#this turned out longer than i wanted at first but he

[luveline]

shy!reader and spencer who are in the early days of their relationship and are getting more comfortable with initiating physical affection with each other (especially reader lol) and spencer gets her to open up by playing with her hair / hands, tickling her, cuddling, the like <3

The first time Spencer let his head rest against yours, you were sure you’d die right there and then, half-asleep on the subway, then suddenly away as he’d started talking under his breath, his conversation for you and you alone. You'd flushed full body and forced yourself to stay still, until Spencer had confused your shyness for not wanting his weight against you and pulled away. 

This time you’re ready. This time, he’s working his arm over the top of your shoulders. Not a timid first move on the first date, he’d suffered through that already. Spencer lets his arm slip between your back and the couch as he tugs you toward him, resting his cheek against your temple, two points of skin turning hot as a burner. 

“Okay?” he asks quietly. 

You let yourself relax into it. “I’m fine.” 

“Did you want me to run that bath for you?” 

It’s imperative he doesn’t move. “No, I can do it. I’ll do it later, if that’s okay.” 

It’s Spencer’s bath, but he let you take one the last time you stayed the night, so you’ll work it out. You knew he wasn’t gonna peep on you, knew you were totally safe in his bathroom, but your heart hammered fast as a hummingbird’s whenever the floors creaked —just the idea of being near him when you were unclothed set you aflame. Your skin warms with the memory, a nervousness in your chest and hands that grows uncomfortably warm. 

You don’t move, though. You’re sending him all the wrong messages when you reject him out of timidity, you’re more than aware of it, but the longer he sits there gently holding you, the more the temptation to squirm builds. 

Spencer makes a soft, soft sound as his hand trails up your back, curling around your arm, and meandering a path to your elbow. 

“I got…” —Spencer begins, without any inclination to rush— “…more of that bath soak you liked, the camomile… and honey…”

You love the smell. Sometimes you swear you can smell it in his hair when he presses near you. 

“And a loufa, ‘cos you didn’t have one last time,” he adds. 

“Thank you.” 

“…You’re welcome.” He kisses the side of your head. Then, in a betrayal of his character, he laughs breathlessly, saying, “Sorry, I forgot what I was saying. The loufa– It’s purple. I put it on the towel rack, and I got you a new face towel, too, mine’s too rough for you.” 

“Did you get yourself a new one too?” 

“Yeah.” He taps your cheek, the hand you’d forgotten about drawing a short line to your jaw. “You’re pretty.” 

You drop your chin. 

“You are,” he says. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Spencer’s hand slides down your neck, a caress that turns to a kind hold. “Can I…” He snorts softly. “You’re solid,” he says, squeezing your neck with enough pressure to wind you, which isn’t much. “You don’t have to get all tense.” 

“I’m trying really hard not to get tense,” you admit. 

“I know. I’m trying to help, but I’m just making it worse.” 

Spencer isn’t making it worse. Or, he wasn’t. “I thought you were gonna kiss me, is the thing.” 

“I was. Then you tensed up and I didn’t think I should.” His easy smile goes funny. “Could I have?” 

“Of course you could’ve,” you mumble, pressing your face into his shoulder before he can decimate the last of your self respect. He laughs —giggles, really, in a burst of sound— and tugs you in. “Not funny.”

He can hear the lie. “No, it’s not funny,” he agrees anyways, laying back and then moving forward, swaying you enough to turn the giggle into a full blown laugh. 

He murmurs something. You mumble back. His fingertips slip over the dip in your back and he’s saying something nice, if a little shy. It’s been nice getting closer to him, seeing the real Spencer, someone who’s hesitant but gentle beyond words. There’s no reason for him to be touching you like this, to talk sweet nothings behind your ear as he lugs you onto his chest, and maybe there’s no reason for you to melt. Butter in the sun, drifting bonelessly into his lap. 

“You smell like tea,” you say quietly. “I love it.” 

“You love it?” he asks, something oddly awed about him as he shifts your head back to look you in the eyes. 

“Mm. It’s nice. And your eyes are so brown… they’re my favourite thing about you.” 

Spencer teases the stripe of skin exposed by your rising t-shirt until you’re shivering again. “Thank you,” he says, letting one close in a wink as he taps your nose with his. “Am I allowed to say what I like about you, or–” You shake your head so violently he immediately stops. “Fine. But only because I want to sit like this for the rest of the night with you.” 

“I still need a shower.” 

“Later,” he says, his lips resting on your chin. “Way, way later, please.” 

[syoddeye]

simon doesn't pursue people, he operates more like a one-man strike team. his approach to human connection is transactional, pragmatic, a matter of logistics.

on the rare occasion he's looking for company, he wants someone easy, who won't fuss when he introduces them to a thin motel mattress. won't ask what he does for work or try to make plans for the morning. won't bother him about 'next time'. nothing long-term. no strings.

he doesn't have a 'type' so much as a protocol: pick someone malleable, pliant, and preferably on the pill.

then you start working at his local.

the first time he sees you, he doesn't notice much beyond the basics: efficiency, attentiveness, pouring pints and bantering with the regulars with aplomb. by the second or third time, he's paying closer attention. you're not just good at your job—you're quick, always three steps ahead of the chaos. you give out smiles left and right, but it's more muscle memory than genuine warmth. and you're clever, too. funny, even, when someone manages to earn your attention for longer than a transaction.

you could probably keep up with his humor. go toe-to-toe.

you're off-limits, though. that's the rule. bartenders are switzerland—neutral territory. don't shit where you eat. it's a system that works, so long as he doesn't let himself think too much about the view when you lean over the counter or the lilt of your voice when you ask what he's having tonight.

then one evening, you take another man's number. some leering idiot, too comfortable with inserting himself into your space, grinning like he's cracked your code because you haven't humbled him. simon doesn't react, not outwardly. he nurses his drink and watches as you smile, slip the napkin into your pocket, and turn back to the bar.

but that's when you become a problem.

he tells himself it doesn't matter, that it's nothing. he doesn't want a number or a date. but the thought of someone else having you—someone who doesn't know what to do with a woman like you—it's a splinter buried just deep enough to keep him thinking about it. irritating, prone to fester.

how to approach you, though? he can't be as direct as he'd like, can't pin you down with a look or crass words. no way to corner you when you're safe behind the counter, or disappearing through a staff door. hanging around until you're off would be pathetic. dog behavior, he thinks, with a twinge of contempt for the mental image. he's got too much self-respect for that, at least.

no, he's got to actually make an effort. use his words.

the next time he comes in, he waits. no more corner tables or watching from afar. he sits close, pretends not to notice how your hands look slicing a lime. he orders his usual and tries not to overthink your tone when you set it down in front of him.

"you alright?"

you reach for his card, fingers pinching the plastic, but he holds on, smirking when you tug and then huff.

this is the moment. his moment. the one he's been building toward in his head for days. but there's a hitch, a blip in his usual confidence, and he fumbles. he blames your perfume.

"so…you come here often?"

not what he meant to say, but not the worst.

the shockwave of his nuclear-level failure doesn't register until your lips twitch, and it finally sinks in. his eyes widen a fraction as the realization lands. oh, he's fucked it. all his rehearsing, for nothing.

"…yeah," you say, voice flat, a single brow raised as you gesture vaguely toward the bar around you. "i work here?"

his mouth dries, but his face doesn't change. he doesn't fight it when you pull the card out of his grasp. there's the barest glint of something in your eyes—amusement, maybe, or pity. he's not sure which is worse.

you turn away to ring him up, but when you glance back, he's gone.

next

[mytherapyisreading14]

Drunk Confessions

Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)

Word Count: 4,6k

Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3

Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.

It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.

How are you?

I have the worst headache after last night

It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?

Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this

You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.

Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.

He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.

Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.

You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.

You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.

The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.

"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.

You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, You really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?

"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.

Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.

“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.

“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.

After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.

You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.

-

The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.

“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.

-

The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.

As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.

The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.

"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.

"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."

You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.

"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of ​​being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.

He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.

The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.

As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.

"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.

"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.

"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.

He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.

"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."

Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.

He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.

"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.

You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.

You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.

However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.

Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.

He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”

“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.

It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.

“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.

“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.

“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.

A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.

“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.

His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.

When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”

His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.

He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.

You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”

“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.

He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.

His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.

One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”

You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.

“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”

[lorasdolly]

Can i ask for Pregnant Wife!reader x Wife Ambessa. Reader is pregnant and Horny and goes and interrupts ambessa in her war meeting or some kind of meeting with like generals and important people, and Ambessa is very firm and kind and obeys her wife and just smut please 🌸

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀

You're early in your second trimester and to summarize it plainly; it's horrible. Legs cramps, swelling, headaches, backache, heartburn, and so much more. Additionally, you've have some increase in energy and lack of sleep.

Ambessa has been nothing but obedient since your pregnancy was announced to her and the rest of Noxus. She'll massage any and every inch of your body, kiss and worship it, shut down ceremonies for you, feed you, and anything that leaves your lips will be granted.

Today, your body was driving you crazy. The aching at your core, the heat pooling at the bottom of your tummy, and the slick from your cunt soaking the panties you had on. Ambessa had been quite busy too, meetings back to back, paperwork, hardly any time for you.

You wanted to fight and argue with her, mood swings tempting you to go storm in there and yell at her with tears trickling down your face. Call her all sorts of names; bad wife, meany, and more immature, childish taunts.

Yet the first time you did that, practically publicly humiliating her, she handled it far better than anyone else. She cradled your face, wiped your tears, and assured you she'd take care of everything you had going on.

Instead, today you decided to wobble your way over to the grand hall. Discussions were loud and sounded even through the thick walls, you could hear Ambessa's powerful voice calling for order and you already knew she was upset with the people gathered inside.

You swung the doors open, eyebrows knitting together as you made your way towards Ambessa at the end of the oval-shaped table. "God, 'Bessa!" You spoke, your heels clacking on the marble floor. Ambessa immediately stood, her arms wide as you stand before her.

"Dear, anything particular that brought you here?" She spoke lightly, not paying any mind to the murmurs in the hall. You nodded, your hands at her biceps for leverage. "Need you, 'Bessa, now!" You whined like a spoiled child and she sighed, her gaze darting around the room.

She grabbed your hand within hers, "Okay, dearest, let us go," She spoke firmly, placing her large hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door without making a grand disturbance. Ambessa was proud that you came in quietly and asked for what was needed instead of causing a scene.

"God, we're talking here!" A man yelled, his fists slamming against the center table. A shiver ran up your spine and Ambessa's jaw clenched. She would've taken care of that man right there, but it could've stressed you out, it might've put strain on your body.

She takes a deep breath and keeps walking before he speaks again, "Can't you control your damned wife? She's like a dog! Always getting herself where she doesn't belong—"

Ambessa thoughtlessly grabbed the man's jaw with her hand, practically lifting him off the seat, her eyes seething. His hand came towards hers, grabbing at it, his eyes pleading an apology. You were there, biting your bottom lip.

You didn't imagine you'd be this much of a bother. The only things running through your head were "Why do you always have to mess everything up?"

You grabbed at your gown and rushed out towards you and Ambessa's quarters, unable to watch the scene you had created any longer. Ambessa released the man without second thought and ran to you, opening and slamming doors till she reached the bedroom.

"Dear, god," Ambessa said, watching the tears developing in your eyes as you clench the covers in your fists. She sat besides you, cradling your body to her larger frame. "Why are you crying? Why'd you storm out?"

You tried to not let the crying turn into blubbering so you held onto Ambessa and took deep breaths. "I— I didn't think my request would cause so much trouble again–" She cut you off, her thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"You caused no trouble. That man caused it for himself, are you listening to me?" You wanted to argue and disagree, yet the firm spark in her eye made you imagine how she'd react to another disagreement.

You nodded, pursing your lips, eyes scanning the room everywhere but on Ambessa. "Now, what was that you wished of me, dearest?" She asked softly, laying you down fully on the bed with tenderness, careful not to give you too much movement.

You whimpered, hands tangling into her hair. "I feel so achey, 'Bessa." You spoke, legs spreading and make room for her.

"God, you are awfully childish with your words," She rolled her eyes yet playfully. "You require of me to help you cum, dear?" She spoke and you quivered at the vulgarity she resorted to. Her hands rested on your thighs, occasionally squeezing. "It's not— I'm not requiring you.."

She laughed, amused that you chose to focus on that segment of her words. Ambessa's fingers were already wandering beneath the waistband of your panties and hiking up your dress. She slipped them down and off your ankles, then neatly placed them on the edge of the bed.

She knew any disorder could spark a mood swing when you were pregnant.

Her hands circled your thigh as she kneeled between them, hearing your anticipatory moans as encouragement. Teasingly, her tongue circled on your inner thigh, never releasing eye contact with you. "Oh my— 'Bessa, fuck," You murmured in a high pitch regard, tugging on her hair and squirming, resisting the need to buck your cunt against her face.

"What happened to avoiding vulgarity? Watch your tongue dear, don't be a hypocrite." She taunted, pressing sloppy kisses on your cunt. You nodded frantically, avoiding the temptation to fuck her face. You trusted her enough to know everything she did had purpose. She attached her lips to your clit, all her tongue movements precise .

You moan softly, back arching off the mattress. It felt good, but you felt as if it wasn't fulfilling, Your moans died out slowly and she removed her mouth, an eyebrow cocked. "What happened, dear?" You tried not to get emotional as you spoke, "Can't see your face. Not.. doesn't feel good when you're not close to me." She chuckles, not expecting that declaration from you.

"Yeah?" She lifted herself to cover your body vertically, her hand then reaching down to your cunt, "Is this better, dear?" She asked, her head dipping low between your neck to add little wet kisses. You nod, arms circling her back and scratching at it. She inserted one finger, slowly and carefully curling it inside, then slipping another one in to match the movements.

Your face nuzzled against hers, huffing slightly with parted lips. She took that opportunity to kiss you, her tongue going between your lips as her fingers pace increased. Your hands traveled from her back to her hair, tugging once again. You could hardly return the kiss, her hand calculated every pleasurable spot. Her other hand rested on your tummy, rubbing it gently.

She began to pump her fingers in and out, the prominent squelching noises adding to the wetness between your legs. One of your hands held her jaw, sloppily continuing to kiss her. Her body engulfing yours was the only thing you needed and her hands pleasuring you added to all of the sensations.

You bucked your hips upwards against her hand and she moaned into the kiss, lips finally parting to catch your air. Her fucking you never stopped, kissing your jawline and cheek, spit all over both areas. "God– 'Bessa, I'm so– so close," You whimpered, hands moving beneath her shirt to knead her tits. Ambessa moaned throatily, quickening the pace and intensity.

Your head launched back against the pillow, cumming all over her hand within a matter of seconds. She chuckled, letting you roll your hips against her palm to ride the orgasm. "Did that cure your symptoms, dearest?" You nodded, watching as she laid down besides you. Your hands nearly immediately came to fiddle with her clothes, tugging at them, basically begging for her to help you remove them.

"Oh? Are you planning to do this again?" You shook your head at the suggestion in her tone. She quirked a brow, removing her top and tossing it to the same corners your panties were at. She then watched you tug your dress fully off and place it on the bed.

Your body came to cover hers, chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin. You whimpered shakily, needing to feel her warmth against yours. She smiled tenderly, engrossing you within her arms. "Here I was letting my mind wander... you're just too sweet." Ambessa whispered, allowing you to nuzzle between her jawline.

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 1 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

ah, look at that. have some omegaverse angst inspired by this post here <3 if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

well, this turned out to be miles longer than i expected it to. there's not really a solid ending, so let me know if you want more! have so much fun getting your heart ripped out <3

word count: 4,616 masterlist ao3 link

Three years ago, you and Simon got married. It wasn’t anything flashy or big - fuck, how could it have been when you didn’t even love each other? But, military law forbade an unmated omega from joining the ranks, and Simon was seen as a wild-card alpha, too headstrong and violent, too hard to control. So, the brass laid out an ultimatum: mate, get married, or be discharged. Both you and Simon had worked too hard for too long to get where you were, so discharge was entirely off the table. There was no courting, no dates, and the wedding, if you could call it that, was little more than signing papers - three signatures on a thick piece of A4 government paper, one from you, one from Simon, and one from your witness, Captain John Price. You didn’t even exchange rings or vows. It took less than five minutes. 

After all was said and done, you and Simon went back to your lives. Sure, you were respectful to one another, and you spent one or two heats and ruts together, but you both maintained a distance away from each other. Neither of you were thrilled with the idea of being tied down, of being mated. The mating bond between you felt more like the neck of a too-tight sweater than it did a comfort, feeling each other’s emotion more of a chore than something you looked forward to. Sure, you worked well together, fluid and deadly like a well oiled M2 on the field. Always had. But there is a stark difference between working well together, and being mated.

So that’s how you ended up here. You had lost twenty pounds. Your skin was sallow and pale, your eyes sunken in. When you looked in the mirror, you could count your ribs, the knobs of your spine, under the bruises. You had thrown yourself into work, and when there was no work, you were challenging any living thing to go for a round with you on the sparring mat. But, you were weak; the bond sickness sapped all of your energy and strength faster than you could ever hope to replenish it. Your scent, which was once a warm and spicy caramelized vanilla, now smelled like sugar burnt to the bottom of a pot - acrid and rotted. You were dying, and you knew it. But your pride was far too great to ever go crawling back to Simon, the very man who caused the sickness to infiltrate every cell of your being. It had been months of this torture. 

You had seen the concerned looks of your team as they watched you haunt the halls of the base like a spectre. Soap had started to bring you chocolates and drinks, anything in hopes to get you to eat. Gaz took a different approach, always being the one to take you up on your sparring requests, the beta knowing that at the very least he could be gentle with you while still giving you an outlet. The Captain had made sure to keep you off any truly strenuous missions and tasks, mainly relegating you to the medbay or to training recruits. If you were any stronger, you would be pissed, but right now you took it as a blessing. At least he hadn’t kicked you off the team for your weakness. But Simon? Simon was nowhere to be found. He continuously was the first volunteer for the most dangerous missions, keeping him away from base for weeks to months at a time. When he came back bloody and bruised, he would avoid the medbay like the plague, only coming in to get fixed up by another combat medic when he knew Soap or Gaz had forcefully pulled you away. If you two happened to be walking in the same hallway, Simon would duck out of your sight without even so much as a word. You had long since given up on running after him. 

So color yourself surprised when you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom and the screen of your phone lit up, a text from Simon blaring on the too-bright screen. You had every intention of ignoring it, but your pride was no match for the dying ache of your omega. 

Come to my quarters.

The text was simple. Demanding, even. And all it did was make you angry. 

You quickly tugged on a pair of sweats and forced a tank top over your bruised and feverish skin. You thought briefly for a moment about tugging a sweatshirt on over your mottled skin, but, fuck it, let him see all that he has done to you. Maybe he would give you the one blessing you had hoped for over the last few months of neglect, and finally sever the bond between you. 

You trudged through the hallways of the base, every soldier you passed giving you a wide berth. You were certain you looked like death froze over, and the rage-filled expression set over your brows and your lips certainly did not help. When you reached his door, you didn’t even bother to knock. You just shoved your copy of the key in the door and slammed the door open. 

Simon barely even looked up from where he was lounging on the bed. His shirt was off, a rare sight, even for you, but even more shocking was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask.  He didn’t look much better than you - his once-bronzed skin paled, his own scars raised and reddened, and he had a poorly bandaged bullet wound wrapped, the white medical wrapping blossoming with a red mark. Pulled stitches, definitely. 

“Close the door,” came the rough demand as his arms lazily opened in an invitation to lay with him. “And c’mere.”

You, in all of your rage, just stood stockstill in the still-open doorway. Even as your omega side cried to jump into his arms and let his scent and his touch wash away all the pain, you refused with a defiant jut of your chin. You didn’t know why he had called you here, and the only thing your mind could conjure up is that Price, or Laswell, or fuck, even Soap, had sat him down and forced him to do this. And you wanted nothing to do with this or with him if he actually was not trying to change.

“I don’t want your pity. And I sure as hell don’t want your affection just because Price told you that you had to fix me,” you replied, your voice shaking with weakness and pain, even as you tried your damndest to keep it steady, strong. 

Simon growled, the sound of an alpha not used to not getting his way, as he rolled onto his side to look at you more squarely. His arms were still open, but you could see the way his muscles clenched, his own anger rising. “It ain’t about pity. It’s about basic biology,” he bit out, the words short and angry. 

That made you laugh, the sound short and sardonic before it morphs into a cough that shakes your entire, frail being. You brought a shaking hand up to wipe your lips before you fixed him with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean. “Basic biology?" you mocked. “Yeah, for sure. But it’s also basic biology to not let bond sickness even be a worry for your omega, but looks like you fucked that one right up, didn’t you!?”

Your words made something in Simon snap. Your rage, the vitriol, clenched his hands into fists as he quickly swung his powerful legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the space between you in the space between one of your breaths and the next. He was in your face now, just enough space between you to not be pressing completely against you. You averted your gaze, knowing that if you didn’t, you might continue yelling at him, or worse. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, using the same tone he does on the battlefield. His hands are still clenched into fists, but they are shaking. Why?

That tone made your eyes harden, the instincts of a hard-bred soldier kicking in. Even through the fraying of your bond, your sickness, you knew that voice. You listened when given an order. You allowed your head to loll back to look up at him, but your expression was still set in that same hard glare. You weren’t on a battlefield. You were on base, far away from the acrid explosions and hot gunpowder. How dare he pretend otherwise? “Why?” you bit back in response. “This isn’t some tactical decision, Simon. Don’t treat me like one of your fuckin’ rookies.” 

He took a sharp breath through his teeth, obviously trying to control himself. He knew you were weak, the bond sickness taking so much more from you than it ever did him. But your defiance, your spirit despite the bond sickness was making his alpha go crazy. Even with you glaring up at him, he stared down at you with fierce eyes as his hands gripped your hips, shoving you out of the doorway and pressing you against the wall right beside it. Taking one hand off of your hip, he shut the door with a resounding click before his grip, and his attention came back entirely to you. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamned rookie,” he growled out, his cold brown gaze entirely focused on your own broken one as one hand slams into the wall by your head. Even through your rage, he can see it. Feel it. He had broken you. And that knowledge caused his alpha to writhe in pain. “I’m treatin’ ya like my fuckin’ omega.” 

As he caged you in, growled those words at you, your own expression hardened. Your lips curled up to reveal your smaller omega fangs, a low growl of your own reverberating from your chest as your hands clenched into fists. It’s hard to ignore the sheer size difference between the two of you as he towers over you, his head dipped low to keep your attention. However, that did nothing to stop your rage, in fact, it increased it tenfold. 

“Oh, right. I forgot. Being your omega means less than being one of your rookies, silly me.”

You knew the second the words left your mouth that you just opened a Pandora’s box. You saw it in the way his eyes instantaneously darkened, in the way his hand left the wall before you could even blink, his fingers crushing your jaw between them in a bruising grip, forcing your head back against the wall as he brought his face ever closer to yours. However, as his face got closer, you could see the glint of something else in his eyes. Triumph. His alpha was revelling in watching you snap and get fiery again. It was a victory, in his mind, to see you able to be so angry after the bond sickness had taken so much from you. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “I know that attitude of yours will always be there, but careful.”

His words sent another wave of anger through you, and as he forced your head back, you jerked your neck, snapping your teeth at him, your small omega fangs glinting in the low light of his quarters. It was a clear message. Fuck the bond sickness, he had no right to touch you right now. You did not forgive him, and he has to work to even begin to earn that, and if he won’t? You would dissolve the bond without him, whether or not it risked your life. 

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you growled out, glaring up at him even as the bruising grip of his fingers squished your cheeks together, slurring your words. “Not after everything.”

His alpha instincts flared again, the desire to force you into accepting his help clear as his eyes flashed in irritation at your anger. He pressed you further into the wall, his body now flush against yours as he snarled right back. “Then do something about it,” he challenged. “Get mad. Fight me. Let it all out. But, you’re not leaving this room until you let me fix this.”

As much as you hated it, hearing Simon’s permission gave you the ability to let it all out. No matter how much you wanted to pretend that you were unaffected by him, the knowledge that he wanted you to fight, wanted to fix this broken bond between you, allowed you to finally and truly get all of the anger out, and maybe, just maybe, give the bond a chance to heal. 

And so you did. Your body jerked against his, your sallow cheeks flushing red as you bared your omega fangs and growled at him again. Your eyes held the faintest spark of life, a far cry from what they used to have, but there’s something there now. 

When Simon saw that spark, the faintest hint of his omega coming back, he chuckled gruffly, his eyes glinting with a possessive heat. 

“Yes, spitfire. I want you t’ fight me. Hit me, scream, yell at me, tell me how shit of an alpha I’ve been. I don’t care. Just don’t. Hold. Back.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the dam inside of you broke. Months worth of anger, agony, grief, pain, and aching sadness flooded your veins like a hot, volatile drug. It felt like a living, breathing thing as the emotions curled around your lungs, your muscles, your heart. Tears pushed at your lash line, the aching pain making itself known through the rage. 

You held his cold brown gaze for a moment, your eyes searching his. When all you saw in return was steely determination, you did the only thing you could think of. Before he could even move out of the way, you shut your eyes and cranked your head back as far as it would go, and drove your forehead straight into his nose. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to break it, but definitely hard enough to hurt and make the blood start flowing. 

He staggered back from you, his hands coming up to cup his nose, but the alpha was far from angry. In fact, he was grinning, the blood pouring from his nose coating his lips and teeth. A low growl of approval rumbled from his chest as he stared at you, approval glinting in his eyes. “Good girl,” he muttered lowly, the praise slipping through so naturally. 

As his praise washed over you, you felt your stomach flip. It shouldn’t feel that good. Not after the months and months of neglect so bad that you were literally dying. But, you couldn’t help the small ember of warmth that bloomed through your chest as that muttered praise of good girl flowed through your veins like a warm blanket settling over you. 

But, you were still angry. And hurt. And countless other emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name, all just culminating into a neverending ache. And as you saw the blood marring the plush flesh of his lower lip, something inside of you snapped. 

He had made his worst mistake. He had let go of you, and now you could truly fight. 

You crouched down, using your smaller stature and power legs to kick your leg out, and you swept it across the ground, knocking the much-bigger alpha off of his feet. You watched as his massive frame hit the ground, shaking the walls, a bloom of satisfaction erupting in your chest. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins now, the only thing allowing you to move, and before he had the chance to become reoriented, you were on top of him, straddling his hips as you punched at his chest. Your tears of anguish were falling freely now, sobs breaking free with your yells. 

“You have broken me! Broken! I used to be so strong, so happy, and you destroyed that! Ripped it away from me! All because you were too fucking caught up in your own shit, your own fucking fear, that you couldn’t even be half of the alpha you needed to be!”

Simon grunted in pain as his back collided with the cold, hard tile of his quarters, his hands automatically coming up to grab at your hips. Not to shove you off, no, but to keep you on top of him. He knew he deserved this. Every punch, every pointed word, every tear. It was his penance for all of the pain and agony he had put you through, even if it was ripping his heart to absolute shreds. 

“I know, I know,” he growled softly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I did.”

You shook your head, tears and snot flying from the force. You were so angry, so hurt, but the adrenaline was quickly running its course, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and pain. Your punches slowly weakened, until you were barely able to lift your hands. Instead, they came to rest on his bare chest, your omega claws digging sharply into the thick muscle that covered his chest, one of your hands digging directly over his heart, needing him to feel a fraction of the agony that coursed through your own. 

“Don’t you agree with me! Don’t you dare! Gods, you do this to me for months, and you… you have nothing to say for yourself!? I tried! Tried to be a good spouse, a good omega! I tried to give you your space, to be unobtrusive, even though that killed my omega! And all I fuckin’ got in return is this fucking bond sickness that is killing me! Tearing me apart from the inside out!” 

His body shuddered as your claws dug into his chest, his skin breaking under the tiny points. It hurt in every way that it could, but the tiny pinpricks of blood that welled around your claws were nothing compared to how he had hurt you. He knew that he deserved this, every inch of your wrath, of your anger, and the pain it brought for him. It was the least he could do - to bear this for you. But, Gods, it didn’t stop your words from tearing into his heart in a way your claws couldn’t even begin to touch. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he repeated, his words thick with the guilt that was threatening to choke him. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

His apology broke what little strength you had left. The bond between you was fraying, seconds away from snapping completely, and you had never felt more lost. A sob broke free from your lips, the force of the sound causing your body to lurch forward. But, Simon was there. For once, he was there. His chest caught your head, your tears wetting his skin almost instantaneously as your claws scratched down his torso, leaving thin, raised red lines down his scarred skin. 

He hissed softly in response to the pain, but he made no attempt to move, to shy away from it. You had completely given up on your ego, your omega so desperate for your alpha, no matter what he had done. But, you were still so hurt, your omega so wounded that you had no idea how you were going to come back from this. 

“Just… just tell me why. Why did you do this? Why did you treat me like this?” you sobbed out into his chest, your sour, distressed omega pheromones wafting around him like a shroud of despair. 

His alpha writhed in pain at your scent. It was wrong, so, so wrong, but he had done this. His neglect, his apathy, had taken his once strong, ferocious omega and reduced her down to this. He had never seen you like this. And he never wanted to again. He could feel the bond between you slipping between his fingers like shards of glass digging into his very being, and fear rose to take its place. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling your tiny, trembling form against him, his nose burying into your hair as he pressed a featherlight, shaking kiss into it. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, his heart clenching in fear. In pain. In anger at himself. “I was a coward, love.” 

You sobbed harder against his chest at his admission, shaking your head jerkily. Your body felt like it was freezing and burning up at the same time, as the frayed edges of the bond dug into you like poisonous thorns. You could feel your mind shattering, your heart stuttering as the bond sickness continued to take hold. You were dying, and you knew it. But at this point, you would almost take death over the amount of pain you were in. “That’s not a good excuse,” came your shaking reply, the words thick with tears and agony, but they were strong with conviction. “Tell me why, Simon. Tell me why, or break the godsdamned bond.” 

The words that left your lips felt like they were suffocating the alpha. Break the bond. His arms tightened around you until you were completely pressed against him, and he could feel every shudder, every quiver in your weakening body. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound full of pain but also a desperate desire to comfort. He had to try - to even attempt to explain, even if he wasn’t sure it would do anything. But the thought of losing you without even trying made his heart shatter, his alpha howl in protest. 

“Because I was afraid,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret and honesty as his knuckles ran across the knobs of your spine. That caused him more pain than you would ever know, feeling how you had atrophied from his neglect. How his dismissal, his abandonment had caused his once strong, beautiful omega, to waste away before his very eyes. “Afraid of getting caught up in you, in this. Of loving you, of giving you part of my heart. I didn’t know how to keep you safe. I didn’t think I was worthy of having something like that, like you. I still don’t.” 

“Then break the bond,” you whimpered out, the pain of the bond sickness, of your own emotions, and what little of Simon’s you could still feel through the barest threads of the bond ricocheting through your body, reduced you to little more than a husk lying on top of Simon. Your heart was shattering along with the bond, the broken edges of each splintering in a way that made it hard for you to breathe. Your breath pushed and pulled achingly slowly through your chapped lips like broken glass, just another thing ripping your very being apart. 

“If you can’t do this… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. The brass’ll let me stay, at least for a little bit. But, I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this. ‘M not asking for love. ‘M not asking to be a real marriage, but I can’t be apart of a bond where ‘m not… where ‘m not bein’ taken care of. I can’t.” 

Your words were slurring, little more than a broken and pain-filled whimper against his broad chest, and Simon could practically hear the way his heart shatters beneath you. He did this. He did this. And yet, the selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, no matter how much pain he had put you through. The alpha snarled as he wrapped his arms around your ever-weakening frame impossibly tighter, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d slip away from him forever. 

“No, baby, no,” he replied softly, but the words were filled with a growl of conviction, of promise. “I was stupid. I was so stupid, and I hurt you. Let me… let me fix this, okay? Please, baby. Lemme fix you. Just for right now.” 

Simon was begging. You didn’t know if you had ever heard him beg before, but here he was, begging you to allow him the chance to fix you. Your exhausted, wounded omega perked up a bit at his conviction, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was far too little, far too late. “I… I don’t know, Simon. How can you… how can you fix this?” 

The pained gasps between your words drove a stake of fear through Simon’s heart, his alpha whimpering painfully. He swallowed harshly against the ever-growing lump in his throat, as he knew that he had to be the pillar of strength. If he broke right now, there was no hope for you. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he inhaled your sour, rotted scent in despair, his hands running up and down your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. 

“Let me… let me have a chance,” the alpha, your alpha, pleaded. “Please baby, let me fix this. I’ll do better, I promise. Gods, I’ll do anything. Just… just let me get you better,  baby, please. And then, if you still want to break the bond, we can, okay? Just… I can’t lose you. I can’t let you die. Not like this. Never like this.”

You felt, more than heard, his words wash over you. You could feel your body failing, the bond sickness taking what little was left of you. Even with Simon’s touch, with his promises, you had a brief moment of clarity where you just knew that this still might be it, that the bond had been strained too far, the cavernous distance between the two of you still too great, that this bond sickness might still kill you, despite his promises to fix you. 

You were so tired. So, so tired. The pain is too much, your eyelids too heavy, and it felt like what was left of your shattered heart wasn’t pumping nearly enough oxygen through your veins. You were teetering on the edge, and all you wanted to do was sleep. 

“Just… just let me sleep. In here. With you. Please?” you mumbled, the words soft and slurred. Any fight, any pride you had just a few minutes ago was long gone, and if you were going to die, your omega wanted it to be right here, in your alpha’s arms, taken peacefully in your sleep. “I need… just, please, Si.” 

Simon’s resolve shattered at the nickname that fell past your lips. He instantly sat up, gathering your frail, fragile body in his arms as he nodded, his own tears finally breaking free. 

His fault. All his fault. Always his fault. 

He quickly stood up, your body light (too light, too light) in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He was terrified. He could feel how slow your heartbeat was, how weak your body was, how slurred your words were. He shushed you softly, gently, but the sound warbled against his own tears. 

“Shhh, shhh, baby. I got you. I got you. Just… just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here. Right here. Never leavin’ your side again. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Just sleep.” 

He gingerly laid you on the bed, surrounding you with blankets and pillows, anything he could find that was drenched in his alpha scent, before his body came to blanket you. He couldn’t lose you. And he will keep his promise, even as his own silent tears fell down around your now-unconscious face. 

What’s that old saying? Oh, right. You never know what you had until it’s gone.

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ Prologue

⭐︎ When the sun hits, she’ll be waiting

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, post apocalypse, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, gore, blood, mean!steve

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another patrol. Patrols he's been doing for a whole year, and nothing ever changes. Maybe he had to kill one demodog, or demobat, but overall, it was the same walk, the same stance, the same weariness… only this time, something new appeared in his walk.

Word count: 4.8k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult and I are back with another Steve series, I hope you're as excited as I am, you got a lot of angst, fluff and smut coming your way! And also, shoutout to @ghost-proofbaby who picked the title for this story, thank you my love

series masterlist

☀︎

It was funny. 

He had watched apocalypse movies. He had seen the terrible visual effects done with strawberry syrup, the gelatin that exploded pretending to be brains and flesh, the people becoming zombies and doing loud and stupid moans in their chase. He knew the apocalypse would never look like that, but he also never believed he would live in something very much alike, and not at all a movie.

They had not defeated Vecna. They have killed him, but defeated? No. He is gone but he left behind the world he created, he reached his goal and got what he wanted, something that Steve and the others were very blind to at first, they watched him die; they burned his body to make sure that he was gone for good. They thought they won, but it was a false victory, one that gave them all the opportunity to recover, opportunities that included them trying to become a town again, yet after three months of what they thought was safe, the first demogorgon crawled out of the big gates that were created. Killed instantly. Then another. Then twenty. Then a hundred. Demogorgons, demobats, demodogs, and other upside down creatures... and this time, they came with infectious venom.

Venom that turned people into bloodthirsty, flesh eating monsters with nothing but death in their eyes, people turned into monsters who became part of Vecna’s army, crawling into homes and houses, spreading way too quickly and unable to be stopped from claiming not only the town but all of the country and soon the whole globe. 

They noticed when it was already too late, when the world was already too far gone and the lives of many were lost and claimed by darkness. 

When the realization started sinking in and he saw, felt the panic, the fear, the desperation, the dread and death, he felt like he was going to lose himself, knowing that the world he once knew was gone and never to be brought back again, that it was all lost and someday to be forgotten but a feeling he hadn’t noticed yet was acceptance. 

Because if anyone knew how to adapt, then it was him. Unlike many others, he had no home that he lost, he never had one in the first place. His parents' house was only ever a big lonely space that he never found comfort in until his friends filled that space with warmth and laughter, laughter that still echoes in his ears whenever he thinks of simpler times, laughter that he thinks he will never hear again. 

The house is now even emptier and colder than before, claimed by vines, dust and spider webs, just like most of the houses in Hawkins are… or the rest of the world. He passed familiar houses before, Dustin’s home and Lucas’s, he only glanced at them, not bearing to look longer, not wanting to feel, not wanting to look back at what he lost. 

The gun in his hand feels light, nothing like it used to feel the first few times he had to hold one or use one. His footsteps are barely audible as he walks through the empty cul-de-sac, eyes focused and eyebrows furrowed, he is on high alert, he always is, even when he doesn’t have to. 

He feels relaxed, despite the circumstances, despite the death that could be waiting around any corner, he feels relaxed. He walks past the abandoned cars and houses, watching out for any creature that could come crawling out from any hole. A lone plushie lies on the ground, dirty and splattered with blood – a sight that would have made him sick a year ago, thinking about whose blood it could’ve been, now makes him feel indifference. He had seen so many ugly, disturbing things, nothing truly fazes him anymore, it’s awful and sometimes he wonders if he is still a good person or if the horrors of this world have turned him into a monster as well, if the darkness had claimed him too like it had claimed the sick people. Sometimes he feels pain, sometimes he feels nothing but today he feels a sliver of sadness, one that he swallows down as quickly as it comes, he can’t stand it. 

The sun shines down on him but he barely feels the warmth even though it’s there, the light of it illuminates the empty road ahead of him, the chaos left behind, the rotten grass and the dead flowers, they don’t grow anymore, the birds don’t sing anymore, he wonders if there are even any left in this world, most have died, just like the ones he used to see every day, they have died. 

A soft huff falls from his lips when he notices that the laces on his boots have come undone, he stops walking and looks around, making sure that nothing and nobody will creep up on him the moment he kneels down, he would be surprised if something like that still happened around here though. Hawkins is empty of people and monsters, it was only the doorway for them to get through to get to the rest of the world, this place is just as abandoned as the houses are. 

The houses where his friends used to live. Where Lucas used to live. Dustin. The Wheelers. The Byers. That home that was lived in by other people last year. His house. Those remained intact, yet empty and filled with vines, darkness, dust of the memories from those who once lived in there. The only place that got swallowed whole was Forest Hills trailer park. Where Max used to live. Where Eddie used to live.

Placing the gun in his holster, he kneels down and reaches for the undone laces, wasting no second to tie them. His ears pick up on any sound, on the wind that howls through the bushes and the trees, through the broken windows, the bells that still hang from the ceilings on the empty porches. His eyes never stay focused on only the task before him, he is always ready to fight, to kill but it’s been a while since he had to use his gun or a machete, or even his bat. 

But today the hairs on his neck stand up for the first time in a while. Goosebumps arise on his skin and he feels it, a presence behind him. Steve swallows harshly, not knowing what to expect the moment he turns around, a demogorgon, a demodog or a sick one. He ties the knot on his boot, tightly. 

Unlike a few months before, he no longer feels fear whenever he is about to stare evil in it’s eyes, he no longer dreads it, he no longer feels his heart skipping or racing, he feels nothing anymore. 

He reaches for his gun and jumps to his feet, raising his arm and the gun, turning on his heel and aiming at the presence that lingered behind him, the one that would have normally lunged at him by now but it’s not a creature staring back at him nor is it a sick person, a sick person wouldn’t raise her arms up in surrender or step back in fear. 

“Hang on! I’m not bitten! I’m alive, I’m still alive!” Your voice is panicked, your eyes are too. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched, his eyes move up and down your body, taking in the state of your clothes first, no holes or tears in them, they are clean – clean for the end of the world. Your hair is tied, hanging down your shoulders in two braids, there are knives tucked into your belt and a gun in your thigh holster that you have no intent to reach for. You don’t look like a threat but Steve learned to not be deceived by appearances only. He eyes your exposed skin, where your flannel had slipped down your shoulder, exposing a wound, not a bite, not a scratch, only a cut that he can’t help but wonder how it got there or why. 

“Turning takes days,” Steve murmurs as he tears his gaze away from you for a second to scan the area around you two, who knows what you had dragged here or who. 

“I can sing Madonna for you?” 

He rolls his eyes as he looks back at you, for someone armed with knives and a glock 17 strapped to her thigh, you sure do look like a frightened cat, ready to run. You are not a threat. He knows it; he sees it; he feels it. He knows danger; you aren’t that. 

“You’re not bitten?” He asks as he lowers his gun, letting you relax again. 

You shake your head, though you can still see the hesitance in his eyes, the mistrust. 

“Do I–” you start innocently, blushing already as you look at the man before you, “do I need to get naked? If so, I’d prefer a woman, if that is possible.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, ignoring the heat that rises in his cheeks. He puts his gun back in his holster. 

“Fuck, no, no… I believe you, what– what are you doing in the middle of Hawkins?” 

He sees the way your shoulders relax, the way you take a deep breath in and then out, lowering your arms to your sides. 

“I was in a small camp, a few towns away, and I’m trying to get to my old home… though, I got a bit lost cause a bat ripped my map out of my hands…” You frown. 

“Demobat.” 

You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows, “what?” 

Steve scrunches his nose up, shaking his head at himself, he keeps forgetting. 

“Nevermind.”

Your head is still tilted, your brows still furrowed, you look him up and down, no words fall from your lips, for a moment you are quiet. 

He grows a little flustered beneath your gaze, not that he would ever admit, you are just the first stranger he had encountered in a while, a stranger who creeped up on him. 

“You’re not very attentive.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You only noticed me when I was already too close.”

He wants to laugh… a little. 

“Sounds like you were up to no good,” Steve retorts, glaring at you to which your eyes only widen, filled with yet more panic. You open your mouth and close it again, a few times, the shock not letting you speak but when you do, you stutter and shake your head. 

“No! Oh my god! I’m just saying – listen, I want no trouble, I’m just passing through, I just want to go home.”

Steve can’t help but be a bit amused by the panic and the fear in your eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

If laughing hadn’t become such a strange thing to him these days, he would do it now, yeah, he would chuckle, he would laugh loudly. 

“That’s funny,” he mumbles under his breath, looking you up and down one more time before he turns on his heels and continues his journey down the road. His boots hit the gravel roughly, footsteps echoing through the empty streets, it only takes three seconds before a second pair joins, just like he had suspected. 

“Wait!”

You catch up with him quickly, walking beside him now. He feels your eyes on him but he doesn’t turn to look. 

“Is this a community?”

He wouldn’t call it that, the few people that stayed here all fend for themselves, just like him and his friends do. 

“Would be a very shitty one if anyone could just walk in.”

“Right…” He hears you murmur softly. “Are you passing through?”

“No.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

Steve rolls his eyes, side-eying you. He is not very talkative anymore, he finds no joy in holding conversations, let alone in answering questions, he barely uses his voice nowadays, he doesn’t feel bad about it, or even guilty. Normally he would keep quiet or even snap at whoever is bothering him, today he can’t find it in himself to be mean… meaner. 

“Cause it’s my hometown. Why are you by yourself?” Steve asks without looking at you. 

“I left my last camp cause I want to go home, like I said before–”

“I know, I mean why are you traveling by yourself? It’s not safe out here, especially not for women.” Steve rounds the corner, inching closer to the only house that has a light peeking through the boards on the windows. 

“It’s not safe for anyone out here, not just for women,” you correct him, looking at him in surprise when he opens the gate to the backyard before you and lets you walk in first. “But I haven’t seen anyone since I left the camp, you’re the first person…” You mumble and look down at your converse, that look very dirty in comparison to his black boots. 

You stand before him now, close, a little too close for a stranger, though he makes no move to put more distance between you. He sees the wound on your shoulder clearer now, a cut caused by either a knife or glass. 

You tilt your head up again, you are close enough to see his face now properly, the color of his eyes, hazel. Freckles and moles kiss his skin, his features are soft, his expression isn’t. His brown hair is very… voluminous, his beard is trimmed, he looks clean and he doesn’t smell, a rarity nowadays. He is tall, his shoulders are wide, he is certainly much stronger too, his biceps strain against his black shirt, and it only now dawns on you that you followed a man to what you presume is his home, you followed with no hesitation. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat and take a step back. He had shown no interest in you, he doesn’t seem fond of you following him either. He is just as much of a threat as you are, you tell yourself. 

“So er… is it just you here?” You ask, looking at the house he stopped by, the house you presume is his home, his fortress. 

“No.”

You nod, pursing your lips as you look into his cold eyes but he quickly breaks eye contact and starts walking again. 

“Where is everyone and how many people are here?” You ask as you continue on following him, staring at the back of his head, his mullet looks good, taken care of, you notice. “Also why don’t you have any fences, aren’t you afraid of sick ones getting in? And–”

Steve turns on his heel, sighing loudly as he glares down at you, not even moving back when you almost bump into him. 

“Will you shut up for a second!?” He grumbles, glaring at you again as he stares you down. 

You press your lips together, gazing up into his dark eyes, not breaking eye contact. The look on his face should intimidate you, the cold eyes should scare you, he should scare you but he doesn’t. 

“Have any monsters gotten in yet and if so, have you ever fought any? I ran into a dog like creature the other day, that fucker nearly bit my hand off, I–”

Two seconds. You shut up for two fucking seconds. 

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, raising his hand up, he runs his fingers through his hair, his annoyance doesn’t faze you in the slightest, you open your mouth again, ready to ask another question but someone else beats you to it. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

You instantly press your lips together, throwing your hand to your holster as you snap your head to look towards the gate and at the person who cut you off, startled by his presence, you take a step closer to the stranger you just met as you eye the man with the long hair, who is looking at you with a smile on his face. His eyes are kind, much kinder than the ones of the man beside you. He is holding a box, a gun is secured and tucked into his belt. 

“Who’s this lovely lady, Harrington?” He asks, not stepping closer yet. 

Harrington. 

You don’t even notice the girl beside him until she clears her throat, offering you a small smile. Her hair is long and curly too, her bangs cover her eyes a little, a rifle is strapped over her shoulder. 

“Someone passing through,” Harrington grumbles under his breath, clearly wanting you to keep passing through. “She’ll be on her way now.”

It’s getting dark now, it’s not safe to continue your travel when the sun sets. You planned to find shelter when you stepped foot into this town, maybe find some cans of food in one of the abandoned houses. 

The girl meets your eyes, hesitating, she shakes her head. 

“Oh, it’s getting dark, besides she could use a bath, Steve.” The girl says, frowning as she looks you up and down. 

Offended, you scrunch your nose up and look down at yourself, “hey, I do my best in any possible lake!” You argue, despite the surprise in you. Every group, every community you have come across before, did not offer baths or shelter, not after your pleading, at least. 

“She has to go to her hometown–”

“All alone?” The girl asks, frowning at the man – at Steve, beside you. She glances at the one next to her, they share the same look in their eyes. You wonder if they are siblings. 

“Yes, all alone.” Steve sighs. 

They look at him in disappointment. 

He doesn’t want you here. 

It’s nothing you aren’t used to. 

You’re on your own, you always have been. Though you can’t remember the last time you had a proper shower, a real meal or a night full of sleep. You don’t know how to hunt, you wash yourself in lakes and you never sleep through the night, no matter how safe you think you are, you can’t sleep. You can’t even remember the last time you felt fully rested, not even the communities that provided you shelter gave you that real feeling of safety. 

You don’t know these people, the man beside you and the pair before you, but the kind blue eyes and the chocolate brown ones are different from any of the ones you have looked into before – you can feel the indifference from Steve, he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t trust you. 

“I-It’s fine, I was just passing through,��� you shrug, offering a smile, despite the weird feeling in your stomach. “Do you… maybe have a map for me though?”

“Yeah,” Steve instantly speaks up, clearly wanting to get rid of you quickly. 

She crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring your question, she glares at Steve, “did she ask to stay?” 

Steve clenches his jaw, glaring back at her with an icy cold stare. 

“We can’t afford another mouth to feed–” 

The guy with the curly hair steps forward with a sigh, approaching Steve with a stubborn look on his face, “I’m keeping her.” 

Steve scrunches his face up, scoffing at his friend, “she’s not a fucking puppy!” 

Though he doesn’t listen to him and turns towards you, nudging his head at you, motioning for you to follow him as he goes to open the door to the house, “come on, we’re gonna eat dinner soon, we’re making stew. And you can get cleaned up if you want, Nancy will give you some clean clothes.”

You want to follow badly, the mention of food, of a warm meal makes your mouth water, and you wouldn’t say no to a shower and fresh clothes either but Steve’s unwelcoming expression makes you hesitate. 

He is looking down at the ground, his jaw tense, his eyes unimpressed. 

The girl, Nancy, she is looking at him still, waiting for him to look at her too but he doesn’t. There is something in her eyes that you can’t read, the same look that resides in his own. 

With a sigh, she looks away and starts walking towards you after closing the gate behind her. She can see the hesitation on your face. 

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, we’re leaving soon too–”

“We are not,” Steve says harshly, nearly making you flinch. 

“We are.” Nancy argues, her brows are pulled together, her lips curl downwards. 

She is certainly more intimidating than he is. 

“You can stay for the night, like Eddie said, we’ll have dinner and you can get cleaned up, tomorrow you can be on your way with the map you have asked for, but it’s getting dark now – so, you’re staying.” 

“Okay.”

It’s funny, normally that would have been a warning sign for you to run. People aren’t usually so persistent for you to stay and if they are, you never stay long enough to find out what evilness they have planned for you. Usually you aren’t so trusting, but her kind blue eyes make it hard not to. 

Finding kindness in this world is a rarity nowadays, you wonder if these people ever encountered real danger – not the creatures, or the sick people but humans, you found out that those can be much worse, evil. You figure that they haven’t, otherwise they wouldn’t be so trusting towards you, even Steve, he didn’t ask you to take your weapons off of you, didn’t tell you to hand them over, he just let you follow, and his friends open the door to their home for you, they let you inside, he does too. 

You have a growing suspicion that they don’t really know the world they live in now, they haven’t seen past this untouched town, they haven’t seen what people are capable of, how cruel and evil they can be, because if they did, you would not be welcome here, not so easily, no matter how harmless you seem to them. 

But the kindness you are greeted with today encourages the hope that never died inside of you. 

Hope that died in him a long time ago. 

Hope that will die in you just like it did in him. 

He watches you closely, the way you look around the house the three of them have stayed in for the past year, you throw your backpack to the ground, leaving it abandoned by the stairs. You eye the radio station in the living room, curiosity lingers in your eyes, he notices how your fingers twitch but you don’t touch it, you draw back from it when you catch him staring at you like a hawk – he almost feels bad when you shy away. 

You turn your back to him and look at the bookshelf, tilting your head to the side. 

Steve should stop it, the staring, but he can’t, he doesn’t know why, you are not a threat, he doesn’t need to watch you but he keeps doing it, slowly following you through the house like you are his prey. 

You are the first stranger to enter this house, the first and the only. Every person who stumbled upon this ghost town was turned and scared away by him. He doesn’t know why he let you inside, Eddie and Nancy wouldn’t be able to keep you here, no matter how persistent and stubborn they had been. If they didn’t want you here, you would have been long gone and not walking around the house. 

But something about you makes him mad.

Maybe it’s the way you so easily fit in, or maybe it’s the way you fall for Eddie’s charm and giggle at every attempt of his to make you smile, maybe it’s the way you get along with Nancy right away, Nancy who is usually distrusting of anyone she doesn’t know, or maybe it’s the way you look at him when you sit across from him during dinner, the golden light from the fireplace touching your soft skin. Your eyes are big and innocent, the air around you is too, like you had been untouched by the horrors of this world, like nothing ever happened to you, like you didn’t lose anything or anyone, like the world didn’t even scratch the surface of you. 

He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know anything about you but he knows what you are – a naive and stupid girl, one that throws herself into danger, the cut on your shoulder and the scars on your upper arm are proof of that, you won’t survive long, people like you never do. 

He stares into your eyes and you stare back, eyeing him while Eddie talks your ear off, who is happy to have someone new to talk with, considering he is stuck with people who aren’t the most talkative. 

You blink, holding his gaze for a while. 

You are trouble, the kind that he wants to stay away from, the kind he needs to stay away from. 

And yet he finds himself knocking on the bathroom door to give you the toiletries and the clothes that Nancy had prepared for you after dinner. He is huffing loudly when he hears you singing, or humming. The only person he ever heard hum in a shower nowadays was Eddie, and he did it just to be an obnoxious prick. You, you are just happy, and who the hell is happy nowadays with how the world is? A psychopath. You are a fucking psychopath.

“One sec!” Your voice was sweet as the water is turned off, and soon after, the door is opening and his eyes are everywhere. You are wrapped in a towel, holding it tightly on your chest where the edge is tucked in. Your wet hair falling down your shoulders, the droplets all over your skin, and you have a stupid smile on your face. That snaps him out from the trance of staring at you more than he should. He blames it on not meeting another woman in a while. The only one in this ‘community’ of his age is Nancy, and she and him made it clear that whatever happened when Vecna was alive, that it was purely out of adrenaline and the need to be or feel cared for by someone in that moment.

“Have your stuff. Remember to give the clothes back before you leave tomorrow.” He extends his arms towards you, the body cream on top of the clothes, making you gasp as your arms shoot to take them from him, your eyes stuck on the white bottle.

“Oh god… thank you… I can’t– I can’t thank you enough–”

“Not me. Nancy and Eddie. I wanted you gone, still want you gone.” His eyes are looking away from you, down the hall as he speaks. He is harsh and he knows it, but there is a limit on water usage in the community, and you just used a ton. Which makes him think that Nancy and Eddie are being serious on leaving, not caring for the limits any longer. 

Your eyes look up, catching onto the patch of freckles and moles on his neck, as well as a very prominent scar. As if he had been choked by some rope, going all the way around. You were hurt by his words, but yet, this guy is being mean, and wants to kick you out, and he is standing in front of you handing you body cream and clothes, when he could have refused. He could have shot you and defy his friends. He could have been pushier.

And so your hope doesn’t die.

“I’ll thank them later… but yet, thank you, as well.” You persist and he grumbles something under his breath, his head turning to look at you one last time. Hopefully, the last time he sees it before he wakes up tomorrow. 

“Have a safe trip tomorrow.” And with that, he walks down the hall and towards his room, slowly closing the door behind him. Robin is going to kill him. Letting a random girl inside the house. Eddie and Nancy were out of their minds. Everyone was, except him. Hopefully.

He hears murmurs between you and Nancy in the hallway, giggles that disappear as you two disappear into Nancy’s room. She is letting you sleep on the bed with her. What the fuck was Nance thinking? You are a stranger… A stranger who seemed harmless enough, a stranger who looked… tired. Like the only thing you wanted to do was sleep, and sleep, and sleep. 

He might be over-exaggerating with how he is treating you, but can anyone blame him for it?

His eyes move towards a scarf on his bed frame, his fingers caressing the hand-knitted mustard colored cotton between his fingers. He hears Eddie whistling as he goes into his room and his anger bubbles up inside of him again.

He isn’t leaving this town. It is a stupid idea to do so. It is reckless. It is also going against the community’s rules. He isn’t going to leave. He can’t leave Robin behind, and Eddie and Nancy know she won’t be coming along.

He won’t leave the last thing that is keeping him alive.

[plethorawrites]

So we’ve seen all of the batbros as cats but what about the reader? What would happen if they were turned into a cat?

This took forever, sorry! But yes, I totally can!

Bruce: Weary and worried.

• Before all else, he's concerned with making sure you're alright. He calls Zatanna immediately to ensure it's not permanent and then after he knows it's not, he can relax enough to try to comfort you.

• He was never a cat person, only ever owning dogs, so he really has no clue how to take care of a cat. Let alone a cat who's really the love of his life. He tries, though. He gets Alfred to make you dinner, something that's fresh and not gross Tuna or Salmon from a can. He gives you your choice of every throw pillow in the manor to tear up when he sees you get antsy, your claws flicking in and out in stress. And of course, everything poisonous to cats like the peace lilies in the living room are moved far away.

• Bruce still has to go to work, unfortunately and with no idea how to keep you entertained, puts on those "Soothing cat videos" on the big TV in his bedroom for you to watch. A six hour loop of a fishtank is less than ideal but seems to work well enough.

• You're in the same place as when he left you, so he assumes you didn't mind too much. He notices you grooming yourself, not because you want to, but out of some strange instinct you've developed and he can tell you're grossed out by your own actions, so he does his best to clean your fur himself. You might be a cat, but you seem to like water so he puts you in the bathtub and scrubs your fur with your normal soap which makes you pur.

• Until he takes you out of the warm water and you're absolutely freezing, shivering from the cold. He wraps you in a towel and holds you to his chest until you're mostly dry, then, despite the dampness of your fur, let's you curl up under the covers since you're still a bit chilly. It makes his own skin wet, but he doesn't mind since at least you seem a bit happier.

---

Dick: Amused and empathetic.

• He tries not to laugh. He really does. It's just...so much harder than it should be. You look so small, so adorable, so fuzzy. You have a tail, for God's sake. How could it not be hilarious? He only stops chuckling when you swat your paw at him, catching him with sharp claws, cutting him. He doesn't get upset since he knows he deserved it.

• Goes to the pet store with you, letting you sit in the cart and pick out your own things, which, he can tell you dislike but reluctantly comply—otherwise he'd buy you a rat themed toy instead of the feather one you wanted. You gurgle and growl repeatedly when he picks up those stupid cat costumes, but he still buys them anyway.

• And yes, he does force you to wear them. You resisted, at first, of course, but eventually gave up when he gave you those puppy dog eyes. If you thought being a cat was humiliating, you couldn't have prepared for being a cat wearing a sombrero and poncho. "Those are our Christmas cards this year," he tells you, kissing the top of your head while you meow in protest.

• Despite that, he's still sweet to you, apologizing for you having to go through this and swearing he'll fix it. In the meantime, just try to stay positive. He'll say you can rip up the drapes if it makes you feel better. You do and it does. You always hated them and he refused to get rid of them, but now there was a valid reason to.

• He sits on the floor with you, swinging the feather toy around as you chase it, gaining a good amount of height the longer you play. His arm gets tired but you're clearly not, so he sits there until you eventually get sick of it and he sets it down while you crawl into his lap for a nap. He was going to make something to eat, but he supposes he can wait.

---

Jason: Paranoid and terrified.

• His initial response is to reassure you that you'll be fine. He'll do whatever it takes you turn you back into a human, no matter what. His second response, is to freak out. He has no idea how to take care of a cat, let alone his partner who's a cat! What if he hurts you? What if he can't fix it?

• Being a cat, you, unbeknownst to him, sense him apprehension and almost immediately start rubbing against his legs until he hesitantly picks you up, cradling you in his arms as gently as possible. You rub your head against his jaw, trying to soothe him and he takes a few deep breaths, relaxing and nuzzling your fur.

• It takes him a while, and a lot of trial and error to figure out how to take care of you, be it buying food you don't like, to accidentally leaving the window open and panicking that you escaped (you were under the bed, because it was warm and safe) but he eventually calms down once the day is finally over.

• Cuddling with you on the couch, he can barely even feel your claws kneeding on his arms because there's so much scar tissue it's too hard to scratch and hurt. Your purring is what calms him down the most though, after an extremely long, stressful day. You sitting on his lap, his hand resting on your back as he slowly and accidentally falls asleep.

• When he wakes up, you're still a cat, still sleeping on him. He picks you up carefully, taking you to the bedroom so he can sleep in his bed and you aren't left alone in the living room. He has a feeling you'll be yourself soon enough, even if he doesn't know exactly when. He'll keep you safe until then.

---

Tim: Shocked and Frantic

• He immediately starts to panic. You're a cat. A freaking cat. How? Why? What does he need to do to fix it? He has a million questions and no answers. But his stress only adds to your own and he quickly tries to calm down before soothing you: "No, no, no. It's fine. You're gonna be fine. I swear."

• Still, the second he gets you out of the room, convincing you that you'd be more comfortable in the living room than in the batcave, he starts to pace and freak out again. It's actually Damian, of all people, who gets him to snap out of it, literally slapping him across the face and telling him to be there for you instead of worrying about the details.

• He listens, to an extent, going back upstairs to where you were chewing on the fern in the living room, ripping a leaf apart. Pulling you away from it as you meow in protest, he cradles you in his arms, apologizing for fretting and promising he won't leave again.

• And he doesn't. He does, however, keep working on a way to fix you. He tries to be annoyed when you start knocking things off his desk, pushing stuff into a water bowl, jumping into his bottom drawer, laying on his papers, but he can't do it. You're just acting too cute to genuinely be mad. Eventually, he takes a break, closing the drawer you were sitting in and hauling you to his bed.

• He'll admit, he threw you with a little less caution than he probably should have, but you didn't mind, crawling onto him the moment he laid down, eager to close your eyes after being awake for far too long. Aka 5 straight hours, which, for a cat, was a lot. He didn't quite realize that, but notices almost immediately how fast you fall asleep once you lay down, curling into a ball, tucking your nose under your tail to keep it warm.

---

Damian: Is both fascinated and prepared.

• He has over a dozen pets, so when you're turned into a cat, he already knows everything there is to know and gets you anything you could possibly need. A nice cat bed, toys to keep you entertained, a post to scratch so you don't ruin any furniture.

• His others pets want to play or chase you, but he scoops you up before any of them can get even close to you. And he insists you stay close to him and not wander off, because you could get lost, kidnapped, or hurt.

• You always knew his knowledge of animals was extensive but didn't realize how much so until he was petting you, explaining how the hair follicles on cats work, which is why they never like to be pet in certain areas.

• Despite having an extremely nice bed, you'd really rather prefer his and he allows it, reminding you not to scratch the pillows or the sheets. "They're Egyptian silk. Don't ruin them." Still, when he catches you clawing at them in your sleep, unaware you were doing it, he doesn't stop you.

• In the morning, he switches feeds you breakfast, in a human bowl so it's not so degrading and takes you with him while he works on a way to fix you. He quickly gets distracted, though, by how you're looking around at everything like it's the most interesting thing ever.

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 7.

Prev

The gun was cold in your hands. After everyone had left for patrol, you had snuck into Jason's room. Knowing he wasn't in the manner made it easier to do soon. You took one of his smaller guns and 4 boxes of ammo. It took you longer than you would have liked to match the bullet in the gun's magazine. Still you were able to find the right ones. He also had throwing knives hidden in his room which you gladly took.

Now standing on the small private beach in the back of the manor grounds, you shot at discarded cans. Your old tablet played videos on gun safety and how to aim. Still you couldn't hit a can. It was different from throwing a blades.

With a blade there were many factors. How you held the blade played a part. The best way you found was to hold the blade towards you balancing it on your middle and index finger. Than lightly push down with your thumb towards your palm. Bring that up over your head than throwing and releasing. When you released, how much power you put in, and amount of pressure you placed with your thumb depended on distance. Aiming was just a matter of when to let go.

Yet it seemed like very little of that applied to guns. Sure there were sights to help you aim. But that didn't mesh well with how you were used to aiming with knives. Plus the kick back was starting to make your wrists ache. Jason was doing this shit one handed. Maybe you were holding it wrong, the videos weren't giving you a good view. Adjusting your grip you tried again.

Bang. The can stayed upright but at least the gun didn't kick back as much. You were able to keep from flinching too much as well so you were adjusting to the noise. There was a new chip in the rock next to the can. You sighed before setting the weapon down. This wasn't working.

Yes, you had improved. No longer hitting the sand or the cliff face behind your target. Still you weren't hit the can and weren't even that far away. There was no way you could face these guys without a weapon. Grumbling in frustration, you took one of the throwing knives and threw at the can. That one actually hit.

You reached over and paused the video. It was than you heard something. It was faint an inhale of breath from behind some rocks. Breathing throught your nose, you steel your nerves. Going off on Dick ealier was going have consequences. Maybe Bruce had sent someone to take you back. There was no telling. Smiling at the screen, you said, "Break time."

You changed the video to a dance routine you liked. Taking the first position in the dance you waited.

Dance was a hobby you picked up from Barbara. You had watched her do some old ballet routines from when she was seven. Orginially she had preformed them for Dick back when you were one, you could barely remember the movements. Still caused a small spark in you, a want to be like your big sister. The spark remained for two years. You started learning from videos when you were three. You never did them where anyone could see you, preferring to learn privately. In the experiments, you would use the routines in your cell to check that your muscles still functioned properly.

Now you used it as a way to observe subtly. The spins and position changes allowed you to take stock of your surroundings. Mid song is when you saw him.

He was hidden in alcove with a deep green cloak. He was tall around the same height as Jason. A part of you question if he just came from a Ren Fair because of his clothes. However that didn't seem to matter as much as his size and the sword at his hip. He was probably trained to use it too. You didn't doubt he could fight just as well as Bruce. You would have one shot to take him out.

The choreography had you turn away from him. When he couldn't see you grabbed a knife from the holster. Twirling back around, you flung it straight for his head. He caught it by the handle right in front of his throat. Too low. "Impressive. Going for a killing blow before I can start the fight."

The man step forward spinning the blade in his hand. You step back and began thinking of ways out. He stopped five feet away from you and tossed the dagger towards you. "Though your throwing form was off causing the blade to not have as much force. I can excuse that for the creativity of blending it with a dance."

"What?" You caught the dagger feeling it sink into your hand. You turned it subtly allowing the wound to heal.

The man nodded to your hand, "That also makes you intriguing. A girl capable of healing with great potential that needs only to be refined."

The climb up the cliff's edge was not a viable option. You could run into the sea, swim or just let yourself drown. Yet you couldn't judge if he was capable of swimming or if he would buy the fake death. If he came from the experiments he would know drowning didn't actually kill. There was no way out. The man gestured, "Get into a throwing position."

You paused, looking at him. Why did he want you to get into throwing position. If he was take you back than letting you fight him seemed useless. He tilted his head making his gesture again, "Do you not wish to learn?"

Slowly you got back into throwing position. He walked over to you. The first thing he did was kick your legs slightly further apart. Afterwards he made you bend your knees slightly. He than grabbed your hand, paused, and had you pull it back just a little further.

Once satisfied with the adjustments, he walked back to his spot 5 feet away. "Throw."

You did. This time he had to stop in front of his face. The throw felt more powerful and you had an easier time staying balance. With some minor adjustments he fixed a problem you hadn't fully realized you had. This allowed you to grab another blade and get in position quicker.

He smiled once more. "Again." You did, this time aiming for his throat. He caught the knife once more, nodding once again. The two of you practice knife throwing for a few minutes. In that short time he had you do underhand throws and side thows. He clapped after another successful throw, "Enough."

You were out of knives. He moved towards you again and handed the blades over to you. As he handed them to you, he started to speak. "Don’t fuss with the gun for right now. With a blade you are more dangerous to people not paying attention."

Once done he handed you an ornate blade. It was incredibly sharp with a blood red handle in the shape of spider lilies. The handle was a polished wood that shone in the moonlight. There was a sheath underneath the blade that could be strapped to your hip. "When next we meet I will show you how to use this blade efficiently."

"Where will we met again?"

"You'll know." He turned and left without another word. You grabbed Jason's gun before leaving yourself. The whole encounter felt like a dream.

Stephanie was physically watching Orphan's assigned target but mentally she was thinking about (Name). When she first arrived at the manor, she had been fed stories by Tim. Of how she stole his mask and yelled at him for replacing Jason. So as the next Robin she avoided the girl.

Than she became Batgirl for a brief sprint. Which made her made her more wearily about accidentally coming off as replacing Barbara. When she did try reaching out to the girl it was awkward. Plus the girl seem perfectly content living life without her barging in.

Steph had left her be figuring she had plenty of other siblings to bond with. There was no way in a manor full of people she was alone. Right?

God, now she just felt stupid. Assumptions really had made an ass out of her. Right now she was just waiting for the man to get off the phone with whoever he was talking to. After struggling to find anything beyond (Name)'s mother and she had switched task with Cass. The girl seemed more interested in doing the research anyway, so what was the harm.

She would finish investigating for the day, take a nap, than take the girl out somewhere. Maybe have a girls day with Barbara and Cass tagging along. Get their nails done, haircuts, bat burgers, maybe karaoke. Was any of that stuff (Name) was interested in? Whatever the girl had gone through was pretty traumatic, based solely on the breakdown Dick described. She deserved to have a fun day where they could spoiled her. Maybe she could take her rollerskating. Steph stopped her planning as the guy finished the phone. First they had to make sure these guys were handled.

Crashing through the window, Spoiler caught the guy off gaurd. He jumped reaching for a weapon. She grabbed his wrist and pinned him to wall. "Hey Matthew. Let's have a quick chat."

"Look, Whatever you're here for I didn’t do it." The guy, Matthew Jenkins, struggled against Spoiler's hold. He had worked with James and Marcus at a security firm two years ago before spontaneously quitting four days before (Name) disappeared. The same had occurred with two other man, Henry Duncan and Gregory Hartley. Signal had already reported that Henry was dead and had been for awhile. Maybe five or six days

"Oh, okay. So you have no contact to (Name) Wayne?" Spoiler pushed on his wrist a little harder making him cry out in pain.

"Who?"

"Playing dumb won't help you. I already know you were using her debit card to pull cash." They didn't actually know which of five man were pulling cash from the card. Based on video analysis there had be at least three of them making the pulls, so odds were good.

Matthew froze in Spoiler's hand, sucking in a breath. Looks like she was on the right track. "Shit, that girl really was a Wayne?"

Spoiler twisted his wrist just a little bit. He hissed through his teeth, "Yeah. Keep talking."

"Fuck. Look we didn't know exactly what they were doing to the kid. We just watched the room they kept her in and moved her to research room when asked. They usually carted her back when we were on lunch. It was just a good paying job and she never looked to badly hurt."

"How much were they paying you."

"Fithteen hundred a week." Matthew lightly banged his head against the wall, "Shit I should have tapped out when Henry did. I knew the girl was going to get us in more trouble than she was worth."

"Henry Duncan?"

"Yeah. Is he doing okay, we haven't heard from him since he stormed off the job?" Matthew shifted in Spoiler's grasp.

"He was found dead in ditch two hours ago. Marcus Antonio was found shot last night in his apartment." Matthew let out shocked breath and shook his head.

"We are fucked."

"Maybe not. If you answer all my questions I might be able to get you out of Gotham." It was a gamble but one Spoiler had to take. This guy could give her at least a location on where they held her and maybe who was paying them. Especially if three of them were dead. "First, you mentioned Duncan tapping out. What happened to make him leave?"

"They had said the testing was almost completed. They just had one last test to make sure everything was successful before we would know if we'd be getting raises or let go?" Matthew started. "We were informed to never look in the room unless instructed to."

"Henry didn't listen did he?" Spoiler let up on his wrist. He was more scared of these guys than her right now, better to let that fear keep him talking.

Matthew shook his head, "Henry didn't listen. After the final test he got curious because she was oddly quiet. We could usually hear her muttering to herself. He said she looked like a deflated balloon."

Matthew paused taking a deep breath. "We all looked. I don't know what they did but her chest had caved in on itself. There also something growing in her. Honestly I thought she was dead until she blinked. Henry lost it, said he wasn't going down for whatever they had done to her. We all almost walked out but James stopped us. If the last test was marked successful we'd each get a raise to five thousand dollars a week."

"You know what happened to James?"

"The kid killed him. She also took out Greg's eye with a fucking scalpel. No amount of money is that shit." Matthew banged his head to the wall.

Spoiler paused processing. Money was a huge motivation to this guy, so chances were he knew who was paying him. "Where was the money coming from? Not just for your paycheck either."

"The girl’s card and her tuition. Her dad was giving her fifteen thousand a week. They use that to buy a generator and some other shit to keep the building off grid. We would pull cash for them every once and a while but most of it came from the accountant. They would divert the kid's tuition to James, he paid us." That explained where the tuition was going.

"Who was in charge?" Spoiler needed a name. Sure she had a lot to rely back at the cave but she needed just a little more.

"I don't know." The pressure return to his wrist. Matthew started struggling, "I don't know, I work with some intern chick who took notes on girl's status and the accountant."

"Good enough. Give their names." Spoiler gave his wrist one last twist.

"The intern chick's name was Isabella, I never got a last name. Just heard a rumor that she was related to the big boss. The accountant was..."

"Mr. Davis, so glad to finally be able to meet you." The man zip tied to his office chair glared at you. After the training on the beach you discovered you still had five hours before anyone got back to the manor. Using the Gotham Subway you had gotten to Davis' office. Surprisingly the man was still there. Hurriedly packing files into a briefcase. You used the knife to keep him under control until you could zip tie him to the chair. The man had proven right, a knife was more powerful.

You glanced at the files. Documents approving a change in wiring numbers, written approval for changes to the limits on your checking account as a minor, and so much more. All incriminating with Bruce Wayne's signature on the bottom. You turned your gaze to Davis twirling a throwing knife in your hand. Sitting on his desk made you eye level with him, "Now what were doing with these?"

"Fuck you brat." His word turned into a cry of pain as you threw the knife. It cut a line across his cheeks.

Standing from his desk you walk towards him. Pulling the stranger's dagger from the sheath you held it over his hand, above the knuckle of his left thumb. "Let’s try again. What were doing with those files?"

"I'm not scared of a fucking ten year old." Of course. You were a baby faced ten year old. Who would be scared of you? If you wanted information from this man you had to scare him into giving it to you.

Pushing down on the blade, he started to scream. It took a minute find where the blade could cut through. Mangled his hand pretty bad but eventually his thumb came off. He slumped in the chair, panting. Was this how you looked when they cut off your body parts?

"Will you answer me now? I really don't want to have cut off another one." You picked up his severe digit, rolling it around in your palm. There was a disturbing calm in the violence. It was as if you could finally relax. Maybe the experiments had messed with your head more than you thought, "Well."

"Fine. I was told to destroyed them." Davis spat the words out inbetween harsh breaths. Finally information.

You lifted an eyebrow and set the thumb on his desk, "By who?"

"Clint Owen. He was my son's doctor." You began to think through the people you saw in the experiments. There were six scientists that would poke at you. Clint was probably one of them, especially if he was a doctor. They hadn't used names near you.

"What did he tell you about the experiments?" The more information the better, you needed to know what Bruce gained from this. Davis stayed silent. There was an intense staring contest between you two. Finally you sighed, "Okay, fine. Your ring or your pinkie? I'm thinking pinkie, personally."

"No, I'll tell you." Davis started to struggle in the chair as you walked closer. "Owens told me, it was a way to get organs for dying kids. That's all I know, he offered to give my son one of the kidneys."

"Really? You did all of this for a kidney?" At least you knew where your kidney was now. Wrong thing to focus on but your head was getting buzzy from the violence.

"He would have died without it." Davis shook his head. A part of you felt a little bad for cutting off his thumb. The man was just desperate to save his kid. Could you really blame him for that? "Beside, the Waynes needed to be taken down a peg. Why not remind those idiots their money can't do shit to save anyone, even their own? The little bitch had it coming."

Nevermind. You stabbed the knife through his right hand. He pissed himself, gross. You began talking over his screams "Did I ask for your shit rate opinions? No, I didn't. Stick to telling me the facts or your losing the hand. Who was involved in the experiments?"

"Three doctor's from the Martha Wayne Childern's Hospital, One researcher from Gotham U and his student assistant." He screamed the words at you. A part of you contemplated twisting the knife just because you could. When had you got so violent? Eh later problem.

"Names." You sounded bored even to your own. Maybe you should be concerned, how do you get here again?

"I don't know." The darker part of you won, twisting the blade in his hand. He started struggling again. "I'm telling the truth, I really don't know. They weren't on any payroll I had access to."

"Who's Sionis?"

"Black Mask. He provided the weapons for the guards." Oh that wasn't good. Black Mask was violent hopefully you could just ignore him as an ignorant arms dealer.

You paused looking him up and down. This wasn't a lot of information. Yes, you had a name and occupations for some of the scientists. There were also the documents showing Bruce Signed off on this. The paper proved he was involved by themselves. But than the take the Waynes down a peg comment didn't fit. "Who was on payroll?"

"Doesn't matter half of them are dead."

"Is that an opinion?" You removed the knife from his hand.

He paled and began pushing back in his chair, "James Lenon, Marcus Antonio, Henry Duncan, Gregory Hartley, Matthew Jenkins. They were the ones guarding the place. The first three are dead, the fourth guy left Gotham after losing his eye. Jenkins is the only one left in town."

Maybe you could get to Jenkins before he left. Than again those guys didn't seem to know much. You could hear them talking through the door at night. They nickname for the scientists and never talk much about the experiments other than supplies. What else could you get from him, "Who was in charge of the experiments?"

"Owens."

"Are you sure?" Davis paused. He gave you a wide eye pleading look while nodding. You looked out the window while trying to connect the pieces.

If Cass was the one who found 'the school' than you needed a connection between her and Owens. Of course Bruce wouldn't let someone like Davis know he was connected. With Davis's disgruntled attitude towards Bruce, he was likely state up to rat on the wrong people. With no clue about Bruce's real involvement it be easy to brush him off as a rouge accountant. Probably claim forgery on the signatures too.

"Well. I got everything I needed." You flipped the knife in your hand. Grabbing the briefcase you turned towards the door.

"Wait, you gotta let me go." Davis tried shuffling the chair. You looked towards him and considered. He could alert Bruce to your investigation.

You gave him a sheepish smile. "Right my bad." You walked behind him and the smile dropped. The next few moments blurred into your mind but than you were the fire escape. Holding a briefcase and changing into some clothes you had brought with you. Checking time you realized you had 3 hours to get back to the manor.

The rest of your investigation would be on hold until you were fully trained and they were lulled into a false sense of security.

Bruce starred at the body of his accountant. His hands had been mutilated and his throat slit. Written in his blood on the wall behind the body was, "Don’t Forget Me."

Both remaining gaurds had implicated Davis as the one that tranferred the tuition money to them. Said they didn't know names but faces of the scientists. Their last lead pointed to Davis as having more information. (Name) wouldn't tell them anything if they went by her interaction with Dick. Yet he was dead when they got here and all of his financial records had been thrown about the office be covered in blood. It seemed most of the ones on (Name) were missing either way.

The next best hope was to look into Meta Traffickers who went off the grid two years ago. Maybe they could look into doctors too since one was needed for that kind of experiment.

Bruce's eyes drifted to the words on the wall. There was no way they would forget this person. Not until who ever they were was behind bars for what they did to (Name). Bruce's hands drifted to the center pocket of his suit and pulled out a photo.

It was him holding (Name) as an infant. A broad smile on his face as he cradled the squirming infant. Looking back at the scene Bruce made a silent vow to not let the people who hurt her get away.

Prev

Taglist:

@stove-top96 @00hellohello00 @mysticalhills @yhin-gg @charlenexoxo1 @a-lurking-fae @moondust-clouds @darkumbreon92 @jsprien213 @bellethesleepypotato @time-shardz @randomlyappearingartist @kittzu @bat1212 @vanilliona @welpthisisboring @plsfckmedxddy @tulnukaz @eyeless-kun @daisy56789

[vunblr]

A Cabin for Two

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

Summary: Desperate for a break from the constant interruptions of their daily lives, Bucky plans a getaway to a secluded cabin deep in the woods. What begins as a peaceful escape soon tests their patience, sparks intimacy, and reveals the strength of their connection.

Word Count: 8.3k

notes: Part of Roots and Branches AU

The quiet of the mornings was a fragile thing, and it had been shattered almost an hour ago by the insistent chime of the doorbell. Bucky lay in bed, with his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he listened to the muffled voices drifting from the front door. She’d answered it quickly but politely, though the conversation had dragged on far longer than it should have.

He sighed, the comfort and warmth of the bed doing little to soothe the irritation bubbling under his skin. Alone time had become a rare treasure, and lately, it seemed like everyone in town had made it their mission to interfere. He knew the elderly neighbor meant well, but after endless minutes of unsolicited chatter, his patience was wearing thin.

Her polite attempts to wrap things up were obvious, even from here: a gentle laugh, a soft, “Oh, well, I won’t keep you much longer,” but the woman didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Bucky’s jaw tightened for the first time in the day as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

With a grumble, he stood and pulled on his jeans, then grabbed his flannel shirt from the chair in the corner. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he crossed to the hallway, shrugging into his coat and grabbing his keys from the hook by the door.

When he reached the entryway, he stopped briefly, flicking his eyes between the two women. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and her expression was somewhere between apologetic and exasperated. He arched a brow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice low but polite, nodding at the elderly woman as he signaled his intention to pass.

“Oh!” The neighbor blinked up at him, clearly startled but recovering quickly. “Heading out so early?”

“I’m going to the workshop,” he almost growled as he glanced at her. Then, turning to Y/n, he softened slightly. “Call you later.”

She tilted her head, and a small frown tugged at her lips. “Oh, And breakfast? Want me to make y-”

“No need, darling,” he cut her off gently but firmly, turning on his heel before she could protest.

The screen door creaked and slammed shut behind him, and he strode toward the truck with purposeful steps. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he let out a deep breath, gripping the wheel as he stared at the empty road ahead.

Enough was enough, they needed a break. A time for just the two of them, away from the endless interruptions and the ever-watchful eyes of the town. The idea took root in his mind as the engine roared to life, and a plan took form as he drove toward the workshop. A cabin, a weekend, and nothing but the quiet woods surrounding them.

---

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, and the familiar hum of machinery was already buzzing in the background as Bucky pulled up. He parked the truck, killed the engine, and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel as the plan solidified in his mind. The only problem? It was the height of the season. Every halfway-decent cabin in the area would already be booked.

“Damn it,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the seat with a groan.

Swallowing his pride, he pushed open the truck door and made his way inside. The workshop was bustling as usual, but Sam spotted him almost immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing as he approached. “Morning, sunshine,” he drawled, already a grin tugging at his lips. “You look grumpier than usual. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Bucky replied curtly, shrugging off his coat and draping it over a nearby chair.

Sam raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’re stomping around like someone stole your breakfast, but it’s ‘nothing.’ Got it.”

Bucky shot him a warning look, but Sam only chuckled, leaning against the workbench with crossed arms.

“Actually…” Bucky started, gruffly, “you know any cabins ‘round here? Something quiet. Away from people.”

Sam’s grin widened immediately. “You mean, like your house?”

Bucky leveled him with a dirty look, “Farther away.”

Sam’s grin widened. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Why do you need a faraway cabin, Buck?”

“Just answer the question,” Bucky muttered, pulling a pencil from behind his ear and fiddling with it to avoid Sam’s knowing gaze.

“Alright, alright,” Sam said, smirking. “There’s a couple of places I know of, but good luck finding one that’s not booked. You’re cutting it close, man.”

Bucky huffed, staring down at the workbench. “Figured. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Sam tilted his head, his grin turning sly. “And why exactly do you need a cabin? I thought you hated leaving your place for anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“Because,” Bucky grumbled, his voice tight with reluctance, “we could use a break. Just us. No interruptions.”

Sam’s grin practically split his face. “Oh, so it’s for her.” He let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying Bucky’s discomfort. “Man, you’re whipped. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Sam,” Bucky warned, already starting to get irritated. “Are you gonna help or not?”

Sam chuckled, holding up his hands in a mock surrender. “Relax, big guy. I’ve got a cousin who rents out his place sometimes. It’s a little rustic, but it’s quiet, and I’m pretty sure he keeps a spot open for last-minute bookings.”

Bucky perked up slightly, meeting his gaze with Sam’s. “Think he’ll go for it?”

“For you? Probably,” Sam said, grinning. “But only if you promise to stop scowling at everyone for the rest of the week.”

----

By midmorning, Sam’s cousin had called back, and to Bucky’s relief, there was an opening. Apparently, Sam had pulled some strings, mentioning a few owed favors that Bucky didn’t bother asking about. He wasn’t thrilled about relying on Sam’s connections, but he’d take the win. The cabin was booked for the weekend, tucked deep in the woods with no neighbors for miles, a perfect escape.

The morning passed uneventfully after that. He kept busy at the workshop, occupying his mind with the trip and all the things he’d need to prepare. It wasn’t until just after noon that the door creaked open, and the sound of boots on the wooden floor caught his attention.

“Brought you something,” her voice chimed, light and warm, cutting through the steady hum of saws and chatter.

Bucky looked up to see her standing there, the familiar green tupperware in her hands and a smile tugging at her lips. His heart softened instantly, but with Sam and a couple of others milling about, he cleared his throat and kept his expression neutral.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, stepping closer to take the container.

“I wanted to,” she replied. “Figured you didn’t even have breakfast, did you?”

Caught, Bucky gave her a small, sheepish nod. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, low enough that only she could hear.

She tilted her head, widening her smile. “You’re welcome. Just make sure you eat it before it gets cold.”

He was about to step back when she leaned in, brushing a quick kiss against his stubbled cheek. His muscles tensed on instinct, heat rushing to his face as he shot a quick glance around the room. Sam, of course, was already watching, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Aww, such pampering,” he teased, dragging out the words. “Now I get why he wants to-”

Bucky’s glare cut him off mid-sentence, sharp and unrelenting. If looks could kill, Sam’s head would’ve been obliterated on the spot.

“Shut it, Wilson,” he growled, under his breath.

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Alright, alright. No need to get your flannel in a twist. Just saying, man, she’s a keeper.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, and his ears tinged pink as he turned back to her, holding the tupper like it might save him from further embarrassment. She caught the faint tension in his shoulders and, more curiously, the lingering echo of Sam’s teasing. Tilting her head, she gave him a pointed look.

“So,” she asked lightly, her voice curious but playful, “what do you want?”

Bucky blinked, his brows knitting in confusion. “What?”

She arched a brow, twitching the corner of her mouth with amusement. “I pamper you,” she said, gesturing toward the tupperware in his hands, “so you want...?”

His jaw tightened, and a muscle in his cheek twitched as he quickly looked away. “Nothin’,” he muttered gruffly. “He just likes to talk.”

Her smile widened, and she folded her arms leaning slightly closer, clearly not buying his attempt to brush it off. He shifted awkwardly under her gaze, fumbling with the lid of the container.

“I should probably eat this,” he said finally, rushed and uneven, “and, uh, get back to the project.” He scratched the back of his neck, brushing the short ponytail he’d tied earlier that morning.

She stifled a laugh, and her eyes softened as she watched him retreat into himself with that signature mix of bashfulness and stubbornness. “Alright,” she said gently, stepping back with a teasing glint in her eye. “Enjoy the casserole, and don’t forget to actually eat it this time, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, turning toward the workbench with a slight hunch to his shoulders, clearly hoping to escape further scrutiny.

Behind him, Sam’s quiet chuckle reached his ears, and he sent another sharp glare in his direction. But as he settled back into his work, the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

-----

Bucky parked his truck outside her house. He grabbed the keys from the ignition and swung the door open, but as he stepped down, a sharp pang shot through his left arm.

“Dammit,” he muttered, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulder as he slammed the truck door shut. For the past two days, the damp weather had been wreaking havoc on the mess of titanium and bone beneath his skin. He grimaced, shaking it off as he made his way up the porch steps.

Fishing the spare key from his pocket, he fumbled with the lock for a moment before letting himself in.

The house was quiet, her laptop sat open on the coffee table, the screen glowing with text she’d been working on. She wasn’t in sight, probably in the bathroom or kitchen. Shrugging off his coat, he draped it over a chair and wandered closer to the coffee table, drawn by the colorful streaks of red and green she’d marked across the page.

He leaned in, squinting at the scene she was editing. A heated moment between a widowed heroine and a cowboy -one who, judging by the way she’d scribbled well-endowed in the margins- wasn’t exactly shy about his physical assets.

Bucky’s brow quirked as he read further. The barn. The hay. The cowboy’s intense sense of duty. The way the poor widow…wait. Was this guy seriously using a breeding-

“Bucky!”

He flinched, startled by her voice, and straightened so fast his neck cracked. She stood in the doorway, wide eyes darting between him and her laptop.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, rushing forward and snapping the laptop shut faster than he could blink.

He raised his hands in mock innocence, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Didn’t mean to snoop,” he drawled with amusement. “Just... couldn’t help but notice what kind of ‘research’ you’re doing these days.”

Her cheeks burned as she folded her arms, trying -and failing- to look unbothered. “It’s not research. It’s editing and proof-reading,” she corrected quickly. “And you’re supposed to be grabbing your tools, not reading over my shoulder!”

Bucky smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the back of the couch. “That what you call it? Editing?” She narrowed her eyes “I didn’t say anything about the, uh...” His smirk deepened as her glare sharpened. “...dedication that cowboy seems to have toward the widow and the old breeding stock on the barn.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands.

Chuckling, Bucky pushed off the couch and moved closer. “Relax, sweetheart.” He brushed a hand against her arm, warmly and reassuringly. “I came to grab my tools, but... I’ve got something to tell you.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “What’s that?”

His smirk faded into something softer, more thoughtful. “How do you feel about a weekend away? Just us. No laptops, no interruptions, no... cowboys.”

Her hands dropped from her face, and her eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck under his short ponytail. “Yeah. Got a cabin lined up. Quiet. Middle of nowhere. Thought it’d be good to... get outta here for a bit.”

Her expression melted into a warm smile, and she stepped closer, resting her hands lightly on his chest. “That sounds perfect, Buck.”

He ducked his head, and his lips twitched into a small, shy smile. “Figured you’d like it.”

She leaned up, brushing a kiss against his lips. “I love it. And you.”

His heart stuttered but he recovered quickly, pulling her closer. “Love you too, darlin’,”

She tilted her head with a playful glint in her eye as her hands slid down his chest. “So,” she began, teasing but curious, “what’s the occasion? Don’t tell me I forgot some special date I’m not aware of?”

Bucky froze for a split second, fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater as his eyes darted briefly away. “I just-” he started, but the words got stuck in his throat. He kicked himself inwardly, forcing himself to man up and meet her gaze. Taking a breath, he straightened his shoulders.

“I want alone time with you,” he said firmly, tumbling out the words with an edge of determination.

Her lips parted in slight surprise, though her smile didn’t fade. She somehow understood where this was going, but knowing how rare it was for him to be this straightforward, she decided to play innocent and coax him into saying more.

“Alone?” she echoed, tilting her head. “But you already sleep here four days a week, and normally on weekends we-”

“Completely alone,” he cut her off.

She blinked at the rare flash of certainty in his voice, but his grumpy pout that followed had her stifling a laugh.

“No boy scout cookie sellers,” he grumbled while his expression darkened at the memory of being roped into buying five boxes last week. “No bored old ladies ringing the doorbell to trap you all morning. And not that friend of yours who always shows up for baking lessons she doesn’t even take seriously.”

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled at his increasing exasperation. “I get it.”

His frown softened slightly, but he still looked serious.

“And...” she ventured, with a sly grin, “what exactly are your plans for those days alone, hm?”

Bucky’s ears flushed red, and his mouth opened as though to respond, but for a moment, nothing came out. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, flicking his eyes to the side before landing back on her.

“Well...” he started, “figured we could... I don’t know. Talk. Sleep in. Walk in the woods. Maybe build a fire. Eat something you didn’t have to cook.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just... be.”

Her heart softened, and her grin faded into a gentle smile as she stepped closer. “That sounds perfect, Buck,” she said softly, brushing a hand against his cheek.

His eyes searched hers for a moment, then he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips as she added, “especially for the part where we could wander around naked at any hour knowing no one would come.”

Bucky froze, tightening his hands instinctively on her waist. His gaze flickered with something darker, primal, as her words hung in the air.

She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks warming as she saw his expression shift, at his blue eyes narrowing with interest. Emboldened, she tilted her head closer, dropping her voice into a sultry whisper. “And… since there are no neighbors... we can be all loud... and naughty.”

The growl that escaped him was low and deep, sending a delicious shiver racing down her spine. His hands slid down to her hips, holding her firmly as he stepped closer “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek.

“Am I?” she teased, as she trailed her fingers up his chest, her nails brushing lightly over the fabric of his sweater.

“You are,” he confirmed, tightening his grip just enough to make her breath hitch. “You sure you can keep up?”

Her laughter was soft and breathless as she leaned in, brushing her lips against his ear. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

----

The weekend came by, and they headed off to the cabin. It was nice. The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the snowy landscape. The truck rumbled steadily along the winding road, and the soft hum of the cozy heater filled the silence between them.

But as they rounded a bend, the truck jolted suddenly, listing to one side.

“Great,” Bucky muttered, pulling to the shoulder and cutting the engine. He stepped out into the crisp evening air, already suspecting the problem before he even reached the rear tire. The flat was obvious, the sagging rubber was almost completely deflated. He muttered another curse, running a hand through his hair.

He heard the passenger door open and turned to see her climbing out, tugging her coat tighter around herself as the snow began to drift down in lazy flakes.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, frowning as she approached.

“Coming to help,” she replied simply, her boots crunching against the snow as she reached his side.

“You should get back in the truck,” he said, gruffly but not unkind. “You’ll get sick out here.”

She raised a brow, crossing her arms. “The same could be said for you.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, already crouching to pull the jack and wrench from the toolbox in the bed of the truck.

“Bucky,” she said softly, stepping closer. “You’re not fine. I know your arm’s bothering you.”

He froze briefly, before resuming his task without looking at her. “It’s nothin’. Just the weather messin’ with it.”

“And you were going to say something, when? she retorted. “Let me help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He shook his head, gripping the jack with his good hand and positioning it under the truck. “I’ve got it,” he said, firmly. “Go sit in the truck where it’s warm.”

“Bucky,” she pressed, kneeling beside him despite the cold seeping through her jeans. “Stubborn man, you’re in pain, you’re not fooling me.”

He shot her a sideways glance, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’m not lettin’ you freeze your ass off out here. Go inside.”

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm, not the one that ached, but the other, steady and sure. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly.

His jaw clenched, and his resolve flickered as her words settled over him. Finally, he sighed, easing the tension in his shoulders just slightly. “Fine,” he muttered. “You can hold the damn flashlight.”

She smiled, leaning up to press a quick kiss on his cheek before grabbing the flashlight from the truck. As she illuminated the work area, he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath.

The flat tire took longer than it should have. His left arm ached like a bitch, and each motion was a reminder of the puzzle of titanium and bone that would never quite work the way it used to. He tried to power through, determined to manage on his own, but his movements grew slower and more strained.

“Here, let me help,” she said softly, stepping forward as he struggled to lift the wheel into place.

“I got it,” he gritted out, but his grip faltered just enough for her to step in, steadying the weight with him.

It stung more than he cared to admit, her intervention feeling like a bruise to his pride. Once the wheel was finally secured, he tightened the lug nuts in silence, his mood darkening with every passing minute.

By the time they climbed back into the truck, the snow was falling heavier. The heater hummed softly, but the tension in the cab was palpable.

Bucky stared sternly at the road, gripping the wheel as his mind spiraled. The sting of the cold on his bare hands, the ache in his arm, the fact that he hadn’t been able to handle the damn tire without her help, it all gnawed at him, feeding the deep-rooted insecurities he tried so hard to bury.

“You okay?” she asked gently, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” he said shortly, not looking at her.

She hesitated, scanning his profile. The stiffness in his posture, the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the wheel like it might slip from his grasp, she knew he wasn’t okay.

“Do you want some coffee?” she offered, lifting the thermos she’d packed. “It’s still warm.”

“No, thanks,” he replied, clipped.

She frowned, and her concern grew as the silence stretched on. His hands, red and raw from the cold, caught her attention, and she wondered if the pain had worsened.

“Bucky,” she said softly, “do you want me to drive? Your hands must be hurting after working in this weather without gloves.”

That did it.

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, his jaw locking as the words struck a nerve. He knew she meant well, but the offer felt like a confirmation of everything his mind was already whispering, that he wasn’t enough. That he couldn’t even take care of something as simple as a flat tire without help.

“I said I’m fine,” he muttered tensely.

She bit her lip, sensing the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior but unsure how to reach him. “It’s not a big deal,” she tried, her tone gentle. “We’re in this together, remember? There’s no shame in letting me help.”

His grip tightened further, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I said I can handle it,” he said firmly, his voice edged with frustration he hadn’t meant to direct at her.

He drove silently, fixing his gaze on the snow-dusted road ahead, while his mind churned with doubts. He hated the way he’d snapped at her, hated that she’d seen him struggle. Most of all, he hated the nagging voice in the back of his head, whispering that maybe he wasn’t enough for her.

---

The rest of the trip passed in silence. She had shifted slightly toward the window, leaning her shoulder against the door, with her gaze fixed on the snow-covered forest rushing past. The quiet wasn’t oppressive, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

Bucky’s grip on the wheel loosened. He hadn’t meant to snap, but the words had come out sharp anyway, cutting through her concern with the jagged edge of his pride.

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as guilt settled in its place. She’d only been trying to help, and he’d let his frustration get the better of him.

At some point, the need to bridge the growing chasm between them grew too strong to ignore. He cleared his throat softly, his voice came low and gruff as he murmured, “A little coffee sounds nice now.”

There was no answer.

Frowning slightly, he glanced over at her, ready to apologize. But the words caught in his throat when he saw her.

Her head rested lightly against the window, her eyes closed, breathing softly and even. She’d fallen asleep.

Of course, he thought, with a pang of guilt. It was late, the air outside was cold, and to top it off, he hadn’t even been good company. He’d acted like an idiot, stewing in his frustration instead of appreciating the woman who had braved the freezing weather just to help him.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in the soft curve of her lips and the way her lashes rested against her cheeks. She looked peaceful, and the sight tugged at something deep inside him, making him tighten his grip on the wheel.

He returned his focus to the road, clenching his jaw briefly as he wrestled with the mess of emotions swirling in his chest. He couldn’t undo the way he’d acted, but he could make up for it. For now, he’d let her rest, keep her warm and comfortable.

----

As the cabin came into view at last, tucked into a small clearing in the snow-dusted forest, Bucky frowned slightly. It was smaller than he’d expected and not exactly what you’d call visually appealing. The roof looked like it hadn’t been repaired in years, the paint on the shutters was peeling, and the porch sagged just enough to make him hesitate about stepping on it.

He sighed quietly, chastising himself for being so quick to judge. Focus on the goal, he thought. Time alone with her. No neighbors. No interruptions. That’s all that matters.

She stirred beside him as he turned off the engine, and her eyes fluttered open. She sat up quickly, stretching as she glanced at him. “Oh, sorry I fell asleep,” she murmured, her voice still a little thick.

He shook his head, brushing off her apology. “Don’t worry about it,” he said softly. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was... a grump. Didn’t mean to ruin the start of the trip.”

She tilted her head, and her gaze softened as a small smile tugged at her lips. “You didn’t ruin anything, Buck.”

He gave her a faint smile in return before glancing back at the cabin. “Let’s get inside,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

Getting the door open was another matter entirely. The old lock protested against his attempts, creaking and groaning as he jiggled the key. After a few muttered curses and a bit of elbow grease, the door finally swung open with a loud creak.

He stepped inside first. He’d fantasized that even if the cabin looked old on the outside, the inside would be a pleasant surprise, something rustic but cozy, maybe with modern upgrades to make up for the exterior.

No such luck.

The interior was just as outdated as the outside. The furniture was mismatched and worn, the wallpaper was peeling in places, and the lighting was dim at best. The faint smell of wood smoke lingered in the air, and the fireplace looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

Bucky stood in the center of the small room, crossing his arms as he took it all in. He’d definitely be having a chat with Sam about this cousin of his when they got back.

But for now, he had to find something positive to say, even as the disappointment tugged at the corners of his mind. He glanced back at her as she stepped in, brushing her hands over her arms to warm up.

“It’s... clean,” he finally said, feeling the words awkward as they left his mouth.

She blinked at him, then looked around, and her lips twitched as she fought back a laugh. “Clean, huh?”

He shrugged, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Let’s see... also it’s got four walls and a roof. That’s somethin’, right?” He sighed, glancing at the dingy fireplace. “I’ll start the fire.”

She smiled softly, setting her bag by the door. “I’ll grab the luggage,” she announced, turning toward the truck.

“Wait,” he called, already stepping toward her. “I can-”

“Nope,” she cut him off, spinning on her heel to face him, hands on her hips. “Don’t even start, James Buchanan Barnes.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and he crossed his arms. “You shouldn’t be out in this snow. It’s freezing.”

“Exactly,” she retorted, pointing at him. “Which is why you’re not going out there either. Your arm’s already giving you trouble, and I’m not about to let you make it worse.”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, but she wasn’t having it.

“Fine, huh?” she shot back, raising a brow. “Last I checked, we’re not living in the caves anymore. You don’t have to do everything yourself. I’m perfectly capable of hauling a couple of bags.”

“Darlin’-” he started, but she stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on his chest.

“Bucky,” she said gently. “Let me do this. You’re not proving anything by pushing yourself in this weather. Just... let me help, okay?”

He hesitated, and his jaw worked as his eyes searched hers. He hated the thought of sitting idle while she did the heavy lifting, but the concern in her gaze gave him pause. Finally, he sighed, slightly slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“Alright,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But take it slow.”

“Always do,” she said with a small smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek before heading out the door.

-----

Starting the fire was proving to be yet another test for Bucky’s patience. He muttered a string of curses under his breath as the stubborn logs refused to catch, the kindling only sputtering weakly before fizzling out. At this point, he was starting to wonder if this whole thing was part of some hidden camera prank, because damn.

She had reentered the cabin while he was still wrestling with the fireplace, carrying their luggage and moving quietly so as not to disrupt his focus -or, more accurately-, his battle with the firewood. She unpacked their belongings in the small bedroom, making the best of the limited space and creaky furniture.

When she finished, Bucky was still hunched over the fireplace, furrowed brows and lips set in a grim line of determination. Suppressing a smile, she decided to let him be, for now, heading to the kitchen instead.

The tiny space was quaint, with mismatched cabinets and appliances that looked older than she was. She busied herself getting familiar with it, unpacking their groceries, and pulling out a few ingredients for dinner.

After a while, she peeked through the kitchen doorway to check on him. He was sitting back on his heels, rubbing his elbow absently, clearly, the ache in his arm was getting to him. The fireplace remained cold and unlit.

She sighed. She knew a direct approach wouldn’t do any good, not when his pride was already bruised. Instead, an idea formed in her mind, and she couldn’t help the mischievous grin that crept across her face.

“Um, Buck?” she called, with a note of uncertainty. “Can you come here for a second? There’s something about the water heater I don’t understand.”

His head snapped up, furrowing his brows as he stood and brushed off his hands. “The water heater? What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, feigning confusion as she poked her head out of the kitchen. “I just need you to take a look.”

Without hesitation, he crossed the room. “Alright, let’s see what’s goin’ on.”

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, she turned to face him, with wide, innocent eyes. He barely had time to notice that nothing in the room seemed out of place before she stepped forward, grabbing him by the front of his sweater and gently pushing him back against the counter.

“What the-” he started, gruffly with confusion as his ass hit the edge of the counter.

Her hands slid up to rest on his chest, and her fingers curled into the fabric as she looked up at him with mischief. “Gotcha,” she said softly, with a playful smile tugging at her lips.

He blinked, arching his brow as he realized he’d been ambushed. “This ain’t about the water heater, is it?”

“Not even a little,” she admitted, tilting her head as her grin widened.

His lips twitched, quirking upward despite his earlier sour mood. “You think you’re clever, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, leaning closer, and pressing a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Now, let me make you a deal.”

He arched a brow. “I’m listenin’.”

“You come to sit down and rest that arm of yours,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “and I’ll take care of the fire.”

“You?” he asked, his voice skeptical but not unkind.

“Me,” she replied confidently, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Trust me, Buck. I’ve got this.”

He hesitated, and his jaw worked as he weighed his pride against the undeniable ache in his arm. Finally, he exhaled a slow breath and nodded. “Alright,” he muttered gruffly,  but his tone was tinged with reluctant gratitude. “But if you need help-”

“I’ll call for my big, strong lumberjack,” she teased, brushing another kiss against his cheek before stepping back toward the fireplace.

The thing was, she’d anticipated this exact scenario. Having grown up with the conveniences of city living, she’d given in to her practical instincts at the general store and bought a couple of ignition discs, just in case. No fuss, no frustration. Just place them under the wood, light them, and voilà.

She crouched near the hearth, arranging the wood carefully before sliding one of the discs into place. With a quick flick of the lighter, the flame caught instantly, spreading evenly and licking at the dry kindling.

Behind her, she heard the sound of a chair scraping softly against the floor. She glanced back to find Bucky standing there, arms crossed, one brow quirked as he watched the flames come to life.

“Couldn’t you, you know… have told me sooner you had those?” he asked, with a mix of curiosity and mild exasperation.

She straightened, dusting her hands off on her jeans as she met his gaze deadpan. “Well, you weren’t exactly in the mood for more interventions earlier.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as his lips tugged into a wry, self-aware smile. “Fair point,” he muttered, slumping his shoulders slightly. “I’m sorry... again.”

She stepped closer, brushing her hand lightly against his arm. “It’s okay, Buck. We’re here now. Fire’s going, and we’ll be warm in no time.”

He nodded, easing the tension in his posture as he let out a slow breath. “Alright,” he glanced toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you let me take care of dinner? You’ve already done enough. I’ll check it, stir it, and whatever else it needs.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, cutting her off before she could get the words out.

“And you,” he continued, his tone firm but warm, “are going to take a shower and relax. You’ve done more than enough already.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, her hands resting on her hips. “Bucky, I don’t mind helping finishing-”

“I know you don’t,” he said, stepping closer and dipping his head to meet her gaze. “But I want to do this. You’ve been running around taking care of everything since we got here. Let me handle this, darlin’.”

Finally, she let out a soft sigh, quirking her lips into a faint smile. “Alright, fine,” she relented.

With that, she headed toward the small bathroom, and soon the faint sound of falling water filled the cabin. Bucky moved to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he inspected the bubbling pot on the stove. He stirred it slowly, tasting the broth and deciding in record time it was ready. With a satisfied nod, he turned off the burner, set the lid in place, and leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the warmth from the stove soothe his thoughts.

She wasn’t the only one who got to pull sneaky moves, he decided, and he figured it was about time to even the score.

Quietly, he walked toward the bathroom, his footsteps oh so soft against the wooden floor. As he moved, he peeled off his sweater and undershirt, letting them fall into a pile near the bedroom door. His boots and socks followed, then his jeans, until he was down to nothing but a faint smirk as he reached the bathroom door.

The faint creak of the hinges went unnoticed, her voice carrying softly over the sound of the running water. She was singing along to a tune playing on her phone.

The flimsy shower curtain barely masked her silhouette, and he stepped closer, his shadow looming behind it as he reached for the edge.

She didn’t notice a thing, too lost in her song to hear the quiet rustle of the curtain rings sliding along the rod.

Until he stepped in.

“Bucky!” she squeaked, spinning around as the cool air rushed in with him.

He grinned, utterly unrepentant as he crowded into the small space, warm water splashing over his chest. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Figured I’d save some water. Also, thought you liked surprises, like that little ambush in the kitchen” he murmured, as his hands found her waist, pulling her closer under the spray.

Before she could come up with a witty response, he dipped his head and captured her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His touch was unhurried but thorough as his hands started to explore the soft, already-soaped curves of her body with an ease that made her toes curl.

She gasped softly against his mouth, curling her fingers instinctively into his damp hair, pulling him closer. Bucky,” she murmured between kisses, though the protest in her tone was faint.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, then down the column of her neck, leaving a warm path against her slick skin.

“This is...” She paused, her words faltering as his hands slid lower, steadying her against the slippery tiles.

“This is me,” he murmured, his voice deep and gravelly, “making up for being an ass earlier.”

A soft laugh escaped her, while her breasts brushed against him as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “This how you apologize?”

He smiled, tracing lazy circles against her hip with his thumb. “Depends,” he drawled. “You acceptin’ it?”

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a slow, teasing smile as her fingers trailed down his chest. “Hmm,” she mused, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know... You were kind of a grump earlier.”

His smirk faltered just slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “Yeah,” he admitted softly, his hand tightening gently on her waist. “I was.”

Her heart softened at his honesty, her teasing tone giving way to something gentler. “You know, all you had to do was talk to me,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly up over his collarbone.

“I know,” he murmured, lowering his gaze for a moment. “I just... get in my head sometimes. Don’t mean to take it out on you.”

She cupped his jaw, guiding his eyes back to hers, brushing her thumb against the faint stubble on his cheek. “I know that, Buck. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself. I’m here. Let me be here, okay?”

He held her gaze and slowly he nodded, leaning into her touch. “Okay,” he whispered, the word heavy with unspoken gratitude.

Her smile widened, and she leaned up to press a soft kiss on his lips. “Good,” she murmured against his mouth.

When she started to pull back, he caught her by the waist, his half smile returning as he lowered his voice to a playful murmur. “Still haven’t said if you’re acceptin’ my apology, though.”

She laughed softly, sliding her hands back up to his shoulders. “I guess I could be persuaded.”

“Persuaded, huh?” he murmured, leaning in until their foreheads brushed, his lips barely a breath away from hers. “Guess I better try harder.”

“That so?” she whispered, her voice trembling with amusement and anticipation.

“Mm-hmm,” he rumbled, sliding his hands up her slick back, pulling her closer under the warm spray. “Wouldn’t want to leave any doubt.” He captured her mouth and fisted her hair with one hand, while the other roamed down her back to squeeze the curve of her ass. He broke the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jawline, nipping and sucking at her sensitive skin. “Think I can convince you?” he breathed against her ear, as he started to grind his hardening cock against her stomach.

“Uhuh, for starters you were the one who booked this cabin for us to be alone. That adds some points.” She conceded, biting her lip.

“Let’s see if I can score some more”. With a sudden move, he spun her around, pinning her against the tile wall. The cool surface of the tiles against her nipples contrasted sharply with the heat of his body at her back, and she shivered.

She gasped, feeling his full awakened cock pressing against her, as the water drippled over their bodies. "Such a naughty lumberjack" she teased, arching her back slightly to grind against him. “To think you get all flustered and awkward on a daily basis, and then…”

“...and then I let loose like this” he growled, punctuating the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, grinding his thick length against her ass. He slid up a hand to flick his thumb over one of her nipples as he leaned in to nip at her neck. “Guess I've got two sides to me, sweetheart”. His free hand slid down to cup her pussy possessively, spreading her open and rubbing his fingers on her wet folds.

“Yes, you do" she moaned, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck. "I love both sides of you, Buck. The sweet, grumpy boyfriend, and the passionate lover". She rocked her hips into his touch, soaking his fingers with her slick. "Please” she whined, pressing her rear against his aching cock.

He groaned at her words and bit down gently on her neck. “Patience, darlin’. We’ve got all night” he rasped, even as his fingers continued their torturous dance, circling her clit before dipping inside her. As much as he wanted to bury himself balls-deep in her right now, he also craved the slow burn of building pleasure between them. He knew just how to tease her, how to make her squirm and beg without ever quite reaching the edge. “Look at you, so wet and needy already”, he praised, adding a third finger to stretch her further as he pumped them in and out of her tight heat. “Tell me what you want, sugar”

“Oh god, Bucky please...” she pleaded, riding his hand shamelessly, chasing her release, desperate for friction, for more penetration, for anything that get her closer to-

With a low chuckle, he withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and aching. He turned off the shower and lifted her effortlessly, carrying her out of the bathroom and towards the creaky bed awaiting them. As he laid her down, a little rougher than intended, he stood at the foot of the mattress, raking over her splayed form with appreciation. A smug smile curved his lips as he watched her squirm restlessly, trying to close the distance between them. “Not yet, sweetheart” he crooned, his voice husky with promise. “First, I need to taste you.”

Her body thrummed with pent-up desire as she gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Her pussy clenched at his words, and a whimper escaped her parted lips. "Please, Bucky" she begged, spreading her thighs wider in silent invitation.

His gaze dropped to her exposed folds, and he swallowed hard, fighting the urge to plunge straight inside her. Instead, he crawled onto the bed and leaned down, dragging his tongue up her slit, to swirl it around her needy clit.

She cried out, and her back arched off the mattress as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more contact. He hummed in approval and repeated the motion, increasing the pressure and speed as he worked her higher. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her still as he feasted on her, alternating between gentle laps and firm sucks on her clit. Just when she teetered on the edge, he pulled back, leaving her panting and desperate. “So close, aren't we, darlin’? With a wicked grin, he positioned himself between her thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging her entrance. Ready to leap?”

“If this is your way to ask for apologies, let me tell you-“ she was interrupted by his thick length spearing into her in one smooth stroke, making her cry out.

He stilled for a moment, savoring the sensation, before slowly withdrawing until just the tip remained inside her. Then, with a powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt once more. This time, he set a relentless pace, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her entire body. “Take it, sweetheart. Take everything I've got for you,” he groaned, as the headboard collided dangerously against the wooden wall again and again.

"Yes yes yes!!" she screamed as he struck her sweet spot repeatedly, digging her nails into his back as her inner muscles clenched wildly around his thickness. She was so close, the tension inside her building to a fever pitch, until finally, she came undone beneath him, milking his cock as he continued to thrust, prolonging her ecstasy. ”Bucky! Oh god, Bucky!”

“Gonna fill you up, darlin’”, he snarled, snapping his hips faster, going deeper as he neared the edge. “Fuck, you're squeezing me so good. So fucking tight and wet, just for me.” He praised, each word punctuated by a harsh slap of flesh against flesh. “Can't hold back anymore baby, I gotta-”. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let go, emptying himself inside her willing pussy. For several moments, he remained frozen, savoring the sensation, until finally, with a soft groan he collapsed on top of her, his body heavy but comforting as his chest heaved against hers. His damp hair clung to his cheeks, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

After a long quiet stretch, she brushed her lips against his temple, “Hey.”

He grunted in response, low and muffled against her neck.

“How’s your arm?” she asked, brushing her fingers gently over his shoulder, breaking through the haze of contentment.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes. His blue gaze was soft, still clouded with lingering post-coital bliss and a flicker of surprise there too, as if he hadn’t expected her to bring it up now.

“’S’ fine,” he said, “Doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“You sure? No lying to me, handsome.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shifting his weight as he propped himself up on his forearms. “I’m sure,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead tenderly. “You’re good at distracting me.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she shook her head. “Bucky,” she said softly, her tone turning serious. “I mean it. If it’s hurting, you need to let me know.”

He sighed, dropping his forehead against hers. “It’s alright,” he promised, his voice more earnest now. “Doesn’t hurt like it did earlier. Just... aches a little.”

“Alright,” she said, brushing her fingers soothingly along his arm. “Because maybe I’ve packed some oil for a sexy massage... just in case you needed it.”

Bucky froze for a beat, raising his brows slightly as he lifted his head to look at her. The surprise in his expression quickly gave way to a bloomed blush. “Oh, yeah?”

She grinned, “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. You know, for emergencies.” she added teasingly.

“Emergencies,” he repeated.

She nodded, keeping her expression straight despite the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Of course. A good partner always thinks ahead. But I don’t see you very into it, maybe you don’t wanna-”

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbled promptly, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him so she sprawled across his chest. “I’d be a fool to turn down an offer like that.”

“Smart man,” she teased, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his lips before slipping out of bed to rummage through her bag. “Stay put, honey.”

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite hear. When she turned back, bottle in hand, his gaze darted to it briefly before flicking back to her face, with a mix of amusement and lingering flustered disbelief. “Darlin’ you spoil me too much”

“Oh, and I plan to keep doing so. Now, roll over and relax.” She playfully ordered. When he complied, she straddled his waist. Her hands started moving expertly over his skin, spreading the warmed oil on his shoulders and upper back and the tension in his muscles slowly began to melt away as her thumbs pressed into the knots, working them loose with deliberate care.

He let out a low, contented groan, turning his head slightly to rest on his folded arms. “Really, you didn’t have to go all out like this,” he murmured, but even he faintly protested, his voice was thick with relaxation.

“Oh, I definitely did,” she teased lightly, moving her hands to his biceps, carefully avoiding his left elbow.

As her hands continued their soothing path, he silently thanked whatever twist of fate had brought her into his life.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer To Home (Part 2)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: Somewhere between stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the careful way he protects your space, Bucky Barnes has quietly claimed a part of your heart. His brooding silence gives way to tender moments in the warmth of your apartment on a snowy night, where shared vulnerabilities reveal the man behind the soldier. Slowly, you navigate the spaces between his old-fashioned values and your modern perspective, learning each other one touch, one laugh, and one unspoken promise at a time. As trust deepens and emotions stir, the fragile connection you’ve built feels both delicate and undeniable—something neither of you is ready to let slip away.

Word Count: 12.4k

A/N: Took me long enough and 3 different tries, but here it is - part 2 of 'Closer to Home'. These babies have been my favourite to write and I truly hope you guys enjoy reading them. Let me know if there's anything else from their growing relationship you might want to see... I might have a few tricks up my sleeve as well. B xx

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Your knock on the office door echoes in the quiet space, instantly drawing both Sam’s and Bucky’s heads toward you. Sam is leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, but it’s Bucky’s steel-blue gaze that settles on you, pinning you in place. His expression is guarded as always, though the faintest flicker of curiosity softens the edges.

Across the room, Bucky sits hunched over a stack of papers—your papers. They contain the latest intel on a Hydra facility buried somewhere in the European countryside. You know every word, every detail in those documents because you wrote them. You also know the information will keep him tethered to the desk for far longer than he deserves. A twist of guilt knots in your chest, but you push it down as you step inside.

“You guys hate me yet?” Your attempt at humor comes out tentative, your eyes flicking between Sam and Bucky.

“We might,” Sam quips, his shoulders rising and falling in a mock shrug.

“Will coffee make you hate me less?” You bite your bottom lip, stepping further into the room. In your hands, two mugs of freshly poured coffee send thin streams of steam curling upward. You extend them as if they’re offerings of penance.

Sam’s grin widens, but your focus is on Bucky.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but his lips twitch in amusement. You’ve come to recognize this look ever since that night at your apartment—the night everything shifted between you. He’s still Bucky: quiet, brooding, and wrapped in layers of steel, but you’ve managed to find a way through. A small, vulnerable crack he seems to leave open just for you.

“Wilson,” you say, stepping toward Sam and setting the mug down in front of him.

“Thanks, agent,” Sam teases, the title rolling off his tongue with exaggerated weight.

You shake your head but let out a soft laugh. Then, heart thumping just a little harder, you turn toward Bucky. His gaze hasn’t left you, and the air between you suddenly feels heavier.

Taking a steadying breath, you move closer and place the second mug on the table in front of him. You lean in slightly, cheeks warming under his steady gaze. “Mr. Barnes,” you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of teasing formality.

Bucky’s lips curve into a barely-there smile, but it reaches his eyes. “Thanks, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough like gravel, but there’s a warmth in it that makes your chest tighten.

Sam clears his throat dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk. “Mr. Barnes?” he teases, his tone dripping with mock offense. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

You roll your eyes but resist the urge to exchange a look with Bucky. Neither of you had told anyone what had happened between you—not even Sam, who seemed to live for knowing everyone’s business. Quite frankly, you weren’t even sure Bucky wanted to acknowledge it outside the safe confines of your apartment.

That apartment had become your sanctuary. The kisses, the quiet conversations that stretched long into the night, and the comforting weight of his hand on yours had transformed the last six weeks into something you couldn’t quite define but didn’t dare let go of.

He’d been at your place in some capacity every day since that night. At first, it was under the guise of walking you home. Then, he’d talked you into getting on the back of his bike, wrapping your arms around his waist as he drove you to your doorstep. From there, it grew into more.

He’d brought you coffee and bagels in the mornings, like the good Brooklyn boy he is, sometimes adding a slightly awkward compliment about how you "looked nice today". He’d introduced you to his favorite diner, ordering for you with an easy confidence that made your chest ache with affection. He even showed up one Sunday night with pizza, claiming it was your turn to suffer through a baseball game with him because he couldn’t sleep.

And when the nightmares were too much, and he’d knocked on your door at an ungodly hour, you’d let him in without hesitation. You’d made tea, or sat in comfortable silence, or talked until dawn. Whatever he needed.

It was good. It was comfortable.

It was fragile and new, yes, but it was special in a way you didn’t want to jeopardize. You’d let Bucky lead the way, trusting him to set the pace even when your insecurities gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

Sometimes it was hard not to second-guess yourself, though. The difference in your ages—or as Bucky had once awkwardly phrased it, “your … modern way of thinking”—lingered in the back of your mind. You worried over every good morning text you sent him after that first kiss, wondering if it felt too forward or too casual for someone from his time.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way his past and his present seemed to clash. Bucky was a man out of time, still anchored to the rules and habits ingrained in him from decades ago. You saw it in the way he always brought something with him—flowers, a bottle of wine, even a book he thought you might like. You felt it in the way his touches stayed respectful and measured, his hand resting on the small of your back or brushing lightly against yours but never lingering too long.

You admired it, even loved it in a way, but it left you unsure of how far you could go—what you could ask for without overstepping some invisible boundary he might not have fully explained.

Would he think you were too bold if you asked him to stay the night? Would he be scandalized if you finally tried to take things further after weeks of holding back?

The doubts circled in your mind, but you said nothing, afraid of shattering the delicate balance you had built together. Instead, you let the moment linger.

Your silence stretched too long, and Bucky remained still, seemingly content to let you stand there, which only made Sam groan dramatically. He let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “Alright, fine, ignore me. What’s this about?” He gestured to the coffee mugs.

“Just a peace offering,” you said with a casual shrug, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your nerves. You were hyper-aware of your position, standing close to Bucky’s chair, his knee lightly pressing into your thigh as he shifted. “...in the hopes you’ll give me a moment with Bucky?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as his voice boomed, filling the room. “Oh no. No, no, no.” He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I’m stuck here till all hours working on this Hydra mess, cyborg brain isn’t moving an inch.”

“But Sam—”

“Nope!” He cut you off, raising a hand as if to physically block the idea. “I’m not doing all this alone while you two sneak off for… whatever.” His grin turned mischievous, and his eyebrows waggled. “Unless you’re finally ready to spill whatever is going on between you two?”

You stiffened, and Bucky’s knee shifted ever so slightly against you. You couldn’t tell if the movement was meant to calm you or if it was his subtle way of tensing.

“Wilson.” Bucky’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the air like a blade.

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the warning tone. “Oh, come on. You’ve got this poor girl standing there looking all guilty, and you’re just sitting there like a statue. This is practically torture for me. Torture, Barnes.”

You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped your lips. “Sam, please,” you tried again, your voice pleading this time.

Sam looked between the two of you, his smirk softening just enough to make it clear he wasn’t entirely unreasonable. “Fine,” he relented with a dramatic sigh, pushing himself away from the desk. “You’ve got ten minutes. But if I’m still stuck here after that, Barnes, you owe me big time.”

“Noted,” Bucky replied evenly, though his tone held a hint of relief.

Sam grabbed his mug and sauntered toward the door, turning back just as he opened it. “Ten minutes. And no funny business.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Sam was already gone, leaving you alone with Bucky.

The silence that followed was heavier than you expected. You glanced down at him, and he looked up at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said finally, his voice low, almost hesitant. "You could've just said you need to talk to me."

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you. Just us two.”

That made him smile—just a little, but enough to make your heart flutter.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, lifting the mug and taking a slow sip.

You shifted on your feet, nerves bubbling in your chest. “Bucky…” you started, unsure how to approach the growing weight of what you wanted to say.

His gaze never left yours, and after a moment, he set the mug down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, his voice steady. “What is it?”

Your heart pounded as you considered your next words. “I just… I wanted to ask if…” You hesitated, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “If maybe you’d want to stay tonight? At my place?”

The words were out before you could second-guess them, and your stomach twisted as the silence stretched between you.

Bucky blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment, which sent you spiraling into a rambling mess. “It's supposed to be a snowstorm tonight, and I’ve stocked up on everything. I’ve got food, beer, and… I even bought that whisky you like.”

His lips twitched, just barely, but he started to shake his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

His words were soft, hesitant, and his flesh hand reached out instinctively, brushing against yours. Without thinking, you twisted your fingers into his, holding on.

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” you said quickly, the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I want you to. Come over, I mean. You never impose.” Your voice softened, your eyes searching his. “And it’d make me feel better knowing you’re somewhere warm instead of that cold, empty apartment of yours.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his steel-blue eyes scanning your face like he was trying to make sense of your words. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe, or caution. You both understood what an evening alone might lead to, yet neither of you was certain of how the other felt about it.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

His gaze lingered on you, and then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed. The faintest smile curved his lips as he nodded. “Alright,” he said, his voice as steady as the snowfall outside. “If you’re sure, then… yeah. I’ll come over.”

The relief that washed over you was immediate, and your grip on his hand tightened briefly before you let go, your fingers brushing against his in a lingering motion.

“Should we go?” you asked, your stomach doing flips as Bucky pushed up from his chair. He stood tall, his presence magnetic as he stepped into your space. His arm sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Before Sam comes back—”

“Time’s up, lovebirds,” Sam’s voice rings out from the doorway, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Your head snapped toward him, heat rising rapidly from your chest to your face as you caught Sam’s amused expression. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, one brow raised in playful judgment.

“It’s not—” you start quickly, your hand pressing against Bucky’s firm chest in an attempt to put some distance between you. But Bucky doesn’t budge; he’s an immovable wall, steady and unrelenting. His arm tightens slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Not what you think, Sam,” you say, your voice tinged with panic as the words rush out.

“Sure it’s not.” Sam’s grin widens, his eyebrow quirking higher. “Should I just ignore the fact that there’s an entire vibe happening here?”

You groan audibly, closing your eyes in mortification as you drop your forehead against Bucky’s chest. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing do little to ease your embarrassment, yet the circle of his arms feels undeniably safe, comfortable, and intimate in a way you hadn't experienced before.

“Wilson,” Bucky warns, his tone sharp and commanding. The sound rumbles through his chest, and you don’t need to look to know he’s glaring daggers at Sam.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Just saying, man. You two are about as subtle as a brick wall.”

Your cheeks burn hotter, and you busy yourself with straightening the papers on the desk, refusing to meet Sam’s knowing gaze.

Bucky sighs, the sound low and exasperated, his fingers curling around your waist in a protective way, maybe even possessive. You can feel the tension in his body, the subtle shift as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“So,” Sam drawls, clearly enjoying every second of this, “are you telling me what’s going on, or should I just assume the worst?”

Your head jerks up, incredulous. “The worst?”

Sam crosses his arms, his smirk widening further. “Yeah. Like, I don’t know… that cyborg brain over there took advantage of this poor girl. That you swooped in here all broody and mysterious, and now she’s trapped under your metal arm spell or whatever.”

You can feel your face flush, your stomach twisting in discomfort. You groan loudly, throwing your head back in disbelief. Your fingers tighten in the fabric of Bucky’s jacket as you prepare a scathing retort, but before you can, Bucky beats you to it.

He huffs, a sharp sound that carries both frustration and amusement. His tone drips with sarcasm. “Yeah, that’s exactly it, Wilson. She’s helpless, clearly.”

Your patience snaps. “I am a consenting adult!” you shriek, the words coming out in a rush. The urge to throw the nearest stapler at Sam’s head is almost too much to contain, but you force yourself to stay composed. “Anything he’s done to me or with me was discussed and agreed upon. Not that he has… done anything, that is. We haven't, he--”

You immediately regret those last words, the heat in your cheeks flaring up even more as your stomach flips with embarrassment. You want to sink into the floor and disappear, but Sam’s grinning face makes it impossible to hide.

Bucky’s arm around your waist tightens slightly, as though sensing your discomfort. “Sam,” he says with a low growl, warning in his tone. “You can stop anytime.”

“Relax, man,” Sam replies with a wink. “I’m just messing with you. Though, seriously, you two need to quit acting like you're the only ones in the room.” He pats his stomach with exaggerated flair. “It’s a bit much, yeah?”

You groan again, but this time, it’s a mix of frustration and amusement. “We’re not doing anything!” you insist, hands held out defensively.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Sam says, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Just remember, I’m not as oblivious as you think.”

Bucky’s hand slips from your waist as he steps toward Sam, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “You need to go before I let her loose on you, Wilson.”

Sam laughs and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to… whatever you’re not doing. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He gives a dramatic wink before backing toward the door. “Remember—I know. I’ve seen the vibe.”

Once he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, you exhale, your shoulders finally relaxing. You turn to look at Bucky, who’s still watching you closely.

“I swear, if he says anything to anyone…” You trail off, the rest of your thoughts hanging in the air. 

Bucky just shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “If he does, I’ll make sure he regrets it. I have a vibranium arm.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the tension melt away. “You really know how to make a girl feel protected,” you tease.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his eyes are soft. “Just doing my job.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your job?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s hand brushes your shoulder lightly, his voice lowering. “To make sure no one messes with you. Not even Wilson.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his tone, and you can’t help but smile. “Well, I appreciate it,” you say, your voice soft. “Really.”

Bucky just nods, his hand slipping into yours as he gives you a warm, steady smile. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back with more jokes.”

“Agreed,” you reply, the warmth of his hand in yours calming you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

–

The wind whipped outside the car, but inside, it was warm, the heater humming steadily, and the radio playing soft background music. Bucky’s hand was steady on the wheel, his presence somehow grounding you even as the world around you seemed to fade into the night. He’d convinced Sam to switch with him - his motorcycle for Sam’s car, and that was enough to  shock you into silence for nearly the whole ride.

Even when you stopped at the fancy supermarket, it felt surreal. The aisles were empty, save for you two, which gave Bucky the freedom to drag you through the store with his hand tightly wrapped around yours. The shopping cart squeaked softly as it rolled, and you couldn’t help but notice how domestic it all felt—how comfortable.

“We don’t have to do this, Buck. I’ve got plenty of food for both of us,” you tried, watching him toss your favorite wine into the cart—how he knew that, you still had no idea—along with chocolate and even a bundle of flowers that had you laughing under your breath.

“Wrong,” he said with a grin, shaking his head as he held up two boxes of pasta. “We don’t know how long we could be stuck there. Could be days, weeks…” He paused, his eyes softening, then added with a teasing smile, “Gotta keep you fed and warm.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress your amusement, pointing to the noodles you liked best. He added four boxes, his expression never faltering as he gave you another quick look, one that sent your heart into a flutter.

The cart was full of the oddest assortment of essentials, and it was clear to you by now that Bucky wasn’t just picking things at random. Everything he grabbed seemed like something he knew you’d enjoy—or at least, he thought you would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he squeezed your hand, and you were sure he could hear it. “Buck,” you began, voice quiet but steady as you tugged him back toward you, pulling him into your space until his front was pressed against yours. The moment hung between you, thick with anticipation, and you took a breath, unsure but resolute. “I’m going to kiss you, and some people might see, so I need you to stop me if you’re not comfortable, okay?”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and his smile was shy but kind. He nodded, the slight tension in his shoulders easing as he stepped closer to you. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

With a nervous sigh, you rose on your tiptoes, tilting your head just enough to fit the shape of your mouth to his. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers gently curling into his hair as you leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, a soft exploration, but it deepened when you let your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself even closer.

The air around you seemed to disappear, the world becoming small, fading into the background as you buried your face into his shoulder, your chest pressed to his in a way that felt more intimate than anything you had known.

Bucky’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as his lips brushed against your hair, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

“I’m so bad at this,” he murmured, and the words had a weight to them that made your chest tighten.

“At what?” You frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your brows furrowed in concern.

“Dating,” he laughed softly, the sound a bit strained. “I used to be good at it. In the '40s… Steve used to hate me ‘cause I’d get all the girls, and he couldn’t even get someone to dance with him,” he added with a rueful grin, though he winced when you pinched his waist playfully.

“Hey,” you scolded lightly, “I don’t need to hear about other girls.”

His laugh softened, but his expression faltered just slightly, as if he regretted even bringing it up. “I know. I’m sorry. But now… now it’s like I’m Steve. I don’t know what to do, or how to… move forward.” His eyes darkened a little with uncertainty, something raw flickering beneath the surface.

You studied him, your heart aching with the vulnerability he was showing you, and for a moment, it was like everything else faded away. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this connection between the two of you.

You reached up to gently touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble there. “You were doing a pretty great job before you mentioned other girls,” you said, a teasing note in your voice, though you couldn’t quite stop the slight pout that formed at the corners of your mouth.

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he chuckled under his breath, clearly amused by your reaction. “Sorry.” His hands moved up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he tilted your head back slightly, forcing you to look up at him.

You were so close now, your breath mingling with his, the space between you charged with unspoken words.

“What I’m saying is…” His voice dropped, and you could hear the sincerity in every word. “Things are different now. You think and do things so differently nowadays. So, you might have to boss me around a bit.” He smiled, though there was a slight nervousness in the way his lips curled. “Tell me what you want, how fast or slow I should take things… I just wanna make you happy, doll.”

You blinked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. You could feel the sincerity in his touch, in the way his eyes locked onto yours, as if waiting for you to guide him, to tell him what you needed. The idea that he was willing to be led, to be patient with you in this way, made your chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft but sure, “I just want you to be you.” Your hand slid up to his chest, resting over his heart. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be honest… with me, with yourself.”

You could see the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as he took in your words. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and you felt your heart flutter at the way he looked at you—like you were everything.

“Honest, huh?” he muttered, a playful glint in his eye now. “Alright, doll. I can do that.”

His hands slid down to your waist, his grip firm but tender, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like every movement was an exploration, a promise that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. It was the kind of kiss that wrapped itself around your heart, making everything outside of this moment feel miles away.

Bucky’s lips hovered near yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his gaze soft but intense. “In the spirit of honesty…” you murmured, scratching lightly at the hair at the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the soft strands. “I really, really want you to take me home.”

His breath hitched for just a second before his brow quirked, and a playful glint flickered in his eyes. “Hungry?” He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at his lips as his nose brushed against yours.

You smirked, eyes glinting with mischief as you leaned in just enough to brush a teasing kiss across his lips. “Starving,” you whispered, the word hanging between you like a promise, an invitation, and Bucky’s grip on you tightened, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“Yeah?” His voice was low and thick, full of something you couldn’t quite place—teasing, but also a little desperate. His fingers dug into your waist, the touch possessive and tender at once. “God, you really are out for my virtue, aren’t you?” His smile was crooked, that playful smirk you adored, but there was a burn behind it that spoke to the heat building between you.

You laughed softly, the sound breathless as you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him even closer. “I might be…” you said shyly, your hands tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “But only if you’re okay with that. I mean it, Buck,” you continued, your voice soft but full of sincerity, “I just want you to be comfortable. And if taking things slow works for you, then I’m okay with that. But,” you added, your voice dropping an octave, the hint of something daring slipping in, “I’m ready for whatever you want to give me. Virtue and all.” You couldn’t suppress the playful, sultry edge that took over, but deep down, you meant every word.

Bucky’s gaze darkened at your words, the storm brewing in his eyes almost tangible as he stared at you. His breath caught, and something heavy settled low in your belly, your pulse racing as the air between you thickened. The bravado you’d carried, the playful energy you’d thrown his way, melted beneath the intensity of his stare, leaving you feeling like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t quite understand, yet couldn’t resist either. Just one look from him, and you were already lost.

Without warning, Bucky leaned in again, his lips crashing against yours with more urgency this time. His kiss was deep, demanding, but still careful—like he wanted to savor this moment, but couldn’t help the fire inside him. His hands slid lower, skimming the hem of your shirt, bunching it up as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your back. The heat between you intensified, your body responding to him with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little harder, hearts racing in sync. His voice was thick with desire, the playful smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was something else now—something deeper, something real. “Let’s get you home, doll.”

You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him down into one more kiss—a slow, lingering connection that sealed the words between you both. Whatever happened next, it was clear neither of you were backing down. Not now. Not when you’d both found something too good to let go.

–

The ride back to your place felt like something out of a dream—the snow gently falling, coating everything in a soft, white blanket as the streets remained eerily quiet, save for the hum of the car’s engine. The city seemed to have slowed down, as if giving you both the gift of time, allowing you to exist in a bubble, disconnected from the rest of the world. The soft glow of the streetlights cast long shadows on the empty sidewalks, making everything feel surreal, like it was just you and Bucky, in your own little universe.

Bucky carried the bags with ease, his muscles straining slightly under the weight, but he shot you a look when you reached for them, a silent command for you to stay put. You gave in with a small sigh, letting him lead the way up to your apartment. The silence of the evening was comforting, and the last thing you wanted was a nosy neighbor making an appearance to witness the soldier who had, over the past few weeks, seemed to become a fixture of your life. To your relief, the hallway was empty, and you made it to your door without interruption.

Inside, the atmosphere was cozy, the warmth of the apartment a stark contrast to the biting cold of the storm outside. You both settled into an easy rhythm, unpacking the groceries in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the soft thuds of the fridge and cabinet doors opening and closing.

“So,” Bucky asked casually, leaning against the counter as he looked out at the storm gathering beyond your window, “do you have a record player or something?” He turned to face you, a slight frown of curiosity crossing his features.

You paused, glancing over at the small Alexa device sitting innocently on your counter. “I have an Alexa,” you replied, giving a small nod towards it. “You know, it plays music and does other things.”

Bucky frowned, his brows furrowing as he scratched his chin. “What’s an Alexa?” His confusion was genuine, the years between him and modern technology starkly evident.

You chuckled, your lips curving into a smile at his bemused expression. “It’s a smart speaker,” you explained, walking over to the counter to give him a quick demonstration. “You can ask it to play music, set alarms, tell you the weather... all that stuff. It’s like having a little assistant, I guess.”

He blinked at it for a moment, eyes narrowing as if trying to understand the concept. “So… it listens to you? All the time?” he asked, his voice laced with an understandable wariness. The idea of technology that could constantly listen was something far removed from his 1940s mindset.

“Only when you ask it to,” you assured him with a soft laugh. “It’s not always listening. Just when you say ‘Alexa.’”

His frown deepened, but his curiosity was winning out. “Seems weird,” he muttered, as if processing this new information, then shook his head. “You kids and your gadgets.”

You smiled at his bemusement, the way his voice softened, betraying his playful frustration. "Well, if you want, we can ask her to play you something. Music from the '40s, maybe. Would be fitting for the snowstorm," you offered casually.

He stood in front of the Alexa as if it were an unfamiliar adversary—his posture straight, shoulders squared, eyes locked on it with the same intensity he used to assess a potential threat. It was endearing, even a little adorable, and it made something flutter in your chest.

"You just call her by her name–"

"It’s a she?" His expression shifted to surprise, and you couldn't help but laugh softly, moving to stand beside him, tucking yourself against his side.

"It is," you confirmed, smiling up at him. "You call her by her name and tell her what you want to hear."

Bucky eyed the device warily for a moment before taking a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something monumental. "Alexa," he started cautiously, the uncertainty in his tone making you grin. You watched as his posture tensed, like he was preparing for some kind of response. When the Alexa lit up, he glanced at you. You nodded, urging him on.

"Play ‘I’ll Be Seeing You,’” he said, the words coming out a little less sure but with more of the quiet confidence you adored.

The Alexa responded with a cheerful chime, followed by the soft crackle of an old jazz band filling the room, the familiar strains of “I’ll Be Seeing You” floating through the air. The song instantly enveloped the space, its soothing, nostalgic melody bringing a warmth that matched the coziness of your apartment.

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed almost immediately, and he let out a quiet, appreciative hum as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the music. You watched him, a little mesmerized by the way he seemed to let go, the weight of his past momentarily lifting with each note. It was as if the song had unlocked something deep within him—something soft and vulnerable—and you couldn’t help but smile.

He looked over at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost distant. "I used to hear this song everywhere," he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet nostalgia. "It was... everywhere during the war. The way it made people feel... like they were holding onto something, you know?"

You nodded, your heart aching with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “I get it. It’s a song full of memories.”

His eyes flickered to you then, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I didn't think... I'd hear it again like this," he admitted, a little stunned.

You shifted closer, your arm brushing his as you leaned into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. “I think that’s the magic of music,” you said softly. “It makes things feel familiar, even when everything around you is different.”

His hand found yours, the warmth of his fingers sending a jolt of comfort through you as he intertwined them. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper. “You’re right.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the music wrapping around you both like a shared secret. The storm raged on outside, but inside, it felt like time had slowed. All that mattered was the here and now—the feeling of Bucky’s hand in yours, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet comfort of being in each other's presence.

"Want to dance?" you asked softly, the idea slipping out before you could fully process it. Your cheeks warmed slightly at the thought, but you couldn't help the way your heart picked up pace, the romance of the moment beckoning you.

Bucky blinked, looking down at you with an almost surprised expression before that familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

You grinned, looking up at him. “I did it this time, you can take the next one…Remember, you asked me to boss you around.”

His gaze softened, and after a beat, he stood up from where he had been leaning against the counter. His hand reached for yours, tugging you closer gently. “Alright, doll. Let’s see if I still know how to do this,” he said with a quiet chuckle, pulling you close.

You melted into his embrace, the two of you swaying slowly to the music. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you in the warmth of the room. There was no need for words as you moved together, the silence between you only deepening the connection. Every brush of his fingers, every shift of his body against yours, seemed to speak volumes. It wasn’t about the past, or what might come—it was about right now, about this moment, and about the way you both fit together so perfectly.

As the song faded into the next, Bucky’s lips found yours again, unhurried and deliberate, as if the world outside had slowed just for the two of you. His kiss was a mix of tenderness and restrained fervor, like he wanted to savor every second, every detail. The slow burn between you deepened, the heat simmering just beneath the surface as his hand found the small of your back, drawing you closer.

You melted into him, your arms looping around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair with a confidence that belied the nervous flutter in your chest. When you parted your lips, letting your tongue tease against his, the quiet gasp that escaped you was met by a low, rumbling sound from him that made your knees weak.

The tension grew, thick and heady, until he finally pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes searched yours, concern flickering as they trailed over the goosebumps on your arms. “Cold?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle, as though the mere thought of your discomfort was unacceptable.

“The opposite, actually,” you managed, your voice quiet but steady, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky’s brow furrowed faintly, his gaze flicking to your chest, where your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of your ribcage. “I can hear your heart,” he murmured, the words almost apologetic, as though he didn’t mean to notice but couldn’t help himself. His flesh hand moved to your waist, loosening slightly as he stepped back. “Doll, what’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, the nerves clawing at you. Panic flared when he pulled away even a fraction, and before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out, gripping his dog tags and the front of his shirt to stop him.

“Don’t go,” you said, your voice firmer than you expected, though it still carried the edge of vulnerability.

His eyes softened immediately, concern giving way to patience as he stayed perfectly still. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you quietly. “But tell me what’s wrong.”

The warmth of his presence, the way he was so grounded, so attentive, gave you the courage to take a shaky breath and press forward. “You know… you know how we said we had to be honest with each other?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent reassurance that he was fully present, ready for whatever you had to say.

You took a steadying breath, trying to push past the nervous tightness in your chest. “I have to tell you, I–” You faltered, but the heat in your veins burned brighter, urging you to move forward. “I really, really… want you.”

You watched him swallow harshly, one hand abandoning your body to scratch against the stubble on his cheek and your hands loosened their grip on him. 

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” you added quickly, rushing to fill the silence, afraid of misinterpretation. “But… God, you’re really gonna make me say this, aren’t you?” You laughed nervously, the sound trembling under the weight of your vulnerability. “I want… I’d like to have sex. If that’s… something you’re interested in.”

The confession felt both freeing and terrifying, like stepping off the edge of a cliff and trusting the landing would be soft. Your heart thundered, your hands slowly releasing his shirt as if giving him space to process.

Bucky blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. He took a deep breath, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite place—somewhere between careful consideration and overwhelming tenderness.

“We shouldn’t rush this,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, each word carefully chosen, like he was afraid saying the wrong thing would fracture the trust between you.

His hand came up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, and the gentleness of the gesture made your chest ache in the best way. You nodded, already understanding what he wasn’t saying out loud: that he wasn’t rejecting you, that he would, if you asked, but there was no pressure.

Your heart, traitorous and loud, picked up speed again. His eyes flicked down to your chest, where the rapid thudding might as well have been a drum solo, and then back to your face, a slight frown knitting his brow.

“Your heart,” he muttered, almost like it was something he could scold into quieting down.

You huffed a laugh, grabbing his hand and kissing the center of his palm to redirect his attention. “Stop listening to it,” you whispered, your voice warm but teasing as you nipped lightly, teasingly, at the heel of his hand. “I’m nervous, okay?”

“There’s no reason to be,” he replied earnestly, his frown deepening as though he was genuinely baffled by the idea that he could make you nervous.

“Bucky, I just told you I want to have sex with you,” you said, your words tumbling out in a quick, exasperated laugh as heat rushed to your cheeks. “It’s a pretty big moment, you know? That doesn’t just roll off the tongue.”

That made him pause, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, though he fought to suppress it. “It sounded like it rolled out just fine to me,” he teased, his tone lighter now, the faintest hint of playfulness creeping into his voice.

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, smacking his shoulder lightly, though you couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “I mean it, though. This isn’t rushing—not for me. I want this. I want you.”

Bucky searched your eyes for a moment longer, as if trying to decipher some hidden truth, but there was nothing hidden. Only warmth, trust, and the quiet understanding that you were both on the same page.

“Okay,” he finally said, his voice low and steady.

Your stomach flipped, your pulse racing so wildly you half-wondered if you were on the verge of cardiac arrest. But before you could spiral any further, Bucky leaned in, his lips finding yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees buckle. There was something definitive about it and you practically melted into him.

Thank God for his arms wrapped firmly around your waist because you weren’t entirely sure your legs could hold you up. He smiled against your lips as he pulled back, a smug little quirk of his mouth that made your breath hitch.

“If your heart beats any faster, doll, I might think I need to call a doctor,” he teased, his voice low and rough with amusement.

You groaned, heat flushing your cheeks as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, though a reluctant laugh bubbled out of you. “Quit making fun of me and take me to bed..”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The walk to your bedroom was wordless, every step thick with tension that hung in the air like a live wire. His hand gripped yours, his vibranium fingers cool but steady against your clammy palm as you led him through the quiet space of your apartment.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound impossibly loud in the stillness, and the finality of it sent a twist of nerves through your stomach. You paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and turned to face him, your back pressed to the door.

Bucky stood there, his gaze locked on yours with a heat that made your skin prickle. It was the kind of look that felt like he was peeling back every layer of you, uncovering truths you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet. The air between you was charged, thick with unspoken tension, and you swore if neither of you broke the silence, you might actually combust.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” you asked softly, your voice barely cutting through the stillness of the room. Seeing him here, in your bedroom for the first time, surrounded by the intimate details of your life, made the moment feel weightier somehow.

This wasn’t just Bucky stepping into your space; it was him letting you into his. It hit you like a tidal wave—this wasn’t just about tonight. This was trust, raw and real, and it sent your thoughts spiraling. Was this his first time being with someone since the 1940s? Had he been with anyone before you, and if so, had it been because he wanted to or because he felt he had to? Was he doing this now because he truly wanted to, or was he trying to make you happy?

You couldn’t bear the idea of pushing him into something he wasn’t ready for. Bucky had endured enough of that in his lifetime, and the thought of being another source of pressure made your chest tighten.

“Buck,” you said again, your voice steady despite the knot of nerves coiling in your stomach. “You know we don’t have to do this, right? If you’re not ready, or you don’t want to…” You swallowed hard, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I’ll wait. As long as you need. No pressure.”

“Doll—” His voice was closer than you expected, and when you looked up, you realized he’d stepped into your space, the broad expanse of his chest now just inches away. His lips quirked into a soft, amused smile. “We joke about you stealing my virtue, but you’re really starting to make it sound like you think I’m some blushing virgin.”

Your cheeks burned as you stammered, “I know you’re no Steve Rogers!”

That drew a genuine laugh from him, low and warm, the sound reverberating through your chest. The corners of your lips tugged upward despite yourself, his laughter disarming you in the best way.

“He’d hate that, you know?” he said, shaking his head slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes softened by the affection in his voice.

You couldn’t help but lean into him, your body moving of its own accord as your lips brushed his in a tentative kiss. “I’m serious, though,” you murmured against him. “I just needed to make sure.”

Bucky’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a tender caress that made your heart stutter. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to,” he said, his voice low and steady, his gaze locked on yours.

“Good, that’s good,” you whispered, feeling the possessive press of his hand on your waist. Your voice dropped, trembling slightly as you asked, “Can I touch you now?”

His breath caught, and a low chuckle escaped him, the sound rumbling through your chest. “Go on, doll,” he said, his tone a mix of awe and hunger. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a maddeningly light kiss.

Your hand slid into his hair as you chassi his lips, your fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you tugged him closer. “Thank God,” you breathed, the words barely audible before your lips crashed into his.

This kiss was different—deeper, fiercer. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, a declaration, and he met it with a raw intensity that left you breathless. His body pressed you firmly against the door, his broad frame caging you in. His hands roamed over you, heat and cold mixing as his metal arm skimmed your side while his flesh hand gripped your waist.

The contrast made you shiver, your body arching into him instinctively. His thigh pressed between your legs, the pressure slow and deliberate, creating a friction that made your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth found your neck, his kisses trailing fire along your skin. He moved with a purposeful intensity, his lips and teeth teasing your sensitive flesh until you felt your entire body alight.

You couldn’t stop the soft, needy sounds spilling from your throat, each one seemingly spurring him on. Your hands gripped his shoulders desperately, like you were anchoring yourself to him. 

When his hands gripped your hips, pulling you tighter against his thigh, your gasp turned into a sharp inhale, the delicious friction pushing you closer to the edge of reason. The strength in his touch, the heat radiating from his body—it was all too much and yet not enough. You shifted against him, seeking more, your body moving of its own accord.

Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel him, and your touch grazed the warm, firm muscles of his back. He froze for a moment, a quiet hitch in his breath that you barely caught over your own heartbeat. Then, in a deliberate move, he caught your wrists and guided your hands down his chest, sliding under the fabric of his henley and pressing them firmly to his abdomen.

Your fingers splayed against his skin, exploring every ridge and contour of muscle beneath your palms. The heat of his body seemed to burn through you, and with an urgency you couldn’t suppress, you tugged his shirt up and over his head.

You took a moment, your lips brushing down the side of his neck and shoulder to where vibranium met flesh, kissing the junction reverently. His hand slid into your hair, his grip firm but careful, as though he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or let you explore at your own pace.

Your lips followed the path down his torso, pressing kisses over his chest, across his abdomen, and lower still until you found yourself on your knees before him. His breath hitched audibly, the sound loud in the quiet intimacy of your room.

You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers fumbling slightly as you undid it, followed by the button and zipper of his jeans. The anticipation was electric, every movement deliberate yet tinged with a nervous excitement.

“Can you kick your shoes off for me?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

A soft laugh rumbled from him, low and indulgent, as he complied, toeing off his boots and kicking them aside. The quiet thuds they made against the floor only heightened the tension, your heart pounding as you pressed a kiss to his hip, just above the waistband of his jeans—a silent thank-you that made his fingers tighten on the back your hair.

You tugged his jeans down his legs, your hands brushing against his strong thighs as the fabric pooled at his feet. His fingers smoothed your hair, pulling only a bit to tilt your head back until your eyes met his. His gaze burned with a desire you felt in every fiber of your being.

“Come up here,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, igniting a fresh wave of heat through you. You glanced down his body, your gaze lingering shamelessly on the obvious outline beneath his pants. A teasing smile played on your lips as your fingers flirted with the waistband of his underwear.

His grip on your hair tightened in response, not painful but firm, and you let out a soft, protesting whine, surrendering as he pulled you back up. The motion was effortless for him, his strength a constant reminder of the power he held but never used without care. He gathered you against his chest, both hands slipping beneath your shirt to press against the bare skin of your back. His touch was searing, grounding you as his breath tickled your temple.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the clasp of your bra, the request making your stomach flip.

“You can do anything you want to me,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you anticipated. You swayed against him as he lifted your shirt halfway, exposing your stomach to the cool air. His lips were on you immediately, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the newly revealed skin, the contrast of heat and cold making you shiver.

“There’s a lot…” he began, his voice trailing off as his mouth moved lower, nuzzling and kissing the curve of your waist. Each touch felt worshipful, like he was committing every part of you to memory. He kissed up, his lips finding the edge of your bra, a faint smile ghosting over his face as he took in the delicate lace and mesh of your chosen set.

“Thank God for small mercies,” you thought, silently praising your past self for the decision.

Bucky seemed to share the sentiment, his nose brushing over the swell of your breasts as he let out a low, appreciative hum. “There’s a lot I want to do…” His voice was raspier now, tinged with a raw hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You can do it,” you urged, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation. When his hands finished pulling your shirt over your head, discarding it onto the growing pile of clothes, you finally gave in, letting your fingers brush against the front of his underwear, earning a grunt in response.

“Anything you want,” you repeated, your breath hitching as his lips trailed over the lace, closing around a hardened nipple. His hands roamed your back, steady and sure, and the fire in your veins threatened to consume you when he popped open the clasp, letting the garment fall down your shoulders before he pulled it away. “Careful what you promise,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. His words were playful, but his touch was anything but as he laved a tongue across the swell of your breasts, teeth dragging over the nubs eagerly.

By the time you were both on the bed, his underpants were the only thing separating you, and you were certain you had become an addict to the feeling of Bucky’s lips on your bare skin. He kissed you like he waited all his life to learn every curve, every sound, every texture and every taste, tongue dragging over every new inch of skin like he couldn’t decide whether he’d had enough or wanted more, just a bit more of certain parts of you.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire the strength of his body. The scars—each one a story of battles fought, of time passed—marked his skin like a map, telling tales of pain, survival, and resilience. You were pretty sure your need for him could rival his own - you couldn’t tire of watching the way he explored you, of looking and touching and tasting every line of muscle and stretch of smooth and scarred skin. 

Bucky exhaled sharply when your fingers traced the jagged line where vibranium met flesh, his eyes closing for a moment. His flesh hand was warm around your thigh as he spread your legs to fit between them, while the cold of his other arm supported his weight above you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You whispered, emotion clogging your throat as you gently traced the scar on his shoulder. Tears threatened to well up, but you blinked them away, offering him a soft smile when you met his gaze. “I always thought you’d never even look at me. You’re so... I guess I’m lucky,” you added with a soft laugh, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on his scarred shoulder.

He froze for a moment, a look of quiet admiration crossing his features. “Lucky,” he murmured, his hand dragging up your leg, your stomach and your torso to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I’m the lucky one.”

You couldn’t find your words as the heat of his tongue found your ribcage, the skin beneath your belly button and the inside of your thigh. You were dripping, shaking from head to toe when his fingers abandoned your thigh to drag between your parted legs.

Bucky eyes followed the drag of his middle finger over your slit and you gulped loudly, breathing picking up right against his ear. He held his own as he stroked you, feeling you out, learning you, and he groaned when he dipped a digit in, feeling you flutter around his finger.

“That’s good,” he praised, taking a deep breath. “Really good, doll. Doing good for me. You’re so–“ wet. You were so wet you could hear yourself as he circled against your entrance and up, dragging over your clit in a teasing motion that made you dig your teeth into your bottom lip. Bucky’s focus was razor-sharp, every touch deliberate and careful, testing the waters before he fully dived in. The way his fingers teased your entrance—pressing just enough before gliding inside and pulling back out—drew a gasp from your lips, a sound that made his eyes darken. He gripped the headboard with his free hand, steadying himself, the gears of the vibranium shifting to adjust, and the sheer sight of him above you sent a fresh wave of heat through your body.

Your mind was a haze, swimming in the sensation of his rough fingers curling just so, finding every nerve that made you shiver and gasp. His movements were maddeningly precise—spreading you open, circling your clit in featherlight touches before plunging back inside. You couldn’t keep still, your hips moving instinctively to meet him, chasing the edge you were desperate to find.

“I can’t—” you gasped, your breath hitching as his thumb added pressure over your clit while his fingers pressed deeper, to the knuckle. You turned your face toward him, seeking his lips, but all you could manage was a stuttering breath that burned in your chest. “Fuck, Bucky, please don’t stop—”

His weight was grounding, but his hand between your thighs was all-consuming, working you open with the kind of slow, purposeful rhythm that made it impossible to think. When he added a third finger, the stretch was enough to make you cry out, your back arching off the mattress as his palm pressed against your most sensitive spot.

For a second, you thought you lost him—his gaze was transfixed on where his fingers disappeared in and out of you, his jaw slacking as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He licked his lips, and his chest heaved with shallow breaths, his pupils blown wide in a hungry gaze as his thumb brushed tighter slick circles against you.

And then it clicked. You saw it in the way his expression shifted—his eyes darkening further, his throat working as he swallowed hard. He was feeling it too: how warm and wet you were around his fingers, how tight you’d be when it was finally his cock stretching you instead.

“Fuck—” The word fell from his lips, rough and wrecked, his voice full of disbelief and want. He shifted slightly, the volume of his cock brushing against your thigh, hot and heavy even through the thin barrier of his boxers. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Bucky…” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you tugged him closer by the back of his neck. “Please, please, baby, don’t stop—it feels so good—”

The groan that tore from his throat was primal, vibrating against your lips as he kissed you, messy and desperate. The sound of your voice—of your need—only spurred him on. His fingers shifted angle, finding the spot inside you that made your vision blur, and the sharp moan that left your lips was loud enough to make you blush. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worried about your neighbors, but the thought was fleeting as his movements pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your lips, the words sending a jolt through you. His pace quickened, his palm grinding against you, and you clenched around his fingers, your body tightening as pleasure coiled low in your belly and you reached down to wrap a hand around his wrist. “Good girl, that’s it… you’re close, aren’t you?”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you tipped over the edge, the tension inside you snapping as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he groaned again, his forehead pressing to yours as he worked you through it, every stroke deliberate, savoring the way you fell apart beneath him.

Your head spun, a dizzying haze of pleasure still clinging to you like a second skin. Your body trembled, every nerve alight, as Bucky’s weight pressed into you, grounding you back to reality. His flesh hand—warm, calloused—dragged down your side, leaving a trail of sticky wetness in its wake. He squeezed your ass, his grip firm, possessive, and you shuddered, your breath hitching as his voice cut through the fog.

“Doll—” His voice was low, rough, and you blinked up at him, lips parted, chest heaving. His eyes were dark, hungry, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, demanding attention.

Your hands, still trembling, fumbled with the waistband of his underwear, eager to feel him, to touch him. He groaned and helped you push the fabric down, kneeling between your spread legs to rid himself of the last barrier between you. You sat up, your hands roaming over his torso, tracing the ridges of his muscles, your lips following the same path, leaving a scorching trail down his side.

You licked the crease of his hipbone, your tongue teasing, and your hand wrapped around his cock, feeling him twitch in your grip. He was big, bigger than you had estimated, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he was beautiful, a vein running down the underside of him that made you want to lean in and follow its path with your tongue. Pre-cum leaked from his tip and his breath hitched, shaky and uneven, as you stroked him once, twice, the fluid slicking your movements, your thumb pressing to the sensitive head and making him shudder in response. 

“N-no, c’mon, doll—” Bucky’s voice was strained, his hips jerking involuntarily as you tightened your grip. “Don’t—”

“You just touched me,” you argued, your voice breathless, defiant. You looked up at him, your eyes locking, and he tipped your head back by your chin, his hands tangling in your hair. His kiss was desperate, hungry, his tongue claiming your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

The difference between his human hand and the vibranium one sent shivers down your spine, the contrast in their grip making you clench around nothing, your body craving him.

“I won’t last,” Bucky confessed, his voice rough. He bit your bottom lip, thensting making you gasp, before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “I won’t last if you keep going, and I’d really—” He paused, his teeth grazing your collarbone, his hands tightening in your hair. “...really like to get inside you.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you whimpered, your body arching toward him. “Do we need a condom? Do you have one?” you asked breathlessly, allowing him to push you back against the soft sheets. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he hovered above you, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

He hesitated, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he shook his head. “No,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against your bare shoulder. You could feel the weight of his frustration, and it made your heart ache just a little for him.

Gently, you traced your fingers along the back of his neck, offering comfort. “Didn’t really think we’d–” he began, but you interrupted him.

“I don’t have any either,” you admitted softly, turning your face to press a kiss to his cheekbone, then to the bridge of his nose, before finally capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “But I’m on the pill. Birth control,” you clarified, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze, even as both of you lay exposed to one another, unguarded and vulnerable. “And I wouldn’t mind… having you bare.”

“Sometimes I think you are trying to kill me,” Bucky breathed out, his voice thick with a mix of desire and exasperation. He pressed his pelvis between your legs, eliciting a soft whine from deep within you as you felt his length drag tantalizingly against your slick folds.

“I’m just trying to find a solution,” you argued playfully, rolling your hips against him, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure coursed through you. “Imagine how good it’d feel…”

He groaned softly, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t have to… I can already feel it,” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

“Please, Buck… stop teasing me,” you begged, the sound light and teasing, and it quickly melted into a moan as he pressed closer, his warmth enveloping you completely, his length gliding between your folds, the head of his cock bumping your sensitive clit. “Please… I just asked you to fuck me without a condom,” you shook your head at yourself, a hint of disbelief in your voice. “I’ve never done that.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, his intense gaze searching yours, admiration flashing across his features. “Really?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe the words himself. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, one that had lingered between you both since that first night: Do you really trust me that much? 

The question wasn’t just in his words; it was in the way his fingers trembled against your skin, in the way he tried to pace the both of you, as if afraid to make a mistake and ruin everything between you. The vulnerability in his posture was unmistakable—this man, who had lived through so much, was now allowing himself to be here, with you, in this moment of pure intimacy, and he wanted to be sure you wouldn’t regret it.

You swallowed hard, the weight of it all settling over you like a heavy blanket. Your heart beat so loudly in your chest that it felt like it was echoing in the room. Your gaze softened, fingers brushing over the rough edges of his jaw, feeling the tension there.

“You know I trust you, Buck,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “Right?”

The space between you closed and with renewed urgency, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him to you, feeling the heat radiating from him. “Get in me,” you breathed, your voice a mix of determination and reassurance. “I want you in me.”

Bucky nodded, his breath quickening. You hadn’t quite finished this conversation - there was still so much you both needed to say - but you let your hand glide between your bodies, fingers gently wrapping around his cock to line him up to your entrance. You gave an encouraging and experimental roll of your hips, making both of you moan at the sensation, and he replaced your hand with his own, pressing forward until you could feel the pressure of him splitting you open.

“We’ll have to take it slow,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “I’m not sure how much I can– holy fuck.”

His cock slipped in, inch by inch, into your welcoming heat and your eyes couldn’t decide where to focus - on where you were connected, his length and girth stretching you little by little as he fucked in and pulled back just to press in deeper, or on his face. You saw seventeen different emotions rearrange his features, from awe, to torture, to delight and back to awe again as he watched himself sink in.

“Look at you,” Bucky breathed out, thumb reaching to circle your clit. “Taking me so well…” he praised, eyes fleeting up to yours. “Think you can spread your legs a little further for me, doll? Come on, just so I ca— fuck me, there it is, good girl,” he sounded delirious and you were pretty sure you’d too, if you could speak. He’d bottomed out inside of you, his eyes fluttering shut seconds later, the vein on his neck strained as he took in deep, steadying breaths. 

The burn was maddening. You could feel every inch of his against your pulsing walls, the sensation of fullness now overwhelming to the point of tears. You felt him in your stomach, and you could hear the wetness of your heat when he shifted, letting out a guttural moan.

“J-James—“ you breathed out and he shuddered, pressing him hips tighter against yours, as if he could meld your bodies together even though there was nowhere else to go, no more of him to bury inside you. “Shit, you’re gonna split me open,” you gasped, a bewildered laugh slipping out of you.

You watched as he pulled himself together, eyes squeezing shut to try and focus and find his own voice again. “Does it hurt? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, pressing a kiss and then another to his lips and you nodded when his hips rolled involuntarily. “Yes, yes, please… that’s what I want,” you nodded eagerly.

There was no hesitation then, no careful restraint. Bucky Barnes, the man who so often kept himself in check, was utterly and completely unleashed. The realization sent a thrill racing through you, leaving you breathless, aching, and yearning for more.

His hips snapped and your head rolled back, hands tightening around his torso as he picked up a rhythm that had yours toes curling in no time. In and out, he stroked your walls, his free hand gripping your body possessively until you were sure he’d leave bruises, which only made you wetter and more desperate.

“You’re so deep,” you cried out when he pressed in to hilt and took a moment to breathe in, no space between your bodies. “I can feel you in my s-stomach.”

“Would get deeper if I could,” he’s a man possessed and when you look up at him, he looks as pussy drunk as he sounds. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, doll…”

“Oh my g—“ You choke, head falling back onto the pillow, eyes on the ceiling and lips parted around a shaky breath. “James—“

His reaction was instant, as if each letter of his name was a strand of the thread you tugged, unraveling him completely. He pressed his face to your neck then, snapping his hips with bruising force, making your breath stutter.

“Say it again,” he pleads, his voice a raw, desperate melody you wish you could capture—something to cling to in his absence. It resonates deep within you, tugging at the very core of your being, as if he’s not just claiming your body but binding your soul to his. “Please, doll…”

“James,” you offer willingly, rolling your hips to meet his. “I need you to cum, baby,” you beg, pressing your lips to his sweaty forehead. Your bodies are slick with it as well, your hand slipping down his broad back and you close your mouth around his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin on your tongue. 

Bucky shakes his head then and he’s silent for a few moments, lost to the feeling of your slick walls. “You first,” he urges, pressing needy kisses down your neck and chest. “I wanna feel it… feel you cum around my cock.”

“Buck—-“

“It’s James,” he commands, pulling back enough so he can glide a hand between your bodies, his thumb pressing to your clit. “You’ll call me James when I’m inside you. You understand, doll?”

“Y-yes,” you nod and your face contorts with pleasure, a desperate gasp for air sounding between you as you try to fill your burning lungs. 

"Yes what?"

"Yes, James."

His touch is sending you barreling down the edge and no matter how hard you try, there is no holding back. You feel it, white hot pleasure burning hotter and tighter low in your belly, your walls clenching around his member until you’re shaking and unable to meet his movements.

“I’m gonna c-cum—“ you warned, grateful for the way he’s pressing you down, grinding and adding more pressure to your clit. “Shit, J-James, baby, please!”

He never stops. Not until you’re shaking and he can feel you unraveling around him, your orgasm taking over with a violent force that takes you both by surprise. It makes you louder, your back arching off of the mattress and into his chest, your thighs snapping shut against his sides as you unravel.

“Shit!” Bucky gasps, dropping on top of you, pinning you down until you don’t know where he ends and you begin, your thighs shaking and toes curling.

Your sight is dotted with stars and you can barely speak to urge him on when he crosses the finish line, ecstasy taking over with no warning. His blue eyes roll back and you feel and hear him thrusting once, twice, three times, until his cock is twitching and pressed in to the hilt, his warm cum coating your walls. It oozes out of you in it's intensity and it makes you shiver at the primal feeling of ownership it sends through your body.“Shit, shit, I’m s-sorry—“

“I wanted it,” you confess, your arms and legs wrapping around him like a human cage. Not that it could hold him—one tug, one flick of his wrist, and you’d be undone. But he stays put, sinking into your embrace like he belongs there, his weight pressing into you, heavy and grounding. He’s your personal weighted blanket, if weighted blankets were also devastatingly handsome and extremely good in bed. Not that you could ever say that to him out loud.

The room is still buzzing with the aftermath—your mingled breaths, the faint hum of your heartbeats syncing. He presses soft, almost worshipful kisses wherever his lips can reach: your shoulder, your collarbone, that tender spot just below your jaw that makes you shiver.

The silence stretches, comfortable and lazy, until you finally break it. “What a mouth you’ve got on you, Mr. Barnes,” you tease, your nails tracing idle patterns along the muscled expanse of his back. “I had no idea.”

He snorts, the sound low and gravelly in your ear, getting more and more common the longer you spend time together. There’s a glint in his eye when he pulls back just enough to look at you. “What can I say?” he drawls. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” you retort, your grin matching his.

His hand moves lightning-quick, pinching your waist with pinpoint accuracy. You squeal, swatting at him, but he’s already laughing, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest, crinkles by his eyes making the blue sparkle brighter.

“Careful,” he warns playfully, his lips quirking up into a dangerous smile. “Keep that up, and I might have to show you a few tricks up my sleeve.”

You narrow your eyes, biting back a laugh. “Big talk for someone who’s currently trapped in my hold.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Trapped? Doll, you’ve got this all wrong… I’m exactly where I want to be.”

[solbaby7]

I love the idea of the drink menu for the requests! It's brilliant ✨️

Could I please get an Old Fashioned, salt rim, neat? Take your time 💋

[ “no, no, leave your clothes on for me.” + smut + az ]

thank you so much for the request and being patient with me 💕💕the vibe of this one is giving situationship that yearns to be more, been watching too much scandal🫣

-> BLURB BAR <-

—

You’d learned pretty early on in life that asking for forgiveness was better than begging for permission.

It was just easier, usually made things less complicated which is why you significantly downplay the importance of the dress purchase that had half a dozen seamstresses prattling about your bedchambers. One of them promptly shoos Azriel away once they notice him eyeing the divider you strip behind, ushering him up and out of the doorway. He’s adjusting his pants when the door shuts behind him, vividly recalling the glimpse all that tight fabric and the way it cinches at your waist, accentuating the full curves concealed beneath. It leaves him hungry; wanting—salivating like starved wolves that scavenge through the Middle for mere scraps.

“Hot date?”

Azriel’s brows furrow, still a little dizzy from the sight of you and your lingering scent; his body annoyingly attuned to your own. “No, why?”

Rhys lazily points in the direction of your room, eyes trained on the array of chilled whiskeys at the bar cart before him. “The dress she’s wearing is designer—exclusive; one of a kind. Need to book an appointment a year in advance as well as having a good word with the owner type exclusive.”

“So?”

“So,” Polished crystal clacks heavily against metal, one, two, three ice cubes fall inside before a hefty pour of some smoky whiskey that’s been sitting around longer than you’d been alive. “They don’t sell a single dress without taking specific measurements for alterations, making multiple appointments for fittings.” The lack of response makes Rhys turn, fingers brushing at the crease in his dress shirt as he takes his brother in. Hazel eyes are clouded with curiosity, a million possibilities being pinned up on a board as the hunter within him collects pieces of a puzzle. “My point is, no male in his right mind lets the woman he wants go out in a dress like that without having some sort of claim on her first.”

Suddenly, it makes sense why people of power are urged to be of sound mind; to have a level head so that advice like that didn’t send one into a spiral.

Azriel quickly learns that he is not of sound mind. A harsh truth that he realizes seconds after Rhys leaves him alone to settle with those words. They echo in his brain, repeating in his mind like some curse that’s dead set on haunting him.

Sure, the two of you hadn’t exactly put a title on all the secret moments spent scuffling off to some dark corner for a few frenzied kisses. The times where group nights at Rita’s leaves two bodies disappearing out back for his hands to hike up some skimpy dress enough to get a good grip of your ass. But that alone had to count for something at least, didn’t it?

No way some other male would get the chance to see you how Azriel did, right? His hands twitch at the uncertainty—jealousy lighting a fire in his ass that has him bee-lining it to your room like he fucking owns the place.

It’s almost comical, the way your door bounces off the wall under the pressure of his palm once he’s finally reached it. Too bad he’s too honed in on his target to take in the true humor of six attentive ladies shooting daggers at the towering interruption that keeps making your arms fidget or hips shift while they try to work. “Az?”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, can it wait? They’re nearly finished with the—“

“No, I’m sorry. It needs to be now, it’s urgent.” Shadows are already following their masters will, urging the ladies out of the room and into the hall, the door shutting before their disgruntled words could breech the barrier. He turns, a speech brewing at the tip of his tongue but it all goes blank when he looks at you—really looks at you. “Wow, you look….wow.”

You preen under the attention, one arm holding up the bodice as you give him a spin. “I just knew when I saw it, it had to be mine.” There’s a few loose threads, buttons waiting in a little dish to the side to be sewn on properly but he gets the gist. Fully understands the intent of such fabrics when he sees it holding onto the shape of your curves. “Fits like a glove.”

“I can see that.” Grace is granted when you fully return to face the mirror, too entranced in the little details to even notice the way Azriel eats up the picture you paint. All soft lines and pretty shadows casted by the flickery golden light emitting from the candles you favor. Warm notes of vanilla and honeysuckle fill his nose and he commits every bit to memory; latching on to whatever he can of you. “A little skimpy for Starfall, don’t you think? Or is there a matching coat I’m not seeing?”

The cutting look you throw his way is felt through the reflective glass. “I’d never waste a dress like this on a familial event.” A neat brow raises as you carry on with your hair, hands holding it in a pony. Twisting it into a neat bun. Letting it all free and tousling it messily, lips pouting at the sexy bed head texture it creates.

“Then, what’s it for?”

“To get laid.”

Raw jealousy is injected into Azriel’s veins faster than he can even comprehend the attack. It shoots through his bloodstream, gobbling up all sensiblities while simultaneously planting seeds of doubt. Every inch of him goes rigid, lids narrowing and pupils dilating. Acid pools on his tongue, singeing through the words he speaks, “What gave you the impression that anyone else could touch you while you’re fucking me?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe, it’s the lack of exclusivity?” Mascara is brushed through your lashes. Lipgloss smeared across supple lips. “Or maybe it’s because I’m just too fucking pretty to be always second guessing why you won’t make a move already.”

A muscle ticks along his jaw, “I thought it was obvious enough that you and I—you belong to be.”

“Says who?” He abhors the way you laugh around your words. “Because, that conversation doesn’t ring a bell.”

Azriel’s shoulders shift, frustration lingering in his stance and you find yourself annoyingly attracted to the entitled way he begins to fill up the space of your room. Outside shoes sink into the soft plush of your rugs until he’s standing behind you, one finger flicking at your dress as if it were personally offending him. “Says me.”

A scoff passes glossy lips, a hand waving absently in his direction as if shooing off an insect. “Save the brutish male bullshit for a female who favors it. This dancing around your feelings thing is growing tiresome and borderline pathetic.”

You’ve gone too far.

The absence of his reply makes you sure of that. Too many seconds pass in silence, long enough for the mood to grow awkward. Lips part and close, the heat in Azriel’s stare too ambiguous to go off of.

Fingers fiddle with dainty gold rings held snug against your knuckle. “Az, I’m—“

“—In need of some clarification, it seems.” Every syllable comes out alarmingly even, forcing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand at attention. “Go to the bed and bend over.”

“…is this a joke?” You question over a tense laugh.

Not a single thing about him indicates so. “Does it feel like one?” He leaves no room for a response, jaw jutting out towards the bed. “Bend over.”

You swallow thickly, moving to comply while shimmying the dress down your torso.

“No.” Azriel’s voice cuts through like an arrow through the night, shadows curling around the curve of your shoulder, teasing through your hair. Goosebumps kiss your flesh, neck craning as your body melts to mush under his attention. “Leave your clothes on for me. You spent so much money,” Every step he takes is as silent as a whisper; the only way you can tell he’s directly behind you is because of the foot that nudges between your ankles, widening your stance. “Let me appreciate it how it deserves, yeah?”

He’s not really asking for a response but you nod along either way.

Anticipation burns beneath your skin, warms your belly, makes toes curl in expensive shoes when you hear the shift of his clothes as he crouches down to his knees. Shadows hold up the hem of your dress, preventing you from seeing exactly what Az is doing, but your imagination fills in the blanks when you feel his breath against the back of your thighs. "Pretty," The muscles in your legs jump at his touch, cool fingertips trailing up your calves, squeezing at the thickness of upper thighs while running his thumb under the fat of your ass.

You get the feeling he isn't referring to the intricate lace detailing or near invisible line along the side that concealed the zipper running from hip to rib. Not when he spreads you open, a deep hum rumbling in his chest at the wet sound of your cunt separating beneath thin cotton.

“Now there’s a warm welcome,” A hooked finger peels it away, revealing bare sex and dripping arousal. Calloused skin dragging against a sensitive clit has your hips jumping at the sudden attention.

Teeth bite at supple lips, a moan crooning free as pleasure licks up your spine—it’s not enough. You shift from foot to foot, heels forcing a strain in your hamstrings while bent over in this position but Azriel doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Beating around the bush, as usual.” He’s perfectly content exploring around with your sex, circling around your clit and teasing his fingers into a warm hole that all but weeps in rejoice at the attention.

“Don’t rush me.” Your throat rolls with a thick swallow at the authority in his tone, brows pinched with pleasure as he works you open. “A male can spend all day tinkering away with his toys if that’s what he pleases. Don’t you agree?”

It should bother you more that Azriel plays fucking dirty.

He’s just daring you to deny him while he’s got you so exposed—so vulnerable. Fingers abusing at a sensitive spot that has your legs shaking and pelvis bulging a little at the intrusion. Arousal pools in his palm, fingers coaxing your mind to mush; pulverizing all the fight you have as he works you to your high.

“Yes!” You all but shout, back arching into the orgasm that washes over you. Incoherent little babbles follow, choppy encouragements and whispered pleas for reprieve but all Azriel can hear is ‘yesyesyes’ ‘yoursyoursyours’.

Someone of his own to covet. To kiss and love and fuck and ruin.

Something like satisfaction coats his cadence. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

[lol a lil bonus part i couldn’t make fit but refused to delete]

“Pathetic, hm?”

A satisfied grin spreads along flushed cheeks, hair messy and lipgloss smudged. “You do your best work when provoked.” Something like realization bleeds back into your eyes and in seconds you’re flailing from his arms, slipping off the mattress and using the discarded dress as coverage when you rush to the door.

There’s a few seams loose, string hanging out haphazardly and wrinkles all over but your smile is bright—damn near dopey when you drop a thick velvet bag in their palm. “Final payment plus tip—the dress is perfect.”

“It’s ruined!”

“Trust me,” Fabric whispers as it moves, legs shuffling to tuck your frame better behind the door. “It served its purpose.”

[grandline-fics]

Hello! I just found your blog and I am reading everything that you have (while working🤐)

I have to say I am in love with your writing. You are amazing, can't put the phone down.

I would love to be in the tag list for everything that you will write in the future.

Also if you don't mind can I ask for the Promp "Conforting Kisses" where the reader had a nightmare of the getting badly hurt and they give them kisses to forget maybe?

If you can do it for Luffy, Ace and Shanks I will be thankful for ever. If you don't want to write it is okey💕

Hope you have a great day! 💕

Thank you again for writing💕💖

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Comforting Kisses

WARNINGS:  descriptions of injury, mentions of death. slight angst. hurt to comfort

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Shanks

WORDS: 1,340

A/N: Thank you so much for your support and this request! I made a mistake and mis-read it to think you wanted the reader to do the comforting. I also only managed to get something for Luffy and Shanks for this but I hope this is still to your liking and you enjoy how it turned out.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

LUFFY

He was so much stronger than he had been when you first met and joined him on the crew. Luffy had spent two years under Rayleigh’s instruction to ensure he’d never lose anyone else close to him again. So now why was he staring in horror, completely helpless and unable to intervene as you were overwhelmed by multiple heavy hitting opponents he’d defeated in the past. Each one got hit after hit on you, ignoring Luffy’s yells for them to leave you alone. As strong as a fighter as you were normally you were no match against these monsters striking all at once. You didn’t even seem to notice Luffy as he screamed and struggled to get to you. The Captain could only watch as your attackers fell back into shadows while you fell to your knees as a wave of Magellan’s poison and Akainu’s magma came crashing over you.

Luffy awoke with a shuddering gasp, limbs locked tightly and body trembling as the cold sweat broke over his skin. With every rapid breath he took, the images he’d just detached himself from flashed in his mind in the dark. Every desperate gulp of air just brought more of a panic, drawing him back to the darkest, lowest point in his life when he’d realised he was weak and couldn’t save his brother. What would he do if he lost you? Before a new panic could set in, he caught the sound of soft footsteps approaching. Immediately he was out of bed and approaching the door, opening it before you could even knock. “Oh, couldn’t sleep either Lu-”

Before you could finish your question, Luffy had his arms out like a shot and pulled you against him. Laying his head against your chest the sound of your heartbeat finally began to ground him, rooting him in reality and not the horrible nightmare that still clung to him. You’d initially tensed at the hug Luffy drew you into, not because of it being unexpected-it wasn’t given how affectionate he was with everyone-but because of how timid he seemed. This wasn’t a usual Luffy hug, filled with warmth and happiness. As you wrapped your arms around his shoulders you could feel the tremor in his frame and took note of how every so often his arms would try to pull you closer. Angling one hand you settled your finger’s against the back of his head, moving in gentle motions to help him relax from whatever nightmare he’d clearly had. 

Lightly you pressed a kiss against the top of Luffy’s head, a small smile tugging at your lips when Luffy slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze. It was reassuring to see he seemed more himself albeit still a little shaken. “Can you do that again? Felt nice.”

“Sure.” Leaning forward you pressed a longer but just as gentle kiss against his forehead, your smile growing to hear and feel Luffy’s body relax from the comforting action. You pulled back to watch him carefully. “Ready to go back to bed? I can stay with you if it helps.”

Unsurprisingly Luffy’s gaze hardened at the suggestion. He was tired, he wasn’t going to lie but at the same time he hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to have that nightmare all over against your offer of staying helped him greatly. 

Together you moved back into Luffy’s room and lay down in the bed. Taking naps with Luffy was never anything new but since starting a relationship with him this was the first time you were going to spend the night in his bed. As much as you didn't like the circumstances that led to this but you couldn’t deny how right it felt to lie in Luffy’s arms, pressing comforting kisses against his head as he fell asleep to keep his nightmares away. 

SHANKS

Shanks knew this image well. Loguetown’s town square filled to the brim of people, their heads turned towards the towering execution block and awaiting the procession to appear on the top podium. Overhead thick grey clouds quickly swept in and darkened the clear morning, rain falling heavily as the winds began to shriek. Shanks lifted his arm to shield his eyes, his gaze firmly on the Marines who appeared. Your name was shouted out for the audience to hear and immediately Shanks’ body froze when the two Marines stepped aside and you were roughly shoved onto your knees. 

Your body looked so frail and small on top of the execution block. Even from where he stood he could see the bruises and cuts against your body as you knelt, hands held firmly by the heavy iron shackles and chains. Shanks quickly began to push through the crowd, trying to get to you but for every person he moved out of his way more replaced them. No, this couldn’t be happening. While the two Marines drew their weapons in preparation of what was to come, another stepped forward to begin calling out the charges. 

“You have been found guilty for aiding and abetting, harbouring, and consorting with known Pirate Emperor Red Hair Shanks on multiple accounts spanning years. For this clear defection of the World Government’s rule and repeated alliance with dangerous criminals we can only treat you as a pirate and deem only one punishment is suitable; death.” Over the pelting rain and thunder, Shank’s yell for you was swallowed and you defeatedly hung your head. Your eyes slid closed as you waiting the swinging of the blades, arcing straight for you. 

Shanks woke sharply, a deep pit of ice twisting painfully in his stomach as his heart thundered loudly in his ears. It was so incredibly rare for Shanks to feel powerless or weak, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a nightmare and any that came to mind paled in comparison to what he’d just seen. He’d never allow any harm to come to you, in all the years he’d known you and loved you he’d made sure the Marines and any pirate rivals he had knew nothing about you. Glancing down he saw you sleeping peacefully against his chest. Logic told him you were fine, you were safe. He could feel your warmth and feel your soft breath against his skin but still it couldn’t replace the images of your beaten body about to be put to death. 

Knowing it was irrational and stupid, he couldn’t help himself. Lightly he spoke your name and gently shook your shoulder. Immediately you stirred, a hum of sleep thickened confusion breaking from your lips. Shifting so you were on your stomach you blinked through the haze and looked to Shanks in sleepy concern, knowing he’d never wake you unless it was necessary. “Shanks? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry love, really I am.” Shanks explained softly, letting his fingers gently move in soothing patterns against your skin. Seeing you awake and hearing your voice already doing wonders to dispel the hurt his subconsciousness had created. “Had a bad nightmare. Just needed you.”

Immediately your gaze sharpened enough and you nodded in understanding. It wasn’t often but anytime you had a nightmare and Shanks was there he’d wake and be there with you until you’d calmed. Now it was your turn. 

Slowly you pulled yourself up and inched closer. With a feather-light touch you pushed the stray strands of red hair from his face before caressing his jaw. Leaning in you pressed sweet, caring kisses against his face. You started at his eyes, paying close attention to his scars before moving to his temple, then the bridge of his nose, his cheeks before finally settling your lips against Shanks’ pulling him into a deep, tender kiss, clearing the remnants of his nightmare away. Breaking apart you lay your forehead against Shanks’, smiling when he lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing your wrist, a clear sign he was becoming more like his usual self. “When the crew and I leave this time, you want to come with me?”

——————————————-

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[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

My Lovely

Player 001 x reader [Fluff]

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

You had an expensive day, to say the least. You were tired, walking around and carrying all your bags. You chose not to bring a guard along with you, it wasn’t’t like you were a celebrity or high profile. In fact, you could guarantee that no one knew who you were, only the fact that you were a big spender. But, you knew better than to assume that your darling husband would let you off the island without some form of protection around you.

When you first met In Ho and you walked around, you heard him say it once; that you were literally the safest person in the world in that present moment. You knew for a fact that if he said that while you were walking through Seoul with him, then walking alone… security was tighter than ever.

“Babe!” You shouted. You walked into the empty room. You dropped your bags, the others would be brought up within the next 5 minutes. Not a single one of those masked men on the island dare to keep you waiting, disappoint, or frustrate you. They’d rather die than face the monster out wrath of your husband, their boss, the Front Man. You thought it a good idea to soak in the tub, to wash away the smell of being outdoors.

You could admit, you were spoiled, probably treated better than any form of royalty, and you knew it. You heard the door to your room open, not bothering to call out to your husband. You laid for an hour longer before getting out and drying off with a fresh towel. You did your skincare routine earlier than usual, but you didn’t plan on going anywhere. Slipping your robe on and loosely tying it, you walked into the grand bedroom.

In Ho was no where to be found. You ventured further into your enormous room before seeing him settled in front of large screen tv, in his large black chair, pouring a glass of bourbon. Today’s game was playing in front of him,

“Dalgona” you say, from behind him. “Who picked that?’ You snorted.

“I cannot for the life of me remember which one of those game squares sugg- oh, you know what, it was il nam who did” he said not turning towards.

“Honey, haven’t I asked you not to watch that wretched game on the screen while I’m home?” You ask floating to his side, curling into his outreached hand.

“Yes, my lovely, you have” he said, clicking it off. He pulled you into his lap. “How was your day, gorgeous?”

“It was good. I went to all of my favorite little market shops, I picked up some more soaps for us. I was running out so bought us both some. Some magazines, and I ran into the recruiter today. He sends his wishes.” You said. “And the malls, until I got tired then I drove back to the ferry to be brought back.” You smile.

“That smile tells me my bank statement has something that tells you bought something you didn’t consult me over” he smiles at you. You shake your head. “(Y/n)?” In Ho drawled out tauntingly.

“Nothing I promise” you say quickly.

“Then, (y/n), who is this?” He pulls a sleeping kitten from beside him. You were busted.

“Oh baby, just look at him!” You squealed, with excitement. “I couldn’t help myself, and he was the only one!” You tried to defend yourself.

“I’m not upset, and he is quite adorable.” He agrees as he hands your newly adopted kitten to you. “What did you decide to name him?”

“I want you to help me decide”

“Oh, so, I do have say in the matter!” Your husband exclaimed. “How about Wiseuki?”

“I think it’s perfect!” You say holding the kitten.

“What breed is he anyways? He looks like a leopard or a jaguar” In Ho says.

“He’s a Bengal cat… or so the lady said.” You reply. “I’m getting tired, join me?” You ask.

“Why would I pass up the opportunity to sleep with my wife?” In Ho asks, not really looking for an answer. “I fed him already, by the way” he said. You look at him sharply. “I read the instructions, made sure I did everything right. His bed it set up, litter box in that far corner”

“You did everything!” You say happily, setting the kitten on his bed. “The woman says he’s already potty trained” you add.

“Oh good” In Ho says picking you up and twirling you around before laying you on your bed. You giggles slowly dying out.

“So, how was your day ?” You ask him as he undoes his long leather coat.

“Oh god. Il nam, is stressing me out. I mean, that man’s ode to dying is crazy. On his death bed and he chooses to join his own games, granted he has the immunity from death but how are we supposed to cover every game?” He says, he walks into the bathroom to brush his teeth, “I just don’t get it, and his guests arrive in just a few days and there’s just more responsibility placed on me that I don’t really want” In Ho gets into bed next to you.

“I’m so sorry baby” you reply cuddling up to him.

“It’s okay, laying here with you at the end of it all makes it all worth it. Keeping you happy, being able to just live how we do but are reminded I am just a man that loves his wife and just wants to be with her at night.”

“I love you” you say kissing his chest.

“I love you, more” he kisses your forehead. Sighing heavily as he relaxed. Holding you close to him and entangling his legs with yours. “I love you more.

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter twenty-three: Beneath the Mask

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 23 | next

Series Masterlist

The evening was heavy with silence, the kind that fills a room like a storm waiting to break. You sat across from In-ho, your fingers absently tracing the rim of your glass, watching him as he worked through papers at his desk. There was a subtle tension in the air, one that neither of you had addressed but both could feel. It wasn’t the same distance as before—no, this time it was more like an unspoken wall between you. You could feel his eyes on you, every now and then, like he was trying to decipher something about you.

But even as he remained immersed in his work, there was an unsettling vulnerability to him, an unspoken weight hanging over his usually stoic expression. You knew he was lost in his thoughts. There were still cracks in his armor, though he tried so hard to keep them hidden. You couldn’t help but feel the urge to bridge the gap between you—to understand what he wasn’t saying, what he was keeping from you.

The hours had drifted by, the soft hum of the quiet night only broken by the sound of his pen tapping against paper. But you couldn’t ignore the knot in your stomach any longer. The connection between you, however fragile, needed to be addressed. You had no idea what this was—this pull you felt towards him, this subtle but undeniable thread of something more. But one thing was clear: you couldn’t keep pretending that things were fine when the tension between you both only deepened.

“In-ho,” you said, your voice breaking the stillness. It felt strange saying his name, but it also felt like the first step toward something more. You didn’t wait for him to acknowledge you before continuing. “I need to ask you something.”

His pen paused mid-tap, and he finally looked up, his gaze flicking to yours with a cool indifference, but there was a softness there now—something hidden beneath the hard mask. He didn’t speak, just gave you a subtle nod, waiting for you to continue.

“You’ve been pulling away,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “And I don’t understand why.” Your voice wavered, but you couldn’t stop yourself now. “What’s going on, In-ho? I feel like there’s more to you than what you’re letting on. You’re holding something back. And I… I need to know why.”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning cold again, as though your question had triggered something within him. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he folded his arms across his chest, his eyes now fixed on some distant point beyond you. The silence stretched between you both, thick and suffocating. You felt exposed in a way, unsure if you had crossed a line you weren’t meant to cross.

“You don’t want to know,” he finally said, his voice low, his tone flat. “Trust me.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a chill running through you as the walls around him seemed to rise higher. But you weren’t going to back down. Not this time.

“I think I do want to know,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. “I’m not asking to pry, but if we’re going to keep pretending like nothing is going on, then I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. I can feel it, In-ho. The distance between us.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—a flash of pain, fleeting but unmistakable. It was enough to make your heart race, even as he closed himself off again.

“Let it go,” he said, his voice sharp now, a command. “You’re better off not knowing. I told you before… this isn’t the life for you. The sooner you accept that, the easier it’ll be for you.”

But something inside you pushed back against that notion. You weren’t ready to let him shut you out—not when you could feel the depth of his emotions beneath that cold, calculated exterior. He was trying to protect you, but it wasn’t just that. You knew it. He was afraid. Afraid of losing someone else. Afraid of loving again.

“I’m not afraid of the truth, In-ho,” you said softly, standing up from your seat, closing the distance between you. Your gaze locked with his, and this time, you didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to protect me from it. I want to understand, even if it scares me.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. His eyes searched your face as though trying to gauge whether you meant it, whether you were truly prepared for whatever he was about to say.

For a long moment, the tension hung heavy between you, the weight of his past pressing down on both of you. Then, In-ho stood up slowly, his movements careful, like a man preparing to reveal something dangerous.

“You think you want to know,” he began, his voice quieter now, as though he was telling himself more than you. “But the truth is… I lost everything once. My wife, my unborn child. I thought I had a future. A life. And then it was all ripped away in the span of a few months.” His voice cracked ever so slightly, but he quickly masked it, turning his back to you, walking toward the window. “It broke me. And now… now I don’t know how to love anyone anymore. Not like that. Not after everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the confession more vulnerable than you ever expected to hear from him. The realization that In-ho, the frontman, the powerful man who seemed to control everything, had been shattered by a loss so profound made your heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You wanted to reach out to him, but something told you he wasn’t ready to be held.

He shook his head, the darkness of the night outside reflected in the coldness of his eyes. “It’s not your problem,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet bitterness. “I can’t let anyone in again. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not part of this world. And I can’t—”

“You’re wrong,” you interrupted him softly, your voice trembling but determined. “I’m already here. I’m already a part of it. And I’m not leaving, In-ho. Not because of this.”

For a second, you thought he might say something more, but instead, he exhaled sharply and turned away from you, his jaw clenched tight.

“You should go,” he said, his voice thick with finality. “I have things to handle tonight.”

You didn’t say anything else. You simply nodded, heart heavy, as you turned to leave. But as you reached the door, you glanced back at him. There was something different in the way he stood—something that hadn’t been there before.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” you said quietly, then walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind you.

In-ho didn’t follow. He didn’t say anything more. But you knew, deep down, that something had shifted. Whether it was a step forward or a step back, you weren’t sure. But you could feel it—the quiet promise that things between you had just begun to unravel, for better or worse.

———————

Chapter twenty-three!! Wooow let’s goo! More progress?? As always lemme know what you think! Thank you! :)

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[guppybibi]

part 2 to the johnny fic!

notes: this was pretty rushed,,,so it is fast paced..if u guys dont like this one i could always rewrite it! :3

taglist: @ennovi-9 @vvenus-child @msilwrites @tessakate @beatriceshadowmarvel2 @montenegroisr (for some reason i cant tag the others??) i'll try to do so in the comments

Grief was never an easy thing to heal from to begin with, so Simon has kept a close eye on you ever since. You refused to believe him at first, trying to pull out some sort of proof that you were with Johnny this past year but to your own shock, there was none. Not a singular one.

Luckily, Simon had a xerox copy of Johnny’s death certificate. The original copy was with you but it seems that it was burned to ashes based on the reaction you gave when Simon dangled it over your face.

But you really weren’t believing him, shielded in the denial you were holding tightly close to you. “Where’s the urn with half of his ashes then, eh?” Simon throws the question at you, his words unintentionally harsher than expected.

But he really doesn't get what you've been trying to convince him to believe, don't you remember spreading Soap’s ashes? He expected you to at least remember that part.

“The…what?” That was all you could manage to say right now, your voice failing you now of all times. “The urn with his ashes.” He repeats, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he intently watches your expression.

Simon starts to wonder how hard of a psychosis you went through, or if you ever took drugs after Johnny’s death. That would explain the hallucinations as well, there's no shame in it either. It's not unusual for someone to turn to substances during mourning, it's a common coping mechanism.

All Simon wants to focus on is you, for you to get better. Fuck Johnny for leaving you alone like this, the pitiful sight almost made Simon's face be a constant scowl.

Okay..maybe he was exaggerating but he’ll definitely throw a middle finger up to the sky later. Simon knows it'll probably make Johnny laugh his ass off…or worry. It really depends if he knew your current situation.

Either way, none of that stuff matters much. You have no choice but to be in Simon’s care.

He’s not quite sure what to do when you start crying into his chest the moment you two stepped into your house, no longer a home. He remains still, lightly patting you on the back as he guides you to the couch.

He’ll be here for a while, won't he?

~~~

It's been weeks since you've known about Johnny’s death, but the only thing Simon could notice was the lack of improvement.

You were rotting in bed, relying on Simon completely for you to do basic tasks. You spent most of the time crying and sleeping, an endless cycle that even made Simon feel like he was going crazy.

“C’mon, eat up, luv. I made you some soup. We're runnin’ out of groceries as well, wanna tag along later?” He offers, holding up the spoon full of soup to your mouth. Expectedly, with a disinterested look, you turn your back on him.

He sighs, putting the bowl aside. “Alright, I won't make you go but the offer is still up.” He says, pausing when he hears footsteps get closer and closer to the door.

It's…weirdly familiar. Simon could recognize people based off of their footsteps alone, but he simply couldn't place his finger on this one. As it got nearer, you seemed to notice it as well..

The two of you make questioning looks at each other. “Stay there, I’ll go check it out.” Simon stood up, making his way to the door until a certain someone pops out.

“Bonnie? Ye there? Git us some groceries.”

…Another shared look between you and Simon.

“Oh good, there yer are, lass. Simon? You're here too? Glad there's another set of hands then.”

Simon’s gaze moved to you, seeing your eyes water up with tears. But that wasn't what caught his attention, it was the hole through this…Johnny’s head.

[fontainexpert]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 — 𝙠𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙖𝙚-𝙝𝙤/𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧 388

ᓚᘏᗢ  kang dae-ho / player 388 x 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

ᓚᘏᗢ  where when lights go out in the second day, you and Dae-ho can no longer resist each other.

tags; handjob, cum eating, blowjob, not much dialogue. 2.8K

HELLO; this small smut was removed from my complete fanfiction on wattpad. The fanfic it’s called ‘CARNAL’ by the username of fontainexpert, feel free to read the complete story :)

ENGLISH is not my first language, sorry if there is any mistakes!

“Too hot.” 

You turned your head to the right, seeing Dae-ho leaving his space under the bunk bed, struggling as much as he did when he first went under the bed, as per Gi-hun’s requests. He got up, and apologized for startling you as he went and stepped in your bed laying right on his other side, getting up and removing his jacket. Neither of you could sleep, both still whispering to one another, but deciding to share the comfortable silence pairing between yourselves.

The scene of him standing in front of you, removing his jacket in such a haste made you stare at him up and down, admiring his body even if covered by the clothes. Supporting your weight by your forearm, throat going dry, lips feeling the need to be wet, allowing yourself to feel attracted and lust to the man.

Said man, as soon as he removed his jacket and allowed himself to breathe in relief, looked at you in front of him, watching the details on your face, as you looked up at him. For some reason, the same impure thoughts came back fiercely, your position on the ground not helping him at all. Dae-ho gulped, feeling his breath grow heavier by the second, remembering the burning hot feeling inside his stomach earlier, when he kept looking at your lips, almost caving in.

However, movement on the other side caught both your attention, seeing Junhee get up from her mattress, and clumsy walk to the front, speaking slowly to Gi-hun about needing to go to the bathroom, having Mr. Jang join her too.

You and Dae-ho looked at each other once again, resuming eye contact as soon as the pregnant woman left. He gulped and coughed a little, giving a small nod and crouching again to enter his bed under the bunk.

Before he could even try to enter, you stopped him. Heart pounding, you breathed and slowly stopped him from entering the small space again, blocking it with your feet. In response, he paused, looking at the feet in front of him, and then trailing his eyes up the legs, meeting your eyes.

Biting your lip, you moved the leg away, seeing him paying attention to each movement your leg did. Getting up from the bed, you got up on your knees and stood right in front of him, faces closer than before when playing Gong-gi together.

“Can I?” You mouthed, partially afraid of even breathing too loudly and having people know what you were doing, or about to do.

Dae-ho did not respond, instead, just fiercely closed his mouth on yours..

He grabbed you by the back of your neck, closing his eyes and connecting the mouths together as soon as you finished mouthing your question. A kiss so passionate and deep that made you want to moan out loud from the pleasure you were feeling by having his tongue fuck your mouth, pratically.

Melting into him, you interlock your fingers in his hair and pull a few strands, enjoying how his other hand travelled down to your waist, squeezing as tight. Dae-ho pulled your head back by the hair and started to assault your neck, sucking and licking the skin, biting occasionally too. Your mouth was open in a silent moan, eyes going to the back of your head in pleasure for the attention your neck received.

A shiver would run through your spine each time you felt his tongue trace each suck he would give under your ear; a tremble in your entire body each time he would calmly bite into the skin. Feeling his hand go under your shirt and caress the skin of your back; in response, bringing your own hand that previously was in his hair and grabbing his own hand, lowering it. 

Dae-ho immediately squeezed your ass with gusto, bringing you closer to him as he went back to kiss you on the lips.

He found it a good coincidence, how previously he was having such an impure thought about wanting to devour your lips, bite into the skin and have his tongue deep inside your throat, that now that he was experiencing it, he felt his cock twitch in want, making the confinement inside his boxers uncomfortable.

“You..” He whispered, almost inaudible from how low it sounded. 

You bit his lip, pulling the flesh and making eye contact with him, releasing it and watching as his eyes became sharper and more dazed as he looked at you. Both had one thing in common; how rosy and hot your cheeks were.

You turned the positions, bringing your lips back against his and grabbing him by the face. Slowly but surely, working silently, you pushed him on the bed, going on top of him, sitting right on his cock through each of your clothes. Dae-ho copied your position from before and supported his weight with his forearms, his right hand going from your waist to your ass.

One slow movement from your hips against the hard, big length you were sitting on, and the man was gone.

Dae-ho broke the kiss and opened his mouth in a moan that never was heard. Each movement from the hips on top of the tip of his cock, made him cuss inside his head, cursing that they weren’t alone to act and moan freely.

You positioned your clit strategically, sliding through his length, trembling in pleasure, feeling from the palm of your hands how he was also shaking from pleasure, pussy teasing him from the layers of clothing, hating to not be able to actually touch it. Doing a few movements of back and forth against his cock, you gasped quietly and closed your eyes in pleasure, feeling his hands squeeze your ass tighter, himself forcing your movements to be stronger.

Separating from the kiss, you supported your right hand on the back of his neck, looking down. Both his hands were on your waist as you moved back and forth against his length, and you could actually cry from how good it was to feel a relief on your clit. He traveled his eyes to your clothed pussy against his cock, and to your face, watching as your eyes were closed in ecstasy, mouth opening occasionally when feeling too good, and going back to bite your own lips to stop from emitting any type of noise.

Dae-ho clenched his jaw, frustrated and extremely horny, wanting nothing more than to pound your pussy until next weekend.

“Gi-hun, I’m up.” 

The frantic movements stopped, partially stunned by the fact that you both could be caught at any minute. In unison, the both of you turned your heads and watched from a bed ahead how Jung-bae rolled from his spot under the bed, and yawned. You both took the chance to detangle yourselves from each other’s position, and rapidly go back to your respective spots.

Dae-ho quickly and silently laid down on his own bed, and you went back on your own, laying down on the mattress, right beside the man you were, a few seconds ago, sliding your clothed pussy on his entire length.

With battered breaths, they listened to how Jung-bae went to stand by Gi-hun, and started to chat.

You huffed quietly, upset by the fact that you were cockblocked, and maybe if you were alone, you would have continued with your escapades, however knowing that you were not able to cum alone with only your own fingers, you doubted the man beside you would take the risk.

Controlling your breath, you turned your head to look at him, and saw him already staring back.

You breathed and smiled bashfully, being able to mumble a small “sorry”, hearing both men ahead of them talking in a volume that would certainly cover her own. 

He nodded. And the next second grabbed you by the arm, bringing you to share his bed under the bunk bed structure, relishing in your surprised gasp, but swallowing it the next second with his mouth.

To say that you were delighted with his move, would be an understatement. You wanted to continue kissing him even if it was risky. With a satisfied smile against his mouth, you swallowed his heavy breath as soon as your hand traveled down his stomach, grasping his cock through his pants.

Dae-ho closed his eyes as he felt your fingers slide inside his pants and boxers, feeling you close your hand around his pulsing cock. You felt the hot flesh warm the palm of your hand and licked your lips, realizing how you could barely, only barely, close your hand on his length. The man raised his hips and helped you to lower his clothes till his knees, in response, you whispered a “good boy” and ran your tongue in his neck.

Looking down, you see his cock on your hand. Heavy, pretty, thick. Watching as a drip of precum falls into his lower abdomen, the head touching it and making a small puddle you oh so wanted to lick and swallow. You have to bite your own lip, pussy growing wet and clenching around nothing, almost sobbing from the lack of attention, growing a painful feeling of need on her lower part.

Slowly making movements up and down, you watched with rapid attention as the foreskin on his cock would bundle up around his tip, and more precum would drip from his tip, trailing down your fingers and falling his length until his lower abdomen and balls. 

Dae-ho licks his lips, eyes hooded and breath heavy, mouth opening in silent moans and gasps, his control almost slipping from his own hands, wishing he could throw his worries in the air and simply get up, walk to any bathroom, and fuck your pussy untill you squirts all over him.

Alas, he was too shy to actually do so. So he would enjoy this as much as he could, which was too good.

He can taste a bit of blood on his own mouth after biting for so long to not emit any type of sound, but still, each time either Gi-hun or Jung-bae would speak even if a little louder than usual, he would allow himself to whimper exactly in your ear, enjoying how each time he did, you would squeeze his cock a little more, movements going up and down a little faster.

You press your thumb on his tip, biting your lip as the man under you bucks his hips up, tightly squeezing the mattress as a way to ground himself. His hair that once was in the familiar man-bun was now all spread in the pillow, giving a sinful yet cute image of his long locks free, yet his skin shining with sweat and hair sticking to his face.

His mouth opened against your but you immediately stroked with your tongue, slowly on his lip and entering his wet mouth, feeling him sink in the mattress underneath the both of you, his cock twitching nonstop. Momentarily abandoning his cock, you started fondling with his balls, smirking with pleasure as you saw his eyes roll to the back of his head, mouth gaping.

Dae-ho’s hips continued bulking up in pleasure, trashing slightly against your touch. When you heard the other two men talk a little loud again, you took your chance to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck my hand like you wish you were fucking my pussy.” And kissed the back of his ear.

He trembled, his thigh shaking from the overstimulation, feeling his cock grow harder and balls heavier with his release, being teased nonstop by you, who had him in a chokehold, literally. You tighten your grip on his cock, making him completely lose it, especially after he felt your other hand traveling down, going back to squeeze and fondle his balls. His hips doing movements of up and down, and inside his head, he was fucking your tight pussy, making you scream his name over and over again, feeling your juices completely drawn his cock inside you. He, unfortunately, would have to leave this fantasy for another hour.

And when you hear the other two men laugh a little loud, you whisper again.

“Cum on my hand. Let me clean you up.”

Dae-ho has to physically cover his mouth with his hand to make sure no noise is leaked as soon as he obey your command, cumming in your hand and his stomach, making a mess on himself but lucky enough that his shirt was lifted enough to not be sticky with his cum, and pants down enough to not get dirty either.

You, after he stops twitching and breathing heavily, brings your hand to your mouth, licking each drop of cum to not waste anything, eyes deep into his’, seeing his adam's apple moving up and down, swallowing dry. You finished licking your fingers, and as promised, went to clean him up.

The man was left momentarily stunned by the move, watching as you went face to face to his cock, licking any drop of cum that you could find, and for the first time, finally engulfing his big length inside your mouth, sucking especially hard in his mushroom-shaped head. You did some quick movements of up and down, almost moaning out loud from the good weight of cock inside your mouth, but considering that he already came and was now sensitive, you removed yourself quicker than what you wanted, and went back to your position, swallowing each drop of cum that you gathered with your tongue, savouring the taste..

You both looked at themselves, breathless and still listening to Gi-hun and Jung-bae happily chat. Dae-ho was the first to chuckle a little, still in disbelief. 

“Let me recover and I will return the favour.” He said, sighing heavily.

“It’s okay, I did because I wanted to.” You whispered back quietly, winking in his direction. Seeing his guilty and adamant expression, you faked a yawn that seemed too convenient. “Besides, now that my belly is full, I actually am sleepy.” 

You snickered, watching him grow red ten times more than before.

And it’s not like you didn’t want it too. Of course you did, but you knew that you could not be silent. So the chances of getting caught would be extremely high. 

When Junhee went back to her mattress on the other side, and found you awake, you both smiled at each other. You, on the other hand, as soon as you laid on your side and tried to get some sleep, you froze and the task of finding a good position to sleep forgotten as soon as you locked eyes with Young-il.