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twstinginthewind · 9 months

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Had a little private Secret Santa Story exchange w friends; by the luck of the dice, I got assigned to write a story for my bestie, @twst-the-night-away ! So, I did a Cater🧡Savvy story, before they get serious about one another. Merry Christmas, Daisy!

2100+ words. Cater-centric fluff just for Savvy, teeheeeee~. Cameos from the PMC and Trey. Music included in links towards the end. Happy reading!

A gift that’s uniquely you

“... and tbh? It’s not like I’m, like, actually competing with anyone? But it’s totes like a competition. And I don't want to come up short.”

The three members of the Pop Music club sat around the small club room table, deep in discussion over snacks and canned beverages. Cater idly adjusted the strap of his guitar, looking over at his clubmates with a pleading expression, and went on. “I just wanna get Savvy the perfect Christmas present. I’ve only got a week to come up with a real show-stopper. And I don't really know what I’m doing. I'm smelling a Top Ten Holiday Disasters in my future….”

“I think what you’re smelling might just be Lilia’s homemade trail mix,” Kalim piped up, then covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide. “Oop! Ahaha. Sorry, Lilia! I mean…”

The little fae chuckled, shaking his head. “No, it’s all right. I agree the feta cheese may not have been the wisest choice. It doesn’t seem to keep as well as the other ingredients. I only had it in the cupboard for a month...”

In a single motion, Cater and Kalim reached out and pushed the dish of trail mix further from where they were sitting. Lilia rolled his eyes at them. “That said.” He sat back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the body of his bass guitar. “In regards to your conundrum, Cater. While I do realize that the young lady you wish to impress is also receiving gifts from some rather generous individuals, are any of them approaching her with the same sentiment as yourself?”

“The same sentiment? I, um…” Cater’s face flushed red, nearly obscuring the diamond marking on his cheek. “Hehe. Well, I don't really know. But #AllsFair, am I right? If I happen to get an edge over someone else, sorry, but not sorry. I just need something really memorable, that Savvy’s gonna really like. Bonus if it's a ‘cammable moment, right? Something to look back on and def remember as one of the best gifts ever.”

“Okay Cater! That’s a great starting point!” Kalim bounced in his chair, smiling broadly. His eyes gleamed. “Now where do you go from there? Will it be a beautiful pet tiger cub, maybe? Oh, or maybe some breathtaking jewelry? A trip to a private island? Custom couture?”

“Easy, Kalim, easy!” Cater held up his hands. “I'm not exactly a one percenter, you know. I gotta work within a budget.” He shook his head, and tucked a loose strand of ginger hair behind his ear. “Besides, those gifts are all kind of…” His voice faded off, and he tapped his chin thoughtfully before continuing. “...kind of a big deal. For a really serious relationship.”

“And, I would assume, you are not quite that serious with the girl?” Lilia tilted his head. “I think I would have recalled if you mentioned having a girlfriend, after all.” His nose crinkled in an impish expression. “None of us have left our bachelor life behind us just yet. Unless you're hoping this will catapult you into the Taken Man category.” Lilia put a hand over his heart, and leaned towards his cheerful, white-haired companion. “Oh, Kalim. He's so young, and he's leaping into this romantic dream. Leaving us single men behind!”

“Does that mean you won't come to club anymore?” Kalim looked panicked. “Oh no, Cater! You're our best guitarist!”

“I'm the only guitarist, Kalim. But I’m not going anywhere!” Cater looked at his phone and sighed. “Aw, man. Club meeting time is almost over. Let’s get all this cleaned up. Listen, can you guys text me if you have any more ideas?”

“Sure thing, Cater!” Kalim bounced up, brushing some crumbs off of his sweater. “I hope you find something extra-special. But don’t forget us when you're off in Boyfriend Town!!”

“Some men never come back,” Lilia deadpanned. “But I hear it's quite the way to go…”

“You two are a couple of real pieces of work, you know that? Absolute knuckleheads, fr.” Cater slipped his guitar back into the gig bag and cleared some trash off the table. “Thanks for letting me get that off my chest, at least.”

The club members finished getting their space back in shape and headed back to the mirror chamber, bidding each other farewell before traveling to their respective dorms. Cater walked down the path towards the main hall of Heartslaybul, breathing in the thick scent of roses that always hung in the air. He was no closer to solving his gift-giving problem.

Another scent beckoned to him beneath the ever-present roses, and he let that guide his steps. Something savory was being prepared in the dormitory kitchen, an unusual switch from the usual parade of sweets that Heartslabyul was known for. His curiosity piqued, Cater stepped into the warm, cozy room, waving cheerily at a giggling curly-haired freshman who greeted him on her way out. Inside, he saw his friend Trey pulling a baking tray from one of the big steel ovens.

Cater dropped into a chair. “Whatcha working on, bestie? Whatever it is, it doesn't smell half bad. Maybe it’ll help me recover from Lilia’s idea of snacks…”

Trey looked over his shoulder and smirked, his glasses glinting in the warm light. “They’re for tomorrow's afternoon tea, Cater, and I’m not offering previews. But it’s cheese and onion scones.” He placed the hot tray onto a cooling rack and slid his oven mitts off. “I hope I got the flavor right this time. I was working on a couple of variations with Joker, since she was assigned kitchen duty today.”

“I saw her on my way in. You made her miss her club meeting, mister Vice Housewarden.” Cater leaned back on the wooden kitchen chair, balancing it on its back legs as he sat. “Not that we got much done, as usual.”

“Spent the time gossiping again?” Trey stepped behind Cater, and gently but firmly put his hands on the chair back. “Come on, now . You’ll break the chair.”

“Ugh, fine, Mom.” Cater repositioned the seat to its normal standing, then sat up exaggeratedly straight with his hands folded in front of him. “Is that better?”

Trey sat across from Cater as he straightened up. “Won’t earn you a scone, if that's what you were hoping for. What do you guys talk about every day, anyway, that keeps you from making any actual music? I couldn't imagine the science club getting so distracted.”

“That may be because you’re all nerds, /aff.” Cater relaxed his posture. “Naur, but fr, I was actually attempting to get advice from the boys. I know, me, admitting a problem? It's more likely than you think.”

A green eyebrow delicately raised behind heavy glasses frames. “Interesting. And here I thought you were maintaining that carefree façade campus-wide.”

“I’m getting less cautious in my old age?” Cater offered, shrugging. “It wasn’t THAT deep. I was just complaining about how I can't figure out a decent Christmas present for Savvy. You know, the same thing I bitched about with you last night.”

“You didn’t go for the water flosser? Shocking.”

“Again? The depths of your nerdity constantly astound and baffle me.”

Trey shrugged. “It’d be unique and show that you care. Ticked off all the boxes, in my opinion.”

“Except for it being fun, Trey.”

“I thought it was fun.”

Cater sagged slightly. “Yes, but you're definitely not the target audience that I’m aiming for. Think sweeter, cuter, blonder.”

Trey reached across the table to pat Cater’s hand. “I already told you before. The best thing to do, if you want to be impressive at this gift-giving game, is to give something that no one else can. Something uniquely Cater.”

This time, a ginger eyebrow rose. “You look at me and tell me; are you following your advice for your own gift exchange, buddy?” Cater drew his hand back cagily. “Are you doing something unequivocally Trey for your special little bae?”

“I don't have anyone fitting that description,” Trey said with a straight face. “But I do end up giving people a lot of homemade sweets as gifts. It’s something that’s a part of me, kinda. And that makes it special.” His voice lowered to a bare whisper. “And I’ve got a private baking lesson lined up for the ‘special bae’ that I certainly don't have.”

Cater smirked. “You sly dog. Something that’s a part of me, huh? But I don’t make anything special, anything OOAK like you do.”

“Don't you?” Trey pointed markedly at the gig bag and shrugged. “I could have sworn you were a member of our elite arts community.”

Cater sat a moment with his mouth agape, dumbfounded. “... actual galaxy brain thinking, Trey. OM7. Memorable, unique, ‘cammable, and hella budget-friendly.”

“Not as practical as the water flosser though,” sighed Trey.

“Enough with the water flosser.”

“But it works so well.”

“Trey.”

“Sorry.” Trey adjusted his glasses and snickered. “Anyway. I have to start getting those scones onto a rack to cool. I’ll make sure you get one tomorrow, okay? Now, go put together your gift. If she doesn't love it, let me know so I can shake my head in disbelief.”

“Yes, sir, vice-housewarden, sir!” Cater offered Trey a mock salute as both boys rose. They gave each other a complicated handshake-to-hug maneuver, ending with a back pat, before going their separate ways. Cater rushed up the complex series of staircases to his dorm room, and brought the guitar back out. He was already starting to get some ideas….

The next few afternoons, Cater rushed back to the dormitory after classes, and shut himself into his room. It was a lucky thing that, as a third year, he didn’t have to worry about roommates, because he found himself staying up until all hours practicing the same few bars over and over, trying to make everything sound just right. As it stood, he only had to deal with angry pounding on his wall once, before he figured out he could run his old wired headphones through his amp.

Finally, he sat back onto his bed. He tapped his phone screen a few times, and listened to the playback. Perfect. Perfect! He almost couldn't believe it was him he was listening to. Maybe I should start taking this whole music thing more seriously, after all, he mused.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he sent a quick text message to Savvy.

> Hey! Meet me 4pm in the pmc club room. I have something for u!

There, he thought, and he put his phone down on the bedstand to change into his pajamas. He had just pulled the shirt over his head when he heard the tell-tale ping! of an incoming message.

> I have something for you, too! I’ll bring it with me. See you then!

Well. All right. Cater smiled to himself as he slid into bed, exhausted but content. Tomorrow, he would give Savvy the most impressive gift she ever got.

The next day, classes couldn't end soon enough. Cater fidgeted anxiously through each period, watching the clock as if it were slowing down just to spite him. In his last lesson of the day, the moment that Professor Trein lifted his head and said, “That will be all, thank you,” Cater was out the door and on his way to the club room.

He hurriedly set up his equipment. Amplifier turned on, phone and guitar plugged in, levels checked, tuning done, tiny party lights set to sparkle, Santa hat positioned just so over artfully tousled hair; everything was perfect. Now all that remained was to wait.

At 3:59, he heard steps coming down the hall. Cater sat up a little straighter. Now, it was his chance to make Savvy feel really special. His hand hovered above his phone, waiting. And when she walked through the door, all beautiful smiles and shining eyes and with sweet anticipation on her face, Cater took his chance. He tapped play on his backing tracks, and started to play.

As the notes poured from his guitar, he felt more comfortable and more himself than he had in a long time. It was almost like the feeling he got when he was skating, pulling off a long rail grind or a sick jump. It was freeing, genuine. Even through the cliched holiday songs, Cater could feel his own heart beating; he hoped that Savvy would feel it, too. It was almost magical. This was something he could give that was uniquely him. And he hoped she could appreciate that.

Song 1 • Song 2

When the last few notes faded away, and all that remained was the crackle of the amplifier, Cater looked up at Savvy and took a deep breath. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. “Merry Christmas…”

#i left the ending open to have Savvy's response be from her own imagination 🩷#merry christmas daisydoo! love you #twisted wonderland #story #cater diamond #kalim al-asim #lilia vanrouge #trey clover #and brief mentions of our ocs #savvy laperle #joker carder

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parkerdoesparkour · 1 year

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-For Dessert: Strawberry Tarts (Riddle Rosehearts)-

Riddle and Titania’s relationship in fluffy little snippets.

Acceptance How long did it take for them to accept they were in love? What were they like after accepting it?

Riddle was not in love, no way, no how. Love was not anything he ever understood and it certainly was not on his to-do list for his time at Night Raven. So imagine his shock when he catches a glimpse of Titania in the halls one morning and finds himself increasingly distracted throughout the day of what he should have said to her to have her attention. Then he wonders why he’s so concerned with wanting her attention in the first place which turns into him daydreaming about how he’d spend that time with her. When the final bell rang and he returned to Heartslabyul’s lounge having retained nothing from his classes, he sought out Trey and Cater to confide in. After listening to their Housewarden’s plight, they exchanged a single look before laughing.

“What?” Riddle demanded, his cheeks burning.

“You’re in love,” Trey said.

Cater squealed. “This is so cute!”

“I am NOT in love!” Riddle sputtered. There was no way–NO WAY–he would ever allow himself to fall in love, especially with the prefect notorious for getting herself into trouble on the daily.

“Suuuure,” Cater teased, an unfriendly grin on his face. “I mean, I can’t blame you, Titania is super cute.”

Riddle’s embarrassment is instantly replaced with anger at Cater’s words. Not because he was wrong, but because Riddle knew he definitely wasn’t the only one who thought so. His anger dispelled when he felt Trey pat his shoulder.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a crush,” he said, “but you also don’t have to necessarily do anything about it if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah!” Cater agreed. “Just act as you always do and you’ll be over it in no time!”

“Like I always do…” Riddle mused.

---

Titania cursed Grim out in her mind as she raced down the school’s halls, barely keeping pace with the furball. Crowley made it clear time and time again that she needed to keep Grim under control but the Grim in question dashed off everytime she so much as glanced in the other direction.

She rounded a corner and collided with the one person she didn’t want to see her running. “Riddle–!” She stumbled as he got pushed back but he grabbed her gently by the elbow and kept them both on their feet. As soon as she got her balance, she faced him and bowed. “I’m sorry, I know running in the halls–.”

“It’s fine,” he said, making her jolt in surprise. Riddle? Not giving her a lecture after he caught her breaking the rules? What?

Clearly noticing her shock, he coughed and blushed slightly. “Just try not to make a habit of it.” He gave her a smile and leaned forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her cheek as he pulled back. Titania’s entire face warmed and Riddle’s gaze dropped to the floor, nervous. “Um,” he said, “if you have time, would you… like to come to Heartslabyul after classes?”

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, a small smile on her face. Riddle played with the hem of his jacket.

“Well,” he mumbled, “uh, I just, I’d like to spend time with you… if you’d like to spend time with me too.”

“Yeah,” Tiania nodded and Riddle was visibly relieved, “I’d like that a lot.”

Best Friends What was it like to be friends with them? Have things changed since they started dating their s/o?

Being friends with Riddle involved two things: studying and Unbirthday Parties.

The former was more likely, as Riddle was determined to raise Titania’s grades even if it was the death of him. Some thought Riddle’s relentless tutoring was due to the fact that he wouldn’t acknowledge her as a friend until she had the grades to show for it and he picked up on these rumors right away. During one of their tutoring sessions, she could tell he was bothered by something, and when she asked him, he confessed to what he had heard.

“You don’t think… I’m doing this because I don’t think you’re worthy of being my friend, do you?”

He looked so uncharacteristically unsure of himself in that moment and Titania couldn’t help but reach out and place a comforting hand on his head. “You’re doing this out of concern,” she said. “Because I’m already your friend.”

And he smiled, because that was exactly right.

The other main part of being friends with Riddle was being invited to Unbirthday Parties every so often. Not all of them, but a fair amount of the time Titania could be found among the dorm members snacking on Trey’s pasties and keeping Grim out of trouble. One party she sat with a group of second years and when Riddle approached, he noticed how most of them shrunk back or looked nervous. Save for Titania, who perked up instantly.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked and she nodded.

“It’s wonderful, as always,” she said. “Thank you for inviting us again.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without you,” Riddle admitted. He’d grown used to seeing Titania and Grim at the events and often needed to remind himself that they weren’t really members of his dorm.

---

Titania laid on her bed with Grim softly snoring beside her and Riddle on her chest as she ran her fingers through his hair. This was how they often spent their time together after classes and clubs and the general stress of the day. Since they had started dating, studying became a more rare occurrence as Riddle insisted on wanting to do more ‘couple-y’ things with her. This ranged from more appearances at Unbirthday Parties, horseback rides, eating together at the Mostro Lounge, and so on. Though she had to admit–afternoon cuddles were certainly her favorite.

Confession How did their confession go? Was it planned or was it out of the blue?

If there’s one certainty in the universe, it’s Riddle will be Riddle. When he worked through his feelings for Titania and finally decided to go through with a confession, he planned and planned and planned. He picked out the date for the confession three months in advance before getting to work on his script. He wrote and edited and rewrote for weeks before he was satisfied with the final product. Then he rehearsed it, at first in front of the bathroom mirror before venturing to Trey and Cater for some extra feedback. He made final edits and set his alarm clock for the next morning–the day of the confession.

He had asked Titania to meet him in the rose maze the previous day for a picnic lunch, emphasizing how he would prefer it be just the two of them and that Grim was not invited. He laid out the picnic blanket and began pulling out the sandwiches he prepared when Titania entered with a bright smile. That smile made him nervous and put him at ease at the same time.

She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing slightly as he passed her a sandwich. She unwrapped it and giggled when it flopped to the side. Riddle blushed. “I made them myself.”

“That was sweet of you,” she replied. She took a bite and grinned. “They’re good.”

“Thank you,” he sighed. They ate and chatted and Riddle grew more nervous by the second. For a brief moment, he considered completely chickening out but then he said something that made her laugh, watched as a gentle breeze ruffled her hair, and he knew he had to go through with it. So he steeled his nerves and set his teacup down.

His speech was stiff and a little rushed, but he remembered everything he wanted to tell her. “You are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me and everyday I find myself searching for new ways of making you smile. You’re gentle with me and you never make me feel ashamed of who I am but most importantly you give me room to make mistakes. You’ve helped me with so much and I can’t imagine who I would be without you. Which is why I hope you will consider going on a date with me?”

Riddle returned to the dorm lounge an hour later to an eagerly awaiting Trey and Cater. If it wasn’t clear from his glowing smile and pink cheeks, they got their answer in the sheepish way he whispered, “She said yes.”

Date What was the first date with them like? What is their go-to date? What is their dream date?

With the accepted confession, Riddle was now tasked with planning his and Titania’s first date. He wanted to do something simple and not too complicated but at the same time wanted to stray from what they typically did together. Eventually he decided on a bookstore date in town to which Titania happily agreed. They walked hand in hand to the Hall of Mirrors, talking about their day and classes they were enjoying. Throughout town, the butterflies in Riddle’s stomach flurried around in a storm as he tried not to let himself get distracted by his nerves and the warmth of Titania's hand.

They spent an hour or two browsing the shelves of the local bookstore, discussing their favorite genres and series. Titania even spoke about some of the stories from her homeland which was a happy surprise-show of trust. In the end, Titania had a few books of poetry picked out and a small novel on the history of the Queendom of Roses. Riddle, in turn, had a few books on faekind and a play Titania said reminded her of a story from her own world.

When they reached the counter, Riddle pulled out some thuamarks before Titania could even offer to pay for her own books (he knew she would). She pouted which in turn made him laugh, weavings his fingers through hers once more. “I insist.”

Riddle’s go-to date is having Titania attend Unbirthday Parties with him. She sits next to him at the head of the table and is dressed in a matching outfit to his dorm uniform. He enjoys being able to share the parties with her even if he receives relentless teasing from his other dorm members. Riddle’s dream date would be seeing a play with Titania, not because he particularly likes theater but rather because he can’t help notice the way her eyes light up whenever she talks about it.

Elapse How long can they go being away from their s/o?

Riddle made it a point when he and Titania began going out to see her at least once a day, even if it was only for a short while. Housewarden duties keep him busy and Titania is constantly being dragged around for favors and/or assistance in getting out of trouble so more often than not they are resigned to simply walking each other to class. If this goes on for a few days and Riddle doesn’t get to spend more time with her, he’ll become more stressed than usual and start cracking down harder on rule breakers. Because of this, dorm members in Heartslabyul pitch in as much as they can to help lighten their Housewarden’s load so he can get to see Titania.

Riddle also began to eat lunch with her and the other first years at their table, much to the dismay of Ace and Deuce. They weren’t worried about getting their heads cut off for rule breaking, oh no, they were disgusted and unnerved with how lovey-dovey Riddle acted when he was with his girlfriend. Ace once even commented to Trey about how he wouldn’t need any more of the pastry chef’s sweets. “Watching Riddle and Titania together has ruined my sweet tooth.”

After a particularly stressful day, Riddle will return to Ramshackle with Titania and Grim and the three will pile into Titania’s bed for some de-stressing cuddles. More often than not, this turns into a sleepover. It’s a good thing Riddle already keeps some of his clothes and some extra belongings at Ramshackle for this exact purpose.

Fight How often do they fight with their s/o? Do they apologize first or do they wait for an apology?

Riddle was sulking.

It was an odd sight for the other Heartslabyul members to see their Housewarden simply sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, his knees pulled into his chest as he picked at the wood on the chair leg. He sighed and didn’t even acknowledge the loud whispers directed towards him and his condition, despite gossiping being forbidden by the Queen’s Rules.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ace asked Trey as soon as he saw the third year and Trey sighed.

“He and Titania got into a fight.”

“Seriously!?” shouted a few students. Riddle and Titania almost never fought.

“Is it serious?” Deuce asked.

“Are they going to break up?” Cater demanded.

“No, no,” Trey laughed. He glanced at a sulking Riddle before turning back to the gaggle of students and dropped his voice. “Riddle apparently ate some of Titania’s stress pickles and now she’s giving him the silent treatment.”

Riddle sighed again, louder, and everyone looked back to him. “Brutal,” Ace muttered, having been on the wrong side of Titania’s silent treatment a few times before.

Thankfully, the next morning Riddle bought a replacement jar and Titania forgave him instantly so they were back to their normal, fluffy selves.

Gift What is something they would buy as a gift for their s/o?

Riddle had a few ‘go-to’ gifts he got for Titania whenever he felt the need. He enjoyed the classic bouquet of roses he would personally pick from Heartslabyul’s rose maze. He also liked giving her books on certain subjects he found interesting and thought she would enjoy as well. Very rarely, Titania received homemade treats Riddle made himself. Despite her insisting she liked these gifts the most, he was still embarrassed over his lackluster talent for baking.

Hug Do they like to hug their s/o? If so, how often do they hug them? What are their hugs like?

Riddle loved to hug Titania, though hugs were usually reserved for private spaces. In public, he would be much too embarrassed to handle anything more than holding hands and a peck on the cheek. But once they were in the comfort of either of their dorm rooms, Riddle’s arms would always found themselves around Titania in some way. He enjoyed hugging her as often as he could when they were alone and despite his usual stiffness when it came to physical affection, his hugs rarely held back. They were always tight, but not suffocating, and they always communicated just how much he loved to hold her.

Introduction How did they meet their s/o? What was their s/o’s first impression of them?

Riddle saw Titania from a distance during the disastrous entrance ceremony but didn’t officially meet her until a few days later, after the Ace incident involving the tart. She sat with the troublemaking first year for lunch, along with Deuce, Trey, and Cater, feeding Grim her apple slices and picking the pickles off of Deuce’s burger. He frowned.

“Are you eating Spade’s pickles?” he asked and she looked up at him with a neutral expression.

“He doesn’t want them,” she stated.

“I really don’t, Housewarden,” Deuce added. “I told her she could have them.”

“Why are you eating pickles and not apples?” Riddle asked. Titania raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you so concerned with my eating habits?”

“Apples are much healthier for you,” he huffed. “And yet you’re feeding them to your weasel.”

“Hey, I’m not a–!” Grim began but Titania covered his mouth, glaring slightly at Riddle.

“His name is Grim,” she said, “and he needs the nutrients more than me.”

“I don’t think the two of you have been properly introduced yet,” Trey interjected, intending to ease over the tense atmosphere. “This is Titania Goodfellow. She’s Ramshackle Dorm’s new prefect. Titania, this is our Housewarden Riddle.”

They stared at each other for a moment. “Hm,” Titania eventually said, returning to her pickley snacks. Riddle was fuming but he had more important matters to take care of. With a huff, he left the cafeteria, a sour taste in his mouth.

Jealousy How easily do they get jealous? What do they do in that state of jealousy?

Riddle gets jealous easily and depending on who you asked, it was either a shock or barely even news worthy. Those who only knew him in passing were surprised to learn he was a jealous lover. However, his and Titania’s close friends didn’t even bat an eye to learn Riddle gets incredibly pouty when Titania gives others a little too much attention for his taste.

No way does this mean that he doubts Titania’s faithfulness, oh no. It’s more along the lines that no one had ever given him this kind of love and attention before so when he doesn’t have it, he doesn’t know what to do. Riddle’s jealousy is rooted more in him being an attention hog than anything else.

Thankfully, Titania knows how to handle his jealousy because it’s quite a simple remedy. Smother Riddle with affection until he can barely breathe and he’ll be back to his normal self in no time.

Kisses What are their kisses like?

Riddle’s kisses are shy and uncertain, with a taste of earl gray tea often lingering on his lips, so it’s no surprise to learn that Titania initiated their first kiss.

She was helping Ace and Deuce paint the roses in preparation for an Unbirthday Party, the three of them bickering and enjoying each other’s company. Riddle approached to check on their progress, nodding in satisfaction. “I suppose you’ve earned yourselves a break.”

“You’re only saying that because Titania’s here,” Ace grumbled. Riddle’s cheeks flushed red in a mix of anger and embarrassment but a soft laugh from Titania quickly lessened his temper.

“Come on,” Deuce said, tugging Ace by the ear, “a break’s a break, after all.”

They left quickly and Riddle offered his arm to Titania with a gentle smile. “Care to join me for a walk?”

“I’d love that,” she agreed, looping her arm through his. They strolled off into the rose maze, enjoying the gentle buzz of the afternoon. Their conversation was lazy but loving and Riddle couldn’t help himself glancing to her lips every so often.

Eventually they stopped to admire a hedge cut into the shape of a rabbit when Titania tugged lightly on his sleeve. Riddle hummed, turning to face her and that’s when everything froze. Her lips were on his in a gentle embrace and he could feel her smiling against him. When she pulled back, her expression was one of pure joy and he knew he was matching her with an equally starstruck one.

Love When did they realize they were truly in love with their s/o?

Riddle knew he was in love the first time he made a major mistake in the relationship.

He had been stressed beyond belief with meetings and tests, essays and general Housewarden duties. In the middle of all of this, he and Titania were supposed to go on a coffee date at the Mostro Lounge. But Riddle was running around dealing with messes all afternoon and by the time he was finally able to break away, he was thirty minutes late.

Titania texted him earlier, asking where he was and he informed her he would be there as soon as he could. He burst into the lounge soon after, exhausted and on the verge of a breakdown. It was no secret Riddle was a perfectionist and in the months he and Titania had been dating, he was never late for a date. In fact, he arrived fifteen minutes early every time.

But now he was late, after promising Titania he would be there soon, and he was terrified of her reaction. Would she break up with him? Was she going to get mad? Would she call him out in front of everyone?

He found her in the sea of tables and she glanced up, her face breaking out into a large smile. He slid in across from her and she spoke cheerily, “I ordered us some chocolate muffins. They should be here soon.”

Riddle blinked. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Mad?” Titania repeated, tilting her head. He nervously played with the hem of his school jacket.

“I thought you’d be upset I was late,” he explained. “I’m sorry.”

Titania let out a gentle sigh and placed her hand on his. “Riddle,” she said. “I’m not mad. You’ve been super busy and I know that you’re not a person who’s late because he doesn’t care. So, of course I’m not mad. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Riddle finally felt himself relaxing under the gentle stroke of her thumb against the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he said, “for being so understanding. And for ordering the chocolate muffins.”

He knew he was in love at that moment, but it would take him a few months to work up the courage to tell her. When he did, his heart soured upon hearing Titania express the same feelings.

Marriage How would they propose?

Riddle knocked on Titania’s bedroom door, sighing when there was no response. “I know you’re in there,” he said. Someone sniffled from the other side but no one came to open the door. He chewed on his bottom lip. “My rose, please. Let me talk to you.”

Finally, he could hear someone moving and before long Titania’s tear stained face came into view. His heart ached when he saw her so upset and he gently slipped his hand into her’s. “May I come in?”

“You know,” she began, leading him inside, “the door was unlocked. You could have just walked in.”

“I didn’t want to be rude,” he replied. He followed her to her bed and sat next to her, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. He placed his head on top of her’s, keeping their fingers intertwined. “Are you upset because of what my mother said?” She chuckled, bitter and unhappy.

“How did you know?” she asked. Earlier, Riddle’s mother expressed her disapproval, to put it lightly, of Riddle being in a relationship with someone lacking in magic talent like Titania. She’d gone off, demanding Riddle end the relationship which upset Titania and Riddle both.

After Titania left in tears, Riddle told his mother off before following his girlfriend to her dorm. He sighed, “I’m so sorry. I can’t express how much it hurt me to hear her talk to you like that.”

“It’s alright,” she replied, “I mean, I hope you don’t actually listen to her and break up with me.”

Riddle snorted at Titania’s lackluster attempt of lightening the mood. “I’m not. And when we get married, my mother will simply have to learn to live with it.” He didn’t think much about the words he used but Titania sat up, staring at him with a surprised smile. “What?”

“You want to marry me?” she whispered. Realization hit Riddle, and he was immediately torn between being embarrassed and being angry that she would think he wouldn’t. His face flushed and he squeezed her hand.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “After we graduate, I mean, but I don’t plan on letting you go. …If you’ll have me.”

Titania pressed a kiss to his nose. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Nicknames What nicknames do they call their s/o? What nicknames do they like being called?

Riddle’s favorite nickname for Titania is my rose, though he will also call her beloved, love, and dear.

Titania calls Riddle mostly by his name but will add a dear to the end of it if she’s feeling cheeky. She also calls him babe occasionally when she wants to tease him or show her appreciation.

Oath What is a bad habit they try to stop doing for their s/o?

One of Titania’s worst habits, in the opinions of both her boyfriend and her teachers, was how she waited until the last minute to do her school assignments. To be fair, she was always running around, cleaning up after someone but on the other hand, Riddle worried for her every time he stopped by Ramshackle at three a.m. (for reasons he was too embarrassed to admit) and found her awake in the living room, doing her homework.

Riddle and Titania left Heartslabyul one night after dinner and strolled leisurely towards Ramshackle hand-in-hand. Grim darted around them, chasing butterflies, as Riddle listened to Titania talk about her day. “And so now I have a mini essay to write for Crewel by Wednesday,” she sighed. “It’s only a page but still.”

“And you’re going to do it Tuesday night, aren’t you?” Riddle asked. Titania let out an awkward laugh and he shook his head. He stopped, reaching into his bag and pulled out a planner decorated with roses. “This is for you.”

“A calendar?” she asked.

Riddle explained, “I know how hard it is for you to manage everything so I thought this might help you at least organize when you have time to do your assignments.” Titania’s face broke out into a sunny smile.

“Thank you, Riddle,” she said. “This is wonderful.”

“I just hope it helps you with your schedule,” he admitted, “so you’re not crushing yourself with assignments so late at night.”

Titania grinned, teasingly. “Right,” she said. “That way when you come over for your late night visits, I’m free for other things.” She laughed when Riddle turned bright red and stuttered out excuses though he wasn’t fooling anyone. Not that she minded as she was always happy to see her boyfriend, no matter how late it was.

PDA What is the most affection they’ll give their s/o in public?

Riddle was not a publicly affectionate person. It’s not that he didn’t want to, it was just he got so embarrassed by how affectionate she was and the relentless, though friendly, teasing from the other students. The most he could initiate was holding hands, linking arms, and a kiss on the cheek. He mostly uses non verbal affection by helping her with her studies or bringing her treats he makes himself.

Quandary What’s the most awkward thing they’ve dealt with since dating their s/o?

The most awkward thing Riddle has experienced since dating Titania was not necessarily something involving her. Rather, it was the relentless teasing from Trey, Cater, Deuce, and Ace about how he was going ‘soft’ that made things awkward for him.

He was waiting around the lounge one night for Titania to pick him up so the two could head to a nice restaurant for dinner. While he was pacing around the lounge, rules were being broken left and right, but he barely seemed to notice. He was consumed with nerves for the upcoming date so regardless of whether the rule was small or large, he didn’t take notice.

The others clearly took notice of that however and thus began the teasing.

“Aw, Riddle’s gone soft,” Ace teased and the comment caught Riddle’s attention. He flushed and stuttered out,

“What are you talking about Ace?”

“Nothing, Riddle,” Trey cut in, knocking Ace’s head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Riddle raised an eyebrow in response, suspicious. Cater then added, “You don’t care about rules as much anymore.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Cater continued, “you’re much more interested in Titania now.”

Now that was enough to make Riddle’s face fully erupt in embarrassment. He thought his heart was going to burst and he had to sit down for a while to cool off before he could face Titania for their date.

Ruminate How often do they think or daydream about their s/o?

Riddle daydreams about Titania more than people think and more than he’d like to admit. He finds himself thinking of her when he’s supposed to be in class or studying or even at Unbirthday Parties. Most of it consists of Riddle wishing she was there with him and after his daydreams got a little too frequent and distracting, he would carve extra time out of his schedule to see Titania.

Scent What do they smell like?

According to Titania, Riddle smells like fresh roses and wild strawberries. He’s often heard he smells like earl gray tea or even antique books from the library.

Talk How often do they talk about their s/o in front of others?

Friends of Riddle say that he talks about Titania not too frequently, but when he does, it’s clear how whipped he actually is. Mostly, Riddle brags about Titania’s accomplishments and how great she is with her studies. His bragging is clearly more of him gushing about how lucky he is to have someone as wonderful as her without saying it. But it was obvious to anyone who had to hear about how she aced her last test.

Unique What’s something they would do only for their s/o?

Students assumed that since Titania was dating Riddle, he let her get away with pretty much breaking any rule. What they weren’t aware of is that Riddle broke rules with Titania. She could convince him to do just about anything with her, whether it was trying a new dessert at the Mostro Lounge or sneaking out of his dorm after curfew for a late night rendezvous.

Titania laughed with pure, unfiltered joy as she took Riddle’s hand and raced through Ramshackle’s lawn. Riddle, who had never been much of an athlete, struggled to keep up with her, his mind altering between happiness and anxiety as he kept his eyes peeled for anyone who might catch them.

The stars glowed above them against an inky sea and he couldn’t help but notice how they looked much prettier reflected in Titania’s eyes than they ever did shining in the sky. She finally came to a stop on a small hill that overlooked the rest of campus. She took a seat at the base of three and patted the grass next to her for Riddle. He sighed as he sat down, letting her snuggle her head into his chest.

“You’re such a bad influence on me,” he chided, though there was no bite to his words. She laughed, threading her fingers into his hair.

“Whatever are you going to do with me?” she asked. He hummed as if he was thinking about it.

“Maybe I’ll just have to reward good behavior,” he teased, “two kisses every time you follow the rules.”

“And when I break the rules?”

He smiled. “As many kisses as you want.”

---

“Up late studying again, Riddle?” Silver asked, taking note of Riddle’s more-sluggish-than-usual movements that afternoon at the stables. He nodded and Silver added, amused, “So, what subject requires you and Titania running around with each other at two in the morning?”

Riddle nearly choked on his water. “How did you–?”

“Malleus sometimes takes late night walks,” Silver explained, “and his favorite path takes him near Ramshackle.” Silver laughed softly at Riddle’s distressed expression. “Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secrets. I’m happy, actually, that you’re getting to experience life outside your mother’s shadow.”

Riddle smiled and turned his bashful expression to the ground. “I’m happy, too.”

Vulnerable What’s something their s/o does that makes them weak to their knees?

The biggest thing Titania does that makes Riddle fall apart is her simple phrase, “I’m proud of you.” Everytime she says it, he can feel himself falling more in love with her as well as becoming increasingly flustered to be around her. She said it just enough for him to know she meant it and she wasn’t just saying it to tease him.

One afternoon, Riddle was shut in his dorm room on the verge of tears. Having failed a chemistry assignment, he wasn’t sure what to do or how to react, barely registering the door opening as he dug his nails into his pillow. Gently, Titania sat next to him, unwrapping his fingers and holding them in her own palms.

She speaks so quietly but the words reach Riddle’s ears with little difficulty. “I’m so proud of you, Riddle. I always am.”

And she held him as he softly cried away the stress of everything.

Witty What was their reaction to making their s/o laugh for the first time?

Riddle glowed the first time he managed to make Titania laugh. It was before they started dating, and occurred during the Unbirthday Party after his Overblot incident. His apology to Ace was a bit of a disaster due to someone telling him oyster sauce was a good ingredient to add. In the midst of his unrivaled embarrassment and the desire to crawl into a hole while also chopping Ace’s head off, he heard Titania begin to giggle before bursting into full on laughter. Hearing such a happy laugh coming from her because of him, mistake or not, took the embarrassment away immediately.

Xylophone What is a song that describes the relationship or their feelings towards their s/o?

Never Knew I Needed from The Princess and the Frog

My accidental happily ever after The way you smile and how you comfort me I must admit you were not a part of my book But now if you open it up and take a look You’re the beginning and the end of every chapter

The Only Exception by Paramore

And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist But darling, you are the only exception

Yearn What is something they look for or would like to have in a s/o?

Riddle would want someone who would be willing to study with him and who would want to not just improve themselves but also help him improve. He would also want someone to accept him for who he is, not just his image. He wouldn’t want someone who only sees him as the perfect dorm head or the perfect student. He wants someone who will know him for who he is, imperfections and all.

Zzz How are they when it comes to sleeping and cuddling with their s/o?

Riddle loves to cuddle with Titania any chance he gets. The position of the cuddles depends on the stress of the day. If Riddle had been swamped with Housewarden tasks, tests, and assignments, he would lay with his head on Titania’s chest and her fingers combing his hair gently. If Titania had to deal with one too many messes created by her friends and the incapable Headmage, she would lay her head in his lap and listen to him read poetry from his personal collection.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst writing #twst oc writing #twst oc #twst riddle

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mcdonaldsnumberone · 3 years

Text

it’s like heaven’s song to me

proposal headcanons ig

also the reader is gender neutral, but the twst boy is the one proposing btw (if ur gonna be weird abt the gender shit, pls get the fuck out of my account)

Vil proposes twice to you. The first proposal to you is the real one, the one that he’s been planning forever for, the one where he truly spills his heart about how he wants to spend his entire life with you, the one where the man you see in front of you is Vil Schoenheit himself. Not the haughty model, not the talented actor, not the perfectionist influencer, but the dear person that you fell for and eagerly pledge your own never ending loyalty to.

His real proposal comes to you after a night out at the theater with you. He lets you choose the film, naturally, and he can’t help but laugh a little when you choose one with him in the starring lead as if it were the most absolute thing in the world. The entire time the movie runs, his gaze isn’t on the screen, but rather, it’s on you. He observes you, every curve and dip of your face, your parted lips as you take in the wonder of him playing his brilliant persona on the reflected screen, the years of his future he can envision with you at his side.

The second proposal is a proposal for the public, one that his work hounds him into doing. He makes sure that you’re comfortable with such a grand public gesture, and you can’t help but be tickled a little at the thought of declaring your love for the entire world. Vil is admittedly not as fond of the idea, but an idealistic part of his heart does flutter a little at the thought of proposing to you once again and hearing you accept him once more.

Of course, you’ll have to go through two weddings with him in the same manner: a quiet one for your real wedding and a much more grander one for PR reasons. Each one will be just as romantic as the other, and when you gaze at Vil, dressed finely before you as your groom, smiling from ear-to-ear with nothing but the purest form of love welling up in his violet eyes, it’s clear that nothing but marital bliss awaits you within the heaven you found in his arms.

“I promise to make you happy, my darling. I’ll have it so that not a single frown appears on your face or a shadow of doubt flicker across your eyes. Let’s do our best together, my dearest love.”

For someone who talks big, proposals are still a daunting task for Ace. He has no doubt that you’re the one he wants to marry, you’re the one he wants to dedicate himself to, you’re the one he wants to grow old and wrinkly with. But despite that certainty, he still spends a great amount of time painstakingly reviewing everything he wants to do. From picking out a gorgeous ring to practicing what he’s going to say to Deuce and to his reflection in the mirror (to the point that Deuce throws a pillow at him whenever Ace asks him to practice together), he wants each moment to be as magical for you as it was for him.

Ace proposes at the most romantic place he can think of: the planetarium. He thinks there’s something fitting about how he can picture the entire universe whenever you hold his hand, and he thinks there’s something wonderful about how he can see millions of stars and constellations reflected in your shining eyes whenever his gaze meets yours. With a pounding heart and an excited mind, he readies himself to pop the big question.

Once the lights dim and all you can feel is his breathing next to you, the faux stars and planets begin to float and rise up like bubbles within the planetarium. Ace has already prepared it so that it’s just the two of you, and when your vision is filled with nothing but the twinkling galaxies and planetary systems of eternity above your head, Ace gets down on one knee and asks you the question that’s been stuck in his throat ever since the day he fell in love with you.

Your wedding will be made out of the same material of your sweetest dreams. Ace works so hard to make sure that you enjoy every second of it. And every moment of it is indeed like a fairy tale come to life, from the beginning all the way until the two of you are stumbling out of the wedding venue with makeup, clothes, and hair slightly undone, ready to head to both your honeymoon and another chapter, surely the first of many, in your lives together.

“I’ve liked you a real long time, you know that right? I hope you feel the same. So... Let’s cut the weird flowery talk, and get straight to the point. Marry me!”

Rook loves the thrill of everything beautiful, and what better way to celebrate beauty than through the declaration of truest love? Using his beloved bow and arrow, the huntsman leaves a letter imploring you to meet him within the deepest heart of the forest, where the two of you can spend your time together unbothered and undisturbed from the rest of the world, as the two of you take the next and most precarious step in your relationship. His penmanship has evolved, but the love he holds for you remains the same, weaving verses of breathtaking poetry to try and convey his heart the best he can.

Rook proposes in a clearing in the woods, where the birds and flowers and Mother Nature herself can come and celebrate in your joyous union. Rook can’t think of a more beautiful and romantic place to ask you for your hand, other than taking you back to your roots and admiring how much love the world has to offer. He wants to take that love and reflect it back onto you, vowing to give you a marital life that makes your heart well up with affection and joy.

Contrary to expectation, Rook holds himself back from whipping out a lengthy speech. He keeps it curt and genuine, only letting the most sincere words of love slip past his lips. You can see yourself reflected in his earnest eyes, as he holds out a ring from one knee, and in that moment, you know that there’s no one else in the world who could see the world as Rook does, love the world as Rook does, and embrace you all the same, with only gratitude and a zeal for even more of that same essence of life that keeps him going day after day.

The wedding is affectionate and hearty, with him extolling everything beautiful he sees. When he takes your hand at the altar and whispers his vows, the ultimate declaration of love that he holds for you, transitioning from a mere lover to your soulmate, you’re sure that the happy ending so many people have dreamed of exists right before your very eyes. And when Rook leans in to capture a kiss from your chaste lips, you seal your fate within his trusting hands and let yourself fall not from grace, but into the depths of an indescribable love that only someone as creative and mysterious as Rook could grant you.

“Mon ange... Let us fly away, like a pair of lovebirds, high into the sky together. Let me steal you away, now and forevermore, as a wedded pair until the day we part from this world for good.”

Love feels so close yet so far from Cater, and it seems surreal to him that the day he would propose would even come. He’s held his fears and his worries about finding love, but when you’ve waited for him, for months and for years, for him to finally open his heart up and accept the fact that he’s deserving of the same happiness that he’s enviously watched others pursue, Cater comes to terms with the fact that he wants to spend his life with nobody else but you.

Cater wants to be himself when he proposes to you, rather than any of the playful masks he’s so expertly crafted over the years. So he resolves to be vulnerable and to bear himself before you, and when he prepares to propose, he decides on taking you out to the place where he first confessed to you and first tasted what love was truly like: a sweetness spreading on the tip of his tongue, the subtle heat flashing beneath his cheeks, a tingling in the crevices of his chest that left him feeling so meek yet confident all at the same time.

He proposes to you shyly, meeting your eyes with watering eyes and telling you that he wants nothing more than to make you as happy as he’s made him. It’s a simple proposal, completely unlike the excessive shows of adoration you’re accustomed to from Cater, but it’s a gesture that conveys to you how serious and how dedicated he is about taking this next step, and he’s resolved to do nothing except devote himself into trusting you and trusting the love he’s steadily built up over a long, long time.

Your wedding to Cater is the sort of heartwarming union that Cater’s longed for for as far as he can remember, and when he offers his arm for you to take, he can’t help but thank whatever divine being watches over him for giving him a chance to fall in love both with you, but with life again. Even after the wedding is over and the two of you prepare to greet a new chapter of your lives, Cater promises to never lose this feeling of hope that you’ve given him by entrusting him with your hand in marriage, and he never ever wants to lose the feeling of your warm smile and your sweet kisses embedded deeply into his soul.

“I’ve loved you for a long time, longer than I ever realized. I’ve only ever wanted you, and you’re the only one I could see myself loving until the day I die. I love you, truly, from the bottom of my heart. Will you marry me?”

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #vil schoenheit #ace trappola #rook hunt #cater diamond #x reader #my writing #weirdos dni ill literally destroy you #wedding fever huh....#um so about cater (tucks hair behind ear)#im sorry for writing so much abt caykun (no im not)#you will eat the food i serve you and you will enjoy it #im done being nice #also dont ask for other characters bc i alr said im not taking requests u fucks

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secretswiftymarvelfan · 3 years

Text

The girl on set - Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 991

Warnings: fluff

As Chris walked out of his trailer he spots someone he didn’t recognise walking past looking around as if they were lost.

“Hey you alright?” He asks grabbing your attention.

When you turn around to face him, he was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat. You were easily one of the most attractive woman he had ever seen. And not in a supermodel way but in a cute down to earth kinda way, a natural way.

“Huh? Oh yeah you wouldn’t know where I can find Jake’s trailer?” You ask him pointing around at all the different trailers.

“Yeah of course, lemme show you, it’s a bit of a maze around here” Chris offers with a smile.

“Great thank you, I’m (Y/N) by the way” you smile holding your hand out.

“Chris, so what brings you to set? You’re not a crazy stalker right?” He jokes as he shakes your hand.

“Hahah no definitely not crazy, just here visiting Jake I always try and visit him whenever I can” you laugh.

Chris has to try his hardest not pout, you were probably Jake’s girlfriend or something. Why are all the nice ones already taken! When he looks back over at you though watching as you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear he couldn’t help but smile.

“Here you are” Chris smiles gesturing to Jake’s trailer.

“Great thank you, i’ll see you around” you smile walking over to the trailer door.

You turn around to face him one last time and maybe Chris was imagining it but he swore he saw you check him out before stepping inside the trailer.

Throughout the morning Chris watched as you walked around set with Jake, the both of you clearly enjoying each other’s company. Laughing and play fighting whenever the cameras weren’t rolling. It was making it incredibly hard for Chris to focus on his lines whenever you would watch. Feeling your gaze on him making him slightly flustered.

Around lunch Chris was stood in the catering tent trying to work out exactly what he wanted. Really he was just deciding whether to eat healthily or not.

“Trying to decide whether today is a cheat day?” You ask making your presence known.

“Oh um yeah, I guess so” he laughs rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Well I’m sure America’s ass can survive one burger” you smirk reaching out to grab your own.

Chris looks down at you his eyebrows raised slightly. Did you? Were you flirting with him? He glanced around to see Jake nowhere to be seen. Jake was a good mate of his, so flirting with his girlfriend was definitely not cool. Even if you were flirting with him.

“Um yeah sure I guess so” Chris mumbles avoiding your gaze.

“Lighten up its just a burger” you chuckle putting a hand on his arm.

Chris tried not to flinch but the sudden spark he felt at your touch really didn’t help. He looks back over at you to see you smiling up at him.

“Well I’m gonna go before my food gets cold, you enjoy choosing” you smirk heading off out of the tent.

Chris rolled his shoulders and shook his head trying to clear his thoughts from his head before grabbing a burger and heading back to his trailer to cool off.

It was the end of the day and Chris was chatting to Jake about the scene they just completed. He thought about bringing you up but wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. He couldn’t really say ‘hey I think your girlfriend is flirting with me’ could he.

“Hey ready to head off” you ask Jake as you walked over.

“Yeah sure, oh Chris this is (Y/N) by the way” Jake smiles introducing you.

“Uh yeah we’ve met” Chris say glancing over at you.

“Yeah Chris helped me find your trailer earlier” you explain smiling over at Chris.

“Oh great, well thanks for helping my little sis out” Jake smiles making Chris furrow his brows in confusion.

Wait. Did he just say sis? As in sister? Well looking at the two of you now Chris could see the resemblance. How he didn’t notice it soon he doesn’t know. But either way he could breathe a big sigh of relief knowing that his mates girlfriend wasn’t hitting on him. Although having a crush on your mates little sister isn’t much better.

“Oh you’re related I didn’t realise that” Chris chuckles making both you and Jake laugh.

“Unfortunately so, she’s been begging to come to set for weeks now, not to see me but because she has a massive crush on yo-“ Jake couldn’t finish his sentence because you had punched him straight in the gut.

Chris couldn’t help but smirk as he watch you suddenly get all flustered and couldn’t look him in the eye. It was adorable.

“Well if you’d like to get drinks sometime I’d be up for it” Chris offers smiling over at you.

He had to stop himself from laughing when your jaw dropped. He could see. Jake smirking over at you clearly enjoying how flustered you currently were.

“She’d love that” Jake says earning a slap on the arm from you.

“Don’t speak for me” you chided before turning back to Chris “but yeah sounds good” you smile.

“Great well, how about Saturday evening?” Chris suggests.

“Works for me” you agree smiling at him.

“Hey we were gonna have a movie night on Saturday” Jake complains making you roll your eyes at him.

“You want me to go out or not!” You exclaim glaring over at your brother.

“I’m joking I’m joking have fun” Jake smirks nudging your shoulder.

“And you” Jake says pointing over at Chris “you’re a good mate but don’t think I won’t beat you up if you hurt her” he warns playfully.

Chris laughs holding his hands up in surrender “I won’t I promise” he says.

PLEASE LIKE FOLLOW AND REBLOG

Masterlist

#Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris x reader #chris x y/n

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moxfirefly · 4 years

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Good afternoon, this has been in the works for a while now and I finally got around to finishing it and being pretty content of it (this is gonna go up on AO3 soon along with the others that aren’t request) but I wanted to post it here first. Enjoy!

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

“Wish you were here right now

All of the things I'd do”

Gaming was always an escape.

From childhood to adulthood. There was some gaming equipment in your hands, controls, handhelds, keyboards and so on. There was just something calming about entering a fantasy world and immersing yourself in scenery and stories that made you stray from bad days and long nights.

For Donatello it was the same.

On one of his many supply scavenges Splinter had found a dumpster near a toy store that was going out of business. It was a memorable haul for them. What they expected to be routine things mixed with some type of groceries had turned into literal Christmas in July. Stuffed animals, board games, action figures and even a few gaming consoles with some cartridges and cd’s. Noticeably they were considered damaged or improperly manufactured, but they didn’t care and for Donnie he had spent a good week and a half fixing up the Nintendo and Play Station 2 consoles back into working conditions.

That alone had been plenty for him but nevertheless Mikey being so excited about playing wanted him to join him. They had played for hours and each disc or cartridge they tried out held a new story, a new set of controls to learn, new visuals and such. He was immediately hooked.

When he had gotten the first parts to start building a PC from scratch he knew there would be another world of possibilities for games.

Now gaming is a leisure for Donnie. Something he does for enjoyment and an escape when his projects become too much. The world of online gaming allowed him to also explore the possibilities of chatting with others though, the humans they were not allowed to see or speak to (with the exception of their Hogosha) but needless to say it wasn’t like Donnie broadcasted his identity and whereabouts. More so these people only came to game and speak game.

Donnie absolutely does detest the unnecessary sexism that gaming brings. Many a time he had read on chats or heard on his head set such derogatory comments thrown at female players. Never the one to stand such misogynistic behavior (he was raised better and had heard enough horror stories from April) he always shot that shit down quickly. Given his status as being far above his gaming peers he had developed respect and none of them ever shot back at him.

That’s how he runs into you.

On the opposing team nonetheless.

Once your female voice ran through the ears of the group he had been stuck in, the comments began to rain down. Some colorful, some lazy and some downright disgusting. Donnie had had enough and with some of his more illegal methods, had managed to push out the players in his party and send the audio recording to the email of the developers.

On exceptionally petty days he did far worse.

You had been stunned, wondering why the gang of immature boys had suddenly disappeared. Only one of them remained with the gamer tag specifying ‘Don_DuzMachines’ you couldn’t help but giggle at it.

You had asked if the sudden disappearance had been a weird glitch and if Don (as you assumed you should call him) had anything to do about it.

“Let’s just say I’ve got my ways” His soft voice rang through your headset.

“Well it’s hardly the first time I’ve had a gang of prepubescent boys tell me to suck their dicks” You started to move away in the map but stopped abruptly.

“Hey do you wanna play something else?” You asked tentatively. “Figured the least I can do is thank you” Donnie sat back pensively, well there was no harm in that now was there?

And so it started innocently.

Co-op games even the occasional match against one another. Each game you two always spoke through your headsets. Mostly banter about strategy or directions for who to do what or the occasional friendly jabs. You hadn’t revealed much that wasn’t the nickname you used as your gamer tag, and well Don had basically done the same.

That is until you decide to poke a little into his life. “You go to college?” You had asked, fingers gliding over the keyboard as you both partook in a raid. Donnie hadn’t expected such a question and he didn’t necessarily want to divulge much, he opted for a more ambiguous response. “I do my own studying, sort of like home schooling if you will?” Well he wasn’t wrong, Splinter had been both father and teacher to them, Donnie had just excelled more quickly and soon enough he was teaching his brothers on the academic side.

“You broke too, huh? Trust me it’s not worth the insane debt you’ll develop in six years that’ll take forty years to pay off” You chuckled with a hint of bitterness, Donnie couldn’t help but laugh and snort.

“That’s cute” You said sincerely. Donnie smiled, heat creeping up his neck.

How innocent things had been at the start.

For six months the two of you divulged little to no information. You never asked to video chat and Donnie never asked for your socials. It had just been a mutual agreement to keep the mystery that just wasn’t verbalized. Maybe it was for the better, because surely what had began as a gaming buddies situation had escalated to, well Donnie couldn’t really explain.

The first instance the two of you had been stuck on a map solving intricate puzzles. It was one of the more relaxed games the two of your partook in together when you didn’t want to deal with other players in a lobby.

“Dating apps are a nightmare, they’re only worth it for getting dumb funny stories” You had been playing but also checking some of the matches you’ve gotten on a site. Donnie swallowed, why did that settle so oddly in his stomach?

“Well any funny ones you’d like to share?” Don asked curiously hoping he wasn’t over stepping any boundaries. “One guy wanted me to cover my feet in marmalade, I really almost hit fuck it and did it” You couldn’t help but smile when Don choked, coughed and bursted out laughing.

“What kink is that even related to? I mean I know people enjoy feet but marmalade?” He was bewildered. “Come on Don don’t kink shame the poor guy, who are you to police his eclectic culinary desires?” Now the two of you couldn’t help but burst into another fit of laughter. Both your avatars were idle standing, the game somewhat abandoned in favor for the conversation.

“Hey I’m not kink shaming, we all have our weird kinks” Donnie smiled sitting back on his swivel chair. You clicked out of the dating site, chin resting on your hand. “Are we finally having this conversation? Cause I love this shit, it’s my bread and butter” You sat back in your gaming chair, tucking your knees.

Donnie felt so shy but the barrier of mistery the two of you had built urged him on. He was curious, like stupid curious what you looked like and while he had everything to figure out exactly where you were, it wasn’t morally correct for him. So why not just indulge in the conversation?

“Well it’s not feet, sorry to disappoint” He heard you laugh, an infectious sound he had grown to enjoy so much. “Feet are so passé anyways, what about bondage?” You spun slowly in your chair, the sounds of Don adjusting and clicking on the keyboard ringing in your ears.

“Bondage is a go, especially sensory deprivation” He was checking some documents April had forwarded to him in regards to a case they were dealing with, but he could multitask. You made an approving noise, nodding while taking a sip of your drink. “Into that D/s stuff?” You asked wanting to see what else he might like.

“Well yeah, but I do enjoy more um... Fem Dom stuff” He finished up the email he wrote out for April and hit send. “A man with taste, not something we get often” You chuckled but decided to add. “I wouldn’t mind having a guy submit to me” You bit the inside of your cheek a little shy suddenly.

Something about that statement made heat spread south for Donnie. The concept of being dominated? By a woman? He peaked a look behind him, pushing one side of his headset down to hear what his brothers might be up to but he heard only music and chatting voices.

“What’s your favorite thing?” He inquired almost too softly.

“Erotic ASMR” There was no trace of embarrassment in your voice and that somehow made Donnie hot.

“Maybe we frequent the same sites for that” Don boldly threw out. You made an approving face before sitting forward and typing on your keyboard. A beat or two later Donnie saw an email notification from you on one of his many burner emails. He opened it finding links to audios from various sites all catered to erotic audios. Donnie whistled, this was a gold mine and true to his predictions you did indeed have some of his favorite sites to peruse.

“It’s not just male audios by the way, there’s women too” You sat back once again, nervously playing with your hair. “Thanks... Well I do like hearing both” Donnie confessed, voice avoiding a stutter.

You grinned. Oh he was even more fun that you could’ve expected.

Curiously enough that had been the tamest experience into yours and Donnie’s sex talks. Because it hadn’t really stopped at that, they progressively escalated little by little. Fave kinks had turned to fave sites, fave sites had turned into fave videos. Donnie never pictured he’d share his hidden folder with a stranger no less.

You nor Donnie could really say how the two of you had ended up one late night, with yet another abandoned game, talking about weird but satisfying cyber sex experiences. Some of your stories had been on the more comical side but a few had riled Donnie up to the point that he couldn’t ignore it. There was a shift in your voice as well, an allure that enticed him.

“Can I be honest?” You licked your suddenly dry lips. Donnie tensed momentarily, not sure what to expect. “Of course, please” You squeezed your thighs together, ‘please’ shouldn’t sound so good coming out of his mouth. You trace lazy circles on your thighs, something pushed you. “I’m kinda turned on by this...by talking to you about all this stuff” Maybe this was overstepping it, surely there was nothing wrong between two adult friends discussing such matters.

There was no need to tell Don that you had yearned to put a face to the name. But his hesitance spoke of insecurities and you could understand that.

“I am too...” Donnie looked up at what he called a ceiling in his home, the darkness of the sewer system and concrete. He’d never have a chance with you, it was a deeply rooted desire for intimacy and if virtually he could obtain it then so be it.

For all your boldness you felt a wave of bashfulness hit, crashed around your self confidence. Then Donnie steps up and you feel your toes curl in excitement. “Do you want to have a better experience?” Donnie runs both hands down his face, who was he to provide better experiences, he’d never even physically had a partner. The slow sigh that escapes your throat is comforting static in his headset. “Yeah, yeah I really do actually” You feel a smile etch itself on your lips.

“You can call me Donnie” It’s the closest to his name, and truthfully he really wants to hear you say it.

“Y/N,” You say to which Donnie makes an approving noise, he finds your name to be pretty. He rolls it in his mouth, testing the syllables, he can envision moaning it, well he wants to moan it if he can be completely honest. He wants to put a face to that name but he quickly pushes the thought out. There’s a pregnant pause where neither of you engage or make the first attempt. Not wanting to let this mood flee, Donnie swallows and closes his eyes. The hum of the abandoned game grounding him.

“Say my name again” It’s not a forceful demand, all the contrary he wants to hear the pitch in your voice when you say it, he wants to picture how each tone would variate depending on what he would do or say. “Donnie...” You smile to yourself when you say it, a hint of desire nestled in it and Don notices that and wants more of it.

There’s a lengthy sigh from your behalf, hands wandering up your thighs towards your chest. “I’d like to be there right now, would like to say it against your lips” Your bold confessions makes Donnie’s pulse quicken. He runs a ghosting touch up his plastron, the vision of a delicate hand doing it. The imaginary weight of you on his lap grinding down on his hard member. Donnie grips himself through his shorts a soft groan escaping his parted lips.

“Want you to kiss me” He swallows dryly, the approving noise you make pushing him forward. “Feel your lips all over, feel your mouth around me...” He lifts his hips, hand cupping himself and the small hitch in your breath is a sound he wants permanently recorded in his brain.

“God are you big? I bet you are” You kneed your breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the sensitive nubs until they’re perked. Donnie smirks to himself, freeing his aching member and looking down at himself. Mutant genes aside he feels somewhat shamefully proud of his cock, he wonders if you would like it... deeply buried within you. “Yeah I am, I think you can take it something tells me” You catch that teasing tone and the urge to swallow him whole and make him see stars is too much.

Your hand finds its way into your underwear, the warm wetness making you moan as you tease your middle finger between the lips to find your sensitive nub there. You bite back another lengthy moan but recover enough to breathlessly say, “oh fuck, Donnie” and that very sound makes him shiver. Never did he think he’d hear something so temptingly good, said with such sincerity. God the things he would do to smell your arousal right now, to taste the wetness. “Push two fingers in slowly” Donnie almost pleas, his voice shakey, hand pumping his cock at a steady pace. You do as he wishes, your gutted moan making more precum gather at the tip of his member.

“God-shit- you sound so good, wish you were riding my big dick right now” He wants to chastise himself for saying something like that, but he can’t deny that statement shakes something in you. He can hear it, the sound of your fingers mixed with a continuously rising string of moans. “Ohmygod” Words tumble out strewn together by your pleasure. “Donnie please, please fuck me harder” That alone makes him sit up and push forwards, one hand on his desk as the other works himself up in upward twisting strokes.

Donnie can’t erase the idea of slamming into you right here on his desk, maybe bent over, maybe you’ll let him cum on your face...

He pushes the idea away, he can’t envision your face now, not right now, not when your moans have you sounding this deliciously in need. You’re plunging two fingers into your core as your free hand runs firm circles around your clit. “Christ Donnie you sound so good baby” You moan, perspiration covering your body and Donnie can only groan his approval.

There’s a few minutes where it’s just the two of you lost in your own pleasure together. The constant chants of ‘fuck’ and ‘god’ and ‘yes’ mixed between the two of you. “Say it... again” Donnie groans out, hand quickening, briefly gathering some saliva and letting it fall on his hard member for better traction. “Don-oh, Donnie cum in me!” You’re so far gone, not caring what comes out of your mouth. The wet sounds in your head set and a vibration you figured could be static mixed with his groans was all you heard.

Donnie’s hips twitch, feels that request swim inside of his brain and the image of burying himself as deeply as you could take is all he needs. Just as your moans rise in crescendo he feels the first twitch and relief of his orgasm overtake him. He’s never felt it hit him this hard it knocks the wind out of him, each rope shooting out onto his hand and floor. In his minds eye though, it’s your suffocating heat taking it, milking him until he’s a shivering mess. It plays perfectly like a movie, he swears he can even feel your lips at his neck and arms holding him tight.

Your sounds are enough to keep him stroking, the way your voice pitched up with the sound of his name entwined, forever recorded in his brain. Your entire body tensed to the point of uncomfortable but it was impossible to stop abruptly when he sounded so lost in you. Your leg shakes and stiffens and it takes every inch of control to not become liquid and slip away into comforting bliss.

Eventually the sounds of heavy breathing slowly but surely settling are the only things the two of you can hear in your ears. There’s a mess, for you and for him. The understanding of things transpired crossing each of you two’s brains. Should you speak first? Should he?

“Um, you with me?” You settle, skin sweaty and mouth dry. There’s movement on the other line, a quiet cuss here and there and you smile. “Yeah, sorry just... made a mess” His voice has that sheepish tone and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Great thing about being a girl, we can conceal the evidence better” You stretch your aching legs enjoying each joint pop. “The female anatomy never seizes to amaze me, trust me” Donnie leans back in his chair, napkin cleaning any other soiled spot.

The silence was somewhat comfortable, the buzzing of good chemicals slowly settling.

“Was this okay?” He asked, hesitant tone in your ears.

“More than okay if you ask me” You kept it light not wanting him to feel odd or even ashamed.

You ventured on slowly, forming the question in your brain and bouncing it back and forward with a swallow. “If, and I mean if you want to, we can maybe do this from time to time” You worried a thumbnail between your teeth. Donnie’s gaze watching the idle screen of the abandoned game, he thought hard but briefly.

“I... yeah I would” He smiles to himself, even if the nagging thought that this might not last clutches the back of his mind. Why ruin a good thing? This was good more than good and you suggested to continue.

He doesn’t want to preoccupy his brain with scenarios, or if that dreaded ‘let’s meet’ sentence decides to cross your lips. If this is the inch of intimacy he gets to have and it’s with you, who he has grown so fond of, then he’s selfishly taking that inch and guarding it with his life.

Mutely you both remain on the line, no words spoken from the agreement, just simply enjoying that the two of you were present.

Even if not physically.

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello x female reader #donnie tmnt #donatello tmnt #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #Donatello #Donnie #ns*w #oneshot

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juniorgman187 · 4 years

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Serendipity (Reid Fic) Part 1

A/N: If you’re wondering if this is at all based on Rosie and Marco’s storyline in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” then you should know - it totally is.

Summary: An FBI gathering brings Reader and Spencer together after years of distance. This one night changes not only their future, but their perspective on the past. Category: Angst, Smut, *NSFW content Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Mentions of traumatic childhood, child neglect, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, menstruation, pregnancy Word Count: 10.2k

I originally thought I would be able to fit everything into 1 part, but after further reconsideration, this will be a two part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Serendipity: (n). Finding something good without looking for it.

A word I would only come to truly understand many months from now on a warm Thursday morning in May at St. Mary’s Hospital.

But whenever my thoughts drifted back towards the past, I would always remember that this was how it all began - on a chilly Saturday night in the heart of D.C.

Not more than four hours ago, Emilia and I drove down here for an F.B.I function that hired us. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t have agreed to be the caterers for an event so far away, but we eventually signed on after learning that there were at least 600 people attending. That meant a considerable amount of customers and an exorbitant amount of money. Saying yes was clearly a no brainer.

Just to put it into perspective of how big this event would be, Emilia and I got lucky if we could park somewhere with 80 customers. 80. So this event would be colossal for us.

But who would have guessed that in a crowd of 600, I would run into the one and only - Spencer Reid.

To preface, this wasn’t just any old birthday party, parade, or festival. It was a celebration and a grand one at that. Considering it was a private event at the Washington Monument, we were given special instructions to abide by the black-tie formal dress code that guests had to follow, too. I guess the caterers can’t look like slobs in the United States’ Capitol, now can they?

I definitely spent more time than I should have deciding on what outfit to wear, but my conscientiousness, or rather indecisiveness, did pay off in the end. For I would run into someone worth the trouble of impressing.

My hair, unlike Emilia’s, was down and curled in big waves, and on one side, some of my hair was tucked behind my ear and designed to stay that way thanks to copious amounts of hairspray and an ungodly total of bobby pins. Emilia lent me a black, floor-length dress that had a plunging v-neck that didn’t fit her anymore, but luckily, fit perfectly on me. Although I would have to remember not to lean over too far tonight, otherwise, the customers might get a show they didn’t pay for. I, however, didn’t look half so good as my business partner.

Emilia was clad in a navy blue silk dress with puffy sleeves and a high collar; the dress clung to her every curve, including her newly protruding belly bump. She looked regal and pregnant all at the same time, qualities I hadn’t seen coexist in anyone but the Queens and Duchesses in England.

“Well, don’t you look hot?” Emilia purred, running her fingers through my curls, then letting them fall and sway back into place.

“Are you kidding? You are quite literally a sexy mama.” I gushed to her, receiving a light chuckle in return.

“Yeah, well, when you’re five months pregnant, tell me how sexy you feel in a tight dress.” She remarked, turning her back to me while she arranged all the supplies in the kitchenette behind me. But even as she faced away from me, she still managed to recognize the effect her words had. Maybe it was something in my silence, or our sister-telepathy, but Emilia immediately felt the room depress. In an effort to take back the remark that turned the room cold, she sweetly added while hugging me from behind, “You’re gonna be a mom one day, too. I promise.”

I leaned into her embrace, feeling guilty for ruining the moment while also feeling burdened by the reminder of the terrible reality I had to face every day.

Ever since I could remember, I thought I was destined to be a mother, but that destiny had yet to be fulfilled.

Emilia was born only three years after me, and though that age gap isn’t big enough for me to be mistaken for her mother, I, she, and our younger brother Saul would all agree that in many ways I was their mom. I was the parent our parents never were. I was there for everything - soccer games, dance recitals, winter musicals - never getting the chance to participate in my own, but always attending their’s.

I had to admit sometimes it was a burden, having to grow up so fast and help raise my siblings while still trying to navigate through my own struggles of adolescence, but I saw it as something I was meant to do.

See, I wouldn’t have minded all the responsibilities of being a parent so much when it’d be my own kids that I’d be fulfilling them for - when it would be by my choice to fulfill those responsibilities and not by unfortunate birth order.

However, as the years have gone by, my calling to be a mother has gotten quieter and quieter and quieter until eventually, I don’t think I’ll be able to hear it anymore.

It’s not that I can’t have kids, but the fear of rushing into having one is what’s stopped me from pursuing that dream.

As someone who grew up with divorced parents and practically became my siblings only reliable caregiver, I knew what having a baby too soon could do to a family. So rather than repeating history, I chose to wait to have kids. I didn’t want to make the same mistakes my parents did, and so I lived my life. I traveled all across the globe, I met new people, tried new things, I even started this taco truck business with Emilia.

But still that gaping hole in my chest remained. A hole that nothing could ever fill the way that a child would.

No amount of living could make up for the emptiness of a life with no family.

I could pretend all I wanted that I was happy living out my twenties, but the truth was I didn’t want to spend the rest of my years working in a food truck, amounting to nothing more than a mediocre cook and middling entrepreneur. That was never my dream - as exciting as it was.

My real dream was to have a good life. The kind my parents never had thanks to the unplanned arrival of me. The kind my baby sister was already living out.

“You know what? It’s a really nice night out. I think I might go for a walk. Do you wanna come?” Was this my blatant avoidance of breaching the subject of pregnancy? Yes, but it was also my escape from this food truck that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller and smaller by the second.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll just get everything ready.” Emilia resigned.

She knew why I was really leaving - sister-telepathy, I’m telling you - but she didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. For that, I was thankful. Maybe we were better at communicating with no words at all.

I carefully stepped off the back of the truck, making sure to hike up my dress high enough so I wouldn’t trip over the mess of fabric when my feet hit the floor. The nippy December air felt like a cool balm on my hot skin. I was burning up in that truck, and maybe it was nerves or something else, but I just had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was no explanation for it, but I realize now that the pit in my stomach was caused by something my intuition could sense but something my mind couldn’t understand.

Someone important from my past was here tonight.

As I sauntered around the monument, I took in the breathtaking view of the structure’s silhouette against the blazing orange sky that melted into an ocean blue. I regretted not bringing my phone to take a picture of it so I could show Emilia when I got back, but that one regret quickly turned into another when the night sky’s breeze brought a rude awakening. My body shivered at the frigid gust of wind that blew through and I suddenly started to regret not bringing a jacket.

“Are you cold?” A gentle voice asked me from behind.

I slightly recoiled out of shock of someone being there. When I turned around though, I couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features. All I knew for sure was that this was certainly a man, and a tall one, too.

“Um, just a little.” I bashfully admitted, crossing my arms to hug myself and maintain some warmth. I hadn’t even thought about my dress’s plunging v-neck or the fact that I was practically squeezing my breasts together, accentuating them even further, but by the time, I realized, it was too late. He was already looking. But not at my chest. Somewhere far more invasive.

My eyes.

“Here, take my jacket.”

My small protests did nothing to stop him as he inevitably slipped the coat around my shoulders anyway. He’d come so close that I could finally see him and smell him. And let me tell you, if the sight of him wasn’t enough to break an overflowing dam of memories, then his smell certainly sent a flood that would.

“Oh my god,” I quietly gasped, my hand flying to my mouth to cover its un-ladylike gaping.

“Spencer Reid?”

I squinted my eyes and cocked my head even further to find evidence to support my assumption, and sure enough, I found exactly what I was looking for.

I was frozen in place as I deeply examined his face. My God! I mean, in many ways, he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. Same dazzling hazel eyes. Same uniquely adorable nose. Same over-stimulated pink lips. I wonder if he still bit them as much as he did back then?

But at the same time, he was so different. Of course, I could still discern the same features I used to study endlessly back then, but his face had transformed into a man’s. He lost the glasses for one thing, but he also had a softer jawline, longer hair, and for lack of a better term, a beefier build.

He was all grown up now, and yet, I could still identify the same boyishly handsome charm that made me fall in love with him more than a decade ago.

“I knew it was you, (y/n).” He chuckled, sounding half proud of himself. My heart fluttered at the sound of my name on his tongue and the action that followed. With his eyes locked on mine, he tucked strands of my hair back behind my ears; it’s as if he were saying, “Let me get a good look at you.”

“How? It’s almost completely dark outside. You could barely even see me.” Certainly, you can understand why I was skeptical. Sounded too good to be true, if you ask me.

He shook his head lightly with a smile, seemingly questioning how I couldn’t possibly know the answer to that question. “No one else looks like you. Not even in the dark.”

His words spoke to a part of my soul specifically reserved for him. They were so genuine that I almost didn’t want to believe them because how could someone speak such lovely things and truly mean them? The world wasn’t that good a place. Certainly not good enough for Spencer Reid.

In that moment, I flew out of my own body and watched this entire scene unfold from up above. I could see the version of a girl I hadn’t seen in years, not since that last interaction with Spencer. She had these big lovesick eyes as she swooned over a man with just the same lovesick look.

The excessive upward tilt of my head and the way his neck craning down must’ve made it seem like we were about to kiss, but I knew better than to expect such a thing from Spencer Reid. And if anything, what we were doing right now was much more intimate than kissing.

“Wow, you ... you really grew up. You look great.” My own voice sounded unfamiliar to me after the words slipped from my mouth without even registering in my brain first.

“Are you kidding? Look at you! I mean, you are just ...” He paused for a moment to look me up and down, and I nearly shivered at the thought that he was practically undressing me with his eyes. “You’re absolutely beautiful. But you always were.”

I was almost completely in a daze when I heard a hideous squawk of a bird flying overhead. This wouldn’t make sense, but it nearly felt like a sign. Like the bird knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, reminding me of where I belonged - reality - not in this fantasy with Spencer.

“Um,” My head spun as I drew back from him. “I should probably get back. I’ll see you later.” I touched his upper arm gently as I passed by him, and it stunned me how warmth just radiated off of his body.

To my all too quick goodbye, he simply waved and watched me walk past him with a pursed-lip smile. And just before I got too far, I thought I heard him say, “I hope so.”

Though my feet were carrying me away from Spencer, my thoughts were only drifting closer to the memory of him, and we did have so many memories.

11 Years Ago ...

I was at the ripe age of 16 when I got my driver’s license. And to anyone else, this would seem like a given milestone, but to me - it was so much more. With the obtainment of my license, I also gained access to a whole new world. Opportunities poured at the seams. I could drive anyone and anywhere I wanted to and though it wasn’t true, it felt like I could do anything, too. But like all things good in my life, it fell apart in the face of responsibilities.

My newly obtained license was just another way for my parents to exploit me. Now, they didn’t have to drive Emilia and Saul since I could. Looking back, I have to wonder if the only reason they funded my driver’s ed classes were for the exact reason that if I took them, I’d sooner be able to take on yet another helping of duties they were too lazy to fulfill.

There’s one particular moment I can remember from this age and that same moment could also be regarded as the catalyst that would set off a series of events for the next 11 years to come.

It was the end of the school year and summer vacation was right around the corner. I was a sophomore at the time, and the prospect of being a junior the next year excited me.

To kick off the start of summer, Melody Hanes was throwing a pool party at her house. Everyone knew she was filthy rich because of a dead grandpa or some other, not to mention, she was also in student government so she had just as big of a role in school as her grandpa’s death did in making the Hanes family wealthy.

Though I never knew her personally, I did have third period chemistry with her for the entire year, and I sat right in front of her for pretty much the entirety of second semester. She must’ve only addressed me a handful of times, but she still invited me to her party anyway. Proximity, I had to admit, did play a part in that though because if I sat just a seat farther away, then I wouldn’t have been.

I came home that day, thrilled to tell my mother about my invitation. It would’ve been my first party that wasn’t a distant relative’s birthday celebration or a childish sleepover in elementary. It was my first real high school party, and for once, I thought - maybe I’d finally get the quintessential ‘high school experience.’

But of course, I never did.

As soon as I got home, I parked my car in the driveway, got the mail, and came inside the house to see my mother sitting on the couch watching TV, as per usual. While I was telling her about my invitation, she didn’t bother to lower the volume or even look away from the screen to give me her undivided attention, and when she did look away, it was only to take the mail from my hands.

“Your sister’s science fair is on that day, and you have to take her because I’ll be working from 1 to 7.” My mother never once looked up from the mail she was sorting through to address me. And her words, while incredibly monotone, were also spoken with such finality, like what she said was the last she ever wanted to speak on the topic. No room for discussion.

I’m not still losing sleep over it, but at the time, it felt like for once, I could actually just be a teenager and be young and reckless like everyone else, but that it was just taken from me. I never got the chance to be a kid again.

With the exception of Emilia’s science fair.

I knew my father wouldn’t be there, and obviously my mother wouldn’t, so I stayed to watch her presentation and to walk around the rest of the time. She deserved someone in her corner, and that someone was me. Even if no one was in mine.

As I serpentined through the cafeteria, a bittersweet feeling came upon me. From paper mâché volcanoes to potato batteries, I observed a childlike sense of wonder that I hadn’t felt for years.

Here, I was surrounded by children who got to be just children. They got to occupy themselves with trivial matters, like how gardens grow or if video games actually do rot your brain.

Their problems had solutions and their questions had answers, and it almost made me wish that I could revert back to a time where life was that easy, but I couldn’t because it never was … not for me.

So to sum it up, it was precious and heartbreaking all at the same time.

While browsing the fair, I stumbled upon a man that didn’t quite seem to fit in, and maybe it was my own unfitting appearance that made me recognize his. He could’ve very well been the brother of one of these children, but something about the way he was dressed and the way he carried himself made me highly doubt that.

He couldn’t have been a parent either, for he was not too far off from my own age, and if he was a parent of one of these eighth graders, that would have to mean that he had a kid when he was in kindergarten. So for all intents and purposes, he wasn’t someone’s brother or someone’s father. Who he actually was - I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

After that first observance, I spotted him a couple more times, but it wasn’t until we were looking at the same project that we actually spoke.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The sudden sound of his voice alarmed me, but only because it seemingly came out of nowhere. Generally, before someone speaks to you, you notice signals that they’re about to, which helps you prepare for conversation. Whether it’s nervous twitches, a look in your direction, maybe even a small acknowledging smile, you’ll recognize they want to or plan to talk to you, but none of those signs were given to me. Even when I turned my head to give him my attention, he was still fixated on the project in front of us.

“Yeah, it really is,” I politely agreed. I awkwardly looked around the room as if I’d find an answer as to what to say next because I did want to keep talking to him, but the longer I stayed silent, the more I fear he’d begin to think I didn’t want to. With nothing else to ask but the question that had been bothering me since I first laid eyes on him, I simply went for it.

“So, who are you here for?”

For the first time, he turned his head to the side to look right at me. With a quizzical expression, he responded. “Oh, no one. I’m just a judge here.”

It was my turn to possess a quizzical expression. His statement wouldn’t have been weird, except for the part where any judge I’d seen or talked to were all well into their forties or fifties.

“Aren’t you kinda young to be a judge? You’re, like, what? Seventeen, eighteen?

“Nineteen actually. But I regularly come to judge the Summer Science Fairs here since I went to this middle school eleven years ago.”

Again, I would’ve taken his word for it, but the math didn’t make sense. “You were in middle school at eight years old?”

“Mhm. I ended up graduating high school at twelve.” He said it so nonchalantly, but for how big of a feat it was, I thought it would’ve deserved a more prideful tone, yet he still maintained such a cavalier one. Did he not think himself to be impressive?

“Jeez, you must be really smart.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, which made me notice that he wasn’t carrying a clipboard like the other judges, which was probably another reason why I didn’t take him for one. How would he be able to remember the projects that he was considering for awards? He’d have to have some magical memory for that.

Before answering, he began to walk away, but nonetheless he continued addressing me, so I followed him where he went.

“Mmm not necessarily. My IQ isn’t high enough to suggest I’m a provable genius yet, but I do have an eidetic memory and I can currently read 16,000 words per minute, which definitely helps. I hope to be able to read 20,000 words per minute in the future.”

Despite answering my question, he only left me with many more.

“What is your IQ right now?”

“131.”

My eyes widened. Even I, with my limited knowledge on intelligence quotients knew that was high, especially for someone as young as he was.

“So what IQ score do you have to have in order to be considered a genius?”

I couldn’t help but notice how he barely took anytime to think before answering me. It’s like his brain just knew everything, right then and there.

“A score of over 140 is considered a genius or near genius.”

“Wow, so you’re almost a genius then?”

“Almost, but not quite. If I receive diverse stimulation at a consistent rate for the next few years, I predict that I’ll have an IQ of 180 or higher by the time I’m in my early twenties.”

You would think he would leave me speechless, but I still went on to ask him about what an eidetic memory was, and he explained to me that he could remember things exceedingly well, but that it was not the same thing as a photographic memory. He made that distinction very clear to me.

Our conversation droned on for the rest of the fair as we continued to circle the cafeteria. I can’t count how many times we lapped around the same projects, but we never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Once those first few seconds after meeting him, when I didn’t know what to say, passed, I never again felt a sense of not knowing. We could talk for hours and hours, and it wouldn’t matter. I would never get bored.

How could I? When I was with him, it felt like the rest of the world just faded away. Our discourse flowed so easily, no pressure, no awkward silence. It was just me and him, and if you ask me, that’s quite the opposite of boring.

That was the first and final time I ever truly felt like a kid. Just like the ones in the science fair. Not a care in the world except for my morbid curiosity of the marvel that was him.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and I inevitably found myself being ripped out of my trance when I felt an aggressive tug on my sweater.

“We can go now.” Emilia interrupted.

I hadn’t even noticed that a majority of the poster boards were taken down and that an even larger majority of the people were long gone, too. I got so lost in the conversation that I didn’t realize we were one of the last people still there.

Emilia’s eagerness to leave was apparent as she pulled me away from my interesting conversationalist.

“I had a nice time talking to you!” I called out to him, walking backwards to lengthen the period of time I could keep looking at him.

“Likewise.”

I turned around fully just before I finally realized something. “Hey!” I yelled across the distance. “I never got your name!”

He bashfully smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. “It’s Spencer! Spencer Reid!”

I stood there for a moment, silently processing his name.

“What’s yours?” He yelled back.

I chuckled mischievously. “I guess you’ll have to find out next time.” My ambiguity puzzled him and intrigued him all at the same time.

“Next time?”

With the intentions of leaving him without a true answer, I simply turned on my heels and started walking away.

“Bye, Spencer!”

Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, I knew after that first day, he could never forget me.

- Present Time -

By the time I made it back to the truck, people were already lining up to order.

“Get over here!” Emilia squealed excitedly from the window, her hand rapidly waving me over as if it’d suddenly increase my speed. I ran back as fast as I could in a dress and heels and climbed into the truck, mirroring my sister’s zeal.

When I stepped in, Emilia took one glance at me and furrowed her brows. “Where’d you get the jacket?”

Had she not mentioned it, I would not have remembered the foreign fabric that wrapped around my shoulders.

“Oh, shoot!” I palmed my forehead after the realization dawned on me. I should’ve noticed sooner that I still had it on, but honestly, it didn’t feel unusual or out of place. It was comfortable and familiar, like it was meant to be there that entire time.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, but do you think you can handle this alone for just a second? I have to return this to a friend.” I asked while slipping off the coat to ready myself to leave, even in the event that Emilia said she wouldn’t let me go. Luckily though, she understood it was urgent.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just hurry back.”

I extended my head to look out just past the side of the truck to look for Spencer while still being concealed within the vehicle. Now that there were more people here, I wasn’t exactly sure I should be caught mingling with the attendees, so instead, I decided to search for him from the truck, rather than wandering around the party, giving the impression to the people that hired us that I wasn’t doing my job and was just here to socialize.

Luckily, there was something about my attachment to Spencer that was supernatural. I had this metaphysical ability to spot him even in a crowded place. I could find him anywhere. But whether that was a blessing or a curse was to be determined because right as my paranormal power kicked in, I found him. And there he was - standing next to another girl, a proximity much too close and a smile much too big to be anything less than flirtatious.

I paused to recall the image I had of myself earlier, when I floated up and out of my own body. I looked just like her - an oversized grin combined with lovesick eyes.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part was he was returning just the same look of attraction to her.

“Um, actually,” I re-entered the truck completely, tossing the jacket aside haphazardly. “I’ll just return it later.”

“You sure? You can go. I’ve got things covered right now.” She said between multitasking at a rate that even I, a very-much-not-pregnant-woman, could manage.

All I could mutter back without giving away the sharp ache in my heart was, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

_ _ _

After hours and hours of non-stop working, the night, at last, was coming to a close. The large crowd had sized down considerably, until I could no longer hear the sound of a thousand voices meshing. All the decorations were already coming down by the time Emilia and I finished packing up the truck. Without the hectic energy to cause adrenaline to course through my veins, it should’ve been peaceful, yet my heart was not at peace.

I couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing Spencer with that girl, but that wasn’t really why I was upset. It was more about the fact that I’d actually believed for a second that I had any chance with him. I should’ve known he wasn’t single, and the fact that I let myself swoon over him again angered me all the more. If I ever had a chance with Spencer, the time to act on it was long gone.

Now, I had to live with that.

“You sure you wanna stay here alone? I’ll come with you if you want me to.”

Emilia’s question was referring to my proposal to stay in D.C for the night while she drove home. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I realized I couldn’t handle being in another suffocating car ride with Emilia. It had nothing to do with her - just that I needed alone time to process everything by myself. If I knew my sister as well as I thought I did, I knew she would’ve sensed something was wrong and tried to coax me into talking about it, which I was not in the mood to do. Plus, traveling for so long made me nauseous just thinking about it. Although, I didn’t have a plan, I knew that I just wanted to hail a cab and find a hotel somewhere here for the night.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me. Call me when you get home.” I tapped on the back of the truck twice to let her know she was good to drive away, and I felt the car lurch forward per my request. When the truck finally did move, out from behind it appeared the tall figure of none other than Spencer.

I was surprised, but only for a second, when that surprise turned into pain once more. Playing it cool so my afflictions wouldn’t be suspected, I nonchalantly stated, “Here’s your jacket, by the way. Sorry, I forgot to give it back to you earlier.”

I extended my arm far enough so that we’d still have a great distance between us when he went to grab it, but sure enough, my actions were all for naught when he not only refused to remove his hands from his pockets to take it but also walked two steps closer to me than he needed to be. I looked like an idiot just standing there with my arm so outstretched, only for him to not grab it and to let it simply press against his stomach as a complete avoidance of getting it back.

“You were supposed to keep it. That’s why I didn’t ask for it back.” He curtly replied, finishing his statements with a cheeky grin. However, I wasn’t in the mood to return it. I simply stood there and shook the jacket in my hand to emphasize its presence.

“Take it. Please.” My voice was full of contradictions. I tried to be assertive with my command, and yet my plead only softened the order and showed a defeat I wasn’t even aware of until I heard how sad it sounded. “I don’t want it, Spencer.”

He no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor but still wouldn’t pacify me by taking the jacket. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” His voice got quieter, as if speaking any louder would shatter me in this fragile state of being.

“Nothing, I’m just tired and I want to go home.” This wasn’t a complete lie. I was exhausted from working for hours and hours on my feet with no breaks in between, but it wasn’t exactly the full truth either. He could tell.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He persisted. “Please.”

The only way I could describe what I happened next was like the vision of a boiling pot. Gradually, I was heating up until I finally got so overheated that I just boiled over and exploded.

“What don’t you get, Spencer? I don’t want your jacket!” Fury consumed my tone. “And I don’t think your girlfriend would want that either.”

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend? What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!” His words were flying out of his mouth at 100 mph as he desperately trying to mend what couldn’t be fixed.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you with that blonde girl. How close you two were standing, the way you were looking at each other.” Just having to recount the interaction made the horrid memory come back vividly into the forefront of my thoughts, and it broke my heart all over again. I shut my eyes painfully as though it would turn off the image of them together, but this only allowed for Spencer to wrap his warm hands around my upper arms and pull me closer to him without my knowing. I flinched unconsciously at the sudden feeling of his touch, to which he instantly let go.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands shook with remorse for letting them touch my body in a way that elicited that reaction. They hovered in the space between us, not knowing where to go that would suddenly make things okay. “But she’s no one, okay? She’s just a coworker.”

I wanted to believe him. I quite possibly did believe him, but there was still a sharp pain in my chest. Call it intuition.

“No, she’s not,” I shook my head. “She’s not ‘no one’... you love her.”

Spencer came closer but still didn’t let himself touch me again out of fear that I might draw back even further.

“Listen to me - whatever feelings I used to have for her are long gone. She’s married, (y/n). She has a kid. And none of that even matters because the way that I used to love her is nothing compared to the way that I-”

“Don’t.” I held my hand up in protest. “Don’t say you love me.”

His eyebrows knit together with dismay. “Why? Why not? It’s true. I love you. I always have.”

With one big sigh, I finally resigned to my emotions. “Then why didn’t you ever do something about it?”

Judging by the deflation of his shoulders and the far off look he got in his eyes, he knew exactly the moment I was talking about.

Two days after Emilia’s science fair, I drove to the library to pick up books I needed for my summer homework. I was already on my way out when I just happened to glance to my side, noticing a lone figure sitting at the bus stop. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I looked back, I partially recognized him. I shaded my eyes from the sun and squinted harder to confirm my suspicions.

“Spencer?” I wondered out loud.

The figure’s head turned around, narrowed their eyes, and waved. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to me with a precious little jog-walk. Although we had only met once before, we still embraced each other like lifelong friends.

“Do I finally get to know your name now?” He jokingly inquired after pulling away.

It completely slipped my mind that I’d denied him the knowledge of my name, but for my own satisfaction, I wouldn’t let him get off that easily.

“Do you have any guesses of it could be?”

He pouted childishly. “Are you kidding? In a population of 350 million people, there would be about 4.4 million names. But if every country on Earth had the same nominative diversity we in the US have, that would suggest about 750 million unique names exist.”

I must admit it was fun watching him melt into a flustered mess of facts, but I was growing just as impatient as him. “Come on, just guess. You might be right.”

He rolled his eyes but indulged me willingly anyway. “Okay ... um ... Catherine.”

“Nope.”

“Nicole.”

“Nope.”

“Gertrude.”

“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. He shrugged. “Nope.”

“Olive.”

“Pretty,” I smiled, making his face light up, too. “But no.” His smile fell.

“This is nearly impossible.” He sighed.

“Nothing’s impossible.” My delivery wasn’t as cheesy as the line itself, so it touched us both in a way that made that silly phrase feel like it’d never been said before. With a visible passion reignited in him, he continued.

“Francis.”

“Okay, maybe this is impossible.”

My blunt joke brought us closer together, our heads almost knocking into one another’s as we clutched our stomachs and leaned forward to support our all-consuming laughter. When we finally calmed down, I finally confessed.

“Okay, okay - it’s (y/n).”

He stood there completely silent. There was no expression of his face that indicated he planned on speaking, so I elaborated. “It’s not as good as the name Spencer, I know I know -”

“I’ve never known anyone with that name before.” His hushed voice cut into mine so innocently.

My cheeks heated from the slight compliment. “Well, now you do. And don’t you forget it.” I teased. With nothing further to say, I brushed past him to start walking away, when unconsciously, I spun my keys around my index finger and heard the familiar jingle of the metal, reminding me of something.

“Hey, Spencer?” I turned on my heels. “Can I give you a ride home?”

And so began our routine for the entire summer. I would bring my summer homework to the library, and Spencer would help me understand it, or even complete it, and then I’d give him a ride home. We’d go to the park and read, or we’d go to the movies, or we’d hang out at a diner. And each time, I’d drop him off.

The more time we spent together, the more I learned about him and his life. He told me about his mom, his dad - everything. I did just the same. I told him about my mom, my dad, my siblings - everything.

Perhaps we enjoyed spending so much time together because it was a sweet escape from our houses that weren’t homes. But every time we did hang out, we just got closer and closer, and by the end of the summer, I knew my feelings perfectly clear.

I love Spencer.

If missing that pool party at Melody Hanes was what it took to find the absolute love of my life, then what a small price to pay it was. I wouldn’t have traded a million pool parties for that one chance encounter with Spencer at the science fair.

One day, we were pulling into his driveway after having a picnic at the country club, and I’d just let him out of the car, when unconsciously, I said, “Bye, Spence! Love you!”

He caught the words faster than I did. He looked like a deer in headlights, and it took me at least two seconds more to figure out why. That entire day I’d been thinking about saying it, but by the end, I decided it’d be better not to, and yet, it just came out anyway.

“You love me?”

There were two ways I could’ve answered. The first was to deny it and say that I only meant that I loved him like a friend. The second was to be brave and validate my unintentional confession.

In the heat of the moment, I chose the latter.

“Yes.” I nodded, smiling from my own courage. You only live once right?

In a cruel twist of fate, Spencer never tried to speak, and instead, ran to his front door.

“Spencer!” I yelled. “What are you-”

He gave me one last look over his shoulder before he opened the door and closed it right behind him. That was the last I ever saw him.

I learned, that day, that you do only live once.

But you can die over and over again.

From that point on, he’s lived in my mind as the one that never was.

Regret and shame manifested on Spencer’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He dejectedly began. “But I was young and-and dumb and just ... so scared. God, I was so scared.” He finally looked up, if for no other reason than to gauge my reaction. “I liked you so much, but I, I just couldn’t open myself up to the possibility of being hurt by another person I loved.”

Much like my own life, Spencer’s was riddled with traumatic experiences. Except rather than being expected to take care of younger siblings, he had to take care of his mom. And having to be a parent to your own parent? That’s something I would never wish upon anyone else.

“I ... I get it.” It was a sweet surrender, my words. After years of pent-up aggression borne from humiliation, rejection, and deep sadness, I could finally understand. “But as selfish as it sounds, I wish your past hurt hadn’t gotten in the way of our potential happiness.”

He took each of my hands in his, encasing them with palms of warmth. “Then don’t let the same thing happen right now. Don’t let the stupid, broken teenager I was cloud your judgement of the man I am now. Let me prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I stood there silently, an eerie parallel to how Spencer reacted to my confession eleven years ago.

“When I saw you, it felt like a second chance. A second chance to do what I was too afraid to do back then. And I couldn’t let myself make the same mistake twice.” His eyes were piercing through my soul. Every word plucked at my heartstrings, until I could no longer keep up with the symphony they were playing.

There was the slightest hesitation behind it, but I did inch forward. And in no time at all, Spencer saw the movement and made his own.

His hands released mine and shot straight for my cheeks to cup them gently, while kissing me firmly. He wasn’t the same shy boy he was, and this kiss was only proof of that. The way his lips were moving so fervently made me weak at the knees. He was so desperate and needy, like even with our lips touching, he still wasn’t close enough to me. Unleashed upon me was years of yearning wrapped in prominent lust.

“I love you.” He blurted clumsily on my lips. I didn’t return the sentiment, but that wasn’t why he said it. He wanted to say it so I’d know, not so that I’d say it back.

“You should know,” I muttered between kisses. “I’m not leaving D.C. until tomorrow morning.”

The biggest smirk creeped onto his face. Bastard.

Once we’d exhausted all the things we could possibly do in public, we ran to the nearest cab we could find and exhausted all the things we could do in that, too.

It was already past midnight when we arrived at Spencer’s apartment, and though we should’ve been quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors, we were still breaking out into a fit of giggles like a bunch of teenagers sneaking around as we ran up the stairs. We hadn’t even made it past the doormat, before he seized my hips in his hands and spun me back towards him. Forcefully, he pressed me against the door while simultaneously unlocking it. That shut me up real good, lemme tell you.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he gave me a reprieve when he held me closer so as to stop pinning me against the door. In an effort to do the impossible, we stumbled through his apartment in a frenzy trying to undress each other while maintaining our bodily contact. With one giant tug of the zipper on my back, my dress fell to the ground. To his atonement, he left me in just a thong. Whereas he was much too overdressed in my opinion.

No sooner did I gracelessly unbutton his shirt than we ran into a plant against the wall. Our smiles practically ruined the kiss at the sound of the crash, but it remained nonetheless. I knew I was in for something, when Spencer paused to wait for me to unbuckle his belt. That was the first time we ever really stopped in place, but just as I anticipated, I was in for it.

When I finally freed his waist of the garment, he just as quickly placed his hand on the back of my thigh, and in one swift motion, hoisted me into the air high enough to allow my legs to wrap around his waist. My arms were loose around his neck and the feeling of his warm hands touching my bare skin sent a chill down my spine.

Due to Spencer’s essential hand placement on my body, I had to be the one to fumble with his bedroom’s doorknob until it finally gave way. Once more, we staggered through his room before he let our lips break apart to lightly toss me onto the bed. I giggled at the squeak of the bed, driving him visibly crazy.

He hastily unzipped his own dress pants, while I propped myself up on my elbows. When he met me on the bed, he hovered over me to the point of having to lay back down again just to see him clearly. He felt too far away so I drew him nearer by lacing my hand through his soft curls. I twirled one around my finger, which must’ve been too merciful for him to handle.

He placed his hand on the back of mine and slid it down to his cheek. He held my hand there for a moment, leaning into the skin of my palm prior to placing a chaste kiss on it.

He didn’t need to say it again for me to know what he was thinking.

I love you.

The anticipation was killing me and in the most impatient manner, I pulled him down to my level, mimicking his similar habit of face-grabbing during a kiss. I knew his hands would’ve flown to my face the way they did just minutes ago, but one was too preoccupied keeping himself up and the other was busy toying with the band of my thong. I shivered at the sensation of him slipping one finger under the material and letting it glide over my tender skin right above my heat.

“Spencer,” I mumbled in a kiss to bring his attention back to me. Although I was certainly interested to know the hidden talents of Spencer Reid and his fingers, I was restless. I’d been waiting years for this moment, and unlike most people, I didn’t want to wait another second. “I need you now.”

He pulled his head back so he could get a full view of my face to examine my sincerity. He wanted to know if I was sure, and my eyes told him such. He nodded in acknowledgement with such speed that I was sure he was craving this as much as I was.

Rather than looking at where our bodies were about to meet, I had to close my eyes so I could fully feel everything without any other sense taking that away from me. In a painfully slow manner, he lined himself up at my entrance. At first, he only lightly pushed in, and it was this slacken movement that made me cry out and grip his shoulders for stability.

He pushed further in until he was fully sheathed inside of me. There was a slight moment of regret for not letting him engage in foreplay before, but that quickly went away when the pain turned to pleasure. He gained more confidence in himself with each stroke, and I could feel it. The more powerfully he thrust, the more I felt myself tightening around him. The over simulation was a stark contrast from the stimulation I denied and so the sensation I was feeling was only heightened by the absence of it before. For that very reason, I knew I was already close. And maybe he knew it, too and just as sweet revenge, he decided to send me over the edge by pulling my leg over his shoulder to thrust into me a new angle. As I’m sure he predicted, I threw my head back as tears began to prick the corners of my eyes. He rode the ever exquisite border between pain and pleasure, and my tears were a manifestation of that. Not even a minute passed, before I tried to moan but pathetically failed, not even being able finish the pitiful wail without the both of us finishing together.

Our heavy panting synchronized and reverberated back to us while he slowed down his pace and pulled out.

Perhaps in the heat of the moment, we lost all logic and reason, considering that even up till now, neither of us had realized that he didn’t use a condom.

But what would eventually happen in the future as a result of this action, or inaction, would surely make us remember.

Spencer lowered himself down to kiss me breathlessly; strands of his hair clung to his forehead as sweat glimmered on both of us. Not until we were ready did we make our way to the bathroom so he could help clean me up. Once we returned, I gathered my clothes, but he made sure to grab my panties before I could even notice.

“Have you seen -“ I cut myself off when I saw what was dangling in his hands.

“Looking for this?” He teased.

All my energy had been spent on him that I couldn’t be bothered to fight for them back.

“Keep ‘em.” I smirked, my hand reaching down to pick up his jacket off the floor and hold it up. “Consider it a fair trade.”

No arguments from him.

Needless to say, I did end up finding a place to stay the night. Where and with whom you might ask?

Well, you can probably figure that one out for yourself.

_ _ _

I wish I could tell you I got a good night’s rest, and I could - it just wouldn’t be the truth.

Spencer and I spent the rest of the night just talking. We filled each other in on nearly ever second of the past 11 years, and once again, I found myself reverting back to the teenager I was at the science fair. The entire world revolved around us as we spoke to each other effortlessly, like no time had passed. Even in the periods of silence, I felt comfortable.

Spencer and I were lying on our sides facing one another when I felt compelled to profess that “I can’t talk this way with anyone. It’s just you.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with a small smile on his lips. He didn’t need to say that he felt the same way because I already knew. His hand never left my face but instead made its descent down my jawline and stopped at my chin. He raised his thumb to reach my lower lip, letting the pad of his finger graze over the soft skin of my lip.

It felt like he was tracing every detail of my body, running his eyes over every inch at least twice so as to fully commit everything to his memory.

At last, the tension broke when he positioned his hand comfortably at the back of my neck, bowing his head forward to kiss me. This one was quite different than our first, for it was gentler and warmer. We weren’t forcing ourselves to make up for lost time. In fact, this kiss was saying, “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Plenty of time indeed. Which we were happy to spend making love again.

And I will be the first to admit that if our first round of unprotected sex didn’t solidify our future predicament, this time certainly did.

Six Weeks Later ...

“Hello?” Clearly frustrated, Emilia waved her hand in front of my face to harness me back to earth. I hadn’t realized I zoned out until she scoffed at me. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No, sorry. Could you repeat it one more time?”

She set down the papers in front of her and sighed unhappily. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been so distant lately.”

It hurt to hear, even though it was the truth. I wasn’t intentionally being despondent, but it’s hard to be present when there’s so much occupying your mind, and there was one thing in particular that was keeping me up late at night recently.

My period has always been irregular. For as long as I’ve had it, I’ve always missed a few weeks, then it would become consistent, then it would be sporadic again. In fact, there was one year where I only had four periods total. So it didn’t strike me as odd when I realized three days ago that my last period was about seven weeks ago.

What did strike me as odd was the other symptoms I was experiencing. Menstruation cycles are known to closely mimic the symptoms of pregnancy, but with the knowledge that my period wasn’t coming, it was disconcerting to me that I was suffering the discomforts without the actual period itself.

To me, there was only one clear explanation for this anomaly.

I was pregnant.

Earlier in the day, I bought a pregnancy test and was late to work because of it. If Emilia hadn’t been suspicious of my behavior before, showing up late only made her suspicion greater.

I didn’t know when I’d take it, probably at home after work, but the anticipation was eating away at me. I would pace around the truck until Emilia finally told me to stop because the vehicle wouldn’t stop swaying with my every movement. I was biting my nails and chewing on each little piece that grew back just to bite it back down to the nub. My hands couldn’t stop shaking, my breathing wouldn’t slow down. I was a hysterical mess.

I didn’t tell Spencer any of my concerns, of course, but being as perceptive as he is, he noticed my strange mannerisms despite my best efforts to hide them.

“Your breathing just got faster. Are you feeling okay?” He paused the movie we were watching to check in on me one time. It should be known that the scene that caused my heavier breathing was a scene of a woman finding out she was pregnant and being absolutely devastated. I quickly brushed it off as just being too warm, to which he turned on his air conditioning. Luckily for me, he didn’t make the connection.

And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell Spencer - I really did - but why should I make a fuss about something if there ended up being nothing to worry about? That would just be extra stress, and the last thing a new, blossoming relationship needs is additional strain.

So without Spencer, I had to opt for the next best thing - my sister.

I’d reached my wits end, and I couldn’t keep up the act any longer. I was walking on eggshells with practically everyone I knew, and I’d sooner go crazy if I didn’t tell someone what I was really feeling. So in response to her question, I finally told the truth.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

You can imagine the shock on my sister’s face. Emilia’s jaw became one with the floor as her eyes widened so big I thought they would pop out of her head.

“You’re pregnant?” Already her eyes were welling up with tears of joy.

“I don’t know yet.” I put my arms around her to keep her calm and stable while the emotions began overpowering her. I wanted it to serve as a reminder to not get her hopes up, otherwise she’d get mine up, too.

“Well, have you taken a test?”

I reached for my purse behind her and rummaged through it until I finally retrieved the box. Holding it up, I reluctantly suggested, “I thought maybe you could be there for me when I did?”

She squealed with joyful elation, practically shattering the window pane with the high pitch of her voice. On top of that, she was jumping up and down with elegant grace that I had to wonder how her pregnant body could even manage to do such a thing.

“Of course, I will! Come, come, let’s go.”

We hopped off the truck and to the nearest restroom, which admittedly wasn’t the nicest of places, nor was the place I ever imagined as a child that I’d be finding out I was pregnant in, but it had to do for now.

When I first came out of the stall, I set the test face down on the sink, so that we wouldn’t see it until it was ready. Emilia set a timer for 10 minutes, but in the meantime, all we could do was wait. Neither of us could stay still; Emilia bounced up and down, rubbing her belly while facilitating some sort of breathing exercise. Meanwhile, I kept tapping my foot impatiently.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Emilia’s alarm scared the shit out of me, and we both were startled by the blaring sound. It was so jarring, but even that wouldn’t compare to the fear I felt when I realized it was finally time.

“Do you wanna look or should I?” She asked.

“You look.” I said at first. But when she lunged forward to take it, I did, too. “No wait, I should.” Then another moment of hesitation. “No, you do it. I can’t.”

I held my hands over my mouth while I watched her carefully lift the test off the sink, maneuvering it in such a way that only she would see the results. I watched her expression closely for any sign of a reaction, but she was stoic as can be. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, happy - nothing. Complete and total poker face.

“Come on, Emilia! What does it say?” I blurted anxiously.

“Well, first, what do you want it to say?”

That was a question I hadn’t considered. I was so busy worrying about what I didn’t know, to pause and think about what I wanted to find out. On the one hand, I’d be ecstatic if the test confirmed that I was pregnant. I’d jump for joy because that was what I always wanted, right? But on the other hand, if it said I wasn’t pregnant, then I’d be sort of sad because I got so close to that lifelong dream. But after that, I’d probably just be relieved to have dodged a bullet.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I don’t know-”

“Don’t think. Just tell me. What do you want it to say?”

Without missing a beat, I replied, “Positive.” My sister and I alike were stunned by my answer. “Yeah,” I nodded slowly. “Positive. I want it to say positive.” I repeated, to cement my earnest desire.

Emilia’s facade melted away as she began to shake her head. “I’m sorry, (y/n). There’s only one line.”

We both knew what that meant, even if she didn’t explicitly say it. I sighed dejectedly, which was a surprise to even myself. I didn’t expect to be this disappointed, and yet I was. The knot it my stomach worked itself free, and where that pit used to be was just emptiness. My heart sunk and steadied itself, and my breathing resumed its normal pace.

“Well,” I bit my lip. “I guess that’s that.”

Emilia instantly drew nearer to pull me in for a hug, one I was not ready to accept but welcomed anyway. “I’m sorry, (y/n). But I mean, sometimes tests just come out with false negatives.” With her face still buried in the crook of my neck in our hug, she mumbled, “Not this one, though. This one’s positive.”

Immediately, I retreated from our hug and pulled her in front of my view. The sneaky girl had a huge grin that took up 99% of her face.

“You’re pregnant!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, shaking my body violently. We embraced each other in another hug while simultaneously jumping up and down. “I just wanted to trick you so you would know how you really feel. Now you know!”

And I did know. I did know that I wanted this baby and that I was glad it even existed.

Not long after our mini-celebration did I start to come down from the high of my euphoria. A certain realization dawned on me like a cloud of gray hanging above my head to rain on my parade.

What about Spencer?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

PART 2 HERE!

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#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #serendipity #spencer reid #spencer reid kiss #fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader

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slippinmickeys · 3 years

Text

A Sequel: Amazon Archeologist/Scientist AU, Part 2:

You can read on AO3 here.

1. “How does it feel to have cured cancer?” asked Kathy Lee. Scully couldn’t take her eyes off the rim of the host’s wine glass; it was smeared with lipstick, and the wine contained therein had legs, running down the bell curve of the glass in thin amber stripes.

It was oddly, surreally quiet on the unnaturally blazing stage -- multiple cameras pointing at them, a team of professionals sitting in dead silence in the dark spread out below.

“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” Scully said, going off script a bit. “I think of the people that died while we were still searching, still researching, while the studies were being checked and… I just wish I’d found it sooner.”

The host’s face softened, and she reached forward and put her hand over Scully’s on the arm of the chair where it was resting. She gave it a squeeze and Hoda took over, “Up next, the group BTS is going to sing us their latest single!”

There was a dull bell that rang off to Scully’s right and the stage manager stepped forward, headphones clomped over his ears, his mic slung low around his jaw.

“We’re clear!” he called, “Sixty seconds!”

The show would be cutting to a co-host standing at a stage set-up outside 30 Rockefeller Center. Scully reached up to unhook the mic attached to her lapel, and a trio of sound technicians descended on her. In ten seconds, she was relieved of all equipment, and she was left swaying in the funnel of the Fresnels on the too bright stage.

“You did great,” she heard from her left, and the show’s host winked at her, and retook her hand, leading her to the dim cool just off stage.

She found Mulder standing before her once her eyes adjusted, just outside the reach of the stage lights, looking nervous and out of place, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a turtleneck and a suit coat, looking every inch the tenured professor.

“And who’s this?” Kathie Lee asked, looking at Mulder brightly.

Scully shook herself, trying to remember her manners. It wasn’t always easy, having spent so much time in the field.

“Uh, this is Mulder,” she said, “Dr. Fox Mulder. My, um… my fiancé.”

The television host smiled warmly at Mulder and clasped his hand.

“I’ve heard the story of your meeting,” Kathie Lee said, “It’s a real pleasure.”

“I’m a big Giants fan,” Mulder said, giving her hand a firm shake, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

The host winked at him and then stalked off, and Scully exhaled, falling a little into Mulder’s side.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.

“The price you pay for changing the course of human history,” Mulder mumbled, squeezing her into his side and kissing her hairline. He led her off the soundstage and into a waiting limo.

2. It had been a whirlwind since the Nobel Prize Award ceremony in Stockholm. It was cold in Sweden in December — especially to a person who’d spent years in the humid jungles off the beaten paths of the world, and she and Mulder both felt out of place and perpetually in the clasp of a bone-clutching chill.

“I just want to be back in the field,” she’d whisper to him, and he would kiss her hand. With the prize money, they could buy a house, start a family — but they both would rather be in a jungle somewhere, sweating into the other’s skin on a too-narrow cot, in a too-hot clime. There was no science when they were in the cradle of the other’s hips, there was just each other. Sex made life more simple. Sex made life more fun. But sex didn’t cure cancer. Pleurotus Mulderatus did that, and the world wanted to hear about it.

3.She had a free ticket. Any university, any assignment.

“I feel pressure,” she told him, her nose pressed into his ear. “What do you do after you’ve cured cancer?” she asked, earnestly, “there’s nowhere to go but down.”

He’d taken her to Rhode Island, to his family’s cottage in Quonochontaug, creaky and drafty and smelling of mildew and old pine. No one had visited in decades and everything needed to be cleaned and aired out.

They kayaked and frolicked in the waves, drank coffee in adirondack chairs and listened to the pinched squawks of hovering sea birds. They’d find a place in the dune grass, down low where the wind wouldn’t catch them. They’d soak up the sun and then go into the cottage and make love between the knotty pine walls, their moans absorbed by the thick shag carpet laced with the grit of sand, faded drunkards path quilts nailed to the walls.

“Down is a state of mind,” Mulder would murmur into her ear, “Up is fighting gravity. You have nowhere to be but here. You have no one to impress but me.”

He would catch her lips with his own and they would sink into each other gratefully.

4.Mulder was burning pancakes in the kitchen when there was a dull knock on the screen door.

Scully was laughing at Mulder’s culinary ineptitudes when she turned toward the sound, her laugh fading when a well-done-up woman appeared on the stoop, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, trying to see into the murky depths of the house.

“Are you press?” Scully asked through the screen door glumly, her mood taking a nose dive.

“I’m Samantha,” the woman said, and it took Scully a full five seconds for her synapses to fire, to figure out the identity of the visitor.

“Oh my god,” Scully said, swinging the door open to admit the polished woman waiting on the other side. The door itself was swollen with humidity and didn’t shut all the way -- it caught like there was a second latch. “Come in, come in!”

Samantha had a full head of thick hair just like her brother, but it was curled and tawny, streaks of not-quite-blonde highlights running from the roots. She was wearing Lily Pulitzer pastels, and would have looked at home in a sun hat or on the pages of Coastal Living.

“You must be Dana,” she breathed, smiling widely. Scully nodded and looked around self-consciously. “God, this place hasn’t changed in thirty years,” Samantha finished, shaking her head ruefully. “Where’s Fox?”

“Kitchen,” Scully said, inclining her head toward the cooking space, though she knew Samantha knew right where to go.

“You’re using the cast iron?” Samantha said boldly and apropos of nothing, stepping into the sunny kitchen, “God, I hope you seasoned that thing.”

Mulder’s face brightened at seeing his sister, and he turned to her fully, enveloping her in a hug, a greasy spatula in one hand, held out so as not to soil her clothes.

“Like you can cook,” he drawled, turning back to the smoking pan.

“I know enough to hire a caterer,” she said, plunking down in an olive green vinyl kitchen chair, looking at ease but totally out of place in the dated decor of the cottage. “So. Who do I have to fuck to get a mimosa around here?”

“Me,” said a voice from the entryway. The screen door slammed ineffectually shut and Scully’s own sister Melissa stood awkwardly in the slant of sun showing through it, holding several plastic bags laden with glass bottles and juices, a hopeful, nervous smile on her face.

“Missy?!” Scully squeaked, and Mulder looked to the door, his face chagrined and pleased as Scully launched herself at her sister, wrapping herself in the earthy patchouli smell of the woman, the plastic bags clunking to the floor at their feet.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“I got ordained online,” Melissa said, drinking a Bellini from a yellow smiley-face mug, her feet tucked under her on a rough-hewn dining chair. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“But it’s--” Scully started, then abandoned her argument. She looked to Mulder desperately, who smiled and plunked a cup of hot coffee in front of her.

“It was only an idea,” he said, squeezing her hand and sliding an ancient sugar dish in front of her. The crinkles around his eyes had hardened in the ocean-reflected sun, lending him an air of easy humor she hadn’t witnessed much of in the jungle.

“Don’t you need two witnesses?” she asked, realizing how lame it sounded the second the words were out of her mouth.

Samantha leaned over and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers in such a way that made her feel bolstered and secure. “Not in Rhode Island,” Mulder’s sister told her, looking her square in the eye.

“We don’t have to do it,” Mulder said, still standing at her side, “but I thought…”

She felt overwhelmed with emotion, thinking of her father, who hadn’t lived long enough to witness her greatest achievement, which would have saved his life.

“Mom sent her wedding dress,” Melissa said, holding up a garment bag -- it was a yellowed ivory in the kitchen sun, the zipper up its middle aged and brittle.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They exchanged vows on the beach in front of the old cottage in a whipping Atlantic wind. Gulls hovered overhead and the sun was as bright as a brass doorknob, the air clearer than glass.

Samantha had read a poem by an amateur poet named Tim Pratt called Scientific Romance (Mulder having confessed to her later that night that it only seemed right to have had a reading replete with scientific notation for a wedding between two people such as themselves). Melissa had read words as old as the institution of marriage itself and they exchanged simple rings and had eyes only for each other. Scully handed her bouquet -- a small posy of wild swamp azalea and yellow flag that Melissa had picked the hour before -- to her new sister in law as she strode up the peeling wooden steps of the house. Mulder had insisted upon carrying her over the threshold and Melissa and Samantha had stood back thoughtfully, and were now sitting closely on the beach, heads bent together, talking in hushed tones.

Scully didn’t know quite what to do with herself, dressed in old lace in the heavy salt air, her left ring finger feeling as heavy and pendulous as an old bell. Mulder wrapped his arms around her from behind and told her they never had to leave.

“Nobel Laureates live in Rhode Island, too, you know,” he whispered into the hair behind her ear.

“Mmm,” she said happily, watching her sister and his dig their feet in the gritty sand.

He kissed the skin where her shoulder met her neck. “Life can be as simple as the state motto.”

“Which is?” she asked.

“Hope.”

5. She stood above the riverbank, the grass a trampled, muddy squelch. A monkey called from overhead, a high primate shriek that echoed through the canopy. Its compatriots soon joined in, the welcoming committee announcing the rare arrival of a visitor.

He sat in the back of the approaching hollowed-out canoe, his knees practically to his neck, the lanky bones of him jutting out at all angles. He wore jeans and chambray, all wrong for the climate, but the blue set off the dark mink of his hair, and his eyes -- as green as the river upon which his boat perched -- caught hers from twenty yards away -- they held her gaze as the craft glided to shore, and he leapt off with the galumphing grace of a power forward.

“Dr. Scully I presume,” he said, finding his balance on the slippery shore and reaching a hand forward. She clasped it gratefully, then brought it to her belly, which was protruding out like a carved fertility statue, a life-sized goddess, gravid and full. “I thank God, doctor, that I have been permitted to see you,” he finished, and they embraced on the shores of the jungle river, perspiring and damp and finally, finally feeling at home.

#fanfic #msr #my fic #the x-files #au #prompts #drabble ish

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wkemeup · 5 years

Text

Double Blind

summary: Set up on what might be the worst blind date you’d ever been on, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious bartender instead pairing: bucky x reader, bartender!au warnings: a handsy asshole named Brock Rumlow a/n: this was written for @notyetneedcoffee‘s 2k writing challenge! My prompt was “Touch her again and lose that hand." Congrats on 2k!!

The night hadn’t even started and you already missed your couch. With every step along the sidewalk and the click of a heel, you craved to dive into the soft cushioning of your old, worn down sofa, rid yourself of the makeup on your face, and watch movies all night with your best friend. Though, considering she was the culprit behind your current predicament, you might have to reconsider your friendship status for a while.

Natasha was always on your back about how often you kept yourself holed up in the apartment. You weren’t one for nights at the bar in tight dresses baring more skin than you were comfortable with or mingling with strangers in overcrowded spaces with music so loud you could hardly hear yourself think. You were always content with a bowl of popcorn on your lap and hair thrown haphazardly away from your face watching a fourth episode of the same series in a binge, and perhaps that made you a little lame, but you didn’t much mind.

You were happy in your ways, but Natasha had other plans.

It was how you ended up wearing a dress from her closet, black and short enough for your hands to be gripping and tugging the fabric down every few paces, and on your way to a bar downtown to meet a guy you didn’t even know. Some friend she was.

You crossed your arms as you walked, holding the sleeves of your jean jacket tighter against you to hide the exposure of your chest that Natasha had adamantly suggested you learn to flaunt. She tried to snatch your jacket from you before you could leave, but you swiped it back just as you slid out the door.

You didn’t mind the heat of sweat that had started to bead at the back of your neck. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make if you were forced to wear a dress that had stranger’s eyes following you down the street with wolf whistles in their wake.

The guy’s name was Brock Rumlow, a security analyst from Natasha’s firm she crossed paths with in the break room on a few occasions. Devil that she was, took it upon herself to set up a blind date between the two of you.

He was handsome, she told you; tall, dark haired, and with a jaw line so sharp it could cut through glass. He was brooding and mysterious and made the kind of money that could force you to overlook some minor character flaws, though she refused to elaborate until you at least agreed to meet the guy.

You were already so picky, she told you. You had impossibly high standards that no man could possibly meet, but hell, maybe that was the point.

You nearly walked right past the address he had texted you to meet at, surprised to find an entrance to a dive bar located down a series of steps away from the sidewalk and with a sign barely illuminated by a fading light. You glanced at your surroundings, clenching your jaw at the isolated area and the group of men across the street smoking under a street lamp, and reminded yourself to give Nat a piece of your mind when you got home.

Stepping into the bar, it was instantly apparent that you were wildly overdressed, even with the jean jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the faded smell of second-hand smoke soaked into the wood of the barstools and booths, the clicks of the pool table as two rather large men with thick grey beards leaned over the edge to inspect their next moves, and the stick of spilled beer on the floor under your heel.

A man in the corner of the room was watching you, arms folded over his chest like he was eyeing up prey, with a kind of hungry gaze that sent shivers down your spine as it trailed over your body. He licked his lips and you shuttered.

Tugging your jacket as far across your chest as you could manage, until it was wrapped in layers over itself, you quickly made your way to the bar. It seemed like a safe enough place. It was a decent distance away from the hawk staring you down in the corner of the room, anyway. The sticky sound of the floor followed with every step you took.

The bartender’s back was to you as he was cleaning a series of glasses in the sink. Watching him for a moment, he didn’t seem to notice you standing behind him but you could hear the faint sound of him humming along to the rock music playing softly from the jukebox in the far end of the room. He nodded his head along to the beat, shoulders swaying somewhat. It made your lips curve into a faint smile.

You were about to clear your throat, hoping to get his attention, when he turned around suddenly, tossing the rag over his shoulder and the features of his face softened into confusion as he laid eyes on you.

Blue. It was suddenly all you could see. Eyes like deep ocean waves and clear open skies. With long, brunette hair by his shoulders tucked behind his ears and a plain black t-shirt barely able to contain the strain of muscles in his arms and across his chest, he certainly looked tough enough to work in a bar like this, but with eyes like that, you wondered if he really belonged here at all.

He smiled at you, something soft and endearing, and you almost forgot why you were in this place to begin with.

“You sure you’re in the right bar, doll?” he asked sweetly, not skipping a beat and wiping the towel along the countertop of the bar in front of him and gestured for you to take a seat across from him.

Looking around, you winced at the men at a booth in the corner of the room who were about three seconds away from a brawl. One pointing a finger at the others chest, and the other so beet faced that he looked like he was about to explode at any given moment from holding back his tongue.

You turned back to the bartender with an uneasy grimace, hoping that your directions had led you astray because this certainly couldn’t be the ‘restaurant’ Brock wanted to meet you at.

"Is this The Centurion?”

“The one and only.” Blue-eyes nodded, clearly a little amused by the way your shoulder slumped and the quiet huff that left your lips.

Of course, it was.

“You might want to change the name of this place,” you commented nervously as you finally took a seat, a slight tremor of a laugh in your voice, “because I clearly wasn’t expecting a bar like this when I left my apartment.”

You gestured to the dress and heels you were wearing and the stain of red upon your lips. He laughed a bit at that as you grabbed a napkin from behind the bar and started to wipe the lipstick away, leaving behind smudges of red upon the paper cloth. You licked your lips to restore some of the moisture and already felt a little lighter without it on.

“’Bar like this?’ Whatever could you mean by that?” he teased, all bright eyed, and when you started to realize what you had said and a blush burned in your cheeks, he only winked at you, chuckling softly to himself. “Trust me, I know this place is a shithole. I’m just surprised to see anyone besides our regulars around here, let alone a beautiful woman lookin’ like a deer in the headlights. We usually cater to a rougher sort of people.”

“You know, I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment,” you laughed, letting a brush of your hair fall into your face to shield the burn of red his comment elicited. The touch of your cheek was warm as you tried to hide it with the heel of your palm.

“Only an observation,” he replied quickly, though with a smirk on his lips.

You nodded, struggling to contain your smile.

He started to wipe down parts of the counter beside you, lifting up bowls of pretzels and limes, and swiping underneath, though there didn’t appear to be much of anything needing cleaning.

He was humming to himself again, not bothered at all by the way your eyes watched him as he worked. He started to wipe down his work station and you noticed rather quickly he paid special attention to the space of the bar ahead of you.

You sat in silence for a while, periodically checking your watch and tugging the lapels of your jacket further across your chest at every glance towards the door, only to find that same man in the corner staring you down and sending unpleasant shivers down your spine.

“Are you cold?” the bartender asked softly, looking over at you curiously as he dried a glass by the sink. “I can turn the AC down if you want.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused, seeing as you had sweat dampening the back of your neck, until he nodded at your jacket, which was still wrapped tightly around your chest. “Oh! Oh, no, I’m burning hot actually. This—This is my roommates dress and I never—I don’t usually wear stuff like this -- not that there’s anything wrong with it -- but I just—um—”

“Men are gross,” Blue-eyes concluded, biting on the edge of his lip as you nodded. He sighed, shaking his head as he slumped back to lean against the bar. “Yeah, I noticed Harvey’s been eyeing you since you walked in here.”

You followed his gaze to find the man who had been staring you down like a hawk the moment you stepped inside. He had yet to take his eyes off of you, though when you turned around, you found the bartender glaring at him with a kind of warning in his expression that gave the man enough sense to keep his hands to himself. Harvey threw his arms in the air, retreating back to his table in the corner and to the series of empty bottles beside him.

“Sorry about him,” Blue-eyes said sincerely. “I can’t kick him out for lookin’, but I swear if he comes close enough to make you uncomfortable, I’ll knock him into next week, alright? I double as the bouncer here, too.”

He added the last bit with a wink and it got you smiling.

“Busy man,” you commented and he laughed. It was the kind of sound that made your stomach twist in knots and you wondered if it was possible to preserve something so beautiful, something so light and airy that sat in such contrast to the tall, thick wall of muscle standing before you.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” you added, sincerely. He nodded in return and you got the feeling he wasn’t like the men who frequented this bar or the men who shouted at you as you walked down the street. He was something else entirely.

Glancing up at the clock in the corner of the room, it was past the time Brock was supposed to meet you and while you thought about sending him a text to check in, you decided against it, half hoping he would just stand you up so you could go home, or maybe, if you were brave enough, ask the bartender for his name.

“So, what can I get you? You must be looking for a drink if you're wasting your time sittin’ up here with me,” he asked as he swung the towel over his shoulder he had just used to wipe his hands.

You glanced behind the bar, hoping a drink might calm your nerves and settle the warm blush in your cheeks at his words and eyed up the series of bottles and liquors on the shelves. Bourbons and vodkas, tequilas, and a few select drafts of beer, and nothing you would ever touch. You frowned.

“You don’t happen to have a Pino here, do you?”

He laughed at that. “I’ve got a shitty red blend that might be worse than boxed wine? But if you let me make you something, I promise it'll blow you away.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Alright then, but I’ll warn you, I’m picky when it comes to alcohol.”

“I think I’ve got a good enough read on you,” he shrugged casually and it made your heart skip, “just give me a minute.”

You watched as he pulled out a tall glass from under the bar, placing it on the counter in front of you with a wink. Then, he started to fill it with various bottles he poured too quickly for you to tell what they were. One was certainly carbonated, leaving bubbles in the glass, while others were clear, some rich in color, and he topped it off with a straw, sliding it closer to you.

You eyed him suspiciously, amused by the confident look on his face, and you took a sip. It was better than you expected, with a subtle taste of cranberry and ginger, with the alcohol barely noticeable, and you sat back with a content sigh.

“What is in this?” you gaped, moving to take another sip.

“A secret I’ll take to my grave,” he replied cheekily, arms folded over his chest and leaning back against the wall behind him, watching you as you nearly downed the first half. Then, a man at the end of the bar was waving his hand, and blue-eyes nodded at him before turning back to you. “I have to take care of this guy. Don’t drink that too fast, doll.”

You nodded, lips still wrapped around the edge of the straw as you took another sip, desperately trying to ignore the thumping of your heart when he shot that smile at you again. Watching as he made his way down to the end of the bar to refill the series of beers for the man and his friends, you felt a vibration coming from your purse. You frowned, seeking out your phone to find a text from Natasha.

How's it going??

It’s not. He’s not even here yet, you responded, glancing around the room to double check because you certainly wouldn’t have noticed if he did arrive amidst your conversation with the blue-eyed bartender. It was nearing fifteen past the time Brock was supposed to meet you anyway.

Give him some time! Maybe he’s running late. Don’t back out, Y/n. This will be good for you!

You’re the worst, just so you know.

Love you, too.

“So, you never did say what brought you to a bar like this,” the bartender said, his voice surprising you as you glanced up from your phone.

“Oh, well,” you stuttered, suddenly embarrassed, “my friend is trying to set me up with some guy she knows from work. He said to meet him here.”

He raised an eyebrow and the flash of disappointment on his face didn’t go unnoticed. “The guy said to meet you here? For a date?”

“You see why I’m overdressed then, don’t you?” you replied, nodding with a teasing smile.

“Definitely wouldn’t waste a dress like that in a place like this,” he agreed, the curve of his lips pushing at his cheeks and though his comment was about your dress, his eyes stayed glued to yours. He made no attempt to steal a glance down your body or under the jacket you kept wrapped over your chest.

“Yeah, well, it’s my friend’s,” you grumbled, tugging at the fabric on your thighs in hopes to pull it closer to your knees, though it jumped back up to the mid of your thigh the second you released the material. “I would much rather be in sweats on the couch right about now.”

“I hear you,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes I feel like jeans are too restricting. Can’t imagine how you’re sitting in that dress comfortably.”

“That’s the kicker. I’m not.”

That got him laughing again and the smile that ached in your cheeks was one you wished you could have worn for hours. Blue-eyes was still wiping down the same section of the bar he’d been cleaning since you got here and you wondered if he was really meticulous in his polishing or if he was finding excuses to talk to you. The thought alone made your stomach twist up in knots.

“I don’t know many people who’ve even heard of this place. We mostly cater to regulars,” he said after a few moments, voice fading out a little as he seemed lost in thought. “Maybe I know the guy. What’s his name?”

“His name?” you repeated, suddenly unsure why you were so reluctant to tell the handsome bartender with the big, bold, blue eyes and the sweetest laugh you’d ever heard. “His name is, um--”

“Bucky! A little help!” a voice suddenly called from the back of the room where a small, brunette woman with an apron draped over her waist and a thick eastern European accent was attempting to keep the two burly men who had been arguing earlier from throwing fists. Even as small as she was, she kept a hand on both of the men’s chests, keeping them apart.

“Shit,” Blue-eyes, or Bucky you supposed, cursed, sending you an apologetic grimace. “Hold that thought for me?”

“Y/n,” you blurted out suddenly before you could lose your nerve, stilling him in his movements and a grin spread across his lips. Time seemed to slow down for a moment.

“Y/n,” he repeated, smiling at the way it felt on his tongue. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nodded, watching how he chewed on the edge of his lip before he hopped over the end of the bar, jogging towards the commotion. The men seemed to straighten their backs and settle down the moment he stepped into view. He seemed to have that presence about him. Perhaps it was the reason you’d gone straight to him as you first stepped into the bar.

Caught up in the way Bucky placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the men to help calm him down and ushered the other to take a seat, you didn’t notice the presence of someone hovering over your shoulder; not as you smiled softly to yourself as Bucky began to take a seat himself across from one of the men, nudging the other into the booth as well in favor of exchanges words over fists.

“Y/n?”

You gasped, startled, turning around to be met with deep brown eyes and a charming smile. The man grinned at you, but there was something off in it, like it was a layer of a mask. He was staring at you, raising an eyebrow at the way you glanced over in Bucky’s direction out of instinct, hoping he’d notice, though you weren’t even sure what you would have wanted him to do.

“Brock?” you asked, uncertain and he nodded, his smile fading the longer it took for you to tear your eyes away from Bucky. If he was a regular here as Bucky suspected, it was evident he didn’t get along well with the bartender.

“I see you got started without me,” he commented, gesturing to the half empty drink Bucky had made for you.

“Oh, well, you were late, so,” you muttered awkwardly, reaching to take another sip to ease your anxiety but Brock grabbed the glass from you before you could, placing it down behind the bar.

“I’ll order you something nicer,” he said flatly.

It was then that Bucky returned to the bar, albeit slower as he swung around the barrier to find Brock standing next to you, looming over your shoulder almost possessively. His eyes flickered down to the drink that was now placed out of your reach, causing him to frown.

Bucky looked to you, soft eyes and concerned expression, and you only nodded, answering his silent question that yes, this was the man you were supposed to meet. His whole body seemed to tense up at your response.

“Rumlow,” Bucky gritted his teeth, jaw clenched and strained history more than obvious between the two.

“Barnes,” Brock replied, just as stiff.

In the exchange, Bucky’s eyes turned to you, trying to catch your own though you were staring down at the floor, a heat of embarrassment in your cheeks you couldn't quite place. You felt a sudden hand on your forearm, rough skin under the palm but so incredibly gentle, and you looked up to find Bucky watching you.

“Call for me if you need anything,” he said sternly, like a warning. “I won’t be far.”

“Thanks Barnes, we’ll be sure to do that,” Brock spat, taking another step closer to you so that his chest pressed against your back, his arms curling around your sides. You shuttered out a shaken breath. “Why don’t we go sit over at the booth for some privacy?”

Your eyes met Bucky’s again, panicked for a moment and you swore you might have seen him shake his head subtly.

“O-oh, I actually prefer sitting here. If that’s alright?”

Brock paused, clearly reluctant to your request, but he eventually took a seat next you, dragging the bar stool close enough to you that when he sat facing you, his knees parted wide enough that his legs were practically caging you. You glanced down, observing the territorial nature of his stance and you gritted your teeth.

Meanwhile, Bucky had been called down to the end of the bar to attend to one of the men at the pool table. He was reluctant to move, but as the patron called for him again, blue eyes met yours and gave you a subtle nod; one that told you he’d be close enough to come running if you needed him.

As he retreated, you watched him for a moment, wondering what it was in the few moments you’d known him that he started to carry an aura of safety around him, a sense of protection, one you had no interest in being removed from and yet, Brock was poking at it with the sharp edge of a needle.

Even from the distance, as Bucky listened for the men’s order, his eyes were on you; not territorially, but out of concern, out of care. His hands were gripping the countertop, shoulders tense and hunched. You only looked away from him when you felt Brock’s hand on your leg.

“So, I should tell you I almost didn’t come tonight,” he purred, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush against your neck, leaving an unpleasant shiver in its wake, “but when Natasha showed me a picture of you, I couldn’t stay away. Had to try a bite of that myself.”

Awkwardly shifting yourself away from Brock’s closeness, you reached for a menu behind the bar, clearing your throat and nervously pushing hair behind your ear and desperate to change the conversation.

“Why don’t we, um, why don’t we get some food? I haven’t eaten in a while actually and--”

“What I want isn’t exactly on the menu.” Brock tugged the pamphlet from your hands and tossed it behind the bar. It fell down to the floor and he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest that it nearly took out a tray of glasses on its way down.

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you, feeling incredibly unnerved and exposed under his stare. You swallowed thickly, folding your jacket tighter across your chest. “So, what do you do at the firm? Nat said you were an analyst?”

A pathetic attempt of changing the subject again. He wasn’t interested.

“Why don’t you take off your jacket? It’s a thousand degrees in here,” he urged, fingers already sliding up your back and slipping under the collar of your jacket and attempting to pull it down. You only held on tighter.

“I’m okay,” you tried to respond, but Brock’s grip was tight on your collar and he was working on sliding down the jean over your shoulder despite the hardened clench of your hands to the fabric.

Brock’s hands moved to your own, trying to pry your grip away from the lapels long enough to loosen your hold and remove the jacket himself. There was no kindness in the way his hands touched you.

You could tell he was starting to get frustrated when he grunted at your reluctance.

“There’s no need to cover up, baby,” he pressed, darkness in his tone and you tried to shoulder away from him.

“Everything alright over here?”

You looked up, startled by the familiar voice. You didn’t realize how tense you were under Brock’s touch, your hands aching from how tightly they were clenching around the flaps of your jacket wrapped over your chest, desperate to keep it secure, eyes locked on the wood of the bar to avoid Brock’s unsettling stare.

Bucky was standing just a foot away from you, barrier of the bar between you feeling like a mile long. He was staring daggers into Brock, not moving a muscle until Brock’s hands retreated from your jacket with a defeated groan.

“I was just trying to help the lady out and take her coat. I was being a gentleman,” he said, though his hand quickly made its way to your thigh. It seemed he needed to have some kind of physical contact with you while in Bucky’s presence, just to remind you who you were here with. You tried to ignore it.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were,” Bucky accused, shaking his head in disgust and seeing straight through Brock’s excuse. He turned to you, incredibly softer now. “Can I get you anything, doll? Anything you want, just say the word.”

You knew what he was offering and it was more than a refill on a drink. The discomfort must have been clear as day across your face because the way he was watching you was so incredibly sincere; like he was prepared to jump over the bar to your defense the second you asked him to. Eyes filled with nothing but sparkling pale blue that made your stomach twist and turn in such startling contrast to the Brock’s hands roaming over your thigh. You longed to get lost in him.

“No, no I’m fine. Thank you,” you replied reluctantly, forcing out a smile, but Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave yours, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. A silent conversation between the two of you and you tried to mask the scream in the back of your head wanting him to rescue you.

“The lady said she’s fine, Barnes, so give us some privacy,” Brock spat, his hand creeping along your lower back and you let out a shaky breath at the touch of him.

Bucky noticed, his eyes darting down to Brock’s hand, but he didn’t say anything, not until you gave him the ‘ok’ to do so. It took him a few seconds, lingering behind, before he ultimately returned to his duties at the other end of the bar.

Heart still in your throat, you tried to find a way to get through this hellscape of a date so you could get home and tear into Natasha for setting you up with a man like this. He didn’t seem to care that you leaned away from his hands as they roamed your body, and if anything, it urged him on.

“So,” you started, nervously avoiding his eyes, “what, um, what got you into analyt--”

“Enough with the small talk,” Brock grumbled, grabbing a firm hold of your bar stool and yanking you closer. You gasped at the sudden movement, clinging onto the bar to avoid losing your balance. “We both know why we’re here tonight and it’s not to get to know each other.”

You shook your head, stretching your neck away from his touch as his fingers trailed up along your shoulder, though it didn’t prove of much use. You could still feel the unpleasant tremble of shivers in his wake.

“I don’t know what Nat told you but I’m not looking for--”

“I know exactly what you’re looking for, baby,” he whispered, startlingly close to your ear, and his hand was on the bare of your thigh, creeping dangerously close to the edge of your dress.

“Brock, stop,” you urged, trying to swat his hand away but he held on firm enough to grip into your thigh.

“Don’t be dramatic.” His fingertips slipped under the fabric of your dress and you jumped up from the bar, stepping a few paces away from him but he followed you.

“I think you should go,” you warned, your voice shaking despite the anger in your veins. It was a wild range of fear and embarrassment and fury rushing through you and you couldn’t control even an ounce of it.

“I came all the way out here for this and you're not even going to put out?” Brock spat at you, inching close enough to cage you against the edge of the bar. There was nowhere for you to go.

You were starting to panic, desperately looking down the bar for Bucky but he was suddenly nowhere in sight. Your hands pressed against Brock’s chest to find he was as unmovable as stone.

“Let me go,” you said quietly, desperately, and losing the strength in your tone quickly. Your breaths were coming in too fast, heart rate skyrocketing, and as Brock’s hand slid up your side, you bit down hard enough on your cheek to draw blood.

“Maybe you should learn a little respect,” he sneered, fingers pushing their way into your hair and before you could even part your lips to shout for someone, anyone, to notice Brock was suddenly ripped away from you, his hold vanishing as he was tossed forcefully to the ground.

“Touch her again and lose that hand,” Bucky growled, hovering over Brock and placing himself strategically between you.

His hand darted out behind him, searching for you to confirm you were alright and you grabbed onto it, squeezing it hard and the tension in his muscles only seemed to relax for a moment.

“What are you gonna do about it, deadbeat?” Brock spat back from the ground, brushing off his hands. “You gonna try and fight me for her? Is that what you want, huh? You want the girl all to yourself?”

Standing behind Bucky, you watched the way his body acted at your shield, his shoulders heaving with every panted breath, free hand curling into a fist as Brock attempted to stand, the other in sharp contrast sitting tenderly wrapped around your own. Brock rose from the ground, gritting his teeth and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Y/n, go with Wanda,” Bucky said over his shoulder, voice low and stern.

“But Bucky,” you whispered, afraid of what would happen if you left him.

He paused for a minute, turning back to you. His jaw was clenched, tense, but his eyes were full of worry; blue shades of concern and urgency.

“Please,” he asked, holding your gaze for longer than he probably should have but there was just a desperation in his tone that took you off guard. His hand squeezed yours and you nodded at him, releasing him though it pained you to do so and jumped into the arms of the petite woman who ushered you safely away from the fight.

With her hand on your forearm, she tried to lead you to the back room where the owner’s office was, but you planted your feet, turning back to Bucky and Brock as they were spewing taunts at one another too low for you to hear, but you could see the tension burning in the air as they circled one another.

“Wait! Will he be okay?” you asked timidly, flinching on impact as Brock suddenly took a swing that Bucky was able to dodge easily before he slammed Brock’s head to the countertop. Eager chants urging them on started to echo in small space of the bar as men cheered and sloshed beer over their glasses. It was chaos in a matter of seconds.

“Bucky can take care of himself, I promise,” Wanda replied urgently, pushing you further into the back room and you let her guide you away when Bucky and Brock were suddenly hidden from view by the patrons gathered around enthusiastically to watch.

Even from inside the office as Wanda closed and locked the door behind her, you could hear the crashing of glasses and the grunts of pain and exertion from beyond the walls. You slumped down into the chair behind the desk, arms wrapped around your waist and tried not to picture what was happening.

“How long have you known Bucky?” she asked, trying to distract you.

You shook your head, finding it impossible to tear your eyes away from the door. “I-- I don’t. I just met him tonight.”

That seemed to surprise her.

“Why?” you asked, flinching at a loud, muffled crash beyond the office followed by a collect eruption of shouts and applause.

She shrugged, a soft smile on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Bucky smile the way he has tonight. He doesn’t usually spend so much time cleaning the bar, especially that one particular spot.”

You shook your head, shaking away her comment because it felt too real. “Yeah, well, I’m sure it’s only because you guys usually have old biker men and handsy assholes frequenting this bar.”

Wanda pursed her lips, a knowing look in her eyes and entirely unconvinced by your excuse, but she didn’t push it and instead agreed, “sure. Maybe that’s it.”

***

Wanda certainly did her best to keep you distracted, but with every echo of a cheer beyond the wall, your attention quickly diverted back to the door, leaving you to ruminate constantly on whether it was Bucky or Brock who had been struck before the reaction of the crowd. You didn’t know who these men would cheer for or if they only cared about the thrill of the fight, eager to watch either side get a decent hit in.

Wanda informed you that Bucky had a history of fighting. He used to be a boxer back in the day and knew his way around a fight better than most. He would take care of himself, she told you, promised you.

You didn’t know why you cared so intensely, why you worried so much. You didn’t even know him, and yet, something about the blue in his eyes, the tenderness of his smile, and the sweet tone in his laugh drew you to him unlike anything else.

There was so much about him you still wanted to know, so much more you longed to talk to him about and ask him just to have a chance at hearing that laugh again. It had been years since you felt anything remotely like this and never so quickly. The fact that after all of the sweet talk and the teasing, he jumped head first into a fight to protect you from a man who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself, only seemed to spur on the twists in your stomach for him.

So, when the crowd began to quiet and the door to the office began to unclick with the turn of a key from the other side, you weren’t quite sure relief was a strong enough word for the release of tension in your chest. Though, when Wanda stepped aside and Bucky’s full figure was in view again, that same panic rushed back tenfold.

“Oh God,” you gasped, hand clamped over your mouth as you stood from the desk.

Bucky slowly made his way inside, evident by the wince on his face that something was bothering him in his leg. Blood dripped down from an open cut on his cheekbone and his lip was busted open in the center. Swelling had already started to take effect around his eye and his skin was marked in pinks and reds sure to turn blue in a few hours.

Your lips were parted in shock and the panic must have read over your features judging by the way Bucky tried to push out a smile for you.

“You should see the other guy,” Bucky joked, though a drip of blood slid past his lip and neither you nor Wanda smiled. He turned to Wanda, observing the tension in the room between you. “He’s already gone. No chance he’ll risk his own ass by calling the cops, but better get a word in to Steve at the station as a warning. I don’t want that piece of shit in this bar again.”

Wanda nodded, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder before she left the room.

Then, you were alone.

“How are you doing?” he asked after a moment of silence, sincere as can be because only this man would be concerned about you after he just took a pretty significant beating.

There wasn’t even a thought to yourself as you looked at him. You were too focused on the blood on his face, the open wounds, and the way he was holding onto his side like it pained him just to breathe. You shook your head at his question, in disbelief.

“How am I--? Jesus, Bucky, look at you!” you stuttered out, pointing at the state of him and you suddenly realized your hands were shaking. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

Bucky must have noticed because he pushed himself further into the room, despite the clear ache as he walked and he sat against the edge of the desk next to you, close enough for you to hear the subtle wheeze in his breaths and feel the heat off of his skin.

“I’ve had worse, doll. I’m fine,” Bucky whispered, blue eyes raking over your face.

“You didn’t-- you didn’t have to do that,” you said, unable to meet his eye, staring at his hands as they gripped at the desk.

“’Course, I did,” he replied quickly. “I wasn’t going to let him touch you like that, not with you so clearly telling him to stop. Guy like that doesn't know when to quit, doesn’t respond to being asked nicely either, but he’ll run off after a few good hits.”

“But why?” you choked out, finally gathering the courage to look at him only to find the crease of his brow stitched together and a layer of surprise on his face. “You don’t even know me. Why put yourself in harm's way if--”

“Well for one,” Bucky started, pulling your hand gently into yours, watching the way you stilled upon his touch, a gasp leaving you in a breathless kind of way, “I wouldn’t let him do that to anyone if they were explicitly saying ‘no,’ but you... I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy and maybe I’m making things up as I go, but there’s just something about you. From the second you walked in I didn’t want you to leave. I hated every time I had to deal with someone else and I lost a few minutes I could have been talking to you. That was all before Rumlow even showed up, and once he did, it felt like my skin was on fire.”

You watched the way he played with your hand, running his palm over it and cupping it between his own, drawing lines in your palms, and distracting himself with something tender despite the broken knuckles on his skin. His words left your heart racing but you bit on your lip, letting him continue.

“I’ve seen him hit on women before,” Bucky sighed. “I’ve seen the way he treats women like he deserves something from them but I’ve never seen him go this far, to—to trap you at the bar like that. I just—I lost it. The thought that you could be next in this line of women he’s hurt and I couldn’t--”

“Okay,” you whispered, pulling his attention from your hands and meeting his eye. You nodded at him, hand squeezing back at his to still his anxious movements. He seemed to relax at that, though your eye was still drifting up to the open wound on his cheek.

“Will you let me fix that up?” you asked softly, and he narrowed his eyes, confused.

“You sure you don’t want to run from this place and never look back?” he whispered, evading your question with an almost certain look as though he was awaiting your escape; maybe because of the confession that he might feel something for you other than the adrenaline in his veins, or maybe because he was bloody and broken and too hardened and violent to be touched by a woman as gentle as you.

You shook your head, following the crease in his brow and tenderly cupping his cheek to closer examine the wound, watching as his facial muscles relaxed instantly under your touch. Blue eyes studied you like you were from another world as you took a mental note of the supplies you’d need.

“I assume you have a first aid kit around here somewhere, tough guy?”

He chuckled at that, a lower, harder sound than the laugh you’d heard out in the bar, but it was still as beautiful. He was trying to hold this one back from the pain in his ribs, but it was too sweet to ignore. He nodded, pointing at the drawer next to your thigh. Sure enough, inside was a kit that was faded in lettering and looked to be years old.

You pulled out alcohol swaps and bandages, gesturing for his right hand. He gave it over to you without hesitation. His hand felt nice sitting in yours; heavy and calloused, and impossibly tender.

“This may sting,” you warned him.

“Do what you need to, doll,” he smiled and even through cracked lips he was stunning.

He still hissed as the alcohol-soaked cloth touch the exposed wounds on his knuckles and he tried to pull away instinctively cause you to grip tighter onto his hand to keep him firmly in place. He didn’t flinch as much as you pressed it to the break in his skin again, dabbing gently and ridding his knuckles of the blood before you tenderly applied the soothing gel and wrapped his hand.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said softly. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Who says I haven’t?” you smirked, gathering new supplies to start working on the cut on his face. You gestured down to his thighs and he parted them for you, letting you step between them as he kept his seat on the top of the desk to give you a better angle to work on the wound on his cheek.

Standing this close to him, you wondered if he could hear the thunderous pounding in your chest.

“Might be a little jealous someone else is getting this kind of attention from you,” Bucky replied casually, as if it didn’t make your stomach twist over on itself.

You bit your lip, taking in a steady breath as you dabbed the alcohol wipe to his cheek. He winced, reflexively trying to dodge the burn of the wipes, so you reached up to the cup the side of his face to hold him still. He relaxed instantly under your touch, almost leaning into it. You ran your thumb along his cheek on his unmarked side to sooth him as you placed the sting of the alcohol to the wound again. He didn’t budge even an inch this time, eyes staring into yours as you worked.

“Well, your supposed jealousy is unwarranted, seeing as it was my brother with the tendency to end up battered and bruised,” you said, focusing on the open wound rather than the blush in your cheeks and the sincerity with which Bucky was watching you. “He always had a hard time walking away from a fight. Didn’t matter he was consistently smaller; he was constantly picking fights under some moral imperative he lives by.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Bucky laughed, and you could feel the vibration of it against your palm. “Mine grew up to be a cop.”

“Better tell him to watch out for a lanky teenager running around Queens with a vigilante complex,” you grinned, grabbing a bandage from the kit and gently applying to the cut on Bucky’s cheekbone, paying careful attention to line it up perfectly despite the crinkles in his smile leading up to his eyes.

You pressed on the bandage, ensuring the adhesive was applied and let out a sigh of relief. You hand slipped away from his cheek and though you were smiling at him, you missed the contact instantly.

You smiled at him. “I think you’re gonna make it.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked, a sudden longing in his voice that brought shivers to your spine as he tilted his head. His eyes were somehow twice as big, twice as blue, when he looked at you like that, like he wanted you to stay.

You made no move to step away from your stance between his legs and while his hands stayed planted on his thighs you could tell he was inching closer to you, though he’d never make the first move, not after what happened with Brock.

“Maybe I should double check,” you said, almost breathless.

Your hand slid up the side of his arm, with more courage than you’d ever had in your veins in a single moment in time, and cupped the side of his face again. You didn’t have the energy to even pretend to look at the bandaged cut because your eyes were flickering to his lips; pink and pillowy and so incredibly perfect.

Your free hand came up to rest on his shoulder, playing absentmindedly with the fabric of his black t-shirt and as you took a step forward, though impossibly small because it was miracle in itself you could get closer than you already were, Bucky’s hands slowly came to your hips. It was timid at first, gently seeking permission and waiting for a soft nod from you before he tugged you closer.

His breath was warm on your cheeks the closer you leaned in. Lips ghosted against yours and a soft chuckle left him as he winced at the touch, the cut on his lip from the fight stinging at the feel of you. He moved to readjust, positioning himself so that it was his upper lip you captured between your own, not that you much minded, because the thought of him alone was enough to keep you sustained, despite the trembling in your legs.

You hardly even noticed the office door swing open.

“Hey Bucky I could use some help with—oh, I’m sorry!”

You jumped away from him instantly, stumbling back from the shock of Wanda’s entrance back into the office and the flush of her cheeks as she turned away. Bucky’s hand reached out to grab yours before you crashed into his bookshelf and he was grinning wildly, almost impossible to contain.

“What’s going on Wan?” Bucky asked sweetly, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Burgess isn’t as keen on letting me close up as the rest of them were,” she said apprehensively, offering him an apologetic grimace.

“Ok, kid, I’ll be right out,” he replied and Wanda quickly exited the room again, muttering another apology under her breath. Bucky laughed breathily as he stood up, hand still tight in yours. “Promise you won’t go far? I’d like to make sure you get home safe, if that’s alright?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your own words from the nervous aching in your bones. As Bucky slipped past you, he pressed a quick kiss to your hairline, winking before he stepped out of the room. You exhaled a breath you were sure was held since the moment his hands touched your hips and slumped down into the chair. The sharp vibrations that came from your phone nearly pulled a yelp out of you.

Glancing down at the caller ID, you saw an image of Natasha with about three dumplings stuffed in her cheeks and tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. You rolled your eyes, picking up the phone.

“How’d it go!” she shouted the second you pulled the phone to your ear.

Not bothering with greetings, it seemed.

“I can’t believe you would set me up with that monster,” you hissed, glancing back at the door. “What is the matter with you!”

“Forget Brock,” she groaned, “I’m talking about Bucky!”

You froze. “Wait, what? How do you know about Bucky?”

“Do you seriously think I would set you up with Brock Rumlow?” she gasped, feigning offense. “He’s a Grade A asshole and will hit on anything with legs.”

You rubbed at your temples. “Nat...”

“Ok, so... I may have set you up on a blind date, but it wasn’t with the guy I told you it was with,” Natasha explained, “and maybe I didn’t tell Bucky either, but I would bet next month’s paycheck that you two hit it off instantly and he got all worked up and jealous with Rumlow around. Did he come to your rescue? Bucky really loves being a hero...”

You shook your head, hand planted into your face and trying to process what she was telling you. Natasha wove people around her fingers in string and let them dance beneath her hands. She was perceptive and intuitive and seemed to know the people in her life better than most of them knew themselves; you included. Still, you couldn’t help but be impressed. She was so much smarter than anyone gave her credit for.

“You’re incredibly manipulative. You know that don’t you?” you said, though there was a teasing tone in your voice, a smile on your face and frankly, relief that she didn’t actually think Brock was someone you’d like.

“I like to think of myself as strategic,” she retorted, laughing.

“Yeah, well, wait until you hear how your ‘strategic’ plan let Brock get far too handsy with me.”

“Did Bucky punch him out? I guarantee he went all White Knight for you.”

“I hate you,” you laughed. “I hate you so much.”

You glanced up to find Bucky standing in the doorway, just watching you contently with a smile on his face. You chewed on your lip, looking away from him nervously as a blush rose in your cheeks, wondering how long he’d been standing there.

“Nat, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you when I get home, alright?”

“He’s in the room now, isn’t he?”

You could practically see the gloating smirk upon her face as she sat curled up on the couch and twirling a pen around her fingers. It was criminal how often she was proven right.

“Goodbye, Natasha,” you pressed, ignoring her protests and tossing your phone back into your purse.

“That the supposed friend that set you up with Rumlow?” Bucky teased, crossing the room to you and leaning against the desk. You settled in next to him and felt your heart skip a beat at how quickly he let his hand slip into yours, nervously biting on his own lip.

“Turns out she wasn’t setting me up with Brock at all,” you shrugged and when Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion you explained, “I think we have a mutual friend. Romanoff.”

Bucky started laughing at that, shaking his head, with a grit of his teeth. “Of course, she’s involved in this. I can’t believe she actually pulled off another double blind.”

“A what?”

“A double blind. Like in research studies when the participant and the researcher both don’t know if they’re in the treatment or control group,” Bucky clarified, unable to shake the smile from his face. “She’s done this before with my buddy, Steve, and his fiancé Peggy. She puts people in these situations she knows will lead to some kind of organic connection they never would have had otherwise. It takes your guard down, opens you up to something you might not otherwise see. I mean, think about it. Would you have ever stepped foot in this bar if you weren’t supposed to meet Rumlow here?”

“I think I could have done without Brock in general,” you laughed. “I was liking you all on your own before he even showed up. Though, I’ve never had someone fight for my honor before.”

“Wish it was under better circumstances, but I won’t say I’m against having an excuse to punch the guy.” Bucky grinned, stepping in closer to you, his hands sliding up your arms tenderly until the rested against your neck, his thumbs running over your jawline in soothing sweeps.

He sighed, his smile softening as he looked down at you, like he was memorizing the intricate details in your completion. “Is it bad to say I’m happy Rumlow isn’t a better guy? You knocked me out from the second you walked in this bar and if he was a decent guy, maybe you wouldn’t have even given me a second look.”

“I would have,” you said adamantly and when Bucky met your eye again, you could see the surprise lingering in his features. There was a trace of uncertainty, an insecurity you didn’t expect from a man so charming, so beautiful, and so incredibly willing to jump to your defense in the very second you needed him.

In a surge of courage, as his gaze flickered down longingly to your lips, you closed the space between you. Your hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, the hardened ripple of muscle beneath evident against your touch, and it took Bucky a moment to pull himself from the shock of it before he kissed you back.

Fingers raking against your scalp, he captured your lips in his, pulling your lower into his mouth and sucking sweetly enough to draw a moan from you before his tongue swept over it. You yanked him closer, tugging on his shirt, only find him pressed up against you with nowhere else to go.

With the lingering scent of alcohol in his clothes, you drank him in. Lips moving against one another, hands roaming and aching for more, and only pulling away when you were breathless and his lips were red and swollen and so impossibly gorgeous.

You met each other’s eyes, a laugh breaking through the both of you as you leaned forward against his chest, just caught up in the rush of everything that happened and the adrenaline in your veins that led you to this moment. Bucky’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you securely to his chest and you felt his lips press gently to the crown of your head; a soft, delicate gesture that expected nothing in return.

“I’m a little annoyed I’ll have to thank Natasha later,” you teased, drawing another laugh out of him.

“I’ll happily do it for you, if you like,” Bucky offered, pulling back just enough to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll throw my pride in the Hudson and thank her a thousand times if you let me kiss you like that again.”

“Yeah?” you giggled, leaning up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips before you pulled away, leaving him wanting. “What about a date?”

“I’ll give you any date you want,” he replied quickly, seeking out your lips again as his arms wrapped around your waist again and pulled your feet from the ground. You broke away laughing and he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Just say yes and I’ll take you anywhere, give you anything your heart desires.”

“That’s a bold offer,” you commented, grinning at him.

“Not when it’s sincere,” he replied, sending you a wink that made you knees feel weak.

As he grabbed your bag for you and led you to the doorway, his gentle hold around your shoulders serving as lingering connection to you in sharp contrast to the way Brock’s touch was an act of possession, you leaned into him with every step. The soft vibrations of his laugh, the low tone of his voice, and the gentle touch of his hands caught up in your senses as he walked you home.

Your regret of leaving your apartment faded in an instant the second you first saw him and even now with his pace in line with yours and your arm wrapped at his waist, you ardently decided you’d deal with a hundred Brock Rumlows if it brought you to Bucky.

If it brought you to blue eyes and kind smiles.

Your knight in a black t-shirt and faded jeans.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #needcoffees2k

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txemrn · 3 years

Note

In your hc, did Brynn have any strong cravings or aversions during her pregnancy from the mother's day fic?? How did Sam handle that??? I hope he wasn't a dickhead like with the other pregnancy when he cheated and gave her an STD. 😒

I was just thinking 👉👈🥺😇 that might be a cute little story. 😉

Btw I really enjoy reading about them!!! I'd L💗VE more. HINT proposal??? WEDDING?????

Hey, there! *big ol' hugs* thank you so much for the ask and the "hints". 🤣😂🤣 I hope you enjoy my interpretation of your suggestion! And yes, there is more to come from Sam and Brynn. Enjoy! 🍨🍓🍨

Warning: NSFW 🍋 (tiny little squirts; don't get too excited); language; angst; pregnancy-related stuff

***

The sparkle of fresh winter snow gathers along the window sill. A hint of gingerbread and fresh spruce waltz in the air. Melting with the smokey notes of kindled embers, the fireplace crackles in the darkened master suite--the only lively room left in the penthouse for the evening.

It had been an exhausting Friday. With Christmas and Brynn’s birthday next week, the Dalton family spent their day tirelessly getting things prepared before a very special winter vacation. Brynn attended Mickey and Mason’s holiday party at school, bringing her famous cupcakes and oven-baked Chex Mix, not to mention presents for all the teachers and faculty.

Because of the school’s early release, Brynn and the boys met Sam for lunch, where they served the entire company a catered, bountiful holiday meal, complete with generous congratulatory swag for another successful third year.

Sam spent the afternoon on phone conferences, which gave him time to pack up to work remotely from home; he wouldn’t be returning until the 28th. By the late afternoon, they had completed the grocery shopping, tidied up their home, fixed and ate dinner.

But for Sam and Brynn, the jam-packed day was far from over. There was still one more very important task to complete: sex. And lots of it.

Seductive whispers, tender giggles and lustful moans penetrate the quiet suite. Their exposed bodies hungrily intertwine together as their movements are kept rhythmically in time with the subtle creaking of the bed.

Sam grips tightly to his wife’s supple breast, brushing his thumbs over her erect pink nipples. With her left hand, Brynn sinks her nails onto the top of his hand, squeezing together with him; her other hand holds tightly to the headboard, straddling her thighs on top of her husband’s hips.

“Oh, God! Sam!” she exhales with each thrust onto his swelling, hardened girth, her voice becoming louder, more raspy. “Almost--! Almost--!”

“Brynn--! I--!” With one final buck of his hips, Sam spills over into euphoria. His fingers quickly drop to her voluptuous assets. He clenches savagely to her curves, pushing her drenched, tightening center to his hilt. Sweat drips off his brow as indistinguishable groans wail from his throat.

Watching her husband come undone teases Brynn’s own release. Tossing her almond locks over her bare shoulders, she is taken captive by the sensations tickling her voracious desires. She rocks her hips against Sam’s buried length, stroking her throbbing clit through her incessant waves of reckless ecstasy. Thunderous moans of pleasure escape her mouth as she gasps for a drink of air.

Almost too terrified to disturb the perfect moment, the couple savors the quietness of them simply being together, their hearts beating in-time, connecting as one.

“I love you, baby,” Sam whispers, breaking the silence as he gently massages Brynn’s thighs. His hands intimately roam, carefully finding their way to stroke her fully-blossomed pregnant belly.

A bright smile effortlessly spreads across her face. “I love you, too, baby.” Her delicate fingers meet his. She lifts his hand to her lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses.

“Hopefully,” he chuckles, “that’ll do the trick.”

She cradles her abdomen. “I can only hope so,” she titters, her fingers caressing her abdomen as she talks to their unborn child. “That was another eviction notice, precious one--”

Brynn and Sam had a preterm labor scare at 33 weeks, which landed Brynn in the hospital for a week being pumped with various medications to stop her contractions. She was discharged home, with the instructions to “take it easy.” Though it isn’t ideal to have a baby this early, her team of doctors agreed they weren’t going to do anything to stop her labor if it were to happen again.

Tomorrow, Brynn will be 41 weeks. For the past two weeks, she has been trying every trick in the book to go into labor. Her lab technician Meaghan swore by spicy food; that only gave Brynn ungodly heartburn. Lydia, the Dalton’s downstairs neighbor, gifted Brynn a bottle of castor oil; she spent a solid two days with uncontrollable diarrhea and belly aches. Carter’s wife gave Brynn a special tea blend; she would contract, but nothing painful; she actually fell asleep because of the delicious steep.

Then, there was her mother's advice:

“You’ve gotta have sex, Brynny--”

“Mom--!”

“--and I’m not talking about the mediocre, ‘are you done yet?’ , making-your-shopping-list-in-your-head kind. You need to orgasm--”

“Jesus Christ, Mom--!”

“You need his semen--”

“I can’t believe this is happening right now--”

“And fondle your breasts. Better yet, let him do it! Now you might leak a little, so if you have him suckle--”

*click*

“Brynny? Brynny?”

“I, for one, am not minding this eviction process--”

“Samuel!” she playfully slaps against Sam’s broad chest. Blocking her hits and laughing, Sam finally grabs Brynn, pulling her body down next to his. He wraps his arms around her, brushing his lips against her temple. He rests his large hands on her gravid belly, nuzzling his nose into her neck.

“Are you okay, babe?”

“Mhmm--” Brynn snuggles into Sam’s embrace, closing her eyes. “Just perfect, babe. G’night.”

“Night, baby.”

The delightful pops of the fireplace lulls Sam to sleep; Brynn, however, started having trouble. She turned to her right side, but soon flipped to her left side. When that didn’t get her comfortable, she sat up on the side of the bed, massaging her back and her abdomen.

“Brynn baby,” yawns Sam, “you okay?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, babe.”

“It’s-k.” Sam fluffs his pillow under his head, keeping his eyes closed. “Contractions?” he slurs.

“Braxton Hicks. I’ll be fine. You go back to--”

Sam lets out a satisfied snore before Brynn can finish her sentence. Tickled, she tucks her husband into bed before she slips on a silk robe. Pulling out her exercise ball from the closet, she sits on top of it in hopes that rocking her hips will bring her some comfort.

She suddenly stops, clutching her chest. An all-too-familiar jolt of burning shoots through her belly leaving an unbearable sour sensation clawing at the back of her throat. Carefully balancing herself to a stand, she retreats to the bathroom for medicine. And to vomit.

“Brynn? Brynn?”

“I’m in here,” her pitiful voice echoes through the bathroom.

Sam slips on a pair of sweats, hurrying to her side in the water closet. Seeing his wife crumpled over the toilet, he drops to her side, pushing her hair behind her ears before rubbing her back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she whispers gravelly.

“No, you’re not,” he tenderly touches her clammy cheek. “What do you need, babe?”

Brynn leans back, sitting her rear on the cold tile. Embracing her body as another contraction subsides, she quietly states, “I need ice cream.”

Sam’s eyes widen with surprise at the request. “You want… ice cream?”

“Mhmm,” she nods. “That would feel so good against my throat.”

“Okay, baby,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb across swollen lips. “Is there a certain flavor--?”

“Strawberry,” she barks, “it needs to be strawberry.”

Sam kisses her forehead, and jogs to the kitchen in search of his wife’s favorite ice cream. Scooping up three massive balls into a bowl, he returns to the bathroom with two spoons.

“Strawberry ice cream, m’lady!” He sits on the floor with her, presenting the cold dessert like a trophy.

Brynn observes the creamy pink heap. She slowly takes the spoon, poking at the frozen treat. She watches her husband take a bite of it first before she reluctantly tries it.

“No,” she spits out her small bite, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Perplexed, Sam spoons another bite for himself. “Is there something wrong with it? Is it freezer burned or--?”

“No, no,” Brynn’s eyes begin to well with tears. “It’s just not strawberry enough,” she sniffles.

“Okay, babe, there’s no crying in ice cream,” he chuckles, wiping at her eyes.

“I think it’s because I want strawberry ice cream.”

“Honey, this is strawberry ice cream.”

“This is strawberries and cream.” She uses her spoon as a pointer, “See how there’s vanilla and strawberry with pieces of strawberry? I just," she sighs, "I need strawberry ice cream.”

Staring at the wall, Sam pretends to understand his wife’s request. “Of course, baby. I’ll go get, um--” he clears his throat to keep from laughing, “the strawberry ice cream.”

“Hey, Sam?”

“Mhmm?”

“I love you, baby.” She offers a toothy smile.

He chuckles. “Love you, too,” he shakes his head with a coy smile.

Sam returns with another heaping mound of strawberry ice cream. “Alright, baby, just what you asked for: strawberry ice cream.”

“Sam,” irritation saturates Brynn’s voice as it begins to tremble. “This has strawberry pieces in it.”

“It’s because it’s strawberry ice cream,” Sam bites his tongue, watching his words carefully as he gnashes his teeth. “It’s exactly what you asked for, sweetheart.”

Brynn hangs her head in her hands as she sobs. “I wanted strawberry ice cream, not strawberry with strawberries ice cream!”

“Babe, are you fucking kidding me right--?”

“Don’t yell at me!” Brynn begins to sob harder.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam sputters. He runs his hands down his face, letting out a sigh. He sits down next to his wife, taking her in his arms. “How can we fix this? Can you maybe eat around the strawberries?”

“It just,” her breath hangs tight in her throat as she tries to control her tears, “it doesn’t taste the same.”

“Of course, it doesn’t,” he mutters under his breath. He sighs heavily again. “What can I do, Brynn? Tell me what to do.”

“I just want strawberry ice cream--”

“No. What. Do. You. Want?” He grabs his cell phone. “Show me.”

She does a quick google search, pulling up a plain pink custard with strawberry flavoring--no pieces. “This. I need this. Please.”

“Brynn, we don’t have this here.”

“There’s a 7-11 two blocks away--”

“It’s eighteen degrees outside.” Sam shakes his head, as he walks back to bed. “No, this is getting fucking ridiculous.”

Brynn glares at the spot where her husband once stood, her eyebrows furrowing; warm streams of tears downpour on her cheeks. Red patches of skin grow across her neck and face as her breathing labors.

“Samuel!” When he doesn’t answer, she carefully balances herself from the ground and waddles into their room. “Samuel!”

“What?” his muffled words slur as he buries his head into a pillow. “I just need a little sleep.”

“Oh, you need a little sleep? You?” Brynn rips the duvet off of Sam, her small body shaking in anger. “I have given up my body for ten fucking months to grow a baby, an actual human being that will more than likely rip me to pieces just to,” she chuckles sarcastically, “look like you!”

“Brynn, I--”

“I’m not fucking done!” She breathes through another contraction, stepping closer to her terrified husband. “I have not complained once, and yet I have given up every ounce of my dignity. I can’t control my farts. I can't control my pee. I’m growing rolls and stretch marks in places that I never even knew a person could grow them!” She steps even closer, her eyes darkening. “I fuck you multiple times weekly--sometimes daily--where I hide the embarrassment that my hot, chiseled husband is staring at either my double chin or my fat, stretch-marked ass--”

“Baby, I don’t--”

Brynn holds up a finger. “I reverse cowgirl you until my legs cramp because you like it. I suck your dick off because you like it--”

“I thought that--”

“I just want some strawberry ice cream, Sam!” she sobs, “And then maybe you can get some sleep!” Brynn cradles her abdomen as another wave of discomfort grips around her belly.

Sam sits on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Fine”

“And I need to come with you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam sarcastically scoffs. He slinks on a long-sleeve shirt before grabbing his coat. He turns back to his wife who is grabbing her coat. “Um, no,” he chuckles. “I need you stay here and just relax--”

“No, we’re going together.”

Frustrated with the conversation, Sam darts his eyes around the room, trying not to yell. “Why, Brynn?”

“Because--”

“‘Because’ why, Brynn?”

“Because my water just broke.”

***

@ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @forallthatitsworth @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @pixie88 @sfb123 @shannonsaid @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @secretaryunpaid @thefrenchiemama

#the nanny affair #m!sam dalton #m!sam x mc #pregnancy #choices stories you play #choices tna

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underworld-knight · 4 years

Text

Barrier (Idia x F! s/o)

It was a quiet and peaceful day, you and Idia were at his dorm room, as usual, watching some anime you recommended. Ortho was helping professor Vargas with some injured students since the boy has some medical assistance his older brother programed into him. So you were alone.

Normally, Idia would freaked the fuck out to be in the same room alone with someone, specially someone he is crushing so hard on. But you guys are so used to do this, since you two met, Idia gradually starts inviting you to his room to play some games or watch something. Ortho really appreciate your company, you two make the sunshine combo that warms the poor shy guy's heart. So your presence was now a common and good thing in his life.

As the episode goes, you star to really paying attention to it, it was one of your favorite anime so total focus was essencial. Idia was extremely focused as well, eyes almost never blinking as he bit his blue tinted lips unconsciously. As the climax of the show goes on, you felt that excitement that always come when you watch it no matter how many times, as for him, he gasped and you could feel how static he was as he mumbled how amazing that episode was.

Both of you decided to continue the show later and eat something (in his room, of course). As the nice person you are, standing up to snatch some candy for him, Idia starts admiring you without noticing. How you move, how you tuck some strands of hair behind your ear, just how you are so peaceful but at the same time so fierce sometimes. God help him when he starts to daydream about you, all the memories you've made and all the possibilities the future holds really weights in his chest. Is it anxiety? But it feels good... maybe is hope and excitement? What are you doing with this man?

"Hey Idia, something happen?" you asked softly to not startle him. "W-w-what? O-oh it's really nothing. I... just the sick feeling to have class with Mr. Cater tomorrow" He was almost proud he came with an excuse and a side joke in the same phrase. You giggled, which made him more flustered "aw don't say that, he is just wants to be friendly." "T-that's the issue... if he could just leave me alone, I could like him more." "Hey, I know he gives you a hard time sometimes but look at the bright side! With him, your insecurity with being hated from everyone is proved false" You grinned.

With that, Idia reminded all the times you helped him with his fears, anxiety and depressed thoughts. He couldn't understand how someone whom excitement was similar as Mr. Kalim would tag along with a shut in like him. It kind of annoyed him at first, he tried to push you away and you noticed his discomfort and backed away immediately, for his relief but also... disappointment? Sometimes the guy doesn't even understand himself.

---

However one day, and he could still feel the guilt crept back in his mind, he saw you crying in secret in a isolated section in the library. Frozen in place, the blue haired guy just kept staring at you. Of course, everyone has a bad day and the right to be sad, but see you in such a state was somehow wrong. I mean, you are Mrs. Cheerful!! The way you looked so hurt and at the same time so used to this feeling was something Idia would never imagined to see. He didn't realize at how long he was staring at you (and later he found out it's an effect you have on him), until the same girl flinched at his presence, wiping furiously the tears away as you apologize for the situation and offering a weak smile.

That broke his heart

He immediately tried to excuse himself and at the same time saying it's okay and he should be the one apologizing for being such a creep, resulting in a stuttering mess. Okay, now you definitely think he is a weirdo, a low life scumbag. Whatever, he was used to this. But you just started giggling softly.

"I am not laughing at you, it's just funny... Oh, you need some book in specific? Sorry... I am troubling you again right? I shall leave now" "Wait!" Idia exclaimed, cursing himself mentally, how is he supposed to handle a conversation HE started. "Um... I mean..." Taking out his tablet, with that the guy could speak some proper words. "You are not troubling me I was just surprised. I should leave n-" "Whoa! How can you type so fast?? And the voice is so smooth!! It's like, so real!" "Hm?" "Lilia told me Ignihyde was famous for the crazy technology you guys do, but seeing in real life is just amazing!"

Did she was impressed by a voice synthesizer? There is such a variety of "crazy technology" his dorm has made, the voice synthesizer was merely child's play in his perspective.

"Um, yes. Actually this is one of the versions I made for myself. For my little brother I add the ability to sing as well." Oh no... He was getting into the conversation "Really? That's so cool! It's like a vocaloid... right?" You asked shyly Hold on, hold on, did you just said vocaloid? And you mention it in front of the biggest otaku NRC has ever admitted? Idia's eyes lit up as he grinned. "So you know vocaloids!? You can say something like that, well I mean there's a lot of difference compared to the softwares and even the quality of the sound. I tried to do Ortho's voice as smooth as possible, specially with the high notes he mentioned to me, it was a little troublesome but fun nonetheless. Ah the world of artificial voices is so vast, I could even build-"

It was that moment that Idia knew - He fucked up

He talked too much, and now that potencial friend was weirded out by his passion. He could really blame you? Anyone in their right mind would be. He should just go to his dorm and sulk for the day.

"Hm? What happened? Are you okay?" "AH! It was nothing, sorry... I just get carried away with the subject" "Yeah! And it was so cool! I would really love to see some of your work, for real!" "W-w-what?" he was so caught off guard he even said out loud instead of using the device "Oh... I didn't mean to intrude or anything. You don't have to show it. I was just really into in what you were saying."

Back with his tablet, Idia invited his "new friend" to see some projects he has in his room. Of course, the meeting was online, but you didn't mind. You truly understand his anxiety since you have some troubles with yourself. Troubles he did asked some months after you met. You now was his sunshine, his player-2, even if those nicknames were a secret.

A secret he will never have the courage to tell. And so he believed.

---

Back at the current situation, you sit back on his bed and handed him the candy. as both bodies were almost touching, Idia was far away in his own thoughts, he remembered when you told about your insecurities, how your mind just screams how worthless you really are, of how many time the thought about death was endearing. His chest was heavy as he pictured the hot tears falling from your beautiful eyes.

"I didn't mean to ruin the mood, sorry... We can go back to the game again."

That sentence just filled him with dread.

So many times you helped him with HIS insecurities and anxiety attacks. You were the first person, aside his family, to really give a try to understand his weirdness.

"I-I-I..." "Or maybe I overwhelmed you with all this. You have your problems, I don't want to trouble you with my nonsense" "Stop it!"

Your eyes widen at the sudden exclamation.

"Don't you ever say that again to me. How can your problems be nothing more than nonsense? Are serious? I wish I could be as strong as you! Not only you try your best to be a decent person in this godforsaken school, but you have the guts to open your heart like that!"

As your whole body frozen in shock at how he spoke those words without the aid of his tablet.

"Idia..." tears still falling down but your face lit up little by little "thank you so much"

He wants to hug you, but he knew he'd just make a fuss and ruin the mood. You respected that, after all it was already warm in your heart. And after that incident, you grew closer to one another, Idia taught you how to play some games so you two could spend the day playing together. Ortho was so happy now his big bro found someone who makes everything interesting, he could almost not contain his happiness when you invited him to play at the courtyard, he could hug you all day. You were really his big bro's sunshine.

"Hey?" You called softly, a little concern with the blue haired guy lost gaze "Oh! Yeah! Sorry, I spaced out...again" "Hmmmm, hope it is not about how the show is going to end. You sir are too good to get yourself a spoiler." "Heh, in other words, I am pretty smart" Idia teased, he really loved at how he can be playfully confident. You didn't judge him so he felt more at ease to be himself. "Don't get too cocky Mr. Shroud" you teased back

Maybe onde day, Idia will say those words he so much want to tell you. Who knows, step by step. As your "friendship" grows, his fears will fade away eventually.

#idia #idia x reader #twst #twst idia #idia shroud #twisted wonderland #sorry yall #i dont know how to write #but yeah #hope you enjoy

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blackjacktheboss · 4 years

Note

could you do 38??

I can 👀 [not accepting more prompts]

Getting into the party had been easy enough.

Percy, in a dark blue Italian suit, exited the town car and held out his hand for Annabeth, who climbed out wearing a silver v-neck cocktail dress.

“Did I mention how beautiful you look, Mrs. Carmichael?” he asked as they walked up to the front door.

Annabeth squeezed his arm lightly. “Thank you, Mr. Carmichael. I must say, you look quite handsome yourself.”

They smiled at each other as they strolled right past the security guards along with a small crowd of other party guests who they followed through the house and into a large ballroom. After twenty minutes of champagne and mingling with other guests, they made their way to the north west corner of the room and gave the signal.

Frank, dressed as a waiter on the other side of the room, pulled his clumsy act and dropped a tray full of champagne glasses near the party’s host, a retired General. The General’s security team rushed forward to attend to their employer creating a window for Percy and Annabeth to sneak past the velvet rope that blocked off the stairs.

Leo, who sat out in a decoy catering van, led Percy and Annabeth through the labyrinthian home until they reached their destination: the General’s private office.

“If you had to guess,” Percy asked as he looked through a series of files in the desk’s bottom right drawer. “How much would you say the Agency’s clothes budget is?”

Annabeth huffed as she scanned the titles on a bookshelf, clearly not finding what she was looking for. “I don’t know, a few million maybe?”

“And these wedding rings they got us, how much do you think they were?”

“Well mine is a ten carat diamond with a diamond platinum band so probably half a million, maybe more.”

“Unbelievable,” Percy said as he shook his head and started in on a new file. “I gotta ask for a raise.”

Annabeth smiled over her shoulder at him, as her hand pulled a leatherbound copy of Atlas Shrugged. “The six figures just not cutting it for you anymore?”

Percy laughed. “It’s about the principal, Annabeth. Those suits sit in an air conditioned office all day and we’re out in the field doing all the leg work.”

Annabeth turned around with a smug smile, revealing the hollowed out book with a flash drive inside. “Now that you mention it, I could go for a raise right now too.”

“How’d you know what book to grab?” Percy asked as he continued looking through files.

Annabeth leaned against the desk as she slipped the flash drive into the inside of her dress. “The reports Chiron gave us said the General is working on something called The Atlas Project,” she said with a shrug. “Seemed obvious.”

Percy set down the file he was going through and dropped his head. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?”

He dug through the small pile of papers he built, pulling out a file at the very bottom and held it up for Annabeth to see. “That was the first fucking file I grabbed.”

Annabeth laughed. “How have you survived the job this long?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say my charm and quick wit.”

Annabeth scrunched up her face and shook her head. “No, that can’t be it.”

Percy rolled his eyes and shoved the file into Annabeth’s hands. She folded it up and put it into her clutch as he began putting the other files away when the sound of at least three gruff voices began carrying down the hallway.

“Fuck!” they both quietly said in unison, rushing to shove the left over papers back into the drawer.

They scanned the room but couldn’t find any reasonable exits, leaving them totally exposed as the sounds of the voices seemed to be just outside the door.

“They’re coming. Kiss me!” Annabeth said in a stage whisper as she grabbed Percy’s jacket and pulled him to her.

Percy responded immediately, hooking his arms under Annabeth’s thighs and lifting her onto the desk in one fluid motion as their lips stayed locked. He tore his jacket off and tossed it aside as Annabeth undid the first three buttons of his shirt and pushed her dress strap off her shoulder.

Percy dragged his lips down to Annabeth’s neck, his hands sliding up the sides of her thighs just as the office door swung open.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” one voice asked.

The couple pulled apart and looked up to see a man their intel identified as the head of security, Thorn, blocking the doorway. He stepped into the room as his two companions matched his movement to take up Percy and Annabeth’s only exit.

Annabeth instinctually tilted her head, and began twisting one of her ringlets around her finger before playfully smacking Percy’s chest. “Babe, I told you we were gonna get in trouble for this!”

Percy shrugged at the three large men conspiratorially. “I’m really sorry, guys, but I mean, can you blame me?”

The men all looked at Annabeth and then each other. They all shook their heads with dismissive smiles, and Thorn nodded to his men who then cleared the path.

“Get out of here, you two,” Thorn said, giving a supportive wink.

Percy helped Annabeth down from the desk, picking up his jacket from the floor as she pulled down her dress, then offering her his arm to escort her out of the room.

As they calmly walked back downstairs, Percy could feel his heart still thundering in his chest.

“That was, um… something,” he says, hoping his voice sounded more composed than it felt.

Annabeth cleared her throat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, you know what they say at the Academy: the best way to stay alive is authenticity in everything you do.”

Percy nodded in agreement, and decided to take a leap. “Well, since it seems like the Carmichaels are gonna be around for a while, maybe later we could, I don’t know… work on our technique. You know, just to be more convincing. For next time.”

Annabeth looked down and did her best to bite back a smile but failed tremendously. “You know, I think that’s probably best. Chiron did say this mission would be a long one so probably best to be practical.”

“Practical. Exactly,” Percy agreed.

“Listen, I’m as excited as the next guy that this is finally happening but can we get out of here before something goes wrong?” Leo said over the comm system.

They exchanged a quick glance, something small and unspoken passing between them.

“Shall we, Mrs. Carmichael?” Percy asked, gesturing towards the mansion’s front door.

Annabeth smiled playfully. “Mr. Carmichael, are you trying to seduce me?”

And as Frank pulled the catering van out onto the main road while complaining about the lack of dairy free dessert options at the party, and Leo sat at his monitors mumbling about being the greatest hacker alive, Percy and Annabeth sat silently with their hands intertwined, as the hope of something authentic bloomed between them.

#quarantine content #spy au #sophii attempts to write #writing prompt

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Love Lessons

Reader x Caesar Gattuso Fluff, 8 pages of it written by a trash panda.

This is an AU where Nono doesn’t exist. Or as I like to call it, the NONONO AU.

“So do you have a boyfriend yet?”

Your shoulders lift in an impatient sigh and you lower the bow in your hands. “No…”

“Why not?”

The sky was painted blue and white over the College Cassell. You were supposed to be practicing archery, your new elective. Caesar Gattuso was an assistant in this class so all the girls enrolled. By the time Caesar finished standing behind them, his strong hands adjusting their shoulders and back and elbow positions, they could hardly shoot straight. You practiced more seriously of course and that’s why you were out here in the late afternoon hours, getting a good feel for your steady hand. So you rarely needed help with the rank basics.

“The guys here… they make me nervous. It’s obvious they just want one thing. It’s gross.”

“And you don’t want that thing?” Caesar asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh shut up. It’s not that I don’t…” You’re silent, recalling each student who approached you, acting interested in studying or movies or physical training. But you couldn’t relax around them because any semblance of acceptance would lead to a phone number being left in a book or on a table. It was never straight forward. You would throw the number away and suddenly they weren't interested in you any more. Or there was that one guy who just kept talking and asking personal questions. What’s your schedule? What classes are you taking? Which dorm are you in? Even though you shook your head and never made eye contact he never went away.

You lift the bow. To bend it required pounds of force and your strong arms swelled in relief as you aimed your arrow. You let it go and it zips right into the target. You lower the bow again.

Caesar glances at you from the corner of his blue eyes. “Let me guess. They’re cowards. And they disgust you.”

“Bullseye.” You say, but you can’t bring yourself to smile. “It’s downright rude to be roundabout. Not give me a chance to say no, or put me in a position where I can’t or it’s difficult to. Bunch of cowards. All of them.”

Caesar walks over to the target and pulls it out. He lets out a regretful sigh. “Still, it’s a pity you won’t have a basic college experience. It’s important to learn the basics. I’m willing to give you a few lessons. Free of charge. At your leisure. On your terms.” He stares at you point blank.

Your jaw drops and you huff.

You know if you say no he won’t take it the wrong way. He knows that you know it’s fine to refuse. After all, he had his own life and didn’t care either way. He probably felt he was doing you a favor by offering. You can feel the heat rising to your face as you try to control your smile. You can only give a rough laugh. “Well, that was direct.”

He tilts his head slightly.

You chew your lip and turn away to try to stop your heart from racing out of control. “And just what would these lessons look like?”

“On your terms. Whatever you want them to look like. Whatever is going through your head right now.”

What was going through your head right now was how clearly defined his chest was under his shirt. "Okay."

Caesar nodded once. "You already have my number."

You don’t say anything to reply. You hide it but you walk stunned, only giving short responses as you’re greeted when you walk down the street with a Caesar’s proposal buzzing around in your head. You walk into your dorm and your room mate is on the couch playing an online game on her phone. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You say, dropping your backpack.

She didn’t even look at you. “How was your day.”

“Um…” You can’t even pretend to be fine. “It’s was interesting.”

“Oh… something happened?” She put down her phone.

“Yeah but I can’t tell you about it.” You quickly walk away and shut the door to your room.

You run your hands over your face. One side of you was screaming, no. Seriously, no. He was messing with you. Pulling your chain. He can’t be serious. You sit down in front of your cheap vanity from Ikea and look at yourself in the mirror. Your whole face is red. You can’t even bring yourself to compose a text.

Anything you wanted… what could you do with him?

“Okay… let’s… test it. Make an outrageous request that he’ll have to say no to. Call his bluff.”

You finally text him. “Okay, lesson one. First date. Take me square dancing.”

His response was immediate. “You see… this is why I like you. Challenge accepted.”

“What? No. Nonononono….” You pick up the phone and type. “Shut up, I was joking. I was just testing to see if you were serious.”

“I was serious. Your terms.”

You look at your blushing face in the mirror. You were smiling. Genuinely. “Okay. Now that I know you’re serious…” You type…. And then pause…

Just what was your idea of a romantic evening? Your mind is cast back to Black Swan Bay.

“Let’s go sit next to the lake. Any spot. You pick.”

“Day or night?”

“Night.”

The nights still had a chill in the air so you dressed warmly in a sweater and a scarf and hat. The spot Caesar picked was near a venue where people were playing music under lights while diners ate in front of the stage. Caesar and you arrived at the same time. You feel shy. Unsure of what to say to start out.

“Breaking the ice is hard, even if you know each other. Because from now on things will be a little different.” Caesar says. His eyes sparkled like diamonds in his pale face. He was also in a sweater, one that likely looked cheaper than it actually was with fitted slacks and a belt. “I got you something.”

He pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it. “Flowers would be a bit unwieldy to hold onto.” He said, and revealed a bracelet. A chain of blossoming gold roses. It was real gold, you could tell.

You want to ask how much it was. But he reaches over and gently takes your hand. You feel the callouses on his fingers from years of firing a gun. He fastens the chain around your wrist.

“Thank you…” Your heart was slamming into your ribs like it wanted to escape. “This is really nice. I like it.”

Caesar didn’t let go of your hand and led you to the bench to sit. The bracelet pulled double duty as a piece of jewelry and a distraction. You felt so tense. You could scarcely look at him.

“You’re not used to being close to people.” Caesar said softly. “Just relax. We don’t have to do anything.”

“Is that the lesson for today?” You ask.

“It was what you asked for. Do you want to move on to the next lesson already?” Caesar didn’t look at you directly but there was a slight laugh in his voice that made your face go even redder.

“No, no… this is fine.” But in your heart you were saying it was kind of boring. Unsatisfying. You wanted something else. But the evening ended with you doing nothing.

The next day, you stare at the text conversation. How serious was he? How serious were you? The words stood out. “This is why I like you…”

“I like you…”

He typed that out and sent it to you.

Despite being propositioned by a dozen guys since school started, not one of them had said those three words and he just blurted them out like nothing in response to a joke. He liked you because you joked with him about square dancing.

So you decided to test him again. “Okay… how about this? Let’s watch Star Was. Cuddle lessons.”

“You’ve got it. Where?” His response was immediate, like he was waiting on your text.

It wouldn’t be good for either of you to relax together on campus. Too many eyes. “Let’s rent a hotel. Just enough for the movie. Then you go home.”

The movie you picked was an old classic you used to watch on your own. Movies were strictly forbidden items at the orphanage but the staff had to entertain themselves and smuggled them in. Thanks to your quick and sticky fingers you managed to watch movies under a tarp in a shed. The shed was unheated and uninsulated and frigid cold. But you braved it for the freedom of watching something that took your mind off your misery.

How different things were now!

You knew all the words to A New Hope and the music that swelled as Luke Skywalker squints into the twin suns. But far from being cold and alone, you’re warm, tucked under Caesar’s arm, head resting on his broad shoulders. You could vaguely hear his heart beating. It wasn’t a hotel that catered to the wealthy and the suite was small but comfortable. He couldn’t help but spend a little money though. On gourmet popcorn and a comfy pair of yellow fleece PJs for you.

Caesar gently lifts his hand towards your head. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” His light hands are in your hair, running from front to back. The hairs rise on your arms and soft shiver rattles you. You feel yourself relax again, focusing on the rise and fall of his breath.

But by the end of the movie, you feel dissatisfied. You wanted more than this. This wasn’t bad. Your eyes shift away from him and your smile vanishes.

“What’s wrong? You want to go?”

“Nothing’s wrong… I just…”

I want you to kiss me. You couldn’t say the words. But the desire, now identified presses out from the inside. Part of you urges you. Say it. Just say it. But your lips lock up and you can’t look up.

“If I did something wrong, tell me.”

“No… it’s not you at all. You’re good. You’re fine.” You take a breath and close your eyes tight. “I want you to kiss me…”

There. It was out there and you felt like you wanted to die.

His silence didn’t help. It forced you to turn back and look up at him. He was blushing. That suave debonair air was swept away and now he looked like an embarrassed guy at a prom. “Where?”

“I could barely get that out and now you want details?” You’re twisting your hands so hard, it hurt and even your blush was painful. Who blushes so hard it hurt? But this hurt. Your ears were ringing in embarrassment! “Just on the cheek for now. Okay?”

“Alright.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and feel the soft lips caress your cheek, barely there, but your whole body feels like its going to explode. It was a mistake. A grave mistake.

You walk out of the hotel room and head back to campus and that kiss follows you home. It’s the last thing you feel when you close your eyes and the first thing you feel when you wake up. Caesar’s ghost follows you around, kissing your cheek in the middle of class, distracting you from the lecture.

And it wasn’t enough. You wanted a real one.

Your phone buzzes and you pick up. Your heart jumps when you see Caesar’s name, and falls when you see his message, down through your chest into the pit of your stomach.

“I’ll be gone for about 30 days on assignment. I look forward to continuing our lessons.”

Thirty days. A whole month of this torture. You raise your hand to your cheek and softly groan. “Next lesson. I want a real kiss.”

Thus began the longest month of the entire year. You find yourself watching videos, reading articles on what made a good kiss, pressing your lips against a pillow. Your teachers start to notice your distraction. You were always a stellar student, quick with a correct response. And now it seems your mind is hardly there. Your grades are fine, but you’re no longer present. Your soul has left your body… waiting for Caesar’s return.

Caesar was kind enough to send you a picture of his return ticket at the end of this miserable month.

He also sent you a message with a reservation. A private resort.

Gone were all thoughts of movies and cute PJs. You shopped, you dressed up and you put on make up and jewelry. Yet you felt like you looked like a clown. It wasn’t you. You took the make up off, but kept the jewelry.

You would be picked up by a driver. It wasn't a limo but it was luxurious. The resort was located on a private vineyard. The drive was long through rolling hills. The house was a two story homestead among the vines. Caesar met you there, also dressed up and he welcomes you with a hug. This time, he did come bearing flowers.

The flowers went into a vase.

Caesar and you sat on the back porch looking out at the red tinted sky on the back porch swing. “So, kissing lesson one.”

Your heart quickens and every nerve goes on alert. “Okay…”

“It always starts with touch.” He takes your hand and runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

Before you couldn’t look at him and now you can’t look away. All that research you did was useless. No one you saw online had beautiful soft lips like his. You’d never seen that fond look in his eyes before. Was he tormented by that little kiss as much as you were?

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” He asked.

“I’m wondering how you got anything done for those 30 days.” You say.

Caesar takes a deep breath and his gaze grows distant. “So am I.”

He leaned forward slowly, pausing at intervals, until his closeness distorted the view. You close your eyes and wait…

And wait…

“Hey! Don’t play with me!” You run your arm over his shoulder and draw yourself closer.

“I’m waiting for you.” Caesar playfully kisses your cheek again.

He’s playing coy. After all this time and waiting, he's playing coy! Your burst into a blush again and you lock up. Your faces are not even an inch apart, wrapped in a perfect embrace. He wasn’t going to kiss you. He wanted you to kiss him. But your face is too busy smiling to even do it.

He lightly kicked his toe and set the swinging chair rocking. You sway in mid air, looking into his eyes. “Why are you so pretty?”

He shrugged, his eyes not leaving your face.

Close… so close. You scrape up the last of your boldness and courage. Telling yourself to do it, just do it. Just…

You can’t. You look away and just smile.

Caesar’s toe lands and stops the swing. “Really?”

“Sorry! I don’t know… how… I can’t.”

“Well, let’s go back to basics…” He takes your hand again and starts over… all the way over. But immediately you don’t like it. That’s not what you want. Caesar’s hand leaves yours and instead runs over your hair.

A deep warmth starts from your chest and radiates down your stomach. He’s not just pretty, now you felt lost in those eyes. You were lost, exploring a maze of feelings, finding out the way forward, what you wanted, what you didn’t, occasionally meeting dead ends.

His hands ran down your hair, your face, your neck and shoulders, down your arms. You just lean forward enough to rest your lips on his. It wasn’t a proper kiss, but he kissed you back anyway, gently turning his head, massaging his lips over yours once and pulling away.

“Wait…” You said and follow him, kissing again, short and repeated kisses, trying to imitate the way his lips moved. This was a lesson after all. You had to learn this. But you weren’t sure how much you could learn now. The kisses were tearing through you like a landslide from head to toe. Your chest swelled and you rose into his arms while he steadied the swing under you.

He sighs your name, the breath ending in a little whimper and you feel your eyes burn. You rarely cried but you felt a sudden loss of control. Caesar breaks away and cradles your face in his hands, wiping the tear away with his thumb. There was concern in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

That was the end of the lesson. You rest again against him. Why did you feel so tired, so suddenly? You weren’t sure.

#Dragon Raja #Caesar Gattuso

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