how long it would be before the police would come for you, either looking for him or his killer. then again, you weren’t actually sure if there was even a body left behind for them to find.

finally, after god knows how many, you put the razor blade down. it clattered against the linoleum and laid still in one of the few small pools of your own blood. honestly, you were a little proud of what you had done to yourself, even though it still felt like it wasn’t enough. 

in a daze, you just sat there quietly as the time passed, as the blood slowly began to dry. you weren’t entirely sure of the time but it had to have been late from how dark it was outside. your phone was somewhere in your flat, having died a while ago after you neglected to charge it for a few days, but it’s time probably would’ve read something like one or two o’clock in the morning.

no one had been by to check on you, not that you had expected them to, especially not at a time like this, so you jumped when you heard a knock at your front door. silence rang out as you waited, too afraid to move, until you finally heard another one. only then did you get up.

it was with wobbly legs that you limped your way out of the bathroom and through your hallway, your heart hammering away inside your chest. you tried to peer out through your front room windows as you hobbled over to the door, certain that you’d see flashing blue lights or the silhouette of a police officer waiting for you on your doorstep.

but as you opened your front door just an inch, barely wide enough to peak your head around outside, all you saw was nothing. no cars going past, no people wandering by, nothing.

for just a moment, you could have laughed. because this was it now, surely; your breaking point. all that guilt, all of that paranoia — it was finally driving you mad. 

the old hinges of your door squeaked as you went to close it again, turning on your heels as you did so. you glanced up as one of the floorboard creaked from behind you, the gloss in your eyes only slightly blurring the sight of him standing right there, somehow.

you went to scream, a high pitched, blood-curdling shriek right on the rip of your tongue when his hand came up to cup your mouth shut. he knocked you back into the door, slamming it shut as his entire body weight came down to have you pinned against it. you could feel just how hard he was shaking as he held you there, see how those big, panicked eyes of his were flickering between blue and red.

“no no no, please, please don’t scream. i’m not gonna hurt you.”

joost was frantic as he spoke, almost choking on each of his words, begging for you to keep quiet. no matter how desperately you were trying to fight against him, your nails clawing at his chest through his shirt as you fought to get him off of you, you weren’t going anywhere. the more that you struggled, the harder his grip on you got.

you had no way of knowing it yet, but this was killing him. seeing you so small like this, crying out, sobbing, against his hand as you used what little strength you had left to try and push him away — it was undoubtedly going to haunt him. 

he knew that he shouldn't be here, not really. he shouldn’t know where you live, shouldn’t have followed you home that one night a couple months ago. it was just that there had been an attack in your city that week; some poor girl found dead in an alleyway, all bloody and beaten, barely clothed. he’d already had your routine memorised by then, so he knew that you’d be making your way back from the cafe alone, in the middle of the night.

joost had just wanted to protect you, he’d just wanted to make sure that you weren’t about to become the next headline in the local newspaper. at least, that was what he had told himself as he’d stayed hidden away in the shadows, his head down low and hood pulled up as he’d ‘escorted’ you home without you ever knowing it.

sure, it had definitely crossed some lines, him sneaking out of the cafe’s back door after you’d left that night to follow you, but the alternative was worse, right?

that’s what all this came down to, really. his insatiable need to know that you were safe. because last week, you’d ran from him that night with marks on your arm that your boyfriend hadn’t been the one to put there. and you’d ran from him, no less, scared out of your mind at the mere sight of him as he’d stood there pleading with you to stay.

and joost couldn’t stand that.

everyone else could view him as a monster and treat him as such, but not you.

never you. 

that was the only reason why he’d ended up on your doorstep tonight. he needed to know that you were okay, that you were still alive, and that you understood that what he had done to levi, he would never, ever, do to you. 

it was never his plan to ‘invite’ himself in the way that he had. he was going to knock on your door and wait for you to answer it, and he was prepared to spend the rest of the night out there, reasoning with you to just hear him out if he had to. and if by the end of it all you were to still cast him out with the promise of never wanting to see him again, he’d find a way to live with it. just as long as you’d be okay; he’d live with it.

it was never his plan to get to the top of your street and already be able to smell it. the thick, sweet, iron-heavy smell of your blood already so strong that he was gagging by the time he made it to your doorstep. hunched over and heaving, he’d stumbled up to your front door, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths through his mouth before finally knocking. it took everything in him, every little last bit of willpower, not to turn right then and there.

“lieverd, it’s okay. i promise it’s okay; i’m just here to talk. you…you don’t have to fight me.”

even as you were still thrashing, joost leant down to rest his forehead against yours. his eyes bore into yours as they continued to flash between the two different colours, a few tears of his own welling up behind his waterline. the last time that you were up this close, close enough to see the sweat shining on his temples, you were grasping onto his arm in such a feeble attempt to hide yourself from who you thought to be the only monster in the room.

the one whose blood you’d later seen dripping down from in between joost’s fingers, as he’d clutched onto his heart like a trophy.

he should be the real monster to you — a small part of you even wanted him to be. as terrible as levi truly was, he’d never bitten the head off of anyone, never ripped a heart straight out of someone’s chest. he was just…levi. he was your boyfriend and you hated him, but you never wanted him to die.

there was a bigger part inside of you, though, one that twisted up at the thought of joost being anything like one of the ‘bad guys’ from your old bedtime stories. because despite everything that you’d seen, despite how he’d found out where you lived, somehow, and now had you pinned up against your own front door with his hand holding your mouth shut, you knew that he wasn’t. he wasn’t evil, wasn’t dangerous like how your boyfriend had been, and you knew that. you just didn’t quite know it yet.

still, you began to relax. whether it was by choice or because you simply didn’t have any fight left in you anymore, you weren’t entirely sure. your whole body felt as though it was on fire from how several of your cuts had ripped open slightly from your struggle. small spots of blood started to seep through the thin, white cotton of your shorts as you almost went limp against joost; your eye-contact unbreaking. 

there was just something about the way in which he was looking at you. it was the exact same one he gave you that night last week, when he was desperately trying to convince you not to go back home to levi. his hands had been cupping each one of your cheeks, his warm breath fanning across your face as he panted. seeing that same look on him now, it was enough for you.

joost had felt you start to ease, had heard the fast beating of your heart start to slow. his grip on your mouth loosened as he gently wiped away the wet from your face with his free hand, tucking the loose strands of your hair away from your eyes.

“i’m gonna let you go now, okay? then we can talk?”

you nodded, blinking away the tears from your eyes.

as he held back a breath, joost finally moved his hand away from your mouth and took a single step back — allowing you just enough space to stand up on your own. he still hadn’t looked away from your face, his eyes stuck on yours as he searched your features for any signs of fear, any signs that you were about to turn and run. 

but instead you seemed…calm. still very much in shock; your hands still very much trembling as you wrapped your arms around your middle. but you were calm enough to stand your ground and not shrink underneath his gaze. you didn’t flinch when both of his hands came up to cup either side of your jaw, the pads of his thumbs caressing along the skin.

“are-are you okay? i’ve not seen you in…i thought that maybe you had…”

he couldn’t quite find it in him to finish his sentence. it wasn’t like he needed to, you already knew exactly what he was talking about, and now it all started to make sense. 

that look in his eyes, the way his voice kept shaking every time that he spoke. he was here because he was scared, terrified even, that you’d done something to yourself. that night you’d told him, more rather shown him your secret so he knew what you were capable of now, and it had been driving him mad ever since you disappeared.

you hadn’t needed to say anything; the way you suddenly pulled yourself away from him had said enough. in all of the chaos he hadn’t thought to simply look down. if he had, he would have seen all the damage you’ve already done; every single one of the fresh cuts that you’ve given yourself tonight and all of the ones from the nights before. the old vest top and pyjama shorts that you were wearing weren’t hiding anything — from your shoulders down to your shins, he could see everything now that he had finally dropped his gaze.

with his head down, you couldn’t see his face but you could feel the way he tensed up. you could hear him sniff, cough, and swallow down the bile that was rising up in his throat as he stumbled back a few steps.

you were still bleeding. 

it was making his teeth ache.

neither of you said anything for a while. you stood frozen by the door, your arms still wrapped around yourself as he just stared blankly at you with tears running down his cheeks. 

he felt sick; sickened by the very thing he’d been so afraid of now staring at him right back in the face. he couldn’t stand the sight of it but couldn’t bring himself to look away, either — there was just so much red. long, neat lines of red that covered you almost completely from head to toe; no patch of skin left unmarked. it was vile, it was abhorrent, it was breaking his heart.

“why?”

that was all joost could muster. a pathetic, broken question as he tried so desperately to pull himself back together. 

“i…i don’t know.” you paused only to wipe your teary eyes on the back of your hand. “i never know what else to do when i feel like this; it’s just been hard, joost -”

you trailed off, quickly losing your train of thought when you heard him sob all of a sudden. you hadn’t seen him start to crack because you’d been staring down at your feet, suddenly feeling too shy to meet his eyes. except now he was the one trying to hide, his arm coming up to cover his face as he cried hard enough to make his shoulders bounce.

he repeated ‘i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.’ like a mantra in between shallow gasps of breath and hiccups.

he was blaming himself for this because how could he not? all those cuts along your skin; you might have been the one behind the blade but he had been the one to do it. he’d been the one to scar you like this. that one irreversible act of his that he prayed would keep you safe had pushed you to an edge that he feared he wouldn’t be able to pull you back from. 

it wasn’t even his responsibility to, not really. he didn’t know you and you didn’t know him, either. still, he found himself loving you in a way that didn’t make any sense. 

and you loved him too, didn’t you? in a way that you couldn’t quite wrap your head around because of course you did. you proved that to both yourself and to him by how you finally moved from your spot by the door just so you could take his hands and pry his arms away from his face. you let him engulf you, cradling you close to his chest as he cried into your shoulder because you knew that he needed it.

you didn’t know who he was or even what he was, but you knew that he wasn’t something to truly fear. deep down you knew that you loved him in such an awfully twisted way, and you knew that he needed to feel you just to know that you weren’t going anywhere. 

joost was still spilling out his apologies as you tried so hard to soothe him. you felt him shiver under your touch when you let your hands slip underneath the hem of his t-shirt to rub the hot skin of his sides, your soft little whispered assurances filling his ear. 

it wasn’t his fault, nor was it levi’s or anyone else’s. you were like this long before he’d ever set his eyes on you and a part of you had already accepted that you always will be. the very last thing that you wanted was for it to be a burden someone else had to carry, let alone somebody like joost.

“you didn’t do this, okay? it’s alright. i’m gonna be alright.”

maybe it was cruel of you to try and calm him with words that even you didn’t fully believe in. what you had done to yourself only an hour ago, only you would ever be to blame for it, but you didn’t know if you were going to be alright in the end. you were still a witness to what he’d done and you were still doomed to live with the guilt of that.

“you don’t need to apologise for what i’ve done; you know that this is what i do. it’s not your fault.”

“but i fucked up, lieverd.”  joost shuddered as he sucked in a sharp breath, sniffing. “i fucked up and i did this to you; you did it because of me.”

you hushed him, carefully stepping back just enough so that you had the room to cradle either side of his neck in your hands, urging him to look back at you. as soon as he did, you could see that his eyes were back to being just their usual sweet blue, nothing else.

“i did it because i was scared, joost. i didn’t know what else to do.”

“what, scared of me?”

his question was more like a punch to the gut than anything else. for just a moment it knocked the air out of you; left you winded and with no idea on how to go about answering it. truthfully, the answer was yes, but also no, because it was never actually him that you were so afraid of.

you were just afraid of what he did; what you know joost is truly capable of now. you were afraid of the part of you that was almost relieved to see levi suffer what he did, knowing that it meant that he wouldn’t be able to hurt you anymore. but again, you never wanted him to die. you never wanted to see him get torn apart, piece by piece.

joost whimpered out your name when you didn’t answer and instead just stood there with your mouth slightly agape. your lack of an actual, verbal answer was an answer in itself, really, and he knew that; knew that you were probably just too scared and too kind to tell him the truth. still he needed to hear you say it though, purely for his own sake, he needed to hear you say that he wasn’t just another monster to you.

but the longer that he waited, the weaker his knees started to feel. he kind of fell into you, in a way, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck as your arms came up to hold him against you. his hot tears ran down your skin and pooled together in the dip of your collarbone and it was right then that your own eyes started to burn. 

slipping out from his grasp, you wordlessly led him by the hand over to your sofa. you watched him collapse onto it as you took a seat next to him, his elbows rested on his knees as his head hung low in between them. his shoulders were still shaking and you could still hear each of the muffled cries that were spilling from his lips.

“please, please, believe me, lieverd. what i did…i never wanted it to hurt you. i’m so sorry.”

you curled yourself into a tight little ball and let out a long, deep breath, one that you hadn’t even known you’d been holding. you had questions; so, so many questions that had been festering, growing like mould in the back of your head. and joost could almost feel you holding them back as he looked up at you with such watery eyes, the only red in them being the sore, puffy rings around them.

“ask me anything, whatever you wanna know.”

“why did you do it?”

there was no emotion in your voice and you kept your face blank as you spoke — it was only the slight quiver of your bottom lip that gave you away.

“he was going to hurt you, schatje.” 

“but how…how were you even…?”

it had happened decades ago, back when internet cafes were still just your average libraries and when only the rich could afford to have their own mobile phones. 

joost had been young, living off the high of infamy and adoration that came with being in one of the best punk bands in the scene at the time. him and his friends, they’d been something of local legends; for good and for bad, it just depended on who you asked. those that loved them deemed them god-like in their old denim and rusted chains, and those that hated them, simply feared them.

he’s not proud of it, how they spent day after day rotting away in a garage, doing whatever drugs they could get their hands on and writing songs just to spend night after night playing shows at only the worst bars they could find. how they’d get even more off their faces afterwards and start fights, smashing up the venues and spray-painting anarchy symbols anywhere and everywhere that they could. how if the night didn’t end with them running away from the cops then it would end with them in the bed of anything with a pretty face, two legs, and a heartbeat.

and then what was supposed to be the best night of the band’s life, the biggest show they’d ever played to a crowd that already knew all the words to their songs, became nothing more than the beginning of the end. it’d happened after they’d all really outdone themselves, whilst those so-called ‘friends’ of his that only ever brought out the worst of him were all passed out somewhere, and joost had decided to go out for a little wander. 

still to this day, he can’t remember the face of who had jumped him. the alleyway had been too dark and he’d been too drunk to even know where he was, so all that truly stuck with him was the agony of it all. the searing pain of a pair of fangs plunging deep into the side of his neck, the gradual, stinging cold he’d felt as the life was almost all but drained from him. whoever it was, they’d left him there to die afterwards — still to this day, a part of him wishes that he had. 

waking up that next morning something so much worse than human, consumed by an appetite so uncontrollable that he just couldn’t help himself when he came across that lone jogger whilst on his way back to his friends. surely it had to have been worse than death. he’d torn that poor guy to shreds as if it was nothing, as if he was just pulling chicken off the bone. 

but he hadn’t stopped there, had he? he couldn’t, he didn’t know how to. even after he’d shown up on his drummer’s doorstep covered in blood and crying his eyes out, he had to keep going, keep feeding. because joost wasn’t too good at knowing when to stop, either, was he?

it had taken him years to figure it out, actually. years of mindless, reckless slaughter to realise that he actually hated what he was now, and that his ‘friends’ weren’t ever really his friends. from the moment he’d shown up that day, all stained red and babbling about the man he’d just killed, the band played him like a puppet simply because they knew that they could.

regardless of the change, he was still joost. they knew that it really wouldn’t take much to get inside of his head, to spin whatever that had happened to him into something almost profitable for them all. and it hadn’t, because everything they had him do was always ‘for the band’, so really, how could he have said no? 

besides, he would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t come to enjoy it, after a while. seeing the life drain from their eyes as they’d beg for mercy, pleading with him, promising him that they’d do whatever he wanted if he’d just let them go. he’d always laugh then, before sinking his teeth into their throats. 

and it helped that these people also happened to be nobodies, too. from shitty bar owners that wouldn’t let them play to members of a rival band that had just gotten a little too cocky for their own good. no one ever missed them, most hardly noticed that they were gone.

joost was never a monster to them, to the band, just an over-glamorised attack dog that could do a lot more than just bite.

it had taken him far too many years to realise it.

“that’s how i ended up with the cafe…i wanted to get away; i didn’t want to be like that anymore.” he paused only to gauge your reaction, or more so your lack of one. you hadn’t said a word the entire time, hadn’t flinched or pulled a face; you had barely even blinked. 

“what did you do with the body?…his body?”

the sudden sound of your voice, it made him glance back up at you with a small quiver in his lip. you were still staring blankly at the wall ahead, your expression borderline unreadable, but your words hadn’t cracked and your hands weren’t shaking anymore, either.

“i know some people that are…like me; they handled it.” when you fell quiet again, joost continued, wiping the snot from his nose as he did so. “i’ve done a lot of bad things, lieverd. what i did to levi, fuck, that’s not even the worst of it. you should be scared of me; i’m scared of me.”

“i’m not.” 

“why?”

“because if you were still the monster that you think you are, i wouldn’t have even made it halfway out the door that night.” 

after only another moment or two of silence had passed did you finally look down to meet his eyes again. whilst there was a shine in yours that definitely matched his own, there was something so soft about the way you were gazing at him. it made the muscles beneath his shoulders relax and drop down as he breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

you didn’t need to elaborate any further, didn’t need to say anything else to prove to him that you knew he wasn’t that person anymore. he could tell simply from the hint of a smile that was tugging at the corners of your mouth. from how it was with careful, delicate movements that you moved to crawl onto his lap and hugged him, nuzzling your face into the curve of his neck.

the large, warm palms of joost’s hands slid underneath the cotton of your tank top and soothed the cool skin of your spine as he rested his head against yours. instead of asking how you were even real, how someone so undeniably good was able to look past each and every single one of his sins, he kept quiet to let the last few tears of his fall.

but if he had in fact asked, then you would’ve told him that truly, you couldn’t hold any of it against him. 

of course it was all awful, from the countless faces he’d torn apart to the people that he terrorised even before the change. your skin had been crawling as joost had spoken and you just couldn’t ignore the fact that anyone else in your position probably would’ve taken off running by now. that, and that they’d have every right to.

except you weren’t just anyone, were you? as far as you were concerned, those old so-called ‘friends’ of his were the real monsters, because you of all people knew what it was like to be hurt by those you trusted most. to have someone so deep inside your mind that you quickly became blind to everything else. you couldn’t hold it against him because in your heart, you got it. you could feel that, that wasn’t who joost was anymore.

“can you stay tonight? for a little while?”

you felt his hands trail down to the side of your hips and squeeze as you pulled away just enough to see his face, your own two hands falling down to rest against his stomach.

“i’ll stay for as long as you want me to, schatje. i’m here.” 

being on the brink of almost giddiness as you nodded, that small smile of yours twisting up into an almost grin, you hadn’t realised how his fingers were starting to roam. that his hands were gently moving around, rubbing up and down the flesh of your waist until they reached the very front of your hips. 

you hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been able to take hold of his wrists to stop him before the soft pads of his thumbs could find the aching, bumpy lines of the cuts you’d put there a few days ago. as you froze, you watched his own sweet smile drop and his eyebrows furrow, and felt him slowly lift up the hem of your top just enough to see the true extent of it.

even in the low light of your living room, even if his eyesight wasn’t as unnaturally good as it was, he still wouldn’t have been able to miss it. just like the rest of you was, the tight skin of your stomach and all the way across to your hips were marked with the same harsh, red gashes. most were scabbed over but a couple were sprouting fresh drops of blood from where you’d been moving around so much, pulling them apart at the seams.

you went to stand and then tried to simply twist yourself away when you couldn’t, but even then joost’s hold on you was too strong. his touches were feather-soft as he traced the tips of his fingers along every single one, following them down to the ones on your things and then back up along the ones on your arms. by the time that he reached your eyes again they were already scrunched up closed, hiding from him.

“because of me.”

it was more of a statement than a question, partly because he already knew the answer, and partly because he knew that you’d still deny it if he asked.

“joost -”

“- you have a first aid kid somewhere, right? lemme help.”

you shook your head as you went to tug your vest top back down, only to freeze when you finally caught a glimpse of all the little spots of blood that had seeped through your clothes. you stopped and stared at them for longer than you meant to, your hands trembling as you toyed with the material between your fingers. 

the blood was always your favourite part. how it would slowly peek through the small breaks in your skin before oozing out, running down your body until the drops would fall and hit the floor. it had a way of hypnotising you every single time, making you want to keep going and going just so you could see it happen over again and again. even now, when the tiny red polka dots were nothing more than just a few sticky stains on your top, turning the tips of your fingers a deep pink.

it took joost gently prying your hands away for you to snap out of it. 

“n-no, no, i can’t let you do that. it wouldn’t be fair, not when there’s so much blood and you’re…”

“i’ll be fine, lieverd, i promise.”  you felt him give your hands a soft squeeze as he paused, “let me help you.”

there was no point in trying to change his mind. once you lifted your head back up and saw how those big blue eyes of his were staring back at you, the smudged, dark makeup around them making them seem so might brighter, you no longer had the heart to tell him no again. he could have asked anything of you, and you would’ve said yes.

“it’s in the bathroom.”

without warning, joost moved to grip the backs of each of your thighs and stood up, smiling when you squealed as you wrapped your arms and legs around him. it baffled you for a moment how it seemed as though he already knew where to go, that he already knew that your bathroom was all the way down the hall, last door on the left. you chalked his strong sense of direction up to it just being another one of the many perks that came along with being…well, him.

and whilst that was true, maybe it wasn’t the only reason why he specifically knew the layout of your home already. maybe he’s escorted you home more than just the once, twice, three times. maybe this wasn’t actually his first time walking down your hallway at all. 

the cold of your bathroom counter underneath you made you jump slightly as joost carefully set you down on it. you’d left the light on from when you were in here earlier; your razor still laying discarded on the floor, coated in a drying layer of your own blood. you hadn’t even thought he’d seen it until he was picking it up and tossing it in the bin as if it was just a piece of rubbish that he’d dropped. 

neither of you were saying anything. joost had fallen uncharacteristically quiet, breathing somewhat heavily through his mouth as he dug through your cabinets until he finally found that little green box with the red cross on on the front. his hands were shaking as he opened it, pulling out the countless packets of alcohol wipes and plasters, dropping a few things as he did so.

had you been paying more attention, then you would’ve noticed that actually, this was taking quite the toll on him. but you couldn’t shift your eyes away from the bin, the one that now contained the very last one of your razor blades amongst a small collection of used tissues and tampon wrappers. joost had thrown away your last one, and now you had none.

“okay, i’m sorry if this stings, schat. let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”

it was as you were nodding that you suddenly hissed, your leg jolting from the pain of the alcohol wipe joost had used to clean the first of the cuts on your upper thigh. on instinct you tried to pull away, fighting against the grip that he held on you to keep your leg still against the counter.

you weren’t expecting it to hurt as much as it did. considering how many times that you’ve been here before, cleaning yourself up because you didn’t always have someone around that cared enough to want to do it for you, you thought you would have been used to it by now. you never would have guessed that it would have you in near tears all over again, gripping the edge of the bathroom counter until your knuckles slowly started to turn white. 

maybe this was just the price you had to pay for going a little deeper than you meant to. 

“hey, do you think you could just…i don’t know, talk, for a while? tell me something about yourself?” at the look of confusion on your face joost just smiled, raising his hands a little to show you just how hard they were shaking. “it’ll help me concentrate.”

he was struggling more than he thought he’d be.

except how could he not be? this was a lot for him. all that blood of yours smeared and stained across his fingers aside, simply just being this close to you was enough to somehow make him feel lightheaded. feeling your knees on either side of his thighs as he stood in between your legs, so close to you in fact that he could hear your heartbeat louder than anything else. 

he just needed to hear your voice, needed something else to focus on besides your blood that now laid underneath his fingernails.

“oh shit, uh, okay….um…”

you weren’t sure why you started to chuckle, almost, stumbling over these noises that barely even resembled words. you wanted to come up with something to talk about fast, to help get joost’s mind off of what he was actually doing, but the harder you thought the quicker your mind went blank. nobody’s ever really asked you to talk about yourself before; you had no idea what to say.

there wasn’t a whole lot to say, really. you used to have interests; hobbies that you used to put your heart and soul into, dreams that you were so determined to make a reality for yourself. levi had, had other plans for you, though. either, he would simply take up too much of your time, or he’d be so insistent that those hobbies of yours were ‘pointless’, that eventually you grew to lose interest in them. since day one of the relationship, everything about you had to be about him.

you used to think that it was probably for the best, that maybe he was right and you really were just wasting your time. but now that he’s gone for good, and you’re stuck with someone in front of you that genuinely wants to get to know you, you realise now that there’s nothing for you to tell them. there’s nothing of who you used to be left.

joost gave your knee a quick squeeze before turning his attention onto your arms, having slowly picked up on the fact that once again, your lack of an answer told him far more than you wanted it to. 

“okay, let’s start with the easy stuff — what did you want to be when you were growing up?”

“i wanted to be a painter.”

you hissed again at the burn of one of the alcohol wipes against your skin; smiling softly when he reassured you of just how brave you were being.

“a painter? that’s sick! did that happen?”

“almost. i went to school for it, got a degree and everything, but uh, levi always said that it’s not a ‘real job�� so…”

joost’s frown was immediate. he was shaking his head, the lines in his forehead already so prominent. “did you really give it all up because of that? that’s bullshit.” 

“i didn’t really have much of a choice, joostie.”

you both fell quiet again after that.

he felt horrible for reacting like that, fearing that you mistook all of his anger towards levi and each of the silly little ideas that the guy had planted in your head to be aimed at you. you’d sounded so defeated as your shoulders slumped, your voice falling to a near-whisper as you moved your gaze onto the floor. of course you didn’t have a choice; that much should’ve already been obvious. 

and it was the look on your face now that was hurting him the most. a look of mourning as you pondered the life that you almost had, had it not been for that asshole and the hold that he’d once had over you. as joost wiped another cut clean, he regretted for just a moment not going back for seconds that night — it would’ve been the least that levi deserved.

“what kind of art did you do?”

that brought something of a smile back to your face as your mind drifted back to all of the scrapbooks you had hidden underneath your bed. old, dust-covered notebooks filled to the brim with page after page of everything from doodles to full-fledged paintings. your bottom lip wobbled when you thought of all the canvases though, the same ones you once watched levi destroy one night just because he’d wanted to see you cry after a fight.

“everything — oil paint, acrylics, watercolour. i really loved chalk, though. seeing all the stains it would leave behind made it feel like it meant something more, you know? like i was really creating something.”

a gentle grin curled the corners of your mouth up as you spoke, beginning to ramble so passionately about what you loved that joost really did almost forget what he was doing. he had to stop for a second just so that he could witness that smile of yours, see that gleam in your eyes that he’d once had himself back when he was just kid writing songs in his bedroom. in a blink of an eye, you had suddenly become so alive and it had him floored.

it had him captivated, actually; irrevocably wrapped around your finger.

his hands weren’t shaking so much anymore.

“i have a friend that’s a painter; he mainly does the oil stuff, i think, but maybe i could introduce the two of you one day? he’ll probably have some chalk laying around somewhere.”

“is he…?”

“no, he’s not like me. can i lift your shirt up a little bit? we’re almost done, i’ve just got to get the last ones.”

you nodded, wondering how it was that his skin felt so warm against yours, all things considered.

“it wouldn’t have mattered to me if he was.”

joost knew that you were telling the truth, could hear it in the way that your heartbeat kept its rhythm. 

and the conversation continued to flow as joost patched up the last few cuts of yours, sticking little hello kitty plasters delicately across your hip bones. he told you all about this oil-painter friend of his, ‘daan’ — how he’d been the first genuine friend that joost had made after the change, how he never would’ve been able to get away from the band if it wasn’t for him.

joost even opened up to you about his family, his parents. even after so many years, you still had to help him breathe through it as he told you their story with tears all in his eyes. it was only fair that you did the same after that; he almost couldn’t believe it when you’d said you'd lost your parents when you were younger too, spent some time in the system just as he had. after all, that was how you met levi. 

and he told you all about another friend of his, ‘lenny’, how it’s because of her that he likes foreign graphic novels so much. whenever he’s not reading those porn mags that he swears he only picks up for the articles, he’s reading and then re-reading her old japanese comic books. you were never much of a comic book kid yourself, having always preferred to lose yourself inside the pages of a stephen king or a neil gaiman instead, so you promised to read ‘death note’ if joost read ‘the shining’.

by the time that he was pulling your shirt back down and chucking away all of the used, bloodied wipes that had accumulated, you were fighting to keep your eyes open. joost could tell that he was losing you just from the way that you kept swaying from side to side and nodding your head slightly even when he hadn’t asked you a question. it made his heart ache, knowing that you were so, so exhausted but still so unwilling to sleep because you wanted to keep the conversation going.

he hadn’t told you his favourite colour yet.

“cmon you, i think it's bedtime.”

you were yawning before you could argue, letting your head fall back against the cabinet behind you. the thought of your bed was undeniably heavenly; the feeling of your mattress dipping below your weight as you curl yourself into a ball beneath your blankets. the only problem was that you were just as comfy here as you would be over there, though, perched on the edge of your bathroom countertop with joost still standing in between your legs, his hands resting on each of your thighs.

this bubble you had created with him — it wasn’t one you were ready to leave quite just yet. there was still that fear of waking up alone again lurking in the back of your mind.

and it was before you could argue that joost was also scooping you up again, holding you up by the backs of your thighs as he began to carry you back down the hall. you let your head fall to rest against his shoulder, your arms draped loosely around his neck. if it wasn’t for that fear of yours twisting your insides and rotting your brain from the inside out, you could have fallen asleep right there. 

you probably would have.

“you’re gonna stay with me, right?”

joost glanced down at the top of your head with a crease in his eyebrows, carefully nudging your bedroom door open with his foot. “i already told you, lieverd, i’m not going anywhere. i promise.”

“no, i know that. i just mean -” you paused when he gently set you down just beside your bed, only stepping away to turn on the light until you made a sudden, desperate reach for his wrist. 

when the warm glow of the lamp flooded the room, you could see that he wasn’t smiling anymore. instead there was worry in his eyes as he took that step back closer to you again, his hands coming up to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“what’s wrong?”

“- i meant that you’re not gonna exile yourself to the sofa or anything, right? you’ll stay with me?”

it finally clicked in his head what you were asking. 

and it definitely felt like a lot to be asking of him, again all things considered. you just couldn’t do it though, you couldn’t handle the idea of being by yourself anymore. it was why you always stayed in the end, with levi, why a part of you couldn’t help but miss him. his presence would be chilling but his side of the bed would always be warm when you would wake up in the mornings. 

you didn’t want to start crying when you felt as though it was taking joost too long to answer. you didn’t want to guilt trip him like that, make him feel as though he had to even if he didn’t want to. but it was just another thing that you couldn’t help, because you were so tired and so afraid that you just didn’t know what else to do besides sit down and cry.

he copied you by sinking down into a squat, placing both of his hands onto each one of your knees. since you kept your eyes focused on the ceiling, trying and failing at trying to blink away your tears as you hiccuped, it was from the corners of your sight that you saw joost reach up to wipe them away himself. the pads of his thumbs stroked along the skin of your cheekbone and lingered there for a moment or two before he spoke.

“can you look at me, schatje?”

you did so almost reluctantly.

“i’m not going anywhere, alright? i’m not gonna leave you.”

nodding as you sniffled, you kept your eyes locked with his as you crawled back onto your bed and pulled back the covers. neither of you said anything nor dared to look away from the other as joost kicked off his shoes and undid the clasp of his watch, slipping it off of his wrist to leave it on your bedside table. 

that was all he did before he climbed into bed with you, still dressed in the same hoodie and sweatpants that he’s had on all night. you let his arms wrap around you and tug you up into his chest as you grabbed onto fistfalls of his sweatshirt, trusting that he meant it when he said he’d stay with you but still feeling too afraid to let go. 

more tears began to fall from your eyes, your shoulders wracking against him as you cried. soft, gentle circles were drawn anywhere on your skin that he could reach; your shoulders, your hips, your sides, and he murmured sweet little assurances into your ear.

“i mean it, okay? i’ve got you. i’m right here.”

it was with your whole heart that you believed him. with your tears slowly soaking through the cotton of his jumper, you believed that he’ll still be here when you wake up, all curled up with you with his hand still rubbing up and down your back. 

“i’m here.”

[irb-pascalito-99]

I Can’t Quit You Babe

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (no outbreak AU)

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: After the events of the night before Joel plans on avoiding you at all costs. You have other plans.

Content Warnings: dbf!Joel, age gap romance, dirty pictures, phone sex, mutual masturbation

A/N: This is p2 of Father Figure. Thank you so much for all of the support on part one! I have s couple ideas for these two so I’ll probably have at least a couple more parts. I’m working on putting together a tag list so if you’d like to be added let me know!

P1

Dividers thanks to @saradika-graphics

Joel should never have let things get as far as they had last night. He knew he was in trouble from the minute his hands held your cold face, but he couldn’t just leave you out there like that. How you ended up going from a conversation about your douchebag boyfriend to discussing his own embarrassing lack of a love life he still wasn’t sure, but it was all over from there.

What Joel does know is that he still can’t stop thinking about you in his lap. He can’t stop hearing your panting breaths and quiet moans. He can’t stop feeling the pressure of your hips against his, soaking his sweatpants with your wetness. He can’t stop picturing his best friend’s daughter on her knees in front of him, ready and willing to take his throbbing cock into her mouth.

The whole thing was so fucked up. He’d almost chalk it up to some debaucherous dream he had, if it weren’t for his stained sweatpants discarded on the floor of his bedroom and the cum stained boxers he used to clean himself up when he jerked off after you left. No, no decent man would have ever done what Joel did last night, which is why it can’t ever happen again.

He’d planned on avoiding you for a few days until things had cooled down a bit. Certainly you’d find a more suitable guy to move on to, someone your age who wasn’t buddies with your dad. He’d just give you some time to forget about that night, and that would be that.

When he left the next morning to pick Sarah up from her friend’s house he didn’t even glance in the direction of your house, too scared he might see you looking down at him from your bedroom window.

He tried not to think about you. He did his best to push you out of his mind completely and focus instead on the rotation of country music coming out of his stereo, but the tunes of Johnny Cash did nothing more than provide background noise to his racing thoughts. It was easier to quiet his mind when Sarah got in the truck. He listened to her enthusiastically share all of the details of her night, and carefully avoided the topic when she asked him about his. It isn’t until he gets home that he sees the message. His heart leaps into his throat when he sees who it’s from.

There, at the bottom of his chain of text messages with your father was a new message sent this morning.

I need you to come over sometime today, it’s important.

Suddenly Joel was having a hard time swallowing. Could he possibly know what happened? Did you tell him, upset that he’d kicked you out of his house last night? No, you’d never do that. At least he didn’t think you would, but what else could your father need to talk to him about?

He chances a glance across his yard to your house, your driveway where he picked you up off the ground last night. Your dad’s car is still parked in the same spot as when he pulled in last night. The curtains are drawn so he can’t tell what he might be walking into over there.

“Hey Sarah, I gotta go over to the neighbor’s house for a bit. You gonna be okay?” Joel calls to his daughter as she unlocks the front door of their house.

“Yeah, see you later.” She says without a second thought.

Joel hasn’t even made it to your porch before he hears the yelling inside. He can feel the life draining out of his face. He forgets how to breathe and stops in his tracks.

He should turn back now. Take the coward’s way out. He could text your dad and say he’s sick, but how long would it be before the man came pounding at his door demanding answers. He couldn’t have that conversation in front of Sarah.

It takes all the strength Joel has in himself to finish the last few steps to the door. He’s still thinking of running when he knocks on the door.

“I don’t need you to find me something to do! It’s my life! I can figure things out for myself!” Your argument comes closer to the door so Joel can now make out the words.

“It may be your life, but you’re living it under my roof!” He hears your father yell.

“It’s only been a couple of months, dad!” You shout at your father over your shoulder as you open the door for Joel. He can’t make sense of what’s happening right now, but he’s immediately bright into the middle of it.

“Joel!” Your father says the second he spots his friend. “Back me up on this, she should be at least looking for a job shouldn’t she?”

Joel feels immediate relief was over him once he realizes the fight actually has nothing to do with him. Both you and your father look at Joel expectantly. Is this what he called him over for?

“I-“ Joel glances between your father and you. You’re standing next to him with your arms crossed and a death glare pointed in his direction. “I don’t know I’m the right person to ask…”

“No, come on Joel. We want your opinion.” You say. “My dear old dad here is upset that I moved back two months ago and still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.”

“Can’t say I have an opinion either way.” Joel says, trying to maneuver his way out of the conversation. “I just came here to-“

“What if it was Sarah?” You interrupt. “Would you be pressuring her to make the biggest decision of her life because you want your giant house to yourself again?”

“Now hold on a minute!” Your father interjects. Joel is debating whether or not he should just slink and leave you two to your argument. Surely he could find a subtle way to suggest he come back later. “I never said you had to plan your career, but something even part time might give you something to do all day other than mope around about that good for nothing boyfriend of yours.”

Joel sees your body tense at the mention of your boyfriend, not so much that your father would notice from the distance he’s at, but enough for Joel to take note of the action.

“I’d rather die than work part-time at your company!” You’re starting to yell again.

“I never said you had to work for my company. It could be anything.” Your father responds exasperatedly. “Joel, you wouldn’t happen to have something for her would you?”

You whip around to look at Joel now. He should have snuck away when he had the chance.

“At the shop, not much right now.” Joel’s eyes flit back and forth between the two faces in front of him.

“What about at home? A lawnmower? A babysitter?” Your eyes are practically pleading for him to decline your father’s offer, but Joel has a feeling he won’t be letting up easily.

“I don’t know, maybe…” Joel scratches the back of his neck and does his best to avoid your gaze.

“Perfect! I’ll have her text you to set something up.” Joel’s still wondering how he got dragged into this even as your father pulls his phone out to text Joel’s contact information over to you.

“Nice going,” you mutter under your breath. You huff a displeased note in your father’s direction and walk away, leaving Joel standing awkwardly in front of the open doorway.

“Don’t mind her,” your father says, waving you off. “Come in, thanks for coming over.”

Joel stumbles into the household. Your father closes the front door beside him and directs the two of them over to the kitchen.

“Was there something else you needed, or…”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry, weird morning.” Your father changes paths. He directs Joel to the garage, stopping him in front of the water heater in the corner. “My daughter was saying the water wasn’t getting hot this morning when she was trying to take a shower. I took a look, but you know how I am with these things. I was hoping you might be able to help me figure it out before I have to call a plumber.”

Joel feels a tension in his shoulders release. Plumbing issues he could solve. He pushes away the image of you trying to take a shower this morning as he steps up to the water heater.

“Yeah, I’ll give it a look. You know I can’t promise that I’ll be able to fix it myself though.” Joel says.

“It’s worth a shot.” Your dad responds. “You gonna be okay here with my kid? The company called and they need me to come in and look over some numbers for one of our new accounts.”

Alone. In your house. With you. Joel can’t imagine there being any way that can end well, but he can’t find a reasonable excuse to tell your father. Joel shrugs.

“She’ll probably stay out of your way. She’s mad at me right now anyway so I imagine she’ll sulk in her room for a while longer.” Joel grunts in response. “Daughters, what are you going to do, you know?”

Joel doesn’t love the way your dad is talking about you right now. He couldn’t imagine talking about Sarah that way, but it’s not really any of his business either.

“Anyway, I appreciate this. Let me know if you need anything!” Joel waves goodbye as your dad walks away and then gets started with the water heater.

He doesn’t hear you when you slip in the garage through the door he opened when he left to get his tools from his house. He doesn’t see you prop yourself up on a stool in the corner to watch him. He doesn’t notice the way your eyes transfix on him, watching his hands flex and the gleam of sweat on his neck as he fiddles with your ancient water heater.

“How’s it looking?” You ask. Joel jumps at the sound and hits his head on the side of the metal water heater.

“How long you been there?” He asks as he runs his hand over his head.

“Not long.” You respond.

“You didn’t say anything?”

“Was just admiring the view.” You say playfully. You even shoot a wink in his direction. Joel scowls, returning back to his work in a desperate attempt to ignore your advances.

He feels relief at first when he hears you get up off your stool behind him, but then he feels the warmth of your body next to him.

“Stop that.” Joel says. He’s trying not to look at you, certain it would somehow give away the thoughts lingering in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You tease and scoot closer to him.

Your chest is practically pressed against his back while you watch him work. Joel feels his pants tightening. If this goes on any longer he might not be able to control what happens next.

A piece of him wants to turn around and kiss you right here. He wants to hear you beg for him while he pins you against the wall, but the garage door is still open. One look from the neighbors right now and the cat is out of the bag. Joel coughs and stands up. He crosses over to your father’s work bench against the wall.

“So are we going to talk about last night or…” That’s actually the last thing Joel wants to do.

He doesn’t want to discuss that with you ever. He’d hoped maybe you’d still be upset enough from the rest of the events that night that you’d just drop it. However with the way you’ve been flirting with him since your dad left it makes sense it would come up eventually.

“You didn’t tell your dad about what happened with that boy.” He glances at you with his head still lowered.

He tries to keep the conversation nonchalant. Maybe this way he can keep it directed away from what the two of you did after said boy left. Apparently you have other plans.

“I also didn’t tell him I fucked his friend right after. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Joel can’t remember how to breathe. Did anyone hear that? For fuck’s sake anyone could be walking by right now.

Joel looks at you with wide eyes and scans the sunny neighborhood street only feet away from your conversation.

“Relax, nobody is paying attention to us.” You chide. You move close to Joel again and whisper in his ear. “I still smell like you, you know. I don’t know if you heard but our water heater wasn’t working so I haven’t been able to rinse away the reminder of you.”

Gently your teeth bite down on his earlobe and tug. A shiver runs down Joel’s spine. Instantly he’s back in his kitchen chair. Your hips grinding on his. Your moans filling the air. Your teeth release his ear so your tongue can run down the side of his neck. Your hands travel down his chest, to the hem of his shirt. They travel just underneath to glance upon the bare skin of his stomach. Your fingers graze the waistband of his jeans. It feels so fucking-

A nearby lawn mower starts and Joel remembers where he is. How many people could stumble upon what’s happening in your father’s garage. What the hell is he doing?

“This can’t happen.” Joel jumps away and motions between the two of you. “We can’t happen. You hear me? It’s best if we both just forget and move on.”

Joel crosses back over to the water heater. You stare into the back of his head as he confronts his work.

“What if I don’t want to just forget and move on?” You ask. Joel still doesn’t look at you.

“Guess there’s nothing I can do about that, but it ain’t happening again.”

“Joel, you made me feel more in three minutes than I ever did in three years with that guy.” Joel’s cold exterior melts a bit when he hears the emotion in your voice, but he has to stay strong. It’s for your own good. Even if you can’t see that.

“Trust me, it wasn’t me you were into.” Joel says quietly. “You’ll find someone else to get you off. Someone age appropriate.”

“I’m not asking you for a relationship or anything. I just want to finish what we started.” You plead.

“There’s nothing to finish.” Joel snaps.

“You’re honestly telling me you felt nothing? That you haven’t thought about last night at all?” He doesn’t answer. Obviously he’s thought about it. He can’t stop thinking about it. He’d never admit it to you though. The question lingers in the air until finally you can’t wait any longer.

“Fine then,” You huff. You push away from Joel, walking back to the door connecting the garage to the house. Just before you walk back inside you call out in his direction. “Don’t worry about finding some job for me around your place. I’ll find some lie to tell my dad. I wouldn’t want you to have to spend more time with me than necessary.”

You slam the door behind you. Joel feels bad that he hurt you, but it’s probably better that he did now before things got more complicated. He tries not to think about you sulking in your room as he finishes up what he was doing.

When he finishes up he codes the garage door and heads back into the house. Your father is still gone, and you are nowhere to be seen, but the music coming from upstairs tells Joel that you’re probably in your room as he expected.

Joel tests the water using the kitchen faucet. He hums to himself in satisfaction as the stream starts to rise. Joel turns the faucet off again and is prepared to leave when his mind wanders back to you, upstairs alone and angry.

His feet seem to have a mind of their own. They walk up the steps, down the hallway, stand in front of your door, and then Joel finds himself knocking.

Your music is so loud there’s a chance you didn’t hear him. Joel almost hopes you didn’t. That way he could sneak away from whatever dumb thing he was about to say to you. Why did he decide to come up here anyway? He turns to leave when the volume of your music lowers and the door opens.

Joel stands like an idiot in your doorway. He hadn’t thought about what to say. He hadn’t really thought at all.

“I um,” Joel clears his throat. “I’m just headed out. Water’s working again, so you should be good.”

“Thanks.” You spit back at him. He nods, still standing there awkwardly. “That all?”

“I’m sorry, for being so cold.” Joel finds himself saying. “Obviously I thought about it. It seems to be all I can think about. That doesn't mean I wasn’t right when I said it had to stop.”

You look like you’re about to argue again, so Joel holds a hand up to stop you. He has to get it all out. You have to understand.

“I’m old enough to be your father darlin’.” Your face falls as he continues. “What happened last night was special and I’ll bring the memory of that to my grave, but that’s all it can be, a memory.”

Joel watches your shoulders slump. That’s that then. Case closed. He turns away before he can take anything back.

—

As Joel finally lays down for the night, exhausted from hardly sleeping the night before and eager to put the day’s sordid mess behind him, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He groans and reaches over to read it, just to make sure it isn’t actually important.

He doesn’t recognize the number, and the picture attached nearly gives him a heart attack. A woman is sprawled out on a bed. One hand rests against her chin, two fingers slip slightly between her lips. The other hand trails down beneath the waistband of her bright red lacy panties, the only clothing still on her body. Her breasts are on full display, as well as a deep purple mark on her collarbone. It’s the mark that confirms his suspicions as to who could be sending him this photo out of nowhere. After all, Joel is the one who left that mark on your skin last night.

Joel’s thumb moves along the curve of your breasts in the picture. You’re a goddamn masterpiece, that’s for sure. He should delete the picture. He should text you an angry message back, chastising you for your blatant disregard of anything he has said earlier in the day, but Joel finds himself transfixed on the photo.

He didn’t get to see your body last night. Maybe that was a blessing, because now that he has Joel doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop thinking about it. Are you thinking about him as you touch yourself? You must be if you’re sending him this picture.

He‘s almost tempted to sneak across the street and give you exactly what he knows you’re begging for. You really are so close. It wouldn’t be that hard to get over there, but how would he get back without your dad finding out?

Joel is debating all of his options when his phone rings. Your number flashes across his screen as it buzzes in his hand. First the picture and now you’re calling him? You really are desperate. Joel hates how much that turns him on. His body acts of its own accord when he suddenly swipes to answer the call.

A loud breathy moan greets him the second he brings the phone to his ear. Holy fuck that sounds good. Joel mutters a silent thank you to the heavens that Sarah is already asleep.

“Fuck darlin’. The hell do you think you’re-“ He can hear the squelch of your fingers undoubtedly pumping in and out of your dripping cunt. “God damn, you trying to fucking kill me?”

You don’t answer him, just moan out again as you continue what you’re doing. Joel groans as he palms the hardening bulge in his boxers. He should hang up. He already has let this go on longer than it should, but he can’t hang up anymore than he could stop you grinding on his lap last night.

“Oh God, Joel.” You moan out. Joel growls at the sound of his name on your lips. He feels the last piece of him holding on to morality dissipate. Every argument he had about why this is a bad idea is immediately forgotten and replaced with an animalistic urge.

You whimper on the other end of the phone and Joel starts to rip his boxers down his legs. His cock springs forward once it’s free of the confines of his underwear. He spits in his hand and uses the precome leaking from his swollen tip to slowly stroke his aching cock.

He lets out a moan of his own, the sound mingling with the melody of your continued pleasure. His mind will be replaying the sound for the rest of his days.

“Joel, fuck, please. I want you so bad.” You plead. He tightens his grip on his length and pumps himself harder.

“Yeah, you want this cock baby girl?” He asks darkly. He can’t believe he’s doing this. But what does it matter if he plays into your little game now? He’s already fucked either way.

“Yes, please. Joel, please I want you so bad.” Joel loves the way you beg.

“I know you do honey,” Joel tuts. “But I don’t think you deserve it. Now do you? Been so fucking naughty. Sending me dirty pictures. Calling me all hot and bothered after I told you this couldn’t happen.”

He pictures you on your bed just across the yard. Your fingers pumping in and out of your wet pussy. It should be his fingers doing that to you.

“Please, I’ll be good,” you whimper. “I’ll be your good girl. I’ll do anything, just please fuck me.”

“Sorry honey, not tonight you know we can’t.” He can hear you whine on the other end of the line.

Joel grips his cock harder and twists his hand as it pulls up on his shaft. He’s already so close. You seem to have that effect on him. Even last night, he nearly came in his pants watching your head fall back in pleasure the way it did.

“You want to be my good girl?” You’re so fucked out at this point that you don’t even form actual words in response to his question. You simply moan out instead. “Alright sugar, be a good girl and match my pace then. Ready? C’mon now, in”

You moan loudly, a squelching sound in the background as he assumes you push your fingers inside of you. Joel thrusts his hips up into his hands at the same time.

He keeps his motions in time with the instructions he gives you over the phone. You’re a blubbering mess on the other end of the line. His fucked out little slut, fucking herself with her own fingers at his instruction.

When Joel closes his eyes he can almost imagine it’s your walls squeezing him like this. He pictures the way you looked grinding in his lap. He listens intently to your moans as you near your climax. It’s not as good as the real thing, but Joel doesn’t think he could ever recover from getting that.

“That’s right baby, that’s right. Keep going sweetheart. Being such a good girl right now.” Joel rasps. He’s fucking his hips up into his hands hard and fast now.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. Joel, I’m going to fucking come.”

“That’s it baby, come for me. Lemme hear it.” His words seem to be the thing that pushes you over the edge. You let out one final loud moan, then he hears you panting into the phone.

Joel pictures the way your body is probably twitching in your twin bed right now, your dad sound asleep just down the hall. You whimper Joel’s name as you start to come down.

He groans out your name and squeezes his eyes tight as he thinks of your face. Your knees on the ground. Your hands crawling up his lap. With just a few more thrusts into his hand Joel finds his own release. Warm ropes of come spill across his hand and stomach.

“Fuck baby girl, that was good.” He sighs. He opens his eyes again. “What a fucking mess.”

“You know if I were there I could clean it up for you.” You reply, the teasing lilt from earlier coming back to your voice. “If you’d fucked me like I asked you could’ve come wherever you want.”

Joel groans. He cannot keep encouraging this. “Not gonna happen kiddo.”

“Kiddo? A minute ago I was your good girl and now I’m kiddo? You really know how to bruise a girl’s ego.” He can hear the rustle of bed sheets as you move around in bed.

“Ain’t nothing to do with you. We just shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. I got ahead of myself a couple of times, but it’s over.” He waits for you to respond, but is greeted with silence instead. What kind of game are you playing? “Do you hear me? This was the last time.”

“Yeah yeah, I hear you.” You grumble finally. “Can I at least get a picture?”

“A picture?” He asks.

“A picture, of the mess you made listening to me.” Joel feels the tips of his ears go red.

He’s never sent a nude picture to anyone before. Sure he’d hooked up with a couple of women since Sarah’s mom left, but usually he kept it to women from the bars. No phone numbers exchanged. No dates. He kept it simple and unattached. Now here he was with a girl half his age asking him to send pictures of his come.

“I-I don’t-“

“Please, I sent you a picture. You owe me.” Fuck, fuck it.

Joel moves his phone from his shoulder with the hand that isn’t covered in his release to take a picture. He doesn’t bother looking at it before sending it, not wanting to get in his head about what it looks like. He’s only sending it because you sent a picture first. After Joel presses send he brings the phone back up to his ear and grabs some tissue to clean himself off.

“Holy shit Joel, you’re huge.” Joel feels himself blushing again. “Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t fuck. I don’t know if that thing would’ve fit inside me.”

“Never had any problems before.” Joel says without thinking.

“You having second thoughts?“ you jest. “I can sneak you in through the back door.”

“What and have your father kill me when he wakes up in the middle of the night and walks in on me fucking you in his house?” Joel responds. “No, no I’m serious whatever this is it’s over.”

He throws the tissue away in the trash bin by his bed and lays down.

“Whatever you say old man, but just so you know the door is always open.” Joel’s heart stopped beating. He’s certain of it this time. “Goodnight Joel.”

He keeps the phone against his ear for several more minutes after the beep indicates you’ve hung up.

Joel is so fucked.

Tags: @munsonsquinn @ashleyfilm @izzy698

[pleasuretrade]

several sentences sunday abandoned fic friday

ok @stereobone tagged me last time and i've been rly busy n fucked up so it's late but here is for u roooooo

wrote ~1500 words of this and then abandoned it for various reasons. probably like the second thing i ever started writing for mota, before i was even active on tumblr abt it. was gonna be a summary of a years-long escalation of what they started in flight school. and no idk if you actually had to continue combatives training in flight school and i refuse to research it

------------------------

 Combatives was a given in Basic. Gale hoped he never had to use it, less scared of the high chance he’d die in the air or hitting the ground than he was of coming face to face on land with a nazi, not that he’d ever tell anyone that, ever, except Bucky eventually. Naivety and misplaced optimism told him that combatives training wouldn’t follow him into flight school, but of course he was wrong, as that’s where his optimism always got him.

 Naturally, he’d sparred Bucky first and frequently. They’d become fast friends and worked together well, despite all odds, and in the service that meant staying together. Becoming brothers was a valuable token, gave you a higher chance of staying alive; they’d drilled as much into every man. It was never lost on Gale, the way that his place in things had become interwoven with John’s, so much so that it could literally keep him alive someday. Buck and Bucky, dependent on each other and allowed to be so by Uncle Sam himself. It made the thing in Gale, the sick, confused thing, that much hungrier. He’d put a muzzle on it, tied it down with strong rope and a long stake, told it to stay, boy, stay, and told himself he had it under control.

↓↓↓↓↓↓

 They were grappling clumsily, Bucky always better at it, just broader and taller and stronger enough to have the physical upperhand. And all of the sudden it hit Gale like a freight train, like a stray dog snapped loose from its rope. John’s leg pressed between his, tangled, bones held tight, his arms around Gale like a vice, breath against his hair—Gale was hard in his trousers.

“Bucky,” he said lamely, meekly, pleading before he could stop, wanting this to be over before his friend realized what was happening.

“Yeah?” And John pressed his leg into Gale harder, spitting the word, amused and teasing like a schoolboy and definitely knowing.

 It knocked the wind out of him. The terror, the shame, the guilt, the arousal. Gale panicked, twisting like an animal, only the motion and the friction weren't helping, and Gale was letting John work him over in his attempt to escape, cock weeping a single bead of dampness that Gale felt like a rush of cold water. This was it, this was the end before it had really started, before Gale ever got over there and saw his first mission. He was going to be sent home, and his dad was going to send him to the sanitarium, and he wouldn’t have Bucky in his life anymore, wouldn't be Buck anymore.

“Bucky, stop.”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, Buck, happens all the time,” John said, grunting only a little, collected even as Gale struggled in his arms. Pressing into him like he wanted to drive a point home.

“Stop!” The sound punched out of him, desperate and getting angry.

 And finally John let him go, rolled off and threw up his hands.

-

 Gale was on his bed in their room, clothes still on and not about to be taken off. He would sleep in his clothes if he could, too ashamed to touch himself even just to take them off, too angry to remove a layer between his dick and the world. When John opened the door Gale already knew how it would go, how John was going to act like nothing happened, how it was going to be an awkward nothing, how it would sour their friendship even as they try not to let it. Or at least, he thought he knew.

 John finished scrubbing at his hair with a towel, tossing it on the edge of his own bed, and Gale had to do it now or he would never do it.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage at first, too many words churning in his head.

“Sorry for what?” And there John went, pretending nothing happened.

“Not gonna say it out loud, Bucky.”

 John scoffed. “Jesus, Buck, always so serious. A little wood isn't gonna scare me away, alright?”

 It made Gale boil, hot up from his neck and down across his thighs. How Bucky was so flippant about it. How he didn't understand. It wasn't a misfire, wasn't just his body reacting errantly to physical stimulation. Gale was sick, and he was sick for John, for Bucky. His handsome face, his dark curls, his confidence, but more so his kindness, the soft meat under his tough masculinity, all the things he kept hidden away that Gale was finally piecing together, bit by bit. Gracious even now, when he had no reason to be.

“It won't happen again.”

-

 The very next time they did combatives, it happened again. Gale had spent the hours leading up to it agonizing, churning, making a mental list of things that repulsed and repelled him so he could conjure them on command. He braced for a punch that he tried desperately to tell himself didn't have to be inevitable. Over and over, reminding himself that it wasn't normal, that there was no reason for his body to do it, spiders, frog eggs, soured milk, the bright red tinge of his father’s vomit that Thanksgiving when he was eleven years old.

 It was useless, in the end. Gale tried and tried to stay upright as they grappled, and then to stay on his knees when he couldn't, and then when that didn't hold he would simply give up, flop to his stomach, take the loss. Lost and lost and lost until their commanding officer noticed, brought attention to it with a sharp bite of reprimand that set Gale's body to burning guilt.

“Just warmin’ him up, sir,” John told him, covering for Gale easy as anything.

 Their CO cut them a sharp look and moved on, skeptical and suspicious in the way that Gale excelled at nearly everything and why wasn’t he excelling at this?

 John assumed the position, stance wide and braced low, hands out and eager. “Come on, tough guy, give it to me.”

And the words made Gale want to be sick, to keel over and vomit or orgasm, his dick getting ideas before the physical contact even hit, spiders, spiders, spoiled milk, frog eggs.

 Like he was looking for it, like he wanted it, John had him again in no time. Thigh wedged between Gale’s, pelvis pressed tight, the crease of his hip meeting where Gale’s hard cock strained in his uniform. “Bucky, I give, stop,” rushed out, a plea. And when John didn't give up, when he shifted against Gale, teasing, taunting, punishing, “John.”

 John’s mouth close to his ear, low, low, only for them to hear, almost a whisper as he shifted his body in something too similar to a thrust, “I like when you say my name.”

 Gale almost came in his trousers just as John released him, laughing, rolling off and patting the dust off of himself, smiling, satisfied. Sick in some way. But he couldn’t be sick like Gale. Could he?