#vintage gym uniform

[norajones]

[almostfoxglove]

AIN'T THAT A BITE

written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV), The Last of Us (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Central Characters: Reader, Young!Joel, Sarah

Central Relationship: Joel / Reader

Word Count: 6k

Pre-Outbreak & No-Outbreak AU

SUMMARY

It's the night of Jackson High's Sock Hop, the 8th grade dance which took you weeks to organize, and everything seems determined to go wrong. Thankfully, one student's dad—the handsome and brooding Joel Miller—comes to your rescue. READ ON AO3, if that's your jam!

Four weeks ago, volunteering to organize the eighth-grade dance committee had seemed like an excellent idea—a chance to make a solid first impression on the PTA and the chilly cast of your new colleagues while giving yourself a little excitement, some frivolous living beyond the usual boredom of your repetitive existence. Lesson plan, grade, report card, lesson plan, grade, report card—you love your job, but it gets old.

But now, on the night of Jackson High’s September Sock Hop, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake. Someone brought cookies with walnuts that had to be ceremoniously tossed, one of the speakers in the gym is crackling, three of your parent chaperones have bailed, and oh, yes—a sink in the girls’ bathroom has decided to spring a sudden leak and flood the place a mere fifteen minutes before the kids are due to show up.

Drenched and sweating, you make a hopeless attempt to mop the flood of water with the gym’s supply of linens, turning the tiled floor into a swamp of soggy towels that squelch beneath your shoes. It’s all a futile effort—the burst pipe beneath the far left sink is spewing water faster than the towels can sponge—but here you are, trying anyway, looking like you’ve just taken a long walk in a fucking monsoon. 

A row of square mirrors sits framed above each ceramic sink, taunting you with your reflection. Your red poodle skirt has gone burgundy with water and your once pristine white button-up clings to your chest, translucent, peek-a-booing your bra. 

Real professional. 

“Miss Green?” comes a voice on the other side of the door, followed by a weary knock. “Believe students are arriving now.”

With a sigh, you take a final glare at your reflection as if looking again might fix things, then call out, “Alright,” with as much patience as you have left to muster. Outside the calculus teacher is waiting in his pin-stripe vest with a sorry grimace. He agrees to lock up that bathroom from use and with a tired thank you you click down the hall towards the school doors, stomach raw with nerves.

As promised the first, eager attendees stand outside Jackson High’s wide glass doors, giddy to be let in for the night’s event. Kids are in everything from pastel poodle skirts to leather jackets and waitress get-ups—you even spot the Broderick twins in matching, vintage baseball uniforms striped with strawberry red. Behind them stand their parents, some smiling and others bleary-eyed, who you force yourself to smile cheerfully for as you let them in, a clipboard held over your chest to hide your bra.

You don’t miss how the parents stare at you—soaking wet and clearly befuddled—and you mutter your apologies as they shuffle into the school. All but the main hall has been blocked off, leaving the children a one-way path to the gymnasium for the dance. You check your watch quickly; maybe you can sneak in a quick smoke around the corner before the rest of the eighth graders arrive.

Outside the air is perfect: your one reprieve. Blue-dark clouds haunt the star-pocked sky and the balmy remains of the dying summer sweep through the parking lot as a breeze. You breathe easily for the first time in an hour, lift your face, and close your eyes, stitching yourself together in the calm. 

When you’re steady again, you decide against the smoke break. Too many parents pulling up in shiny cars with the kids. It’s enough to feel them in your skirt pocket—an escape hatch when you need them, a totem when you don’t. A nasty habit, your mother always says. But you only allow yourself two cigarettes a year. Not so bad, as habits go.

You’re about to turn back in and see if you can’t call a plumber at this hour when a pickup groans into the lot—steely-blue, bold text stickered on the side. It pulls not into a parking spot but the drop-off zone, right in front of you.

Miller Construction Ltd.

Maybe miracles are real after all.

As the passenger window rolls down and the cab light blinks on inside, you rush over, desperation rocketing your heart around in your chest. A girl in a lilac poodle skirt blinks up at you from the passenger seat, eyes wide with surprise. She’s got her hair pulled back in two big, curly pigtails ribboned with bows, and looks adorable—exactly what you’d pictured when you took on the behemoth task of putting this whole stupid evening together—complete with a matching neck scarf and shiny black shoes. You give her what you hope is a friendly grin and start rambling.

“I am so sorry,” you say, before you bother looking at the driver. “But we’ve got a plumbing emergency and if there is any chance you might have a few minutes to take a look at it, you’d be a—”

Your sentence drops off as you at last hunch down to make eye contact with the man in the driver’s seat through the open window. Dark-eyed and frowning, all curls and scruffy beard and thick flannel shirt: your type to a T. In your pause his daughter stifles a chuckle, and you shake your head to restart your brain. Focus. Sinks to fix, floods to mop.

With a tight grin, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Would be a lifesaver if you could, I don’t know, take a look. Even if it’s just to tell me we’re fucked and need an emergency plumber. We had a bunch of parent chaperones bail last minute, so we’re a little short on hands.”

Now the kid snorts, giggling. Shit—your teacher-voice has slipped. 

You close your eyes, horrified. Seems there’ll be no end to your embarrassment today.

Sighing, you step back to open the passenger door so the girl can hop out. “If you promise not to tell any grown-ups I swore in front of you,” you tell her. “I’ll give you all As when you get to my class in a couple years.”

“Deal,” the girl says, grinning at you. “But I’d probably get an A anyway.”

Despite yourself, you smile—this time for real.

“You ain’t her teacher?” comes the driver’s voice. Deep and coarse, all Texan. When you glance back, he’s still frowning, eyes narrowed at you.

“Tenth grade English and History,” you say. 

“And you’re workin’ the eighth-grade dance,” he says.

You shrug. “I’m new. Thought it’d go over well if I came in eager and offered to plan the thing.”

He hmphs, expressionless, his skin golden under the overhead light, eyes glinting with amber. You’re almost glad the kid’s not in your class; parent-teacher interviews would be torture. Sitting across your desk from this man, forced to pretend you don’t want him to ruin you. 

Beside you on the sidewalk, the girl shoots her dad a daggered look and crosses her arms. “He’s free,” she says. “He can do it.”

“Sarah,” the man hisses. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snarks. “Do you suddenly have a social calendar I don’t know about?”

After a brief stare-down which Sarah seems to win, he huffs and mutters a cranky one second before pulling out of the drop-off zone to park. 

“I like your skirt,” Sarah says when he’s gone. Streetlamps have you both in a cloak of shadow, and the pale light radiating from the school’s front doors doesn’t quite reach this spot, but her inquisitive expression is unmissable in the dark. 

“It’s a little ruined,” you say sheepishly. “But I like yours.” 

Pleased, she gives you a little twirl, purple fabric blooming from her waist. “Thanks,” she says, when she stills again. “My dad sewed on the poodle.” 

Across the lot you hear the harsh slam of a car door cracking shut and spot her glowering father stalk across the asphalt, silhouetted by a distant streetlight, his shoulders unfairly broad. You nod toward the front doors. You’d never admit it to anyone, but the thought of this surly figure lovingly stitching a felt poodle to his daughter’s costume makes you a little weak in the knees.

“You can go on in,” you tell Sarah, and she waves at her dad before running inside.

Then he’s walking up the pavement, growing closer. Of course he smells good—like patchouli and something earthy and skin. Of course he’s rolled up his sleeves, baring his tanned forearms, one tensed by the toolbox clutched in his hand. You manage a stiff grin as he approaches, no teeth, to which you receive only a curt nod in reply. 

In silence, you walk him through the glassy doors, heels clicking as swing music crackles from the gymnasium some distance away. You catch, in the corner of your eye, the shape of his head turning as he watches Sarah running full-speed down the main hall to catch up with a group of girls that must be her friends. She launches herself at them, and even at this distance you hear the shrill of their joy, the sugar-high laughter, and smile to yourself.

“She’s sweet,” you say, guiding him into a branching hallway, away from the main event.

He grunts, then mumbles, “Pain in my ass is what she is.”

You chuckle. When you dare to look back at him again, you see his begrudging tone doesn’t match his expression. You swear his eyes flit quickly away as if you’ve caught him already looking at you. Hard to be sure, you think, in this dimmer light. But his cheeks almost look pink.

After a beat too long, you realize why.

You’ve dropped your clipboard to your side without thinking, unveiling your water-logged shirt, which clings sheerly to your skin. Grimacing, you cover yourself again. “Not much of a plumber,” you say quietly.

Once you’ve grabbed the keys back from your colleague, you drag this poor, probably busy dad to the girls’ bathroom and unlock the door, glancing down at his boots before you open it. “You don’t love those shoes, do you?” you ask.

His eyebrows lift, jaw tensing. “Sure they’ll be fine, darlin’,” he grunts.

You push into the bathroom before your brain has the chance to recover from darlin’. You’ve been in Texas all of six months and you still aren’t used to the pet names. Everyone here seems to call each other everything. Even the old woman who works the till at the grocer by your apartment calls you honey or angel, and you wouldn’t exactly describe her as the friendly type. Darlin’ isn’t even irregular. Bus drivers call you that. 

Difference here is that it’s this man saying it—which is to say, someone gorgeous with a voice that could melt you if you let yourself listen close enough. Your heart purrs, thrilled.

The bathroom is a calamity. Though the drains in the center of the tiled floor have meant no water has flooded into the hallway, there’s still an inch or so blanketing the tiles wall to wall. Under one of the mirrors, the guilty sink continues to spew: a graceful font of silver gushing from a fault in the pipe.

Over your shoulder you hear Sarah’s dad clear his throat before you step out of his way.

Fearless, he trudges through the mess unfazed, dodging the tides of boggy towels like this is the most natural habitat to find himself in. His boots and the ankles of his jeans blacken with water, and though you’re in some stupid, clacky pair of heels to go with your outfit, you follow him into the shallows anyway, riddled with shame. At the slosh of your footsteps behind him, Sarah’s dad turns to give you a cutting stare you cannot read and you freeze, caught.

“What?” you say.

“No reason you gotta be in here for this,” he says. “Might be wise to dry off a little, don’t you think?”

Does the corner of his mouth twitch upward, or do you imagine it—you can’t decide. “Right,” you manage. “Sorry. Thank you, seriously.”

You pivot to leave him to it, splashing weakly as you go, your skirt bunched in one hand to keep it safe from the splatter. In the doorway you can’t help but look back, and see him kneeling in the mess, tool in hand, his toolbox open and shelved on a not-broken sink. He spots you looking and this time, you don’t imagine it. He lets slip half a grin. 

“Got it from here,” he says.

You nod but don’t move and you don’t know why.

Well, that’s not true. You do.

Sarah’s dad cocks one dark eyebrow at you, bemused, maybe, by your hesitation. “You really have chaperones bail?” he asks, voice low.

“Three,” you say.

He grunts, then turns his attention back to the spitting sink, and you step out into the dim hallway without goodbye.

You slip into the bathrooms in the teacher’s lounge to stand under the hand dryer for a bit, letting your shirt dry out. When it’s no longer see-through, you stand in front of the long mirrors looking at yourself, fussing. You retouch your lipstick—red, like your skirt, like your nails—though the hair’s a lost cause. The best you can do is run a hand through the end bits and say an empty prayer.

Then, finally, you emerge, and take off with a sidelong glance thrown at the closed door of the flooded girls’ bathroom as you pass.

You volunteered four weeks ago, and you spent three of those weeks working on the decorations in tiny pockets of time between the school day, your commute home, and all the hours you spend every evening and weekend on lesson plans and marking. Maybe it’s only September, but the whole staff has been working since August and it’s no slower now than it will be in the spring. Still, you gave up sleep. Gave up seeing friends. Gave up proper, home-cooked meals and reverted to the habits of your college days, eating boxed mac and cheese straight from the pot over the stove. 

Now, it all pays off. 

The gymnasium’s a goddamn ritz. Ribbons of twinkle lights droop from the rafters, sparkling above the scatter of a disco ball. You thrifted huge, vintage neon signs—with your own money, thanks so much public school district—that cast pools of candy-colored light on the shiny floor. Gingham tablecloths sheath the drink stands. You had to bribe the theater department to let you repurpose an old bartop set from some long-gone play. Painted that sucker with black and white checkers, even scrounged up some round, pleather bar stools to match. Instead of a bar-bar, it’s a snack bar—pastel cupcakes and dairy-free milkshakes and huge metal bowls of nut-free, everything-free snack mixes displayed behind the bar. Kids all get three snack tickets ‘cause the PTA had strong feelings about sugar intake, but hey. All the bar stools are full; the kids seem to love it.

Despite the last-minute disasters, you’re tempted to cry with relief. Slept three hours last night, painting the last of the stars that hang overhead, but they look like magic now. Glossy and twinkling while Elvis plays. It looks pretty close to perfect. And the kids, by some miracle, are dancing. The gym teacher comes out to show them some simple swing steps, and as clumsy as they all are, it’s fucking adorable.

“Hope you’re willing to do this for all the dances,” one teacher mutters to you as you pass. 

You flit from table to table, refilling and wiping down and checking in with chaperones—twenty minutes zing by in the blink of an eye. When the gymnasium door creaks quietly open, the dark shape of Sarah’s dad appears in the doorway. You set down your punch glass with a grin and scurry over. 

But he’s looking up when you make it to him, starstruck by twinkle lights, his face pink and blue with the neon light. Christ, he’s easy on the eyes. Facing this way, with none of the gym or kids or decorations in view, you can almost imagine that you’re standing in a bar looking up at some handsome stranger you might have a shot in hell at taking home. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, when he still hasn’t looked down, his hand flat and broad on the door to prop it open.

He blinks, wakes from his daze, and the look of wonder that just now softened him fades, his face stiff again. You step into the hall and the door slides shut behind you. The honeyed voices of The Isley Brothers muffle.

In the direct light of the hallway you can see he’s soaked—jeans wet to the tops of his thighs, his whole flannel clinging to his chest. One curl lays flat and damp against his forehead. He would’ve had to kneel right in the spray to work on the sink. Might as well have set a hose on the poor man.

Jesus, you must have ruined this guy’s whole fucking night. 

“Oh my god,” you say, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry—”

He lifts one hand as if to say stop and your mouth snaps shut. “Just water,” he grumbles. “Sink’s fine now. Joint was old and brittle. Had a part in the truck that’ll hold you over till Monday, but you’ll need someone to do a proper repair next week.”

You run a hand over your face, so grateful to him that all logical thought and processing flutters right out of your head. “Jesus, I could kiss you—thank you so much, seriously,” you start to say, hand still over your eyes as you stutter to a halt, realizing your mistake.

Heat boils in your face as you split your fingers to peek at him through your hand, but he doesn’t look horrified. He just rolls his eyes, a little playfully you think, and shakes his head like you’re being ridiculous. “Not necessary,” he says. 

You let your hand drop. “I’d insist that I’m normally the epitome of professionalism, but there’s no way in hell it’d be convincing,” you say, grinning sheepishly. 

Shrugging, he remains silent. Maybe you should take your friends up on their offers to set you up—you clearly need to get laid. Just him shrugging is doing things to you. Nevermind the tiny flick of his tongue that graces his bottom lip as he looks off down a roped-off hall. 

“Still short on chaperones?” he asks, not looking at you. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “But we’ll make due.”

Another shrug. “Could help out—‘m already here.”

Your eyes round. Though part of you wants to refuse, insist he’s done more than enough already, that he ought to get home and into dry clothes and forget about this mess, you don’t. It’s definitely selfish, almost greedy, but you don’t want him to go. Even if you only get to look at him across the gymnasium without saying another word to each other the whole rest of the night, you’d like him to stay.

A grin squirms across your face before you can stop it; you have to look away to smother it as you tap one foot against the floor. 

“Okay,” you say coolly, returning your gaze to him once you’ve gathered yourself. “But you can’t go in there looking like this.”

The theater department’s costume room gives you the creeps. Has since the first day you stepped foot in this place back in August when you got the grand tour—anywhere with this many mannequins is cursed, frankly—and it turns out it’s even worse in the dark. When you swing open the door, pale light from the hall slants against the black floor, and you reach blindly across the wall for the switch as your heart patters with dread.

Then finally: light. Weak, stuttering, yellow, but light all the same. You breathe.

Regardless, stepping into the costume room feels like being squeezed. Cramped alleyways have been formed by clothing racks stuffed well past their capacity—gowns of past Shakespeare productions hang beside the gothic frocks of Morticia and Wednesday Addams—forcing you to inch between racks, grazed by a parade of empty sleeves.

Sarah’s dad, bless him, hardly fits at all, and has to shuffle through the aisles sideways to follow you on what must seem to him like a blind mission without any destination. 

But you’ve been in this place. You know exactly what you’re looking for. Turning a corner, the next section is too narrow for the man to fit through, so you point out a chair across the room by the mirror and tell him to wait. 

“And you can ditch the flannel,” you call out as he goes. “Can hang it over the heaters to dry.”

Though you hear the low thunder of him mumbling, you miss the words.

When you emerge from the dusty racks, unnerved by the looming, half-dressed mannequins standing guard over their lot, Sarah’s dad is sitting where you asked him to wait, stripped out of his flannel, left in a slightly damp white t-shirt, his shoulder blades faintly visible in the stuttering light. If him shrugging was doing something to you earlier—this is likely to kill you. 

You clear your throat as you approach and he quickly straightens his posture. When you’re close enough, you hold out the hangers to him, even give them a little shake when he cuts his eyes at you, doubtful. You roll your own in reply. “Come on,” you insist. “Sarah will love it.”

That gets him to stand, albeit with a scowl, but it still makes you grin. With a grumpy hmph, he takes the hangers from you and you duck between racks again to give him some privacy. Sure, maybe you’d like a peek as he strips off those wet jeans, but even you know better than that. So you stand in the disordered aisle of costumes and listen instead. 

For a long time you hear nothing, like he’s hesitating. You did have to guess the sizes, but you worked plenty of retail jobs in your early twenties. Aren’t so bad at guessing. Every breath in this room, now that you’re silent, feels agonizingly loud. Not just yours, but his. The swelling of his chest with air. 

Then finally—clink. A belt buckle slacking open. Your eyes slam shut even though you’re looking in the opposite direction, at some 60s-style dress from what must’ve been an old Hairspray production with construction paper polka dots duct-taped on. He lets out a soft grunt. There’s a shuffle of fabric. Then a wet slop as his jeans hit the floor.

Your whole body throbs with heady, certain want.

Yes, you definitely need to get laid. This is humiliating. 

When you hear the belt buckle’s metal clink again, signaling he’s got the new, dry jeans on, you feel it’s safe to speak again. “I never asked you your name,” you say, still staring at the costumes. You hear him set the next hanger on the chair and even though putting it on requires no further undressing, you’ll stay exactly where you are until he’s done. Don’t trust yourself not to leer.

More shuffling, this time of sturdier fabric. “Joel,” he gruffs, and after a pause adds bitterly, “I look ridiculous.”

Chuckling, you squeeze out of the aisles and find him standing before the full-length mirror wedged in the corner of the room, into which Joel is sneering at his reflection. 

Also, he’s dead fucking wrong.

The jeans are a little tight, but frankly they’re better this way. His thighs taut beneath denim, his calves hugged. He’s a little bow-legged. So Texan. From the waist down he might as well be a cowboy. From the waist up, however, he looks like he’s just strutted off the set of Grease, putting even 1978’s Travolta to shame. His white t-shirt sits crisply beneath the black leather jacket, which he snaps to adjust the lapels. Fits him perfectly, like it was made for those shoulders, and he’s raked back his wet hair, giving it the look of being gelled, one stray curl rebelling over his forehead.

He catches your eye in the mirror, mouth twitching again, but it doesn’t become a grin or a frown. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t know what you’re looking at,” you say. “But you do not look ridiculous from where I’m standing.”

His nose scrunches as he breaks his eyes from yours in the reflection, ducking his head to rub the back of his neck. Seriously, you’d crawl all over this guy if he weren’t the dad of one of your students. Future students—whatever. But you’ll save yourself the humiliation, gotta get this show on the road, and so you jut your chin in the direction of the door. “Let’s go. Got kids to supervise, hands to keep from wandering.”

Joel balks, hands flat to fists in an instant, ready to kill.

“Oh please,” you tease, and wave one hand dismissively as you make your way to the door. “Like you weren’t thirteen once.”

You listen as he stomps after you, muttering a cranky, “Gonna have to be at all these fuckin’ things,” that makes your head fall back with a sudden laugh.

The moment you return to the gymnasium, you’re needed by everyone—so and so needs to know where the extra ice is; what’s-her-face is concerned about the sugar content of the fruit punch; and some parent wants to talk about their kids’ English grade like this is the appropriate venue for such a conversation. You immediately lose Joel to the call of teacher-slash-host duties, and he slips past you, hugging the wall as he strides over to man the drink table which, in your absence, has stood without supervision. The man might as well be a saint—you manage to catch his eye and mouth a silent thank you across the gym, to which he half-grins from a pool of neon pink glow, setting you ablaze.

Most of the night you spend running around like a madwoman, responsible for switching in new music as each CD ends, refilling snack bowls, and pulling one student off another when you catch them kissing in the hall. Thankfully neither of them is Sarah, but you do have to give the kids a talking-to.

Late in the night, you’re chatting to some of your colleagues against the gymnasium wall and watching the kids shimmy to Rock Around the Clock, poodle skirts billowing like spinning tops, when you spot Sarah rush across the floor toward Joel—apparently only spotting him now. You’re too far to hear them, too far to read their lips, but Sarah’s runaway smile is obvious at any distance. She hops in place, delighted, and forces Joel to do a little spin for her. 

Though smaller, you catch his smile too. The dimple in his cheek as he fails to restrain his contentment at her approval. How he shakes his head, embarrassed to be fawned over. Adorable.

When the Spanish teacher makes his rounds with the school’s camera, snapping flash photos of the kids’ eager smiles and costumes as they pose with their milkshakes or friends, you tap him on the shoulder and point in Joel and Sarah’s direction. “Get one of them, would you?” you whisper, and he nods, shuffling off.

Joel spots him coming a mile off, camera in hand, and immediately frowns. He makes eye contact with you across the gymnasium like he knew exactly where you were standing, and shakes his head as if to say no way. You smile, wicked, and mouth yes. One of his hands balls to a fist. 

But when Sarah spots the photographer a second later, she wraps an arm around Joel’s waist to pose and his resistance crumbles. When you were thirteen, you’d have been humiliated to be seen posing with your parents in front of your classmates, but Sarah doesn’t seem to mind at all. Her adoration is obvious, abundant. Anyone can see how much she loves him—you can see, too, Joel’s love for her. Once the Spanish teacher raises the camera to shoot, he throws his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, looking down at her with a soft, grump-less grin. The white flash snaps in the dark gymnasium, photo taken, then Sarah returns to her friends.

You cut your eyes away when he starts to turn his head in your direction, returning your gaze to your colleague. Don’t need him catching you staring. Your dignity has suffered plenty tonight.

You cave about twenty minutes before parents are due to pick up the kids at the end of the night—not due to stress, just exhaustion—and sneak out into the black night to smoke. Tucked just out of view of the parking lot and doors, you sink onto a wooden bench and light up, letting the tension unwind from your body. Gray smoke tendrils as you exhale a half-formed smoke ring. Never could get those right, but it’s fun to try while crickets croak unseen from the shadows, braiding their eerie melody. With every drag, you relax into a kind of trance, at one with the night. 

Eyes shut, you don’t hear him coming. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your eyes snap open and you realize someone’s caught you smoking.

“Shit,” you mutter, adjusting your posture to sit up straight.

Joel stands over the bench, caliginous in the dark. His hair has dried, curls loosening from each other. You hear a low chuckle that must come from him, but you can’t quite make out his face until he lowers himself onto the bench beside you—then you see he’s smirking. 

You tap ash onto the sidewalk beside your feet, away from him, unable to look him in the eye. “Not worth trying to defend myself, is it?” you joke sheepishly.

He adjusts his position, thighs spread just a touch, and crosses his arms over his chest. The leather jacket is practically criminal, it fits him so well. 

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies. “Don’t need to.”

You bring the cigarette to your lips to smother your impulse to smile, the filter stained crimson by your lipstick. You risk a glance at him. “You want one?”

Shaking his head, the corner of Joel’s mouth tugs. “Quit when Sarah came around,” he admits.

“Very responsible,” you say, and though you really shouldn’t flirt, it comes out a little snarky, like you’re teasing him. “Quit after college, but I get to indulge twice a year.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow at you, though doesn’t question the obvious flaw in your logic. “Miss it?” he asks.

You shrug and exhale a thin stream of smoke from the corner of your mouth. “Always think I do,” you say. “But it’s so much grosser than I remember. Can’t believe I used to smoke these everyday.”

He lets out a deep hmph, not quite a laugh. 

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning now. “These things are vile. They reek and make kissing gross. I might as well burn the clothes I’m wearing after this. Don’t even like it anymore—it’s just nostalgia, I think.”

Shifting again, Joel’s legs spread a little wider, though from the other side of the bench you’re still nowhere near touching. As you click one lacquered nail against your cigarette, ash rains softly to the ground. 

“Never minded,” he mumbles. He’s looking out at the dim street, not you. Streetlamps dot the street with coins of gold between cedar elms that have already begun to drain their color. The breeze is next to perfect, whisking your smoke politely away from Joel.

“Minded what?”

“Kissin’ someone who smokes,” he says matter-of-factly. His tone isn’t flirtatious—nor is his expression, his face still profiled to you—but goosebumps scale your arms all the same.

“Hm,” you hum in reply. 

Best not to dwell in this breath of quiet. The long pause in which you feel yourself want. You shift on the bench, cross your legs, and prepare to change the subject—but Joel beats you to it. 

“Looks good in there,” his voice rumbles, and in your periphery, he turns to look at you for just a moment, handsome and leather-clad. Practically put on this earth to punish you. You hold your breath until he turns his head away again. “Impressive.”

Your heart squeezes like he’s crushed it in his fist, but you tilt your head back and forth nonchalantly. “Guess it doesn’t look so bad,” you admit. To your surprise, this drags a quiet chuckle from Joel, and your eyes drop quickly to his hand where it hangs from his still-crossed arms—a brief and discreet glance, you think—and see no ring. It shouldn’t make a difference, but you're glad.

“Gotta be more subtle than that, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, despite the fact that he’s not looking at you.

You feel your face rash with heat. “Fucking eagle eyes,” you mutter, pinching the last of the cigarette to your lips for a final drag. You hold the smoke in your lungs as Joel laughs again, this time with more warmth.

He shakes his head. “Could’a just asked,” he says.

“You’re not even looking at me,” you say, smiling despite your embarrassment. You bend over to crush your cigarette against the bottom of your shoe, then pocket the spent filter, disappearing the evidence. “How the hell did you even catch that.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a whine. 

Joel shrugs. “Don’t have to be looking at you to be watchin’,” he says.

You can’t decide if you’re glad or disappointed that the moment you both look at each other, the whole of his face finally visible in the murk of nightfall—warm eyes, summer skin, that stubbly beard you’d like to nuzzle into—a caw of noise erupts inside the school and shatters the moment. The sound of students emerging from the gymnasium into the hall draws Joel’s attention first, and you allow yourself a long look at the back of his head to study his curls, just beginning to thread with gray, before you let the noise draw your attention, too.

“That’d be our cue,” you say, and you both rise from the bench.

As Joel starts shrugging off the leather jacket, you put a hand on his bicep to stop him and shake your head. So solid. Warm. He freezes under your touch, black leather slumped part-way down his arms, until you withdraw your hand. 

“Nu-uh,” you say. “You’re keeping that.”

He frowns. “Not sure I like the idea of stealin’ from Sarah’s school,” he says. 

You roll your eyes, wave one hand dismissively. “You saw where it came from, they’ll never miss it. There were at least half a dozen more in there.”

When Joel narrows his eyes at you, you narrow yours back stubbornly. Finally, he sighs and snaps the jacket back over his shoulders—a gesture that turns you to honey—and shoves one hand into the back pocket of his jeans. The also-stolen jeans. You’re gonna make him take those too. Not like anything that fits him is gonna fit any of the students here. You don’t even know why the theater department has costumes this size. 

“Least take this and sign me up for,” he gestures vaguely with one hand as he pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to you. “Whatever. More chaperonin’.”

Pinched between his fingers is a crisp business card bearing the same logo stickered to his truck. Miller Construction Ltd—Joel Miller, Co-Owner. His phone number is printed squarely at the bottom. You take it, running your thumb across the printed text. 

“Very generous,” you tease, and Joel looks down at you and grins, one dimple creasing his cheek. When you smile in return, his dark eyes slip down your face, landing on your lips.

As you make your way back up the path to the school, he walks close enough that his arm brushes against yours just once. Your body purrs with want, made worse when he smirks and leans toward you, lowering his voice. “Trust me,” he rumbles quietly. “Offer’s entirely selfish.”

Then, entirely composed, Joel yanks the front door open for you and winks.

Moodboard created by @studioghibelli!

[oftenwantedafton]

Triptych - Stepfather Steve Raglan/William Afton x Stepdaughter Reader x Mike Schmidt

Rating Explicit

Warnings - sexual content, bisexual characters, date rape drugs, non/dub con

Also available on AO3

Mike has a bit of a thing for Abby’s just barely legal babysitter.

He swears it wasn’t always like this; that he didn’t just hire you because of the way you look in your Catholic schoolgirl uniform or on those days when you have gym last period and you’re wearing a polo shirt and shorts with the school’s emblem that hug every curve while leaving just enough to the imagination when he picks you up and drops you off at his house before going to work.

He definitely doesn’t jerk off in the bathroom with the door securely locked thinking about you on your knees with your pink lips wrapped around his cock. Never that.

God he was turning into such a pervert.

And this would all be bad enough, a laundry list to confess at church if he ever gets brave enough to go back, but to make matters infinitely worse, he’s kind of got a thing for your stepfather, too.

He supposes he’s always been one of those people who just follows what he’s attracted to, gender rather insignificant. In truth there’s never been a man that he’s been this hot for before, either.

It’s going to take a few beers to get Schmidt to admit that he enjoys it when your stepdad insists on picking you up, saving him another trip and more importantly providing him with another chance to admire the social worker. He enjoys it even more when the older man doesn’t just wait for you in the car and actually comes inside to chat for a few minutes. Sometimes Mike offers him a Brewski but, alas, he always declines. Steve has to do the right thing and drive sober, even though he highly doubts one beer would be even remotely enough to affect a tall drink of water like Steve Raglan.

So now the stepparent joins Mike’s collection of lewd fantasies, helping further speedrun him straight to Hell. He likes the silver eyes and the silver threads in his hair and beard and the way his hand rests splayed on his stepdaughter’s lower spine as he guides you out the evergreen shaded front door. He’s trying but failing to not imagine what it would feel like for that spread of fingers on his own spine, sliding through sweat, clutching skin, digging in when the way he works his mouth is just right and now you’re there, too, shared between himself and your stepfather and fuck, he cums harder than he ever has in his life, staring up at the poster of Nebraska pinned above his bed; at those tall, tall trees stretching up, the branches reaching futilely for Heaven.

So yeah. He’s got a lot of that Catholic guilt going on. But it’s not enough to stop him from wanting.

***

Another night. Abby’s tucked in and Mike’s tucking cash into your palm. Steve’s in the car tonight. Pity.

“My stepdad wanted me to invite you over for dinner next week,” you say.

“Oh. Uh, yeah sure, I’ll just have to check to see if one of the neighbors can watch Abby.”

You nod. He likes the way the struggling bulb of the porch light flickers over your features. Sometimes bright, sometimes in shadows. He can’t really see inside the car from this distance but he knows Steve is watching.

“I’ll get back to you on what night works, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll tell Steve. Goodnight, Mike.”

“Thanks again.” He watches you walk down the driveway, to the vintage luxury sedan that the middle aged man drives. He wonders how long he’s maintained it. The thing still looks like it just came off the showroom lot. A lot of time and care invested. Patience.

He wonders if maybe Steve has been waiting for another investment to pay off, too.

***

Mike’s not accustomed to dressing up. The last time he’d done so had been for his mother’s funeral, and that is definitely not a memory he wants to dwell on.

So he decides on a button front shirt and tie. Dark trousers. His socks are probably the worst part of the outfit. They’re mismatched and definitely not the kind of dressy ones that you’re supposed to wear. The shoes have seen better days. He’s really not much for clothes and he doesn’t spare much time taking proper care of them. They’re scuffed and the laces are frayed. There’s no hope for it. Hopefully neither you nor your stepdad will notice.

He walks his little sister next door. Says he’s not sure what time he’ll be back, maybe four hours or so.

The directions to Raglan’s house are sitting beside him on the passenger seat.

He’d spoken to Steve earlier that day to get directions. You’d given your stepfather Mike’s phone number.

His voice in person was attractive enough, Mike supposes. Sort of an odd combination of gravel and nasal, a blend of low and higher pitch when he got animated about something. He much prefers the lower tone, like the one he’d used over the phone. Practically purring like a cat. Mike had found his pants getting extremely tight with that breath in his ear.

The house is nice. Older, but tidy. He wonders if it’s ever difficult for Steve to be here since he’d lost his wife in a drowning accident a few years back. Did he ever think of dating again? Or was the memory too strong?

Mike shuts the door of his rusted sedan. It looks so out of place next to Raglan’s immaculate specimen. He feels out of place. He shouldn’t have come empty handed, but he has no idea of what wines are good and he didn’t want to bring the wrong kind. So. He presents himself empty handed, ringing the doorbell.

You open the door and smile at him. He’s only ever seen you in school clothes. Tonight you have a light pink sweater and white jeans. It compliments your skin tone well. Still clean faced, no makeup. Hair neat and tidy, nails polished to match the sweater.

“Let the man in, it’s cold out there.” Steve’s voice calls over your shoulder.

You giggle and murmur an apology and pull the door wide open, granting Mike entrance into the Raglan household.

“Mike. How are you? Come in,” Steve greets you warmly from an open doorway to the left. “You can just give your coat to her.” He shrugs out of the jacket and hands it to you, following your stepfather into the living room.

“I didn’t know being a social worker paid so well. This place is nice,” Mike murmurs. The couch looks new, plush microfiber. Bookshelves and a fireplace and art on the wall that looks like an original, not some cheap knockoff.

The tall man laughs. “Well, it’s not all from that source of income. I used to own a business. Made some wise investments. We can discuss it sometime, if you’d like.”

“What kind of business?”

“A restaurant,” Steve says.

“Must have been pretty upscale, huh?”

“Well it wasn’t a Michelin star type, no. But it was pretty, yes,” he muses, his voice softening, his eyes looking distant.

“What happened to it? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, it’s still around. Closed but…I could never quite bring myself to let it go.” He smiles softly. “So enough about going down memory lane. Have a seat. I hope you’re not going to be too upset, but we’re having dinner delivered. Work ended up being particularly busy today, and…”

“No, that fine. Whatever’s okay.” He sinks into one of the couch cushions.

“Great. Well, it should be here in a half hour or so. Want something to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“I’ll be right back.” He winks at him. An honest to goodness deliberate wink. Mike shifts in his seat, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves.

The phone rings after Steve leaves. He can hear his muffled voice from the other room. He drags his damp palms over his thighs. He’s so nervous.

“Hey, my stepdad said to give this to you.” You walk into the room carrying a pair of wine glasses filled with something pink that’s a shade darker than your sweater. You hand him the fuller one. “That one’s yours.”

“Oh, um…” Well. One glass of wine was fine. He’d certainly driven home drunker than that before. “Thanks,” he accepts the glass and takes a sip. Wine has never really been his thing, but to be honest, he could use the alcohol to take the edge off right now. “Does your dad—I mean stepdad—usually let you drink?”

You shake your head. “Never. But he said it’s a special occasion.” You take a cautious sip, frowning over the taste.

Mike takes another swallow, watching as you sit down next to him. So many seats available and you choose this one.

You sample more of the drink. “It’s warm in here, isnt it?” Your cheeks are definitely more flushed. Man, you were really a lightweight.

“That’s normal. You get warm when you drink alcohol. The blood vessels dilate. Maybe you should slow down,” Mike cautions.

“Sorry about that. Work. They just can’t seem to manage without my guidance.” Steve apologizes as he strides back into the room, carrying what Mike presumes is the wine bottle that you’ve been drinking from. No glass for him. He settles on the opposite end of the couch from the younger man, his thigh very close to his stepdaughter’s. “What have we been chatting about? Anything interesting?”

“Can I have some more? I’m really thirsty.” Your voice sounds…off. Not intoxicated, but something else.

“Of course you can, sweet girl. But not too much. We don’t want you passing out. At least, not quite yet.” He tips the open bottle into the now empty glass, helping you to hold it steady.

The older man takes a swig from the bottle, sighing in satisfaction. Mike can only stare open mouthed. What, exactly, was happening?

“Well, at least she gave you the right glass.”

“I’m sorry?”

Steve shakes his head. He rests a hand on your knee. “I’ll give you credit, Mike. You’ve been nothing but polite and respectful to her so far. Almost as if you’re not drowning in impure thoughts the remainder of the time. I know your type.” He smiles but there’s no humor in that curve of lips.

“I…I don’t know what you’re…”

“Oh, Mike, come on. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve had to play the dear devoted stepfather who tragically lost his second wife in an accident for the last several years. Just waiting for the right moment. I think I’ve waited long enough. Don’t you agree?”

“Steve…” Mike begins, unsure of how to proceed. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest. He’s ashamed to say there’s an echo of that pulse further south, too.

“Oh, and by the way, dinner is canceled. Finish your drink,” Raglan coaches you gently. A little of it spills from the corner of your mouth.

“Did you…did you put something in…”

“Just something to relax her. I’m starting to think maybe you need some, too,” Steve manages to tear his eyes away from your damp lower lip, glaring at Mike.

“This…this is so fucked up…”

“And yet you’ve been fantasizing about it for how long now? Weeks? Months? Did you even ask what her qualifications were when you interviewed her for the babysitting job, or did you just drool over her thighs and say yes?” Steve’s hand drags slowly up his stepdaughter’s leg. Your eyes are glassy, dazed, struggling to focus.

Mike swallows loudly.

“I’ve more than paid my dues. Time to collect. You can either share in the plunder or not. I leave it at your discretion. But if you tell anyone about this, I can assure you it will be the last mistake you ever make.”

“You’re not…you’re not going to hurt her, are you?”

“Of course not. I mean, it’s probably going to be a little bit sore when I take her virginity, but, well, that’s to be expected. Maybe with the drugs she won’t even feel it. She certainly won’t remember it.” He threads his fingers through your hair. “You’ve made a bit of a mess of yourself, sweetheart. Let Daddy help you clean it up.”

He laps at the corner of your mouth and Mike’s cock lurches. He knows he should not be having any part of this, he should be calling the police, getting you the fuck away from this man, but he’s too mesmerized by the perverse scene that’s playing out before him. For him.

Steve tugs your head back gently and shoves his tongue between your lips, groaning. You don’t struggle. There is no protest. You’re soft, malleable, pliant beneath him.

The older man breaks the kiss, panting. “So fucking perfect. I’ve always loved that mouth.” He kisses you again. “Want to have a taste, Mike?”

He does.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Fashion choices for the Playtime toys in the Save Everyone AU:

Catnap: GOTH. 100÷ goth no questions asked.

Craftycorn: She's a scene queen from the moment Angel lets her have her own MySpace account, never stops dressing like that.

Dogday: I don't think he's too big on wearing clothes like some of the other toys, but he likes flannels and jackets! Angel helps him sew patches on his clothes, he loves having his family's symbols all over them.

Bubba Bubbaphant: I think he dresses up in a very preppy way, kind of dark academia esque. Wears lots of boots because he likes taking long walks.

Picky is almost always dressed to work in the family's garden, but she likes flower patterns and wearing big oversized jeans.

Bobby loves lolita fashion SO MUCH. She feels like it was made just for her!

Kickin goes through fashion phases. He tried being emo for three days and didnt like it. I do however believe once he discovers what punk is he starts making battle jackets for him and the other toys, and from then on he never changes styles.

Hoppy is gym/sports gear. Angel buys her brazilian soccer teams shirts and girl is walking around with a flamengo uniform from then on.

Miss Delight is similar to Bubba, but she takes a liking to vintage fashion and learns how to sew her own clothes. Her favorite decades fashion-wise are the 20s and 60s!

Mommy Long Legs tries 60s fashion and hates it. She likes more gothic clothes but never goes as far as Catnap in terms of fashion. She also really likes jackets! Has a hard time wearing anything feminine due to being forced to be a maternal figure at 7 years old, but with enough time she feels comfortable looking like a gothic bussiness lady even tho she doesnt know how bussiness works.

Poppy MADE cottagecore and lolita fashion, okay? She loves her puffy dresses and she is NEVER letting go of them.

Kissy takes inspiration from Barbie dolls and loves wearing skirts.

Huggy never enjoys wearing clothes but he loves colorful accessories.

Bunzo dresses like a little clown, but soon enough he's trying to copy Bubba and Miss Delight. And then Kickin. Only to turn around and dress EXACTLY like Angel did when they were his age – Bunzo does NOT know that.

PJ doesn't like fashion but he has a collection of hair accessories for Bobby, Poppy and Kissy to style him. He loves it!

Angel is stuck at oversized clothes, jackers and one token soccer team shirt.

[rpdemon]

send me an emoji + a character and i'll show you what they would wear for...

🩲 : underwear 😴 : pajamas 🏃 : gym clothes 🤿 : a swimsuit 🕴️ : a suit 💃 : a ballgown 👗 : a cocktail dress 🩰 : a ballerina tutu 👰 : a wedding dress 🎃 : a halloween costume 🎉 : a clubbing outfit ❄️ : a winter outfit 🦩 : a summer outfit 💌 : a first date outfit 👩‍🚒 : a work uniform 🧽 : a maid outfit 🦇 : a goth outfit 🌏 : a travel outfit 👩‍🏫 : a school outfit 🎙️ : a vintage outfit 💖 : their favourite outfit

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

Hannah was never much of a sports fan. She’d always preferred books and art over the chaos of a crowded stadium or the physical demands of gym class. But there was something oddly comforting about vintage sports gear. The dusty old baseball glove her grandfather once wore, the worn leather bat she’d found in her parents’ attic—these relics spoke of a different time, a time when things were simpler, and perhaps, in some way, more magical.

That’s what drew her to the resale store in the first place. It was a small, out-of-the-way shop that specialized in the unusual and the forgotten. Shelves lined with old vinyl records, antique furniture, and, tucked away in the back corner, a rack of vintage clothing. It was here, hidden between an old letterman jacket and a tattered football jersey, that she found it: a dusty old baseball uniform.

The uniform was nothing special at first glance—a pair of grey pants, a slightly yellowed white shirt with blue pinstripes, and a cap with a faded “L” emblazoned on the front. But something about it caught Hannah’s eye. Maybe it was the feel of the fabric, heavy and worn, or the faint scent of sweat and tobacco that lingered in the fibers. Whatever it was, she felt compelled to try it on.

Hannah made her way to the back of the store, pushing aside a velvet curtain that led to the dressing room. The space was cramped, with a single mirror leaning against the wall and a small bench to sit on. The light was dim, casting long shadows that seemed to flicker and dance as she closed the curtain behind her.

She slipped off her sneakers and jeans, carefully folding them before placing them on the bench. The baseball pants felt strange against her skin—rough and heavy, like they were meant for someone much larger. The shirt hung loosely on her frame, the sleeves extending well past her fingertips. But it was the cap that sealed the deal. As soon as she placed it on her head, a wave of dizziness washed over her, forcing her to sit down.

Hannah took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the feeling only intensified. Her hands began to tingle, and she looked down to see her fingers thickening, the nails growing blunt and rough. Panic set in as she watched her hands swell, the skin darkening as hair sprouted along her knuckles and the back of her hands.

She stood up quickly, but the movement sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her. She gripped the edge of the bench for support, but her legs were already changing, the muscles bulging and tightening beneath the fabric of the pants. Her feet lengthened, toes curling as they stretched, bursting out of her socks.

Her breathing quickened, and she staggered over to the mirror. The face that stared back at her was no longer her own. Her jaw was broadening, her cheeks filling out as a dark shadow of stubble erupted across her skin. Her eyes, once wide and blue, darkened to a deep brown, the shape of them narrowing as they settled into a more angular form.

Hannah’s hairline receded as her forehead expanded, her features hardening into those of a man in his late twenties. A strong, Roman nose and high cheekbones added to the distinctly Latino look that was forming before her eyes. She reached up to touch her face, but the sight of her hands—thick and calloused, with hair sprouting up her forearms—sent a jolt of fear through her. She turned away from the mirror, but the transformation was happening too quickly for her to escape it.

Her shoulders broadened, the seams of the shirt straining against the growing muscles. Her chest flattened, but it wasn’t a reduction—rather, it was the building of muscle, the creation of a strong, athletic physique that now filled out the uniform with ease. She could feel her waist thickening, her hips narrowing as her body reshaped itself into a distinctly masculine form.

Thick, dark hair began to sprout across her chest and arms, curling slightly as it grew. The skin on her torso tanned to a warm brown, and she could feel the texture of her stomach changing, the smooth skin giving way to a trail of hair that led down past the waistband of the pants. Her thighs thickened, powerful muscles bulging beneath the fabric, and she became aware of a new weight between her legs, a clear signal of her transformation.

But it wasn’t just her body that was changing. As her bones lengthened and her muscles grew, memories began to flood her mind. They were alien at first—strange images of a life she had never lived. She saw herself standing on a baseball diamond, the sun beating down as she adjusted her cap, spit on the ground, and took her position at second base. The crowd cheered as the pitcher wound up, and she felt the familiar thrill of anticipation.

No, not her. His. These were his memories.

She tried to hold onto herself, tried to remember her own life, but the details were slipping away, like sand through her fingers. Her name, her face, the things she loved—all of it was fading, being replaced by something new, something stronger.

Hannah—no, Danny, that was his name—Danny Rivera. He was a baseball player, a good one too. He’d played in college, then spent a few years in the minor leagues before making it to the majors. He remembered the first time he stepped onto that big league field, the way his heart pounded in his chest as he looked around at the sea of fans. He’d been so proud, so full of life.

And he was gay, too. That wasn’t something he had always been comfortable with, but it was who he was. He remembered the first time he came out to his team, the fear of rejection, of losing everything he’d worked so hard for. But they’d accepted him, welcomed him even, and he’d never felt more at home than he did in that locker room, surrounded by his teammates.

The last vestiges of Hannah’s thoughts were fading now, her identity melting away into the man she was becoming. She no longer felt out of place in the uniform; it was like a second skin, familiar and comforting. The cap sat perfectly on his head, and as he adjusted it, he caught sight of himself in the mirror once more.

Danny grinned at his reflection, a cocky, confident smile that showed off the dimple in his right cheek. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, feeling the strength in his fingers, the power in his body. He was back—back where he belonged, in his prime, ready to take on the world.

The curtain rustled as he stepped out of the dressing room, a new man in every sense of the word. The store clerk barely glanced at him as he walked by, simply nodding in acknowledgment as Danny made his way to the door. He didn’t have any money on him, but he figured that didn’t matter. The uniform was his, always had been. Besides, he had a game to get to.

As he stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, Danny took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp, fresh air. The memories of who he had been, of the life he had lived as Hannah, were gone now, replaced by the certainty of his identity as Danny Rivera. He felt strong, confident, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

With a final glance back at the store, he turned and walked down the street, his stride long and purposeful. There was no doubt in his mind that this was where he was meant to be. This was who he was meant to be. And as far as he was concerned, that was the only thing that mattered.

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[jewishmuseummd]

Every Friday we’re featuring a new, recent accession to the collection! 

#FridayFeature: School gym class uniform for Northwestern High School, bought at Charlie Rudo's at Mondawmin Mall and worn by Miriam Winder, Baltimore, late 1960s. Gift of Miriam Winder-Kelly, JMM 2019.26.1.

[geezerwench]

*whew* Been TrIgGeReD already this morning. Scrolling through the feed in Facebook, came upon a post about old gym uniforms.

Ours were like this one, but I'm pretty sure the zipper was in the back.

Hated, HATED those damn things.

Hated gym class. Hated those bullshit one-piece, knit, nasty, sexist gym uniforms. Had to buy them from the school.

High school? Just can't remember. Must have blocked it out.

[vermillioncrown]

I'm going to end up watching KnB because of you, how dare. But anyway, loving "Ball is Life" so much <3 I was wondering, what kind of clothes do you imagine si!Kagami wearing?

lmao there are both worse ways and better ways to spend your time (glad you like it, idk how much of the readership is split between knb sleeper agent fans and knb-blind who trusted me enough to read bil)

on the subject of clothes, i hesitate to call si!kagami trendy but he's deliberate about his own fashion sense. it's A Fashion Sense, whether good or bad is up to taste. i kinda model it after my more 'masculine' section of wardrobe or how i like to dress my guy friends up. like - if i was able to be reborn as a fit specimen of the male variety, it'd be dressup game every day

pants: fitted sizing. jeans are common and he doesn't have duplicate colors or styles. thicker joggers for casual look. one or two baggy cargos with fitted ankles. has slacks and chinos for formality. doesn't really like wearing shorts - hates his leg hairs getting caught (so if shorts, he'll wear long socks)

tops: he has 'casual' tees but they're not plain. interesting motifs, patterns, textures, deconstruction, etc. wears proper button-down shirts under his uniform but not normal collared shirts - interesting graphics, patterns + construction, mandarin collars, tucks it into his pants (french tuck or proper tuck). sometimes does a normal collared shirt w tie in a punk-prep type way

socks: he has those 6-pack hanes socks for the gym, otherwise is very choosy about them. has them of all lengths, patterns for formality, to match outfits. very willing to wear socks with sandals as a conscious fashion faux pas

shoes: basketball shoes are only for basketball. separates his inside court shoes from street ball sneakers. casualwear is chunky, interesting sneakers (reeboks instapump fury is a good example), or he's into a nice chelsea boot, or big strap sandal like a gymbro fuccboi. has two more avant-garde shoes when he wants to be weird (it's a shame that the rick owens kiss boots aren't out at the same time bil is happening...)

outerwear: hoodie gang - the a bathing ape hoodies are very distinct. he also likes weird sweaters (in terms of construction and fit). deliberate with other styles of jackets and coats (various lengths, fit, fabric, weight)

hats: fond of a snapback for casual occasions, or a weird-shaped bucket hat (aka like a frog or something). otherwise doesn't like messing up his hair

accessories: heavy on the ear piercings (very gothic, edgelord shit). bracelets, rings, usually has a g-shock or funny swatch watch (it must be chunky) on hand. i've always wanted a tongue piercing - maybe si!kagami can live that life for me. somehow has accumulated a lot of scarves? his belts are very simple and plain leather, no obvious branding. has a couple pair of sunglasses that aren't too bold but go with most looks

formalwear: has two suits for occasions. he actually went vintage hunting

=

closest example i can think of you can look at is wisdm (wisdom kaye) on instagram - except si!kagami isn't as lanky as him and wisdm is way more put together

[a-aexotic]

detention and the picture of dorian gray. | s.b

pair: f!reader x stanley barber

warnings: language, the word "slut" being used, mentions of food, weed in use. word count: 1.8k summary: y/n gets detention because she refused to change into something else. she then meet stanley barber, the king of breaking uniform himself.

a/n: big thanks to liane my love for helping me with this fic 😩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 (@amourtentiaa). tags: @nothinghcppens @eunoniaa @isolemnlyswearpevensie @aspiringsloth20 @thatslovelymoony @amourtentiaa @vsawyer1989 @fives-cup-of-coffee

Y/N SAT QUIETLY IN MRS. JEFFERSON'S ENGLISH CLASS AS SHE PLAYED WITH THE EDGE OF HER SKIRT. she had gotten this plaid skirt from her aunt the other day. she usually doesn't go for skirts but this skirt just looked too cute to pass on.

she let out a yawn, glancing at the clock. she moved her gaze to her friend syd with a small smile. the girls were planning on getting milkshakes after school, and y/n was excited to leave school.

the bell rung and y/n got up as fast as she could, grabbing her backpack and pencil, heading for the door. syd was taking her time gathering her stuff, so y/n got to the door faster than her.

"ms. l/n, you know that skirt is against dress code?" mrs. jefferson eyed y/n, judgement in her expression. y/n narrowed her eyes on the teacher, knitting her eyebrows.

"since when are skirts against dress code?" y/n replied coolly, as syd let out a small chuckle.

mrs. jefferson's eyes widened as she got up. "it's short. a distraction, if you will. you should try wearing something modest. i'll get you a slip so you can call your mother-"

"excuse me? modest? well sorry to break it to you, mrs. jefferson, modest isn't-"

"how dare you interrupt me? detention!" mrs. jefferson bickered as y/n rolled her eyes, as syd watched in amusement. the teacher gave her a slip, and watched as the girls walked out.

"whatever, and i'm not changing." y/n rolled her eyes in annoyance as her and syd walked down the hallway to their next class.

Y/N WALKED IN THE GYM WITH CROSSED ARMS AND A PINCHED EXPRESSION. she saw there was only two other people there - stanley barber (the king of breaking dress code) and jenny tuffield. she was a few minutes late, but she needed to use the restroom.

she sat down near stanley with a huff and put her backpack directly next to her. she tapped her foot as she waited for something to happen, for someone to talk.

jenny finally sighed and faced the two. "so, why're you both here? you seem like . . . goody two shoes."

y/n narrowed her eyes on the girl, "mrs. jefferson called me a slut, basically."

"a slut?" stanley choked out with a laugh, causing the girls to glare at him. "w-why? you're not a slut,"

"because my skirt is short." y/n let out a groan, and rolled her eyes at the mere thought of mrs. jefferson calling her skirt short. it wasn't short! and plus, she has shorts under it anyway.

"yeah mrs. jefferson is a sour old bitch who was way to much free time on her hands." jenny nods in agreement with another loud sigh, laying her head on the bench behind her. "what about you?"

"um, didn't do my homework," stanley said as y/n nodded along to his words.

"well, that sucks." y/n states as she gave him a small smile. she expected him to might've broken dress code or something, but it was something else.

the principal walked into the gym with a angry expression, as if to scare them. jenny didn't move her, instead she stared at the principal.

"you kids are here today because you disrespected teachers," he eyed y/n. "or didn't do what you were supposed to do. you are to clean this whole gym. and i will be checking it after." he seemed done with our bullshit, so he sighed and left the gym, "don't fool around, i will know."

"he doesn't actually check, i've been in detention a million times and i haven't done a single thing." jenny whispered with a smirk, turning her body to face us. "so . . ."

"so," stanley echoed, looking around the gym. y/n was not going to clean the entire gym, but the others didn't seem like they wanted to talk at all. she took out a book for her reading class, opening it. stanley took out a rubik's cube.

jenny yawned and took her bag, getting up and walking to the bathroom. stanley glanced at y/n with an interest etched in his expression. "what are you reading?"

y/n turned her head to stanley, "um, the picture of dorian gray. it's for mr. white's class."

stanley nodded with a smile. "do you like it? what page are you on?" he moved closer to y/n, looking onto the book with her.

"192, i'm pretty much in the middle. it's nice, but i probably wouldn't read it on my own. i don't read the classics unless i have to, i prefer modern romance - or like, greek mythology."

"oh, that's nice. i like comics more than books, i don't think i have a good enough attention span to read an actual book, y'know?" stanley spoke as y/n nodded along.

"same here, i guess it depends on the book." y/n smiled. "do you think the principle will actually come check on us?"

stanley shook his head, "uhh, no! why would he? plus, i'm sure jenny was right. who'd take the time out of their day . . . and use it to check if a bunch of kids cleaned an entire gym?"

y/n laughed as stanley smiled. "you're right." an awkward silence fell between the two as they looked around the gym. y/n decided she needed to use the restroom, so she put the bookmark in the book and got up. "bathroom,"

stanley smiled awkwardly and nodded. "u-uhh, have fun!"

y/n laughed and nodded, walking down the stands and walking to the door. she opened the heavy door, walking into the bathroom. she looked for any sign of jenny after a few seconds of silence, but there was no sign.

y/n scoffed, "bitch!" she quickly washed her hands before walking out of the bathroom. stanley was laying on the bench, playing with the rubik's cube.

"stanley, jenny left!" y/n crossed her arms walking up to the boy. stanley sat up, scoffing. "should we . . . ditch too? i mean, jenny did. why shouldn't we?"

"yeah, sure," stanley breathed out. he took his backpack, and gave y/n's hers. he grabbed her book, handing it to her. "where are we going?"

y/n smiled as she took the book and put the book in her backpack. "we should get milkshakes, at that diner."

stanley nodded and got up from the stands. "okay, let's go!"

y/n let out a laugh, walking beside stanley.

THEY WERE FINALLY ON THE MAIN ROAD, WALKING TO THE DINER. y/n lead the way, as stan was a few steps behind. "don't you have a car, stanley?"

he nodded, "i didn't drive it here today. my dad's home, so -"

"oh," y/n nodded knowingly. "you don't have a good relationship with your dad?" this was definitely not something you ask when you first meet someone, but if the shoe fits, the shoe fits.

he walked next to y/n, "yeah nope. i hate him." he paused, "well i don't really hate him, he's my dad. you can't ever really hate your dad, y'know?"

y/n nodded. "makes sense. dads aren't too great, if we're being honest."

he laughed with a nod, "yup, they suck. dads, who needs 'em?"

"yeah, as long as you have a good few friends and a good hangout place, you're good to go. that's what my aunt says," y/n smiled as stanley nods.

"well, she's right." stanley says with as he looked ahead. "i like your skirt, it isn't slutty. it's cute,"

y/n's face went red as she awkwardly laughed, "thanks. i like your jacket,"

he faced her with a smile, "thanks. i found it at the thrift store . . . pretty sure it's like, older than my grandpa. but i washed it! so we're all good."

"vintage and hand me down clothing is cuter, if we're being honest. if it has history, it's better." y/n spoke as stanley nodded along.

"yeah," stanley agreed as he took out a tin with weed, taking one out and offering one to her. "want one?"

y/n has never had weed before, and she's never thought she'd ever agree to smoke . . . especially in public. she nodded and took it from his hand. "i've never smoked weed before, i've vaped before-"

"vaping is nothing like weed, y/n. it is amazing," stanley winked at the girl, giving her a lighter. "do you know how?"

"you just inhale and exhale, right?" y/n whispered as she looked the weed.

"let me do it first," stanley says as you handed it back to him. he placed it in his mouth, and lit it slowly. he inhaled and took it out, and slowly blew it out. "here,"

y/n takes it and copies his actions - inhaling and slowly exhaling. she coughed out loudly, as stanley laughed loudly. "how'd i do?" y/n coughed out.

"you did good, uh, for your first time." stanley smiled as y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

"just say i did horribly and get it over with," y/n said in a joking manner as stanley shook his head.

"you did good! i promise," stanley laughed. "you want some more?" he took a long draw before handing her the blunt. she nodded, taking it. she a small draw, and this time she didn't cough as hard. "now that one, was good."

"i thought my first one was good!" y/n laughed loudly as stanley smiles.

"that one was better!" stanley spoke as she nodded. she handed him the blunt, and he took another draw. "you didn't cough, that's good."

they went back and forth with it, and soon enough, they were on their forth blunt and were very high. they decided not to go to the diner, but instead, a park.

it was around 6 pm, and they were on a bench. stanley had his head on y/n's shoulder as they talked. "so, you're dad's like . . . gone most of the time?"

he nodded. "yup, it's all good until he decides he wants to come home."

"i'm really sorry, stan. your dad doesn't deserve you,"

he looked up at her from her shoulder. "yeah, i can't wait til i can go to college, away from him. it'll be the best day of my life." y/n nodded, as they kept looking up at they sun setting. "hey y/n, do you . . . do you think there's like, a genuine meaning to life?"

"maybe. i-i don't think there is a genuine meaning to life." she paused as stanley looked up at her. "i think you have to create your meaning. if you think about it, nothing ever matters until you make it matter. your life can have a million meanings or one. it's your life, only yours."

she looked down at stan, "what do you think?"

"i think you're high off your mind right now, y/n. but uh, that was beautiful." he laughed as y/n scoffed.

"thank you,"

"we should get going, now." stanley sighed as he lifted his head from her shoulder. "let me walk you home."

"yeah," she sighed as she got up. "want some perfume? because uh, we smell like weed,"

he laughed. "nope, i'm fine. my dad'll think i have a girlfriend or something."

y/n smiled as they started walking. "we should hang out more."

he nodded, "sure. let's do that."

[liveindaydreamswithhim]

Just like 1940*

A blurb in which Harry comes back from filming Dunkirk only to find that his girlfriend thinks he's a soldier coming back from war and wants to reward him.

Warning: This is pure smut. Main kinks: role-playing and even some choking and bondage.

I had this idea back in 2017 when Dunkirk had come out. However, I did not write then so now that videos of Harry training for Dunkirk has resurfaced, it has come back to me again. I will not let this opportunity go this time.

Word count: 5.6K

Harry sighed and rolled his shoulders in order to get rid of the soreness that lingered after his long day at the set. His hours at work – quite different than the work he had been already used to – consisted mostly of hard training. That is how it was nowadays being part of a film and a war film nonetheless, so he and all the cast members had to always stay in their best shape and having to withgo heavy hours of training. From weightlifting and boxing to exercising in the wet sand while they were left to the brutality of the cold wind in addition to the sea that chilled him down to his bones and made the minutes feel like hours. Moreover, they had diving lessons in wet suits that barely even sheltered him from the freezing waters as well as wardrobe training to learn how to swim while wearing the heavy army boots and all the uniform equipment.

Harry searched his back pockets for his hotel room keys and even let a small groan as he reached towards the hole only for the joints of his elbow to crack in protest. Even though this day was not a training day, but rather a filming day, it had hardly given him any comfort for it still requested high physical skills and willpower and he could also feel the consequences of yesterday’s gym training. His thighs had been the ultimate victim as he dragged them around today, the muscles harder and more prominent from the excessive use, along with his torso that suffered the results of continuous core exercises, which also restricted him from laughing too much on set today since every deep breath was like a small pang to the stomach.

The boy felt his uniform stick to his skin with sweat and the smell of saltiness clung to him after being exposed to the sea air for a long period of time. He made a mental check to wash it tomorrow. That was the only problem of taking your work clothes with you – even if it saved you time in the morning for getting ready on set, you had to wash it yourself and that was not something the other actors warned him about when they advised him of it.

As Harry entered his room, the smell of vanilla and jasmine invaded his nose and he remembered to step lighter on his army boots and close the door with a soft thud as to not disturb the other person that was probably in his room so late at night. What gave him a bit of peace – and mostly his body – was the fact that he had tomorrow off to rest and more importantly to spend some time with his girl. Y/N was visiting him after being away from each other for the last three months and she had been very excited the first day he had taken her to the set and her eyes turned twice their normal size as they stared at every piece of the setting as well as behind it with all of the crew members. Y/N had been giddy when she met his co-workers who she charmed with her smiles and blushes (and also the fact that she was cutely wrapped up in bundles of clothes as to not catch a cold that only her face was visible, the skin of her cheeks and nose tinted red from the brutal winds as few strands of hair tickled her face that she couldn’t really push away since her hands were restricted by her thick gloves) and Harry had felt so proud to call her his as he showed her around with his arm over her shoulder as she leaned into him for some extra heat.

Y/N had looked especially proud when she was witnessing him act with her hands clasped close to her chest as she had stared in awe at the way her boyfriend looked. It gave him that extra boost of confidence as he noticed the way her eyes trailed from his short hair to his stained face to shamelessly gawk at the way his green uniform clung to his body especially when water was soaking it, leaving the skin underneath a bit more visible. Y/N would bite her lower lip but would not say anything until he finished filming for the day and then she would drag him immediately to their room, her hands never leaving his body until he was burning up from her touch, melting from her close proximity as she made him moan and call out her name in the darkness of the room over and over again while trembling under her warm body.

His blood rushed as he even thought of the day when he was being pulled inside a forgotten closet by his lover who, without wasting any time, attached her lips to the sensitive skin of his neck and collarbones pushing the fabric off his shoulder to give Y/N more space to invade. Harry had become dizzy at her assault but it had only lasted a few seconds, long enough to guide his hand down the front of her legging, where he realised how drenched and needy she was for him, but before he could curl his fingers in the way that had her begging, Y/N pulled his hand away with a deep sigh like it hurt her to do so, kissed his pink coloured lips for a second and then push him back out of the room before anyone could notice his absence.

Y/N, left in the closet with her own thoughts, had giggled at the stunned expression on Harry’s face and how she had picked her own battle carefully in order to await retaliation from him. And it really was more than she could handle. Harry had had on his scary calm face, the one that made her eyes widen in innocence because perhaps she had bit more than she could chew. After having her hands restrained to the bed frame, unable to move, Harry had granted her what she wanted, but with a twist. That night Y/N got his ring clad fingers time after time until she was sore and raw and made a wet mess of the bed, until she was begging for Harry to stop as he stared at her with a smirk on his clean shaved face, fake sympathy written all over it.

“But we have only just began,” was all that he had said and pulled her until she stranded his lap, a tight hold on her trembling thighs while her hands had fought her restrains.

Almost painfully slow, he slid inside of her, with absolutely no resistance as her mouth choked a small whine. As he had fucked her raw against the bedframe, his lips and teeth leaving marks on any part of soft skin he could reach, Y/N had thought to herself that maybe she had won the battle, but she had definitely lost the war. However, she was not giving up until she finally got what she wanted.

Walking now further into the room, Harry heard a soft humming and was surprised to see that Y/N was still awake and had lit a few jasmine scented candles that gave the whole room a golden feeling.

“Y/N?” he called out carefully.

Harry heard an elongated gasp and soft feet padding quickly to where he was.

“You are finally home!” she exclaimed coming into view and throwing her arms around his broad shoulders squeezing tightly as her feet left the floor.

Although confused at her affection he hugged her back because in the end, he had actually missed her on the set today. With his arms around her waist, he buried his head in the crook of her neck taking in the sweet smell of vanilla that always followed her. After a few moments, Y/N pulled back and smiled brightly at him and only then did he notice her attire. She was wearing a baby blue button-down dress that reached her knees. It had a sweetheart neckline and was tight around her chest and waist before it flowed out with enough fabric to hide her bare feet from view. The dress looked from a different era entirely and Harry was certain that she had bought it from a second-hand vintage shop. However, what caught his attention was the fact that the fabric was so thin that he could actually see her nipples protruding, hard from the chilly air of the room or even her lustful stare at him, because while he was staring her down, Y/N was also doing the same, with her lip caught in her teeth as she saw the camouflage apparel he had on, a few of his jacket’s buttons undone to see the green shirt underneath. A thick black belt kept his army trousers carefully in place and she never hated anything that much before.

“I can’t believe that you are back to me!” Y/N said eagerly, the tone in her voice cheery mixed with surprise.

“What–“ Harry was beyond confused looking at his girlfriend in front of him.

“You have been away from me for so long, I thought I would never see you again,” she cried out and he was so bewildered that he let her lead him to the bedroom and pushing him gently on a chair.

She went down on her knees in front of him and started unlacing his boots. The frown on Harry’s face was still prominent as he thought “what the fuck”.

“Baby, are you okay?” he asked softly and reached over to her forehead, thinking that maybe she had gone out without her protections against the cold and had caught a fever.

Y/N simply gave him her sweetest smile that melted his heart and replied; “I am more than okay now that I have you here again my love,”

“I don’t understa-“

“I am so happy that you have come back home to me from the terrors of the world, my brave, brave soldier,” Y/N looked up at him with adoration in her eyes as well as plenty of mischief as she finally stood up, her fingers reaching towards the stray curls that had fallen in his eyes.

“Soldier?” was all that Harry could say dumbly and he seriously felt that he was missing something, but it wasn’t likely that Y/N would simply reveal it and he was all alone trying to understand.

“Yes, soldier. For have you not been fighting restlessly against our country’s enemy while I am sat here at home praying for your well-being, hoping that you will return to me?” she asked pursuing her lips like he was the mad one here.

This time Harry stayed silent trying to understand and looked in her eyes, filled with challenge as she cocked her eyebrow at him, running her hands down her skirt and raising it just enough to reveal the creamy skin of her thighs as placed each of them in either side of his until she was stranding him, and his hands ended up automatically on the small of her back as Y/N stared down at Harry with a theatrical sigh.

“Oh, how I missed you,” she dropped her head to his neck and puckered her lips to litter soft kisses around the are that slowly turned more opened mouthed as she reach the underside of his jaw, while her thighs squeezed his, trapping him under her.

Oh.

He saw it now.

His palms ran down to her ass and he pushed Y/N with force until her chest was against his, feeling her gasp and breathe heavily through the thin fabric of her dress. A wild sensation came over him as he realised the game that his girl wanted to play and fuck, would he grant her anything she asked for, so with a deep breath, he ran his hands all over her like he didn’t know where to begin touching her, in the desperate manner that he usually possessed after not seeing her for months on end.

Y/N released a small moan as Harry’s hands finally reached her hair and gathered it in one handful, pulling it lightly so that her throat and cleavage was exposed to him. She closed her eyes at the sensation of his lips on her skin that was starting to be set on fire, especially as his tongue poked through to savour the taste of her. His other hand rested on her hip that had already started grinding on him.

Harry growled and the sound travelled deep inside her all the way through her veins and his presence was heavy all around her. She almost couldn’t believe that she had convinced him to roleplay with her, a fantasy born since the first time she had seen him in that army uniform. During the last few second with his lips carving bright red marks on her skin and then licking over them, Y/N had become very desperate and that was not part of her acting.

“I missed you too,” Harry replied almost in agony, for if she wanted him to play desperate, he would gladly do so.

Y/N, now that she was not the one teasing, pulled against Harry’s hold on her hair and clasped his face in her palms and leaned in until she found his mouth. She hummed in appreciation as she tasted his lips that were just as hungry as hers.  One taste and that was enough for Harry to want to rip every single item of clothing that she was wearing, but he managed to restrain himself because he knew that destroying that dress would displease her very much. Instead, he opted for carelessly undoing the buttons in the front and slowly every sliver of her bare skin was revealed to him. He knew that she was not wearing a bra but he was surprised to see that she had no other barrier between them after the dress was only hanging from her shoulders. Harry broke from the kiss and stared shamelessly at her exposed body on top of him as Y/N slowly stood up and let the dress become a pool of blue at the bottom of their feet.

She looked at him bashfully and once again went down on her knees for him. She was still almost close to eye level with him as she ran her hands along his hard chest and undid the buttons of his jacket, which Harry quickly discarded it somewhere in the room. Y/N stared at the light green vest that he wore and how it made his arm muscles protrude in the most delicious way as the shapes of his tattoos appeared even darker under candlelight. She decided to keep it on for now.

Next target was the big belt around his waist that she wasted no time unbuckling and pulling it down along his trousers. She stretched out to give one last kiss to his lips before settling further down on her knees, lifting his vest to reveal the valley of his stomach and the muscles defining it. Y/N marked her way south switching between feather soft kisses and hungry bites of skin while her eyes stayed entirely on his face that looked at her expectantly.

“Let me reward you for what you do for all of us,” Y/N said in a small but steady voice. Her hands ran up his firm thighs and over the prominent bulge that had formed in his black underwear. At first contact, Harry released a hiss and immediately closed his eyes.

“Please,” he exhaled.

Kissing the inside of his thighs, Y/N pulled down his boxers and freed him. Her hands were on his cock, feeling how hard he was in anticipation to her moves. The skin was silky as she gave it a testing pump. Harry’s head fell backward at the feeling and Y/N, very satisfied with his reaction, spit on the head and spread the wetness with her thumb so that her hand could slid easier over him.

“Fuck, such dirty actions from such an innocent young woman,” Harry rasped, his voice laced with lust as he looked down at her.

Y/N said nothing, but in retaliation she bit the inside of his thigh before moving up his spread legs to put him in her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks as she twirled her tongue around him, capturing the pre-cum and tasting him while giving an appreciative hum. She lowered herself on him until he hit the back of her throat while her hand slid up his thigh to connect with his balls, massaging lightly and coaxing a deep moan from Harry who felt his pleasure build at the bottom of his stomach. Y/N released him with a pop and breathed in some well-needed oxygen before wrapping her mouth back around his dick, bobbing her head in a slow tempo. She felt her eyes fill with tears at the big size of him and the fact that Harry without knowing was slowly lifting his hips to meet her every thrust making her choke around him. Harry realising her efforts to breathe stopped his movement and pulled out of her warm mouth even though he wanted to stay buried in her for hours.

However, Y/N did not mind it at all, especially if Harry continued to reward her with the deep throaty moans he released. Eager to put him back in her mouth she went to lunge forward but was stopped when Harry’s hand in her hair pulled her backwards making her let out a pathetic whimper. She looked up at him begging with her doe like eyes to use her throat as he pleased, but she stopped trying to reach him when he gave her a warning glare, which stilled her in place. Instead, Harry tapped her cheek and she dropped her mouth open and poked her tongue out. The look in his eyes was that he was trying to be careful with her and she almost scowled at it. If she had wanted careful, she would not have orchestrated all of this plot. So, when Harry placed his thumb on her awaiting tongue, she immediately closed her lips around it and sucked on it harshly.

Harry was displeased and quickly pulled his hand back leaving her pleading again. He clicked his tongue and tapped her cheek again and this time he gave a warning pull to her hair for her to obey his orders – a small reminder of who was really in charge and he felt a satisfied thrum at the fact that she obeyed him so easily. When Y/N’s tongue came into view again, Harry ran his cock over the outline of her plush lips and she summoned all the willpower she could master to stay put while her eyes silently begged him to do something. Finally, Harry placed the head of his cock on her tongue and he moaned when he saw that Y/N eyes flattered at the action.

“Such a needy lady,” he mused.

“Please,” she begged him.

“What is it baby,” he cooed and urged her to speak but he had already sank his cock deeper in her mouth feeling out the shape of it, watching in fascination the bulge forming in her cheeks. But he knew what she was pleading for, he knew her well enough to understand her looks and her moods and her stares and he knew from the endless hunger rooted in her eyes that she did not want soft, she wanted to please him.

Again he granted her wish to be desperate and without warning he slid deeper until he felt her nose graze his stomach and held her in that position for a moment – only long enough so that he could wrap a hand around her neck and feel himself fill her up to her limit. Harry pulled back and kept her in that position as he fucked her mouth slow but firmly and he almost felt himself combust from the way that Y/N’s eyes focused on him the entire time.

Y/N felt warm all over and she could feel more wetness pooling between her thighs as she got drunk at the view of him over her using her mouth to get lost in his pleasure. After another pause for her to breathe, Harry without hesitation, placed his hands under her thighs and lifted her like she weighed nothing carrying her to the bed and he really thanked his training for it. Although the muscles all over his body hurt, he managed to push the pain to the back of his head, his mind too preoccupied with the vixen wrapped around him. He laid her on the bed, but she did not stay where he left her. Y/N got up, pushing Harry’s shoulders so that he was the one falling on the bed and she crawled to him. In two quick moves he discarded the vest leaving them both completely naked under the candlelight.

“I thought about you every day, even more at night, and even more when I was alone,” Y/N continued her little game.

Harry raised his brows, because he understood the meaning behind her words and imagined her all day in their bed waiting for him while he was on set, with her greedy hands between her thighs and thinking about him. This hunger she was feeling was only a result of her being left alone in her very dirty thoughts that no amount of cold showers would cool her down and her own fingers couldn’t bring the pleasure he could.

“You have been such a good girl for me, welcoming me back home –“ he urged her to him and deliberately placing her on top of him with one leg between her thighs. She was so focused on the praise given to her that she did not notice that his thigh was right under where she needed him the most. “But how about you? Let me greet you properly.”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as she soon realised their position.

“Come on baby, use me,” was all he said as he stretched his arms out to prove that he would not interfere with whatever she wanted to do.

However, the position Harry had placed her in could only amount to one thing, something that she wanted to try long ago, but had been too shy to even mention it. Y/N’s cheeks heated up as she noticed his thigh muscles tensing up giving her a better area. She bit her lip and thrusted her hips forward at an angle that his skin grazed her clit, most of her wetness coming off on him.

Harry looked more than satisfied as he heard her first moan of appreciation that was followed by many more as she used his thigh to receive pleasure. Soon Y/N got lost at the warm feeling that travelled through her veins as goosebumps scattered over her skin, she threw her head back and felt her wetness slide down Harry’s thigh and on the duvet under them, but she did not seem to care about anything apart from what his warm skin was doing to her. She jolted me she felt his hands land on her chest, firm as the fingers ran over her nipple making her shudder a bit. Y/N opened her eyes to see that Harry was already watching her, his lip between his teeth and the deep green of his eyes almost non-existent. Like he was not able to control himself he reached forwards and attached his big hands on her hips and made her movements harsher to the point where Y/N almost collapsed on him from the pleasure and gasped as she leaned in to capture Harry’s lips midway, letting his tongue enter her mouth and taste her own as she clenched her thighs.

“I am going to cum,” she warned and braced herself for the rows of pleasure that would most definitely take her breath away.

However, Harry had other plans, as he lifted her off him and smirked when he heard her whimper and tremble at the incompletion. He laid her on the bed and this time she had no energy to object. He took her right leg in his hand and placed it over his shoulder and turned his head so that he could kiss her calf. When she squirmed until one warning slap was given to the inside of her thigh, so close to her soaked centre, she stayed still.

Harry’s left fingers dragged down his left thigh and over the tiger tattoo, the place where Y/N had used him and collected the wetness she had left behind. She moaned so loud when she saw that he had popped his fingers in his mouth and sucked them dry. Then he grabbed his throbbing cock in his hand, sliding it a couple times over her folds and slowly he eased himself in her wet tight hole.

Both of them exhaled in relief at the feeling of becoming one as Harry leaned in to kiss her opened mouth.

“Harry, please,” Y/N cried out although she didn’t know what she was begging for. But Harry nevertheless seemed to give it to her.

With a hard thrust that left them both in scrambles, he picked up the rhythm, hitting that one spot inside her that had his name bouncing off her lips. Y/N arched her back as Harry’s mouth attached to her nipple, his teeth softly grazing them. The deep moans that she released were like they had awoken something feral inside him, as he straitened his back grabbing the leg on his shoulder with both hands, fingers digging into the plush skin of her thigh and she almost felt a pang when she realised that he was not wearing any rings. That did not last long, for Harry started pounding into her with a force so brutal that had her moaning under him, her body acting without her command as her other leg hit the mattress in order to buck her hips.

Harry tatted amused before he took both her legs and placed them over his hips while he was still on his knees and Y/N lifted her gaze to see the fern tattoos poking between her thighs. When he took the first thrust in that position, the angle it gave multiplied their pleasure by far and she was in awe at the deep throaty moan that he released. Harry’s hands gripped her hips so hard that she knew that in the morning she would find bruises in the shape of his fingers.

Harry felt like his hands couldn’t get enough of her and they flattered every time they stayed in one part of her body for too long. He couldn’t stop the feeling of wanting to explore her whole body in just one night. Complying to his wish, Harry ran his hands up to her sides, her breasts until they reached her open neck, begging for a hand around it. With his left hand around the delicate skin of her throat and his right hand playing with her nipple, he stared at the girl underneath him with awe in his eyes. His stare scanned her pleasure-ridden face, they way her own eyes were screwed shut, brows furrowing, but her hands blindly searched for him, wanting to be in contact with him as one of them dug in the skin of his shoulder while the other gripped the wrist around her neck and pushing it further.

“Open your eyes for me baby, let me see those eyes that I missed,” Harry commanded desperate to catch her gaze.

Her hairline had gathered bids of sweat and she whined at his words, but in the end, although with difficulty, Y/N managed to open her eyes meeting his intense stare. Her mouth let airy moans free every time that his hips rolled forwards to meet her own.

“You feel so fucking amazing love,” he moaned in the space between them and raised her body so that she was stranding his lap. Y/N cried out at the prospect of being separated from him even for a second, but Harry managed to remain inside her, his pride swelling at the reaction of his lover.

“You love it when I am this deep in you,” he continued and Y/N felt like she had lost the ability to talk.

“It’s okay sweetheart because you know I love it too,” Harry soothed her back as she set a rhythm riding him.

“I can always feel you so deep Harry, so deep, all the way to my tummy,” she managed to croak out and dragged his hand to the place she felt him the most. Harry groaned at her filthy words, barely holding it together as he buried his face in her neck, biting where her pulse beat like a hummingbird.

“It doesn’t matter how much time has passed since I last fucked you, I can always remember how you feel, baby,” his voice was like velvet in her ears and she found herself going fasted at his words.

“I can always feel you for days when you are like this,” Y/N whispered in his ear, a few curls tickling her face.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Harry bragged and she swore that she could almost hear the smirk on his lips they way she heard the wet noises their skin made when it collided as it bounced off the walls along with the groans he released because of her. For a few moments she focused solely on that and how dirty and raw and passionate it felt, and it was enough to drive her out of her mind.

“Harry,” Y/N warned the pressure in her lower stomach like a knot begging for release.

“I know,” he replied, letting his hand down to where they were connected and rubbed small circles on the small bundle of nerves.

Her thrusts were becoming sloppy and it took all of Harry’s concentration or at least what was left of it since he could feel her clenching around him, to keep them up. He latched his mouth on her nipple, the other hand around her waist to guide himself harder into her as she finally found her high with a gasp, almost like she couldn’t believe the power of it. After a few seconds, she was trembling in his arms and tried to shut her legs further to get Harry’s hand of her overstimulated part. Harry ignored her and continued stroking her, prying those thighs apart as he watched himself get lost into her. Y/N cried out and off her tongue rolled Harry’s name time and time again.

So close to his own high, Harry got lost in her moans and became more aware of her presence on him. The way her hands pulled on the strands of his hair hard like they were the anchor that kept her from falling to pieces and the way her shallow breaths hit his face as she calmed down from her orgasm while also being aware of him pounding into her still, the way she clenched her legs around him and she opened her eyes again, begging could be seen in them but this time it was not for her own finish but for his. Harry felt overwhelmed from all the senses and was so close it was painful.

“Please cum for me baby, please cum inside me,” Y/N whimpered in her soft voice and that was all he needed before he spilled in her, short desperate thrusts as he rested his head on her collarbone, taking in her vanilla perfume and felt her arms wrapping around his neck holding him impossibly close while ripple after ripple of pleasure took over his body. His thrusting stopped and Harry felt spent as he tried to regulate his breathing back to normal.

Harry gathered Y/N in his arms and laid her carefully on the bed after removing himself from inside her even though she whimpered due to sensitivity and he took the place right next to her. They faced each other, their breaths mixing together as they relaxed in each other’s presence. Harry raised a hand to push away the hairs getting in Y/N’s face and she hummed in appreciation.

“God, I barely remember what year we have,” she frowned and opened her eyes at the sound of his laughter.

“I do believe that it is 1940,” he mused and her face regained a rosy colour at the game long forgotten.

“I… You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she whispered trying to avoid his gaze.

Harry head turned in question. “Pretend what? I am only a soldier coming back from the battlefield to make love to the woman I love.”

Y/N blushed.

“Because it seems she holds a deep fascination for men in army apparel,” Harry continued and smirked when she mumbled something under her breath.

“What was that sweetheart?” he asked and when he received no answer he dipped his hand between her thighs hissing at the wetness of her mixing with his release as he plunged two fingers in her.

Y/N yelped, “Not every man, just you,” she confessed and Harry satisfied moved his fingers lazily.

“Although I appreciate the welcome home, you have not offered me anything to eat,” he frowned and he knew that if it wasn’t for his fingers pinning her down she would have leaped up to order him something to eat.

“What would you like?” Y/N asked with difficulty because of the sensation he caused her.

“Well I see that you have a whole feast here already waiting for me,” he retorted and pulled his fingers away.

At her confused gaze, Harry whispered hotly in her ear, “Although I could never forget how tight you feel around me love, nothing really reminds me of the way your pussy taste under me,”

And with that, he pushed her legs open and dived between then before she could even atter a word of surprise.  

[scarletdawnxx-blog]

Bucky Barnes x Reader One Shot

A/N: Hello All! I was recently inspired to start writing again. This is my first reader insert. Thought I would give it a try. Music is a big muse for my writing so a lot of my stuff will feature, be inspired by a song, or both. This is based on Wish you were gay by Bilie Eillish. Hope you enjoy! 18+ Mature Content.

You panted as you calculated your next move. You knew Bucky was a master assassin and a super solider, but you didn’t expect him to go so hard on you just sparing together. You could barely think about your next before he was coming at you again. You had tangled with both Nat and Steve before and were pretty well able to handle yourself, but Bucky kept coming at you with relentless aggression, and you wondered who had pissed in his cheerios that morning.

You dodged another right hook and tried to sweep his legs from under him only for him to jump out of the way and come up behind you and put you in a head lock. You used all your force to rear up and flip him over onto his back on the mat. You felt some satisfaction thinking you may have finally got the upper hand, but he was up quickly and hit you square in the chest sending you toward the wall of the gym that made hard contact with your back nearly knocking the wind out of you. Bucky then pulled a small knife from his back and threw it directly at you landing right next to your head. You looked over at it stunned before looking back to Bucky.

“What the hell Barnes, weapons really? What is your problem?” You asked shocked that he would take a simple training session so far. You pushed yourself off the wall giving yourself a little momentum going in to kick him in the gut, anger swelling inside of you, but he caught your foot flipping you down onto the mat. You had thought you were finally getting through to him and building at least somewhat of a friendship. You couldn’t deny that you wished it was more, but he blew so hot and cold you never knew which way was up with him.

“My problem is you are sloppy and let your guard down to easily, you get comfortable and that will get you or a team mate killed.” He said aggressively pointing a finger in your face . You just looked at him appalled that he would think you would ever put a member of the team at risk.

“I think we are done for the day,” Nat said. Steve, Nat, and Sam had all gathered to watch as yours and Buckys training session had turned from a simple sparing match to and almost drag out straight fight.

“I agree,” you said getting up and pushing past Bucky heading to your room.

“You know she could have you on your ass in a second if she really wanted to,” you heard Steve say. It was true, you never wanted to rely on your secret weapon, this power that was inside of you. You still didn’t understand it yourself, it scared you. It was one of the deals you made with the team when you joined. It would only ever be if there was no other option. Most everyone outside the core group thought you were just a skilled fighter and spy like Natasha, skilled with a computer and combat first aid. You could stitch up just about any wound in the middle of combat if you need to. You would sometimes help Tony or Bruce in the lab tinkering here and there. You and Bruce had a quiet understanding with each other. Each having something inside of you that you didn’t quite understand and that you tried to keep at bay. You two could quietly sit together for hours. It helped knowing that there was someone like you on the team.

Bucky had joined after you, so he wasn’t privy to that personal info. You made your way back to your room and turned your shower on. You were covered in sweat and your nerves were a little on edge after having a knife throw at your head. Any other time Bucky knife skills would have been a turn on. Watching that man fight should be illegal for the things it did to you, though being on the receiving end of a sharp projectile coming towards your head was another matter all together.

You peeled off your training gear and slipped under the hot water letting it wash over you and clear away the day. Your mind and shoulders began to relax as the water ran over you. You leaned your head against the wall feeling the cool tile on your forehead, with the warmth of the water on your back it helped to center your thoughts. You kicked yourself for having, what can only be described as a crush, on the one team member who was the most closed off. You all had trauma, it almost seemed like trauma was a requirement to be an Avenger, but Bucky closed himself off from everyone, well except Steve. Maybe he was gay, you mused to yourself. You wished he was gay. That would make things easier.

You finished up your shower, wrapped yourself up in a towel and fell on to your bed exhausted. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. What time is it?” You asked. “Three in the afternoon Ms.Y/L/N. A reminder that Mr. Stark is throwing Captain Rogers birthday party tonight, your dress has been pressed and placed in your closet.” the A.I. replied. You groaned remembering the party. Why Stark had insisted on a 40’s themed party was beyond you, but he loved any excuse to through a party. You decided to get a little nap in. Determined you were going to enjoy the evening despite the days events.

You awoke up feeling refreshed, grabbed a bite from the kitchen to take back to you room and started getting ready for the party. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. Play some Glen Miller for me.” You said to get yourself in the mood for the party. There was something about 40’s music you loved and you found yourself excited at the idea of putting on some vintage glam. You were just about finished getting ready when a knock rapped at your door.

“Come on in,” you called from your bathroom thinking it was Nat dropping by to head to the party together. You came out of the bathroom fiddling with your earring and not looking up. “Thank goodness you are here Nat, i need help with this dress.” When you heard a deep cough you looked towards your door and saw Bucky standing there in a 40’s military uniform. Damn did he look good. He has cut his long hair short again and with it styled he looked more handsome than ever. You stood stunned for a brief moment in nothing but your undergarments and heels. Knowing you looked amazing and not wanting to let him get the best of you, you stood confidently and asked what he wanted. He stammered and turned around to not look you.

“I just....um....sorry....I didn’t mean to....do you wanna maybe put a robe on or something?” You rolled you eyes and walked to your bed to pick up your dress and slid it on.

“It’s safe to turn around now, “ You told him. “And since you are here be helpful and zip me up?” You tuned your back to him facing the mirror in your room. You saw him come up behind you. His metal arm resting on your hip, you could feel the coolness through you dress and it made you shiver slightly and you hoped Bucky didn’t notice. As he zipped your dress you could feel his knuckles graze your back and your breath caught in your lungs. This wasn’t the first time Bucky had touched you, shit he had just beat the shit out of you a few hours ago, but this felt more intimate. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck, and his fingers slide across the back or your neck and down your shoulder. You stared in the mirror watching him the whole time, you could have sworn you saw him smell your hair and once again you were very confused on where you stood with his man. His blue eyes locked on yours in the mirror and you thought for a brief moment you could see desire in his eyes. You wanted nothing more than to turn around and grab the collar of his jacket and pull him into a deep kiss, forget the party and stay in your room with him the whole night. Before you could act on it he backed away from you.

“What was it you needed,” you asked annoyed. This man somehow made you want him so bad, but at the same time punch his smug face.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier, the knife was uncalled for.” He said straightens himself up.

“It was a little aggressive, why are you the hardest on me?” You asked him.

“I’m hard on everyone.” He stated simply. You rolled your eyes, he wasn’t gonna give you the answers you wanted so what was the point of pressing. “Glenn Miller?” He asked pointing up motioning to the music.

“What can I say, I like old things,” you said in a somewhat flirty tone. “Was that all you needed Barnes?” You asked looking at him with a small head tilt.

“Uh...Yeah, Ill see you at the party.” Bucky said rubbing the back of his neck and heading to the door. “You look beautiful by the way, the guys would have been painting you on the side of their planes during the war.” He said with a small smile as he waked out just as Nat was walking in.

“What was that about?” She asked. “Nothing, ready to head down?” You asked checking yourself over once more.

You head down to the large two story “entertaining space” as Stark like to call it. The band was in full swing and you could hear laughter and conversation filling the room. Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter you and Nat joined the crowd saying your hellos on the way. You saw Steve, Sam, and Bucky gathered around the pool table. Laughing and drinking, all in vintage Military uniforms and you silently thanked Tony for making this a themed party because boy did those men look good.

“How is the birthday boy,” you said greeting Steve with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Having some serious deja vu,” he laughed.

“Well that’s what happens when your 97 years old,” you teased. “You boys want to play with someone who actually knows what they are doing?” You asked taking Steve’s pool que.

“Be my guest,” Steve said with a smile putting his hands up and backing away slightly.

“Wanna make it more interesting with a bet?” Sam asked.

“Always,“ you responded leaning across the pool table towards him and Bucky with a flirty smile. “What will the odds be?” You asked as you started to rack up the balls.

“We doing teams?” Sam asked.

“Sure, you three against me? That seems like fair odds.” You stated confidently.

“Oh that’s how it’s gonna be huh?” Sam asked always amused by you.

“That’s how it’s gonna be.” You said. “I win and you three have to take me for a spin on the dance floor, I don’t look like this to just sit and be pretty.”

“And what if we win?” Bucky asked finally speaking up. You laughed to yourself.

“Whatever you boys want to think up“you said as you lined up your shot breaking the balls and sinking 5 right away. “I’ll take solids.” You said as you lined up your next shot sinking three more balls before the guys even got a chance. They just stood in awe of you.

“I feel like we have been tricked,” Sam said as he lined his shot up only sinking one ball before missing a shot. You knew they never stood a chance against you. Years of hanging in a bar with your alcoholic father had given you more practice than you would ever need. You enjoyed this though. Hanging with the guys and laughing as you made easy work of the pool table. “Eight ball left top corner, “ you said leaning over the pool to line up you last shot, you glanced over your shoulder to see that Bucky was checking you out. “Like what you see soldier?” You asked as you sank the eight ball with no trouble. You turned around to see Bucky slightly blushing and trying to avoid eye contact with you as Sam teased him slightly.

“Well boys i think we have been had,” Steve said offering his arm to you. “Care for a dance?” He asked.

“Absolutely old man,” you said and let him lead you to the dance floor. The music was lively as Steve spun you around the dance floor. You can’t remember the last time you were having this much fun, not just yourself, but the group as a whole. The superhero business didn’t exactly lend itself well to normalcy. No going out with friends or really having normal lives at all. Any attachments where a liability and a possible target for anyone trying to get to you. You were lucky you didn’t really have any family to speak of anymore. Except you guess the people around you now and you were thankful for them. You made your way over to the bar after dancing with Steve, grabbing your favorite cocktail you started to make your way around the room, saying hellos here and there and making small talk with some of the other guest. Rhodey telling one of his War Machines stories that you had heard ten times before but the locals always found them amusing. Tony and Bruce having a debate over something. Nat, Clint, and Agent Hill, enjoying their drinks and laughing. You assumed about one of Clints kids since he was showing pictures on his phone. You smiled to yourself as you continue to scan the room, your eyes eventually landing on Bucky. He was staring at you from across the room as he sipped a bourbon. He had a not so amused look on his face, but a hand wrapping around your backside pulled your attention away as some random, fairly drunk man tried to ask you to dance. You politely declined, removing his hand from your body and walking away. Bucky you noticed had disappeared from his previous spot. You found Wanda and Vision cozied up together and sought familiar faces in hopes the man got the idea and left you be.

“Y/N you have been getting quite the attention tonight,” Wanda commented as you perched yourself on the arm of the chair opposite them. You blushed and smiled.

“Not from anyone that matters,” you joked, or at least you hoped it came across as a joke. You knew who you really wanted attention from.

“Heard training got a little intense today, but you seem to have recovered,” Vision commented.

“A little misunderstanding.” You said.

“ I’ve come to uphold my end of the wager,” Sam said offering his hand to you. You finished your drink and placed it on the tray of a passing server and let Sam led you to the dance floor. “So how many men did you swindle out of some pocket change with your impressive pool skills?” Sam asked over the music.

“My fair share.” You smiled remembering how you use to hustle men out of their money to get by. You had been on your own since you were 17 and only had so many skills at the time.

“You could have warned us,” Sam joked with you.

“You never asked, and where would the fun be in that anyway.”

“Steve knew didn’t he?” Sam asked.

You laughed and nodded. Steve had found you once playing by yourself on a night you couldn’t sleep. You had just gotten back from a particular grueling mission and were having a hard time readjusting. It became a small tradition for you guys after that night. After every mission, once everyone had settled back in, you and Steve would find yourself around the pool, play a few rounds. He would tell you stories of growing up, you never much opened up about your past, mostly just kept asking him question to keep the topic of conversation squarely on him. Steve was the big brother you wished you had growing.

The night continued on, you had a few more drinks, a few more dances, and were really starting to feel relaxed and happy, your face almost hurting from all the smiling you had been doing. Steve and Sam were swapping stories with some old WWII vets, the other core members of the group had started to gather closer together. You were surprised to see that Thor had stopped by. He wasn’t on earth often. He tipped his drink in your direction as you leaned against the bar, content in people watching. You smiled and returned the gesture. He motioned to the small flask in his hand and back at you and you laughed and shook your head no. Never had you had such a bad hang over as when you trusted him with a drink. You felt a cold hand touch your arm and turned, a little to quickly for how many drinks you had had, and lost your balance slightly. Luckily Bucky had such quick reflexes to catch you before you made a fool of yourself. You were pressed very close to him his face nears yours.

“Guess I’m the last one who hasn’t held their end of the bargain yet.”

“I didn’t think you were ever going to” you said coolly.

“A deal is a deal right.” You nodded and made your way to the dance floor, where the music had been more up beat when you danced with Steve and Sam, a slower song began to play. Bucky pulled you in close, his vibranium arm wrapped around your waist as he took your right hand in his. You were so close you could swear you felt his heart beat. He smelled so wonderful, warm and welcoming, a smell that made you feel safe and tingle all over. You swayed along to the music in comfortable silence, looking up at him you noticed he had been staring at you. You couldn’t help but stare into his eyes. You could stare into them for the rest of your life and not feel like it was long enough. You were mentally kicking yourself for having these feelings for someone you were sure didn’t feel the same way about you. But as you stared into his eyes you thought again you saw desire there, your faces just a breath away, it wouldn’t take much to reach up and kiss him. You thought he may have been thinking the same thing. That was until the song ended and he quickly let you go and walked away without another word leaving you in the middle of the dance floor alone and confused.

“Well that was interesting” Nat said coming up behind, startling you.

“Damn it, Nat don’t do that.” You scolded her.

“I thought he was going to kiss you for a minute.” She mused as you walked over to join the rest of the group of avengers that had gathered.

“Right, after he nearly killed me this afternoon.” You joked back with her.

“He is a hard one to read, I’ll give you that.” She handed you a drink and you took it.

“Do you think there is something going on between him and Steve?” You asked which caused her to almost spit her drink out from laughter.

“If Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are gay then I’m the Queen of England,” Nat responded laughing and shaking her head.

“Well they are just so close and I never see any of them with women,” you continued quietly with her so the others didn’t overhear.

“I can assure you Steve is not gay,” and she sipped her drink giving you a sly smile.

“Natasha Romanoff are you sleeping with Captain America?” You asked in fake shock.

She gave you a wink and smiled. Good for them, you thought. If Steve had a best friend other than Bucky it was Nat.

“What are you two conspiring about over there?” Tony asked pulling your attention back to the group.

“Nothing,” you both responded at the same time causing the group to laugh.

“Well Rogers, did I throw you a great party or what?” Tony gloated

“I have to admit, tonight was much needed.” Steve allowed Tony some small satisfaction. The evening had been much needed. Somehow the conversation turned to odd talents that the group had, other than what they brought to the team. Sam talked about his excellent cooking skills, Nat could play the piano, Vision had learned some magic tricks which you found amusing.

“I already know Y/N secret talent, she is a pool shark, girl is a seriously hustler” Sam said.

“Actually that isn’t my only talent. I used to sing, way back when.” You told the group.

“Oh I have got to hear this then,” Tony said getting up.

“No Tony, really, I haven’t sang in front of a large group in years.” You pleaded.

“Oh come on, live a little,” Nat nudged you and the others agreed. You sighed looking at the group in front of you. Again your eyes found Bucky. They seemed to always be searching Bucky out. Again he was at a distance, sipping his drink. Some girl gabbing away at him but his eyes were on you. It riled something up inside of you and you stood.

“Alright, you guys better enjoy this,” you said.

“Excellent,” Tony exclaimed rubbing his handing together and walking you to the stage. “Ok everyone listen up. We have a treat for you this evening. A singing Avenger. Not to be confused with a singing telegram. So everyone give it up for Y/N”. The room clapped as Tony made his way off stage. You talked to the band leader and they know the song you wanted to do.

"Baby, I don't feel so good", six words you never understood "I'll never let you go", five words you'll never say

You began to sing your body moving with the beat of the music.

I laugh along like nothing's wrong, four days has never felt so long If three's a crowd and two was us, one slipped away I just wanna make you feel okay

You looked straight at Bucky

But all you do is look the other way I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay I just kinda wish you were gay Is there a reason we're not through? Is there a 12-step just for you? Our conversation's all in blue 11 "heys" (Hey, hey, hey, hey) Ten fingers tearin' out my hair Nine times, you never made it there I ate alone at seven, you were six minutes away

You were really starting to enjoy yourself and had forgotten how much you liked to perform.

How am I supposed to make you feel okay When all you do is walk the other way? I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay

You motioned for the crowd to join you on the next line

I just kinda wish you were gay

And they all joined except Bucky who stared at you with an equally amused and annoyed look on his face.

To spare my pride To give your lack of interest, an explanation Don't say I'm not your type Just say that I'm not your preferred sexual orientation I'm so selfish But you make me feel helpless, yeah And I can't stand another day Stand another day I just wanna make you feel okay But all you do is look the other way, hmm I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay I just kinda wish you were gay I just kinda wish you were gay I just kinda wish you were gay

You finished the song to loud applause and raised your glass in a silent toast with a smug grin on your face.

“Alright everyone, give it up for Y/N. And I would just like to say if being an Avenger doesn’t work out, you will certainly have a career in entertainment and I will take full credit for your discovery.” Tony said. “I would like to thank everyone for coming out to Captain Rogers birthday party. You all look amazing, please continue to enjoy the open bar and music and don’t forget to tip.” Tony finished before the band continued to play on. The group greeted you with another round of applause and cheers.

“Thank you, thank you,” you said giving a small curtsy. “I think I will end the evening on a high note and turn in.” The group protested but you were very ready to head back to you bed, the endorphins wearing off. You made you way back down to your room, the halls dark and quite, a vast difference from the party going on 5 floors above you.

“That was quite the performance,” a voice whispered in your ear and your fight instincts kicked in and you grabbed the head of whoever was behind you, flipping them over you and on to their back, and placing a heeled foot on their chest, ready to fight.

“Jesus, Barnes, do you have a death wish.” You asked seeing the shocked face of Bucky looking up at you from the ground. You stepped back and helped him up.

“Where did that strength come from,” he asked dusting himself off. You just shrugged. The power inside you had just swelled, and you cursed yourself for not having more control over it.

“Maybe don’t sneak up on a person in the dark,” You fired back at him going to walk around him towards your door when he grabbed your arm stopping you.

You looked from his arm to him, an eyebrow raised on your face. He stepped closer to you, wrapping your waist with his metal arm pulling you in and pressing your body against his. It all happened so fast you barely had time to realize his lips crashing into yours. He dropped your arm wrapping you fully in his as he deepened the kiss, running his tongue across you lip, urging you mouth to open. Your arm ran up his chest feeling his muscles under your fingers. They made their way to his hair and you buried your fingers in it, your mouth welcoming him. Your heart pounding in your chest and a warmth spreading over your body. He lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around him not breaking your kiss. He pushed you against the door to your room, dropped an arm fiddling with the door handle to get it open. It finally sprung open and Bucky carried you inside, closing the door with his foot. He placed you back down on your feet, still kissing you as he got rid of his jacket, and shoes. Your fingers started to undo the buttons of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders exposing his bare chest to you. You allowed yourself moment to take him in and began to kiss down his neck to his chest, your fingers exploring his torso. His warm skin, running across the scars where his arm had been replaced. You placed light kisses over them, thinking maybe you could kiss away the pain he had endured all those years. You took his left hand in yours and brought it up and placed a small kiss on the palm of his hand while looking him in the eyes, there way so much behind them, longing, sadness, and something primal that made you weak in the knees. His hand snaked behind your neck and pulled you in for another deep kiss. This one was not as urgent, it was tender, it told you more about the man standing in front of you than any conversation ever could. He poured all of himself into that kiss, the boy Steve knew growing up, the soldier that was captured and tortured, the broken man that had been on the run and alone, and now the man that had found a family and a home again. A man still struggling every day to find himself again. He pulled back from you and looked in your eyes asking for permission. You gave him a small nod and turned around. He unzipped your dress and it fell to the floor. His hands roamed up your body feeling your curves as he kissed your neck, a hand slipping into your bra and tugging at your nipple sending a shock wave straight to your already wet folds as you let out a gentle moan. You turned around and laid yourself back on the bed and Bucky took you in never wanting anything more in his whole life. He made quick work of removing his pants before crawling on top of you and capturing your mouth in another passionate kiss. His body felt so good and right on top of yours. His hand slipped behind your back undoing your bra and helping you to toss it to the side as he took a breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling around and teasing your nipple. You could feel the scuff of his five o’clock shadow against the softness of your skin and your whole body was on fire for this man. His free hand traveled down your body and slipped into your panties. Running a finger through your wet folds. You hadn’t been touched like this is so long, you arched into his hand, and moaned. He kissed you again as his finger continued to explore, his thumb slipping over your clit as he slide a finger inside of you and then another. You were coming undone quickly. He took his time drawing his fingers in and out of you, your body matching the rhythm of his movements. You could feel an orgasm building, the intense feeling almost to much to handle. You wanted to cum so badly but not as badly as wanting to feel Bucky inside of you. You grab his arm, still his movement and he looked at you confused.

“ Do you want me to stop” he asked concerned.

“ No,” you said in a breathy manor. “ I want to feel you inside of me, I need to feel you,” you said sitting up and pushing him down onto his back. You removed the last of his clothing before removing your panties. You stroked the hard length of his cock before positioning yourself over him. You took him in slowly, enjoying each second of feeling him fill you. You could hear him moan and that alone almost sent you over the edge. You leaned down and kissed him before slowly moving your hips back and forth, feeling him deep inside of you, hitting just the right spot. You continue the slow pace, taking your time. Placing your hands firmly on his chest, sitting up you continued to ride him, his hands roamed your body, one moved to your hips urging your movements, the other massaging your breast and tugging on your nipple. You orgasm building anew.

“ Look at me,” he said and as your eyes met his you came undone. Your orgasm hitting you, taking over your whole body. The sensation was overwhelming. Your lips crashed into his as he lifted you and rolled you on to your back, not even breaking the contact between. He held you tightly as he began to move in and out of you, his movements keeping your orgasm going. You didn’t know how much more you could take. Your nails racking across his back, feeling his muscles flex under them.

“James,please.” Escaped your lips as you felt another orgasm building. Something that had never happened to you before. Your words seemed to urge him on as his movements became faster and deeper.

“ Say it again,” he growled into your neck.

“Please,” you moaned

“No my name,” he responded kissing you.

“James,” you whispered against his lips. It didn’t take long for him to come undone inside of you setting off another intense orgasm.

You laid there, connected, breathless, heart pounding, bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat. Bucky rolled off of you, you shivered, the absence of his warmth left you open to the coolness of the night air. He pulled you in close, as he moved the bedspread to cover the two of you. Being wrapped in his arms, your lust satiated, your body relaxed in the afterglow, you felt how tired you were. Bucky placed a kiss on your forehead.

“It’s ok, sleep doll.” He whispered to you. You smiled to yourself. He was definitely not gay, which he proved to you again in the morning. And many days after that.

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"Trucker Hats"

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