#EYE CRINKLES 💖

[andy-clutterbuck]

Penguin Bloom (2021)

[verstappen100]

Daniel Ricciardo | August 28th Piquadro event | 📸

[backhurtyy]

him.

[ssahotchnerr]

have you seen the tiktok trend where the girlfriend films the boyfriend and says “pretend i’m a random girl” and then like tries to hug and kiss him?? i feel like that would be so silly with aaron since he doesn’t really get tiktok trends cause he would just be confused and be like ??? you’re not a random girl and i want to hug my girlfriend

YES omg 😭🤭

aaron would be sooo confused 😭 when you first blurt it out and latch onto him, he's immediately reciprocating LOL 🥰😭 to be fair, you did speak rather quickly, and he'd never deny the opportunity to love on you - his arms wrap around your waist, he pulls you closer with your thigh slotting in between his legs, zero hesitation as he leans in to kiss you 💓💞

but when you hastily pull away, aaron's just ??????? his expression clearly wondering why did you stop lmao 😭

you give him a look: your eyebrows are raised, some feigned offense and you're trying to hide your amusement, "so you would do that to a random girl?" more confusion on his end, "what random girl?" "me, i'm the random girl."

aaron's brows furrow over his eyes, his nose crinkling slightly, "🤨 no you're not."

and when you explain it's a silly trend, he's even more confused LOL, still lingering on the fact "why would i pretend you're someone random. i would never do that" 😭😭💓💞💖💓🫶🏻 plus he's a little grumpy you interrupted the affection

so aaron will partially? play the game 😭 next, he'll say something along the lines of: "let me know when you're you again so i can give you a kiss 🙄"

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Our Safe Place

Here’s , PART ONE (this can be read as stand alone)

Pairing: Husband!Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Mom!Reader

Summary: Bucky ; a new father cherishes the first day home with his newborn daughter, tenderly adjusting to their new life together. AS a family of four...including alpine.

Word Count: 2.5k ish

Warnings/Tags: FLUFFYYY Pregnancy mentioned , birth mentioned but not showed , newborn baby , girl dad Bucky , amazing domestic husband bucky , postpartum symptoms mentioned , alpine featured 🐾

if i missed anything let me know!

Authors Note: aaaaand im back with MORE domestic dad buckyyyyy you guys have been eating UP my last ones so heres more of my fav thing ever to write enjoyyy 💖

MY MASTERLIST🌷

The hospital room was perfectly quiet , save for the soft squeaks of your newborn baby daughter snuggled right against your chest. 

Sunlight streamed through the window , catching on the pale blue and white hospital blanket wrapped around her tiny little body. 

Bucky was at your side , broad shoulders somehow more tense than usual,  his eyes locked on the baby like she might vanish if he blinked or looked away for more than just a second.

You reached up to squeeze his hand. “Buck, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing.”

He stopped , blinking like he’d just realized he’d been moving. “Sorry, doll. I just… can’t believe she’s here. That she’s ours.”

You smiled , brushing your thumb over the soft fuzz of your baby’s squishy pink cheek. “She’s perfect.”

He leaned down , pressing a kiss to your forehead , then to the baby’s. “Yeah she really is.”

A gentle knock on the door had you both looking up. 

A nurse poked her head in , smiling. “Alright , Mrs. Barnes , we’re all set to take you and this little one home.”

Bucky’s entire face lit up like the sun had decided to live there. 

He eagerly reached for the car seat , his big hands careful and sure , and you couldn’t help but watch as he fumbled with the straps at first but got it perfect , then gently placed your daughter inside. She let out a soft coo of disapproval for settled in once Bucky rubbed her belly.

“Ready to go , mama?” he asked , his voice soft looking at you like the most precious thing he's ever witnessed.

“Ready,” you breathed.

Bucky knelt in front of the car seat , adjusting her little onesie. 

“Hey, peanut,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her tiny fingers. “Ready for your first car ride? You're gonna do great Daddy’s got you.”

You watched him , heart so full it felt like it might split open and pour out. This was the same man who once believed he didn’t deserve soft things , didn’t deserve a family. 

Now he was here , gently adjusting the hat on his newborn’s head , tears in his eyes.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

They had to wheel you out in the wheelchair , you insisted you could walk just fine but it was hospital policy , it made you feel a little silly seeing everyone watch you get rolled through the halls. 

Bucky walked beside you , the car seat cradled in his strong arms like the most precious cargo in the world , because it was. 

Every nurse and doctor your little family passed gave you both soft , knowing smiles. Some even paused to peek at your daughter , cooing and offering congratulations and compliments.

At the exit , the nurse stopped to hold the door for you two, and Bucky looked at you over the top of the car seat.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Better than okay,” you said , your eyes locked on him , on the little girl sleeping so peacefully in her seat. “Let’s go home.”

He nodded , his lips parting in a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Home,” he echoed.

Outside , the air was fresh and cool , the city’s noise a comforting hum around you. 

Bucky kept glancing at the baby every few steps , his lips moving in a silent prayer of thanks. When he reached the car , he hesitated for a moment , then gently placed the carrier in the backseat.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

You settled in the backseat next to your daughter , your left hand coming up and resting on the side of the car seat. Bucky double-checked every buckle , every strap , then checked them again. 

When he finally climbed into the driver’s seat , he looked at you in the mirror.

“Buckle tight enough?” he asked.

“Yes, Bucky,” you said, laughter in your voice. “She’s safe.”

He started the car , but every stoplight on the way home he twisted around, one hand braced on the seat to make sure you were both okay. “She’s still breathing, right?”

You grinned. “She’s perfect, Buck.”

“Just checking,” he said, his voice low, but you could hear the smile there too.

Or at every stop sign a quick “My girls alright?” eyes still on the road and you of course reassured you two were safe and content.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

By the time he pulled into your apartment’s parking spot , you were both exhausted but filled to the brim with excitement. 

Bucky practically sprinted around the car to open the door for you , helping you stand even though you insisted you were fine again.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured , his metal arm around your waist , the other hand on the car seat handle gripping it securely.

Inside , the apartment smelled faintly of the vanilla candle you’d left burning last time you were here. The last time you were a family of just two.

The sun was beginning to set , a golden glow bouncing off the skyline , and it felt like the entire place exhaled in relief—like it had been waiting for you to come back , to bring this new little life home.

He settled you in the bedroom , propping up pillows behind you on the bed , grabbing your water bottle , and pulling the beedside baby cart you two made right up beside you. “Alright, mama. You comfortable?”

“More than,” you said , reaching out for the car seat.

He lifted it up to the bed , easing your daughter out with hands that dwarfed her tiny form. 

He laid her in your arms , his hand lingering on the blanket.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “You brought her into the world. You’re… just amazing.”

You felt tears prick your eyes. “Bucky…”

He shook his head, his own eyes wet. “No, let me say it. You’re everything and more.”

As you shifted the baby in your arms getting you two perfectly comfortable , a soft meow cut through the quiet. 

Alpine , your sweet white cat , hopped onto the bed , her bright eyes locked on the new little bundle in your arms.

“Hey, sweet girl,” you murmured. “Come meet your little sister.”

Bucky hovered, watching carefully , but Alpine seemed to understand. 

She softly nosed at the baby’s blanket smelling her , then curled up against your side , purring.

“She’s already protective,” Bucky said , a smile pulling at his lips.

“Just like her daddy,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes, but you could see the way his shoulders relaxed. “Just want her to be safe. Both of you.”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

You fed the baby while Bucky unpacked the hospital bags , moving around the apartment , he’d been waiting years for this moment. He’d pause every so often , peeking over at you , checking if you needed refills on water, a snack , a different pillow, anything he could grab you or the baby.

When he finally finished , he settled beside you on the bed. You switched on the TV, a soft , cozy baking show filling the quiet with gentle chatter.

He took the baby from your arms , settling her against his broad chest. She let out a tiny sigh , her little hand curled in his shirt , her cheek squished into his soft tshirt..

You watched him , the way his shoulders softened, the way his lips curved into that toothy private smile he saved just for you and now your daughter. 

“You’re cute,” you laughed kissing his cheek. 

You pushed yourself to stand , wincing only a little at the tenderness and soreness from only giving birth the day before. “I’m going to shower. Get the hospital funk off of me.”

Bucky looked up , concern flickering over his face. “You sure you’re okay? I can help–”

You pressed a comforting kiss to his temple. “I’m okay. I’ll be quick ill use that fancy shower chair you got me” You winked , standing up.

He nodded , but as you padded toward the bathroom , you heard him talking softly to your daughter.

“You know, peanut,” he murmured , his voice low and reverent, “you’ve got the best mama in the world.”

She squeaked , a tiny noise , and he chuckled. “Yeah, I agree. She’s the strongest. And the kindest. And the most beautiful of all the mamas.”

You paused at the doorway listening , heart thudding against your ribs.

“You’re so lucky, you know?” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Because she’s going to teach you everything good. She’s going to show you what love is. And I’m gonna make sure you always feel safe. Because you’re perfect , peanut. You and your mama.”

You bit your lip to keep from sobbing , slipping into the shower with your heart swelling three times the size.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The hot water in the shower felt like heaven , washing away the lingering antiseptic smell of the hospital. You took your time , moving carefully , every ache and twinge a reminder of the little miracle you’d just brought into the world. 

After a very sudsy and long wash off , you finally turned off the water, you could hear the faint murmur of Bucky’s voice and the gentle hum of the TV in the other room still , filling your little apartment.

You pulled on one of Bucky’s soft blue shirts , one that still smelled faintly of him—and a pair of loose sweats. 

When you stepped back into the bedroom , you found Bucky exactly where you’d left him , reclined against the headboard with your daughter sleeping against his chest. His hair was a little mused , his reading glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through a well-worn copy of his most recent Fantasy read. 

You leaned in the doorway , your heart so full at this point it almost hurt.

“You’re reading to her already?” you teased slowly padding closer to them barefoot..

He looked up , a little sheepish. “Figured she should hear some good stories early on.”

You crossed to the bed , climbing up beside him. He shifted to make room for you , sliding his arm around your shoulders as you rested your head against his warm chest. 

You laid your hand over the baby’s tiny back , feeling the soft , steady rhythm of her breathing.

“She’s going to be a bookworm like you,” you murmured.

Bucky chuckled. “Good. I’ll take all the excuses I can get to read her stories.”

The baby stirred , making a tiny squeak that had you both holding your breath. 

She settled again almost immediately ,  her little face still pressed right up against his t-shirt , right above his dog tags.

“She already knows you’re her safe place,” you whispered.

He pressed his lips to the top of your head. “She’s got two safe places. She’s got her mama , which is mine too.”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The TV continued in the background , a gentle baking competition that didn’t demand any real attention. Just provided sound. 

You watched the flicker of the screen in the dim light , your mind drifting as you breathed in the scent of your daughter’s freshly lotioned skin and the warmth of your husband’s body beside you.

“I like this” you whispered against his chest , “And she smells like spun sugar,” you gave a breathy laugh.

Bucky’s thumb traced slow, soothing circles over your shoulder. “What’s that, doll?”

“This. Us. Quiet, easy.” You lifted your head to meet his eyes. “Feels perfect and at home.

His eyes softened , the way they always did when you said things like that. “It is home,” he said, his voice quiet but sure. “Wherever you and now this little bug are.”

You eventually shifted to your side , propping yourself up to watch Bucky cradle your daughter. 

He had this look on his face—soft and awestruck , like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real. And honestly neither could you.

“I can’t get over how small she is,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her downy cheek.

“She’s going to grow so fast,” you said, a little wistful.

“I know.” His jaw worked, like he was trying to find the right words. “I just… I want to hold on to every minute , you know?”

You nodded , your eyes stinging with tears again. “Me too.”

He shifted her a little , careful not to wake her, and looked up at you with a crooked smile. “She’s got your perfect nose.”

“She’s got your bright eyes,” you shot back , grinning.

“God , how did we get such perfect little humans we get to call ours,” he said again , and you knew he’d probably be saying that every day for the rest of her life.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

You moved to sit up fully this time , your back resting against the headboard as Bucky’s arm slid around your waist. The baby let out a tiny sigh in her sleep , her little lips parting as she dreamed.

“I didn’t know I could love someone this much,” you said quietly.

Bucky turned his head, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Me neither. Thought I used up all my love in the war, in… everything that happened. But then you…” He paused , his voice quivering. “Then you gave me this. Gave me her.”

The words you could say did not match to how much you felt in that very moment so gently and slowly you kissed him with tears falling down your eyes , expressing everything your mind and heart were screaming through that moment. 

You were first to pull away ,  he kissed your nose as you softly , lay your hand over your daughters where it peeked out of the blanket.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Your baby shifted again , her tiny hand opening and closing like she was dreaming of grabbing something. 

Bucky watched her, wonder in every line of his face and covering every part of his gaze. He spoke to her again , so quiet you almost didn’t hear.

“You know, peanut,” he murmured, “you’re going to grow up with so much love. More than you’ll know what to do with.”

She let out a sleepy squeak , and Bucky chuckled. “Yeah , you agree? Good girl.”

You couldn’t help but grin , brushing a kiss over his shoulder. “You’re already wrapped around her little finger, huh?”

“Hopeless,” he admitted with a smile. “Absolutely hopeless.”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

As you both finally fell asleep putting the sweet little Baby in her bassinet by the bed , she eventually stirred , making soft , fussy noise that had you both tensing like coiled springs. 

You reached for her quickly sitting up , but Bucky shook his head. 

“I’ve got her,” he said , shifting to scoop her up. He stood up , moving to the foot of the bed to sway slowly back and forth , his big hands cradling her like she was actually made of spun sugar.

You watched him and her , your chest tight with so much love you didn’t know how to hold it all in or what to do with it. 

Bucky Barnes—once the Winter Soldier , once a ghost and shell of a man—was standing there in your bedroom, humming a soft forties tune under his breath as he rocked his miracle baby girl.

-end

my other dad bucky fics here! enjoyyy and more to come!

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (7)

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“You were right about the mac and cheese,” you say as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. 

S glances over with a smile. “You liked it?” 

“Sure do,” you tap the side of the plate. “But it’s too much for me. I could save the rest.” 

“Sure,” he gets up and crosses the room. He moves the cover back over your dish. 

“Oh, thank,” you say as you set the used napkin on the tray. You quickly catch a yawn in your hands. “Oof, I’m sorry. Woke up early for the doctor.” You rub your eyes and blink at him. “I’m not very fun company, am I?” 

“You’re... calming,” he says. “All the people I deal with... they’re always performing.” He tilts his head and gives a sardonic look. “It’s been nice to get away.” 

“Must be. Even to somewhere like here,” you swallow another yawn, blinking big until your eyes water. You flick away the moisture. 

“You made it worth it,” he lingers close. “If you’re tired, lay down. I don’t mind.” 

“That’s not fair,” you try not to show how tempting the offer is. “Coming over just to knock out.” 

“Go ahead. I’ve barely used the bed,” he points to the open French doors that lead to the bedroom. “I tend to sleep in intervals.” He clucks. “Buddy calls it strategic napping.” 

“Can’t be very restful,” you say. 

“Guess not but sometimes I don’t have eight hours to spare,” he taps his toe. “Please, go lay down. You look beat.” 

You give a sheepish smile. Why does he care so much? Another thorn digs in. 

“S?” 

“You been caring for your mom. Let me care for you,” he puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He slowly draws away. 

You look down, “twist my arm.” You stand up slowly. “Don’t let me sleep too long. Just an hour or two.” 

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll get some work done.” 

You hesitantly move around him. It’s awkward. It’s just another thing you’re taking from him. His bed, his time... Won’t he get tired of that sooner than later? 

You stop and turn back to him. 

“S?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he glances at his phone, his eyes crinkling at what he reads. 

“Can I... give you a hug?” 

He puts his phone on the table and faces you. “You don’t gotta ask.” 

He opens his arms. You slowly unfold yours and step closer. It felt like a good idea but now it’s a bit... tense. You wrap your arms around him and he closes you in his. You shiver at the warmth seeping from him into you. 

“Thank you,” you press your cheek to his chest. “Really, I can’t say it enough.” 

He keeps one arm firmly hooked around you as his other hand rubs your back. The soothing motion makes your skin prickle. He squeezes. 

“No problem, sweetie.” He rocks you slightly. 

You stay like that, too embarrassed and too afraid to break too soon. 

“Alright, I think... I might fall asleep on my feet,” you ease from his hold and his hands brush along the robe as he pulls back. 

“Yeah, go, sleep,” he pivots away. “I gotta answer this before he sends another damn email.” 

He snatches up his phone and turns away. He mutters under his breath. You back up and watch how his shirt tautens across his shoulders. You spin and tiptoe into the bedroom. 

You can worry when you wake up. Right now, you’re just too tired to keep track of all your doubts. 

🦋

You wake with a start. You’re on your stomach, arm beneath the pillow you have your face buried in. Your head is cloudy as you lift it and your lashes stick together before you can pry them apart. You roll over and the sight of the dark window sends you into a panic. 

You kick away the blankets and scramble out of bed. You hurry to the doors, the left one left open just a crack, and you pull it open. S sits at the table, a pair of glasses on as he has a laptop open. You have no time to process the seen as you scurry out. 

“S, it’s late,” you cheep. “Why did you let me sleep so long?” 

He calmly looks up and smooths the creases from his forehead. He pushes his shoulders wide and takes of his glasses. He puts them beside the keyboard of the table. 

“I tried to wake you up,” he says. “You were so tired. I could get you to do more than roll over...” 

His voice trails off as his eyes fall down. You follow his gaze. Shoot. The robe hangs open, exposing your naked legs. You quickly pull it around you, hot from your accusation and accidental flash. 

“Um, I’m sorry to... I didn’t... I...” You sputter. 

“You slept heavy. Probably a bit disorienting waking up here. You’re not used to it,” he shrugs. “I really did try but... seems like you needed the sleep.” 

“Right, I... it was nice but...” 

“You can call your mom. Let her know maybe you got backed up at your new job?” He suggests coolly. He’s a fast thinker. You’re a terrible liar. The type that adds too much detail when a simple explanation will do. 

“Sure, I can let her know I’m gonna be home soon.” You agree and look around. 

You find your phone on the arm of the sofa. You don’t remember leaving it there but you can’t really remember when you last had it. You take it and head for the bedroom. 

“You can always stay. It’s pretty late.” 

“What would I tell her? I’m working overnight?” 

“You’re an adult, aren’t you?” He challenges. 

You flinch. 

“Sure, but... no, I should go home. She needs me.” 

“Uh huh,” he picks his glasses back up and exhales. “Well, now she’s not the only one that does.” 

You blink as your brow crinkles. You turn away before he can catch you chagrined expression. You go into the bedroom and lean on the bed as you dial out. 

Your mom doesn’t pick up. You sniff as the tone for the voicemail beeps. “Hey mom, sorry I didn’t message sooner. I got tied up. Anyway, I’ll be home soon...love you.” 

You hang up and drop your arm. You stare at the window. You don’t remember anything, not even your dreams. Not even him trying to get you up. You’re embarrassed to hink about that. 

You go back out. 

“Um, I’ll need my pants,” you say sheepishly. 

“Hung them up in the bathroom,” he says without looking away from the computer. His posture is tense. 

“Look, I’m sorry if... i wasn’t meaning to accuse you--” 

“I’ve been really honest with you,” he says. “I’d say extremely. Not a lot of people would be so transparent. You know, a guy like me, he’s supposed to have an easy life. Well, it’s not.” 

“I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry, I just wish you would trust me.” 

You stand in static silence. The guilt ripples over you. Not only has he been honest, he’s been so generous. You think of today and how he so easily promised all of that money. Even after when you showed him the pamphlet, showed him how tedious it would all be. He said yes. 

“I will. I do,” you say at last. “Um, one sec.” 

You cross the room to the bathroom and dip inside. You open the robe and hang it and pull on your pants. You can still feel the residue of rain in them. Oh well. 

You come back out. “I can call a cab. You seem busy.” 

“I’ll drive,” he assures you as he closes the laptop. “Told you, I’m taking care of you. Of everything.” 

“I know. Thank you so much.” You clasp your hands together. “Really, S, I can’t say it enough.” 

He slides his glasses off again and stands up. He puts them in the case behind the computer and snaps it shut. He stretches his arms over him. 

“Come back tomorrow,” he says. “I made us some reservations.” 

“Reservations?” You repeat. “Well, S, I... I’ve been calling in and... if I keep doing that--” 

“Quit.” He looks agitated. “You don’t need those jobs. That’s the deal. I’m gonna cover everything.” 

You nod as your stomach stirs. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” His mouth slants. “It’s what we’ve been talking about. You working all the time, well, I got a lot going on. We’d never get to see each other and I mean, I’ve already missed a lot too.” 

You chew your lip. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” 

“It’s new. For both of us. I get it,” he softens his tone and comes closer. “You’re so used to working and doing everything, it’s hard to let go. I’m the same way.” 

“Yeah...” you murmur. “I’m really sorry if I upset you, S."

“You didn’t,” he assures you as he reaches to caress your arm. “You can’t. I just... I get in work mode and the boss face comes out.” He chuckles and slips his hand across your back and angles you toward the door, “let’s get you home. I promise, I’ll try to get more than just a few hours before tomorrow.” 

🦋

You watch the streetlights pass, the glare tinging your eyes, tweaking the fatigue still nestled behind them. You yawn as the car whirs softly. It’s almost peaceful in the empty streets. 

S drives smoothly through the town. He knows it better now. He keeps to the speed limit, taking his time. Or maybe he’s just tired. 

He rolls up to your building and shifts into park. He sighs. “I’ll miss you.” 

You look at him, “really? I feel like I kind of overstayed my welcome.” 

“Trust me, you can’t,” he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he twists in his. “You not having fun?” 

“No, of course, it’s just new and... I guess I’m not used to it yet. The... trying not to worry part.  My mom is still...” you shake your head. “I’m going to stop that.” You look at him. “S, thank you. Really. I did have a good day even if I slept for most of it.” 

“You needed that,” he says as his hand slips onto your shoulder. “You, more than anyone, has every right to be tired.” His thumb rubs you. “Sweetheart, we’re just adjusting to each other and that’s fine.” 

“Sure,” you flutter your fingers in your lap. “Right, just... gotta be patient.” 

“Yeah, patient,” his hand inches closer to your neck. “Sweetheart... can I ask you something?” 

“Okay,” you try not to focus on his touch but your skin is all speckly from it. 

“Can I have a kiss?” 

Your lips part slightly. You close them quickly. You’re surprised but you shouldn’t be. Deep down, you know it’s inevitable. Despite what he says, you have that gnawing certainty in your head. You can’t just keep taking. And it’s going to be more than just a kiss, isn’t it? 

Right now, you can do a kiss. 

“Um,” your cheeks tauten and burn. “S-sure. I can--” 

“Only if you really want to,” he pets your neck with his knuckles. “But I can tell you I really, really want to.” 

You take a breath and undo your seat belt. You’re slow and deliberate in your movement as you angle around in the chair. His hand opens and cradles your jaw, fingers framing your ear. He leans in and you meet him across the space between your sets. 

Your lips meat and his heat floods into you. His fingers curl against your head and he hums. His tongue pokes out gently and you resist. Your chest is somersaulting. 

You part and sit back in the chair. You put your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—been a while.” You look down and cover your mouth. You drop your hand. “Was that... okay?” 

“It was... great,” he rasps. “And uh, been a while for me too.” 

“Really?” You glance at him, face alight with self-consciousness. 

“Oh, sure. Like I said... haven’t been out on the dating scene much. When I’ve tried, well, It’s just not... genuine, you know?” He clucks and pokes his tongue into his cheek. He smiles and looks you in the eye. “That was perfect. I’ll be thinking about it all night.” 

“You will?” 

“Of course,” he winks. “What about you?” 

Your cheeks pinch and you smile. It’s been a long time since you felt anything but anxiety and doom. That was something else. You can’t quite explain what. It just wasn’t as scary as you thought. You need one thing that isn’t utterly terrifying. 

“Yeah, I think...” you look away. “It’s... it was nice.” 

“Good,” he drags his hand down your arm. “Well, have a good night.” 

“You too,” you grab your purse and pull on the door handle. “Oh, what time tomorrow?” 

“Let me know, sweetie, I don’t need you til noon,” he answers. 

“Cool, um, bye.” 

You get out and walk towards the yellow light above the building entrance. You stop to look back. He’s still there. You’re glad. You hate being out this late. 

You enter the apartment quietly. The front room light is on. You put your stuff down and sanitize your hands. You find your mother on the couch, sleeping as she hugs a pillow. 

You hope she wasn’t waiting up for you. All that fuzziness fades. The dull weight settles back into your chest. 

You tiptoe around, careful not to wake her. You know she doesn’t get as much sleep as she should. You retreat to your room and flick on the light. 

You plug in your phone as the battery flashes. As you pull off your shirt, you hear something. A soft whisper. You go to the hamper and peer through the mesh. The butterflies. Two of them have hatches and they’re happily fluttering around inside. 

You smile. A real smile. They’re so beautiful. Black, red, and white. And they’re alive. It was taking so long, you thought they wouldn’t break free. 

You’ll have to find some fruit in the fridge to leave in there for them until you can release them. First, you’re going to take a photo. Everyone will be so excited to see. 

You get a good shot through the top before they try to escape. You’ll have to go down to the cafe to post in the morning. You really can’t wait to show S. 

You sit on your bed and watch the butterflies. It’s a sign, isn’t it? Not everything is dead. It’s not over. Maybe, things are just beginning. 

[revelboo]

More Steve mayhaps? Perchance? I love how you write the vehicons tbh, I think all of them deserve the world 💖

I wish we could put bumper stickers on them, decals n such...

Honestly, the Vehicons are the most likely mechs to let you get away with that.

Love

Steve

• Crouching, he bends forward to tip the little bag with a servo and you turn at the crinkle of the plastic to make him guiltily jerk his hand away. Expecting you to get mad at him for touching something that’s yours. “It’s window chalk,” you explain, bending to pick up a tube. “You can write on car windows with it. We let the seniors loose and let them leave us notes on our cars. With close supervision.” Doesn’t get it, but nods and you wrinkle your nose at him, looking so adorable he stares as you shake the little tube and pull the lid off and draw a shape on the window of your car.

• “What’s that mean?” He asks, tracing the shape in the air with a servo and you smile. Amused with how curious he is about everything. And you idly draw a second, smaller heart. There’s so many things you’d love to ask him, but he always seems a bit uncomfortable taking about himself. They all do. Like the thought of giving their opinion on anything is intimidating. Or just not allowed.

• “It’s a heart. We use it to symbolize love,” you explain and he stares at the pink heart, servos flexing. Head tipping as you smile up at him to make his spark warm, he watches you press a hand to your chest. “Humans have hearts,” you add and he reaches out a servo, stopping just shy of actually touching you. Unsure if he’s allowed. And you take a step to meet him, letting him feel the steady beat of your heart.

• “Can I have one?” A heart? And you blink, because he sounds so serious as his servo slides down your arm to hook under your wrist holding the chalk and lift it. Oh. And you rock back a step, smiling. Trying not to think of the feel of that warm servo pressed against you or how focused he’d been on the feel of your heart beating. Like it mattered to him. Gesturing for him as you retreat, he transforms and you lean against his warm plating to draw little hearts on his windows, spotting movement from the corner of your eye as another one leans to see what you’re doing.

• Venting as he spots another one, Megatron’s optics narrow. Because what in the Pit do the Vehicons have all over their glass? Little pink shapes and when you see them, you coo a soft ‘awww’ to make him bristle, plating lifting slightly in annoyance. Growling softly, he decides he needs to have a word with Breakdown since he’s supposed to be over the Vehicons. Making him wonder what the clones have been up to, because they’re all sporting those little shapes. Where are they sneaking off to?

[kiwriteswords]

So I have another request 🥸☝️

I had this idea about a 5+1 story and this is definitely your thing so I guess it’s the perfect moment to tell you about it and of course feel free to do it or not (I promise I won’t be sad if you don’t)

The thing was “5 times reader took Hotch on a date and one time he did” and in my head it was something like he hasn’t been on date for a long date or he always went on “simple” dates and doesn’t have anything special to tell or another amazing reason you’ll find because your brain is beautiful and reader decide to take him and of course the last one he’s the one who does

Not sure if it’s clear and maybe it’s not even a good idea 😂 but here it is and thank you for being amazing 💖

Everybody Knows You're All I've Got [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 5.3k|| AN: Ahh, I love this! Thank YOU for being amazing and always so kind! I really appreciate all of the support and requests! I hope this is what you were looking for! <3

Tags/Warnings: female reader, 5 +1, best friends to lovers, Oblivious Hotch, Grumpy x Sunshine, Reader has an ex-boyfriend, reader hints at being bisexual? (easy to miss tbh), fake dating, first dates, slow burn, Jack Hotchner TW (for those who don't like him included 🤷‍♀️) Hotch is a rusty boyfriend, Reader takes care of hotch bc he sucks at caring for himself

Summary: Five times you took Hotch on a date and the one time he takes you on one.

I. 

When you started at the BAU, it wasn't just the beginning of a new job but the start of an unlikely friendship with Aaron Hotchner. 

To many, Hotch was a mystery wrapped in a suit, always reserved and meticulously professional. But to you, he was a puzzle waiting to be understood, a person who just needed a bit of sunlight in the often shadowy world of the BAU.

You were everything Hotch wasn't outwardly: bubbly, openly kind, and radiating empathy like warmth from a fireplace. Where the weight of the job furrowed his brow, your smile seemed to light up the room, often bringing a much-needed lift to the team's spirits. 

It didn’t take long for you to notice the little things that could bring a momentary smile to Hotch’s often impassive face--a perfectly timed cup of coffee after a long night, a gentle tease to crack his professional veneer, or a supportive word after a tough case.

One chilly October afternoon, as the leaves painted the world in hues of fire and gold, you approached Hotch with an extra ticket in hand. There had been a buzz about the new play in town, something about it transforming the mundane into magic, and you thought it would be the perfect escape from the reality you both faced daily.

You had heard Hotch speak here and there about theater-related things. On the outside, looking in, he didn’t appear to be a theater geek at heart, but the subtle notes and references he made or picked up on had him found out by you fairly quickly. 

"Hotch, you're coming with me to the play tonight," you declared with a grin, waving the ticket like a magic wand.

He looked up from his paperwork, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so, a sign you had come to recognize as intrigue mixed with resistance. "You should take a friend...or perhaps a date," he suggested, his voice steady but his gaze flickering away momentarily.

Hotch had always been a fortress of solitude, his emotions guarded like the secrets of the cases you worked on together. But over time, you'd learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression as if they were confessions.

You leaned against his office door, your smile unwavering. 

"But I am taking a friend, and honestly, I can't think of anyone else I’d rather have as my date tonight. You deserve a night off, to be wined and dined and just...have fun." You shrugged. You knew this man, out of anyone in this building, likely hadn’t had a night out of fun since 1997. “How long has it been since you've done something just for the joy of it?”

Hotch paused, the word 'date' hanging between you like a challenge. His jaw set, a classic Hotchner move before surrendering to a situation outside his control. "I'm not sure I'm the best company for something like that," he countered softly, almost vulnerable.

"Which is exactly why you should come," you insisted. "You spend so much time taking care of everyone else here, Hotch. Tonight, let someone take care of you. Plus, I love your company, whether it’s here dealing with unsubs or outside where we can actually enjoy ourselves." You paused, “And you know me,” You smirked, “I’m really not going to let this go.” 

There was a long pause, a silent conversation passing through the air as he considered your words. Finally, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he accepted. "Alright, I'll go."

The theater was an antique jewel in the heart of the city, its walls lined with velvety red curtains and golden lights that cast a warm glow over the buzzing audience. As the curtain rose, the stage transformed into a magical realm, pulling you both away from the grim realities of your daily work.

The play was a vibrant affair, with actors breathing life into their roles with a passion that made you forget the world outside. Throughout the evening, you watched Hotch, too, seeing him genuinely engaged, a softness in his eyes that you seldom saw at work. 

During intermission, over glasses of wine, you shared light, easy conversation that danced around personal edges, revealing layers of each other previously tucked away behind professional facades.

"Thank you for bringing me," Hotch said as you walked out under the canopy of stars. His voice was low, sincere. "It’s been...more enjoyable than I anticipated."

"You're welcome!" you beamed, feeling a swell of happiness at his admission. "See? The world outside the BAU isn’t so bad, is it?"

He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound mingling with the crisp night air. "No, it isn’t. Especially not with the right company."

The evening ended with a promise of similar outings, an unspoken agreement that both of you would take turns pulling each other away from the shadows of your job into the light of life outside it. It was simple, an easy friendship blossoming quietly into something that neither of you had expected but both secretly hoped would continue to grow.

II. 

You burst into Hotch's office with a flair that would rival any stage performance, immediately drawing a rare smile from him despite the obvious panic etched across your face. He set aside his paperwork, an unspoken signal that he was all ears, and patiently waited for you to gather your thoughts.

Despite the clear panic struck on your face…it was amusing to Hotch. Cute even. Your typical calm, cool, and collected personality seemingly faded now. Your flustered state was something that Hotch found endearingly human, a contrast to your usual composed demeanor. 

"Hotch, I have a...a situation," you gasped, struggling for breath as you stopped in front of his desk. The rare sight of your disarray pulled a smile from him, a softening around his eyes that encouraged you to continue.

Catching your breath, you finally blurted out, "My ex-fiancé is coming to town, and he's...he's engaged now!" You paced a small circle before facing Hotch again, your hands animatedly moving as you spoke. "And, of course, he wants to meet for drinks to introduce me to his fiancée."

Hotch's eyebrows raised slightly, a silent prompt for you to continue.

You exhaled sharply, the words tumbling out. Complete and utter word vomit. Word salad. Word soup…all over Aaron Hotchner’s perfectly perfected office. "I might have, sort of, told him I was seeing someone too--just to sound less...pathetic." You met Hotch's gaze, a mix of embarrassment and mischief in your eyes. "And I said it was you. It had to be you."

"Me?" Hotch's voice was calm, but his surprise was evident.

You nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I mean, it couldn’t be Derek; he’s all action-hero, way too macho. And Spencer? He’d inadvertently make me look dumb with all his factoids. And Rossi...well," you chuckled nervously, "he’s great, but he could practically be my dad!"

You paused, a playful glint appearing in your eyes. "I even thought about taking Emily, you know, referring back to my experimental college days," you joked, watching Hotch’s reaction carefully.

There was a moment of stillness as Hotch processed your train of thought. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching into an almost imperceptible smile. "So, I'm the safest choice for a fake boyfriend, is that it?"

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, relieved he wasn't upset. "You’re respectable, you’re responsible, and let’s be honest, you can scare him a little if you do that...stern FBI look.” You paused, trying to convey the other reason behind this…this choice. Hotch had become someone you deeply cared for. It was evident to everyone. “And not just safe," you corrected, your tone earnest. "You're...you make me feel secure. You're the one person here who always has my back."

Hotch considered this for a moment; then his expression softened--a new understanding dawning between you. "When is this drink supposed to happen?"

"Tomorrow night," you replied, your voice a mixture of hope and anxiety. The relief in your voice mirrored the relief in your stance.

Hotch nodded slowly, then stood up from his desk, a decisive look replacing his initial surprise. "Alright, then. It seems I’m your...boyfriend for the evening. We might as well make sure your ex realizes what he’s missed out on."

Your relief was palpable, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Thank you, Hotch. Really, I...this means a lot to me."

“I’ll be there--not just as your fake boyfriend, but as your friend."

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly at his words, warmth spreading through you at the thought of him standing by your side. "Thank you, really, Hotch. Really…honestly, this means everything to me."

The rest of the day, you found yourself catching Hotch's eye a few times, each glance exchanged, building a silent, mutual understanding. It was an odd, unexpected partnership, but as the hours passed, a curious anticipation grew within both of you about the role you were about to play.

The following evening at the bar was like stepping into another world. The dim lighting cast a warm glow that softened the sharp edges of Hotch's usually stark features. He stood there, not as the BAU chief, but as someone altogether more approachable, dressed in a smart casual jacket that hinted at the man beneath the badge.

"You look...not like Agent Hotchner," you commented with a teasing tone as you approached.

"And you look like someone who definitely isn’t nursing a broken heart," Hotch replied, offering his arm in a gentlemanly gesture that you didn’t expect but appreciated.

The night unfolded with an ease that surprised you both. Hotch played the part perfectly, charming yet subtly protective, casting doubtful glances from your ex that you couldn't help but feel satisfied to provoke. With every laugh and shared glance, the line between pretense and reality blurred.

As you left the bar, Hotch’s hand brushed against yours, a touch that lingered longer than necessary. "You know," he said quietly, stopping to face you under the soft glow of the streetlamp, "you don’t need to pretend to be anything you're not--not with me."

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his gaze. "Maybe next time, we won’t have to pretend," you suggested, the words hanging between you like a promise waiting to be kept.

Hotch studied you for a moment, his usual reserve giving way to a tender sincerity. "I’d like that," he admitted, and in his eyes, you saw not just the stoic chief but a man who had begun to see you in a new light, just as you were seeing him.

As you walked away together, the city around you faded into the background, leaving only the possibilities of what might come next--a future neither of you had anticipated, but both silently hoped to explore.

III. 

On a brisk morning, as the case stretched on and lunchtime approached, you could feel the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. Seated beside Hotch in the car, an hour away from the rest of the team, you were certain he must be just as hungry--even if he never complained. From what you'd observed, Hotch often neglected his own needs, always focused on the job or caring for his team.

He was the kind of man who seemed to subsist on sheer willpower--and far too much coffee, which, as you often joked.

Coffee shouldn’t count as a meal. 

Dessert? Maybe. With extra whipped topping and mocha drizzle. Lunch? Never. 

You wished somedays you’d just pack him a sandwich. It was hard to picture the man devouring a peanut butter and jelly, but a grown man’s got to eat! And from the looks of it, he rarely prioritizes that. The thought made you smile, a brief respite from the growling of your stomach.

The world outside painted a stark contrast to the warmth inside the car. Bare trees stood sentinel along the frost-lined road, their branches swaying in the cold wind that whispered promises of an impending winter. The car's heater hummed softly, a counterpoint to the rhythm of the road beneath the tires.

Glancing over at him as he drove, you noticed his focus was unwavering, his hands steady on the wheel. The rumbling of your stomach broke the silence, making it impossible to ignore any longer. Without a word, you leaned over the console and started typing into the GPS.

Hotch shot you a curious look. One eyebrow raised before darting back toward the open road. "What are you doing?"

"We need food, Hotch. I’m starving, and I know you haven’t eaten either," you said, inputting the address of a nearby diner you’d quickly looked up. The promise of a simple but comforting meal seemed like the perfect break from the stresses of the case.

He briefly glanced at the screen before returning his eyes to the road. "We should really get back to the precinct, join the team," he argued, his voice steady but lacking conviction. 

"Hotch, we’re no good to them if we’re hungry and irritable," you countered, meeting his gaze with a playful yet firm look. "And I’m about to get very irritable if I don’t eat something soon."

"I don’t get irritable," Hotch said, a faint smile playing on his lips despite his attempt to seem annoyed.

"You will be if you don’t eat," you teased. "Now, follow the GPS. I’m ordering us cheeseburgers and fries. And if you’re good," you added with a cheeky grin, "I might even treat you to a milkshake."

That seemed to amuse him, a spark of warmth lighting up his usually reserved eyes. With a resigned chuckle, Hotch finally nodded and turned the car in the direction of the diner.

As you both walked into the diner, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The cozy warmth, the smell of coffee and fried food, offered a much-needed respite. 

You slid into a booth, the red vinyl squeaking under you, and Hotch took the seat across, his body language relaxing as he perused the menu you handed him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement at your noticeable relief.

"See, isn’t this better than a cold sandwich in the precinct?" you asked as you handed him a menu, your tone light and teasing.

"It is," he admitted, his gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks for taking care of me."

The conversation flowed easily as you waited for your food, touching on light topics that didn’t involve work. It was a side of Hotch you rarely saw--relaxed, even a bit playful, especially when you joked about how he deserved a day off now and then.

When the food arrived, Hotch seemed genuinely pleased with the hearty meal, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction in seeing him so. As you both ate, the playful banter continued, and you teased him about his choice of milkshake flavor--classic vanilla, to match his no-nonsense personality.

"You know, for someone who claims to be all business, you sure enjoy vanilla quite a bit," you quipped, taking a sip of your own, more adventurous, chocolate shake.

Hotch looked up, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Maybe I just appreciate the simpler things," he retorted, his voice low and teasing in a way that sent a thrill through you. “And the company isn’t bad.” 

You caught the twinkle in his eye, and it sparked something bold within you. "Well, if it's the simple things you appreciate," you started, a playful edge to your voice, "I might just have to take you on more 'simple' dates like this. I mean, if the company isn't bad..."

Hotch's smile broadened a rare and full grin that reached his eyes, softening the usually stern lines of his face. "I wouldn't object to that," he admitted, his tone suggesting he was more pleased by the idea than he let on. "It seems I've been missing out on quite a few simple pleasures."

The light banter, mixed with the warm glow of the diner and the comfort of the meal, wove a moment of connection that felt both exhilarating and natural. As you both laughed, the air between you filled with a sense of possibility, a hint that this could be the beginning of exploring not just crime scenes together but something much deeper and personally rewarding.

The meal ended too soon, but the light-hearted mood lingered as you both headed back to the car. As Hotch drove back to the precinct, the playful ease between you felt like a silent acknowledgment of something deeper, something neither of you had expected to find in the midst of a tough case.

The ride back was quiet but comfortable, filled with shared glances and an unspoken agreement that this, whatever it was that was blooming between you, was something worth exploring, no matter how cautiously. The seeds planted during that fake date had started to sprout, and as the landscape rolled by outside the car windows, so too did the possibilities of what might come next.

IV. 

The evolution of your relationship with Hotch had been as subtle as the change of seasons, marked not by grand gestures but by shared glances and small touches that lingered a bit longer than necessary. These were the silent confirmations of a deepening bond, one that had maturely navigated the boundaries of professionalism and his life as a dedicated father.

Recognizing the significance of his role as a father and wanting to affirm your respect for this vital part of his life, you planned an outing that would comfortably include his son, Jack. The idea was simple yet thoughtful--a paint day at a local studio, a space vibrant with color and creativity, perfect for Jack, whose love for painting Hotch had mentioned in passing.

When you shared the plan with Hotch, his response was unexpectedly moving. His eyes, usually guarded and holding the weight of his responsibilities, softened remarkably. "This is really thoughtful of you," he said, his voice tinged with a sincerity that resonated deeply within you. "Jack will love this, and honestly, it means a lot to me too."

As you entered the studio, the warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill outside. The walls were adorned with splashes of color and shelves lined with ceramics and canvases added to the eclectic charm. Jack's excitement was infectious; his energy seemed to fill the room as he dashed about, choosing his materials with serious cconsideration

You picked a mug to paint, selecting colors with a playful eye, while Hotch chose a plate, his attempts at painting it more comical than artistic.

"You might stick to profiling, Hotchner," you teased gently, watching him struggle with a paintbrush.

Hotch looked up, amusement flickering across his face. "I think you might be right," he conceded, and even Jack chimed in with a giggle, enjoying the sight of his dad out of his usual element.

Jack, inspired by the day's activities, decided to paint a canvas depicting the three of you playing soccer--a scene from his imagination that warmed your heart. It was touching to see how he included you in his artwork, a sign that he was accepting you into their little world.

Throughout the day, the chemistry between you and Hotch was more apparent than ever. Every shared smile, every light touch while passing paint jars, seemed to underline the deepening connection. It was clear that something more was there, something neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. There was a comfort and ease between you, a natural fit that felt like it could seamlessly extend beyond these shared moments into something lasting.

As the day wound down, you looked at your finished mug, Hotch’s humorously bad plate, and Jack’s heartfelt canvas. There was a profound sense of accomplishment and happiness. Jack’s energy never waned, and his chatter about where he would hang his painting in his room filled the space with joy.

Driving back, the car was filled with a comfortable silence before Hotch finally spoke, his voice laden with emotion. "Today was perfect," he said sincerely. "Thank you for setting this up. It's...it's not often we get to do something so normal, so fun."

"It was my pleasure, really," you responded, your voice soft, conveying the genuine joy you felt. "I loved every minute of it, Hotch. Seeing you and Jack like this, it’s...it's wonderful."

Hotch glanced over, his expression thoughtful, the setting sun casting shadows that played across his features. "It's new for me," he confessed, "letting someone into our world this way. But it feels right...with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of them carrying a promise of something deeper, something that was slowly taking shape between you. "I'm glad," you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly, an affirmation of the bond forming among the three of you.

The drive back was quiet but filled with an unspoken acknowledgment of the budding relationship that was no longer just a possibility but a burgeoning reality. As you watched the scenery blur by, you realized that this day hadn’t just been about painting or playing--it was a canvas for what was to come, a beautifully unfolding story that you were all painting together.

V. 

Navigating the intricacies of your evolving relationship with Hotch had been like reading a novel written in a familiar yet indecipherable script. 

You weren't someone who needed everything spelled out,who required every emotion or intention to be neatly labeled like items in a catalog.

However, as your interactions deepened--marked by those unmistakably boyfriend-like gestures, from the way he'd casually touch your back guiding you through a doorway, to how he'd drop a coffee on your desk exactly the way you liked it--questions began to surface in your mind.

What exactly were you to each other?

Sure, he acted like your boyfriend, did things that a boyfriend would do. 

There were those long drives from crime scenes where you'd debrief not just on the case but about life, hopes, fears. 

He was there, always somehow there, in ways that mattered. But without the explicit affirmation, a tiny part of you lingered in doubt. It wasn't that you thought he might be seeing other people--Hotch barely had time to eat properly, let alone date multiple people. But clarity was something you craved, even as you thrived in the gray areas of life.

Deciding to address these swirling thoughts directly, you leveraged your day off--an all-too-rare occurrence that felt like the universe’s nod to take action. With your usual blend of brightness and empathy, you picked up your phone and dialed Hotch’s number. 

The call was quick; the invitation straightforward but imbued with all the significance of stepping into new, uncharted territory.

"Hi, Hotch, it’s me," you began, your voice carrying a cheerful lilt that belied the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. "I was thinking, since we both actually have a free evening, maybe we could go out for dinner? I’ve made reservations at that new place we’ve both been curious about. If you’re up for it?"

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you wondered if you’d stepped over an unseen line. But then his response came, warm and unmistakably pleased. "That sounds great, I’d love to. What time should I pick you up?"

The simplicity of his acceptance, the ease with which he stepped into the space you’d opened, lifted a weight off your shoulders you hadn’t fully realized you'd been carrying. 

As you hung up, a smile played on your lips, mirrored by a warmth that spread through your chest. This dinner would be different; it wasn't just about enjoying good food or making casual conversation. It was about defining what was between you, about giving shape to the connection that had grown, subtly but significantly, over the countless shared moments.

That evening, as you prepared for the date, every choice--from the dress you wore to the perfume you dabbed behind your ears--felt imbued with intention. Meeting him outside your place, you noticed the effort he’d put into his appearance as well. Gone was the standard FBI suit, replaced by something softer, yet equally compelling. His smile when he saw you was enough to set your heart racing.

From the moment he opened the car door for you, everything felt right--effortlessly falling into a pattern that seemed to have existed for years, not just the recent weeks of growing closeness. The conversation flowed freely as you drove to the restaurant, filled with the usual banter and warmth that had become a hallmark of your interactions.

At the restaurant, your dynamic was unmistakably couple-like, drawing knowing smiles from the servers as you laughed and shared food across the table. It was remarkably natural, the ease between you, as if all your prior interactions had been rehearsals for this very moment.

Midway through the meal, buoyed by the comfort that had defined the evening, you decided to address the ambiguity that had lightly clouded your relationship. "Hotch, I’ve been wondering," you started, your voice soft but direct, "what exactly is this for us? I mean, we’ve been spending so much time together, and it feels like…well, like we’re a couple. But we’ve never really talked about it."

Hotch paused, a forkful of dinner halfway to his mouth, and his expression shifted to one of mild embarrassment. Setting his utensil down, he met your gaze; his cheeks tinged with a rare flush. 

"I...I’m sorry; I suppose I should have brought it up," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of chagrin. "I’m not very experienced with how this is supposed to go. Things have been going so well, I didn’t think to...well, make it official or ask properly. You know, the whole…dating protocol."

You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "Hotch, I don’t need any grand gestures or formal declarations," you said warmly. "But I think some clarity would be helpful, just…so we’re on the same page. Clarity is comforting, especially with something as important as this."

Hotch smiled a genuine, relieved smile. "Then let’s be clear: I’d like nothing more than to be considered your boyfriend if you feel the same way.” He paused, his eyes locking with yours, "How about you let me take you on a real first date after tonight? And I promise, it won’t be like the casual outings we’ve had before."

"You mean all those times we grabbed a coffee or had those long drives weren’t dates?" you teased,your voice light, trying to ease the intensity of the moment.

"They were...unofficial dates. Practice, if you will," Hotch replied with a laugh. "But from now on, I promise, nothing but the real thing."

The promise of a 'proper' date, laden with Hotch’s earnest intentions, filled you with a delightful anticipation. It wasn’t just the thrill of formalizing your relationship but the realization that you were both navigating this new terrain together, equally invested and open.

+1

As the evening approached, the flutter of anticipation was palpable. You had been on dates before, but the buildup to this particular outing with Hotch had an entirely different tenor. 

His promise of a "real first date" had left you curious and, admittedly, a bit exhilarated. Despite his claim of being rusty, the effort he put into planning the evening suggested otherwise.

Hotch arrived right on time, looking every bit the part of a gentleman set to impress. His usual dark, work-appropriate suits were replaced by a tailored charcoal blazer that complemented his stern features, softened tonight by the hint of a smile as he greeted you. 

As Hotch presented you with the bouquet of lilies and wildflowers, their scent subtly mingling with the evening air, it was the perfect prelude to an evening that promised to be anything but ordinary. 

His eyes held a gleam of anticipation as he asked, "Ready for an adventure?" His voice was light, but beneath it, you could detect a current of genuine excitement--a hint that tonight was about more than just dinner.

The drive led you away from the familiar lights of the city to a more secluded bistro overlooking the water, known for its privacy and exquisite views. The table was set in a quiet corner of the terrace, draped in soft white linen and lit by a single, flickering candle that cast a warm glow over the setting. The backdrop of the slowly setting sun, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, made the scene almost too picturesque to be real.

Throughout dinner, Hotch was both attentive and charming, effortlessly leading the conversation through laughter and deeper, more introspective topics. 

"I’ve been out of the game for a long time," he admitted as you both looked over the bay, "but I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you do, not just for me, but for Jack as well." His words warmed you more than the evening air. "You see me in ways I didn't realize were visible," he continued, his gaze holding yours. "The way you care for those around you, especially Jack and I, it’s more than just empathy--it's genuine love."

Your hands touched as you both reached for your wine glasses, a spark of connection in the simple gesture. “I see the same in you, Hotch. The way you balance everything, yet still manage to make us feel...important,” you replied, your voice soft but clear over the gentle lapping of the water below.

Dinner unfolded beautifully, each course a delight not just to the palate but as a discovery of shared tastes and preferences. With each dish, you learned something new about each other--preferences hidden beneath daily routines, stories from the past that had shaped your tastes.

As you shared a dessert, Hotch pointed at your plate with his fork. "Are you sure you’re ready to share that? It looks too good to split fifty-fifty."

You eyed the last piece of chocolate mousse, then back at him with a playful challenge in your eyes. "Maybe I’ll reconsider based on your performance review of this date."

Hotch leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "In that case, I’d better ensure the evening ends on a high note." His light-hearted tone matched the sparkle in his gaze, making the simple act of sharing dessert feel like flirtatious banter.

As you walked along the port after dinner, the moon casting shimmering trails across the water, Hotch nudged you gently with his elbow. "So, do I get bonus points for choosing a place with a view?"

"Maybe just a few," you conceded, nudging him back. "But only because you seem to know the way to my heart--through scenic views and excellent food."

The laughter that followed was easy and genuine, drifting into the night air and mixing with the rhythmic sounds of the waves. "You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this dating thing again," Hotch said, a note of mock pride in his voice.

"Just keep up with me, Hotch. I have high standards for second dates, remember?" you teased, your smile reflecting the joy of the evening.

Hotch's laugh echoed softly in the quiet night. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"It might just be," you replied, matching his tone. "I’m curious to see what you’ll come up with next.

The night ended with a promise of more to come, not just another date, but more moments like these--shared, special, and sincere.

As Hotch drove you home, you were indeed head over heels, not just for the man who had meticulously planned this perfect first date, but for the one who had shown you his heart, beautifully open and invitingly warm. It was clear that whatever lay ahead, it would be a journey worth taking, together.

[andy-clutterbuck]

TWD - Inside 8x07

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing.

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then.

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier.

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility.

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words.

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat.

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it.

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours.

-----------------

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat.

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away.

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry.

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–"

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine."

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry.

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting.

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam.

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[ariestrxsh]

I'm gonna revamp my ask about "gf that's obsessed with cheetah/cow/tiger print and everything bright and pastel, totally not because I'm one of them myself"™

Can we pleaseee get a drabble where she has a innocent and cutesy demeanor which turns chris on because he knows that that's not all there is to her?

My life will be even more yours that it was beforehand

Thank you for being so patient. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this. 💖

Chris isn't buying your innocent act...

"I'm a good girl, Chris. I don't do that, you crinkled your nose and squinted at your boyfriend when the subject of masturbation came up. The two of you were lying next to one another on your bed, both sinking into your fluffy, pastel pink comforter.

He side-eyed you, giving you a skeptical look and lightly scoffing at your lies. "What? It's true. I don't ever do anything naughty," you told him, biting back a smirk. "Oh yeah?" He snarked back, rolling over on top of you.

He sensually slid his long fingers down your smooth stomach, tickling you and giving you goosebumps. Your breath hitched in your throat as you prepared for him to stick his hand down your pants.

Instead, he stopped at your hip where your cheetah-print thong was peeking out of the waistband of your Juicy Couture track pants. He hooked his finger into the strap of your g-string and snapped it against your skin.

You let out a soft whine at the sensation that sounded halfway like a disappointed sigh. He smugly grinned at you. "What did you think I was gonna do, huh?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow and watching a needy expression sneak into your facial features. "Nothing," you giggled softly.

"I don't think I'm buying your innocent act. I bet these are all soaked," Chris taunted you, playing with the strap of your panties again. "It's not an act. I am a good girl," you reiterated, trying to uphold your pure demeanor.

"I bet if I look in here.." Chris started to say, reaching over you to slide open the drawer to your nightstand. "I might just find something that proves I'm right about you."

"Chris!" You exclaimed, trying to stop him from reaching into your drawer, but it was too late. You heard a familiar hum as Chris smirked down at you. He presented your bright purple buzzing toy to you. "Then what's this, huh?" Chris teased you, running the toy along your exposed stomach.

You shivered, looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes and chewing on your lip, but you stayed silent. "Not gonna answer me, huh? I guess I'm gonna have to show you then," Chris seductively whispered before he started kissing your neck.

He slid the toy down the front of your pants, resting it against your clit. The feeling sent waves of pleasure through you, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. "Chris," you softly moaned, finally giving up the act. "That's it. Let go," he rasped into your ear, tickling your earlobe with his soft lips.

You gave into the sensation, lifting your hips off the bed and rolling them forward. He hit the button on your vibrator, changing it to your favorite setting. He loved knowing exactly what you liked, and he got off on knowing you weren't as naive as you pretended to be. He watched you fall apart on your toy as you trembled beneath him.

"You can try to act all sweet and innocent, but I know all your secrets, naughty girl."

[forsaire]

A MacTavish Christmas

When Soap can't make it home for Christmas, Ghost plans a surprise and brings Christmas to him. (~2k)

It's me @emmster! 🤭🤭

Here is your secret santa gift! I hope you enjoy how utterly, disgustingly sweet it is 💚💖

Ao3 link

---

Soap had always made it home for Christmas, it was something he spoke about with warm pride. No matter where he was or how late a flight he had to take or when the last time he slept was, he was always there for Christmas morning. He was always there in his mum’s arms who would pepper him with kisses until he had to pry her arms off him, always handing out messily wrapped gifts with newspaper and anything he could find last minute to his siblings, always letting his nieces and nephews climb all over him in their excitement to have Uncle John’s attention.

He'd been especially excited the week leading up to it, his energy both infectious and exhausting. Ghost often found himself listening in content silence as Soap spoke about his fond memories of the traditions the MacTavish family had been doing for years.

On Christmas day, they hid the baby Jesus figurine somewhere in the house for the kiddos to find and whoever did got to return him to the manger, finishing the nativity scene. They always had these amazingly fresh croissant rolls to eat with dinner that everyone adored, and which one year almost caused World War III when they were accidentally forgotten. Soap’s mum had decided that decorating the Christmas tree would remain a family affair. After all the kids moved out, she waited until everyone came back together so they could put the ornaments on the tree together just like they always used to do as kids, reminiscing at the memories and laughing at the poorly decorated ones.

Ghost enjoyed listening to Soap ramble on, sharing his own family with Ghost even if just in colourful stories. Ghost didn’t have his own, not anymore, so he let Soap paint the picture for him. Soap smiled and Ghost savoured the way his eyes crinkled as they lit up.  

But that smile was stolen.

It was at the end of a debrief, Price giving the men a heads up about an urgent meeting coming up – illegal arms trading hands in preparation for an attack on one of the embassies halfway across the world. But the mission had landed in their lap and it was up to them to stake it out and prevent the meeting from happening.

“We leave at the crack of dawn,” Price finished saying. “0500 hours. Five days from now.”

Five days.

Ghost could see Soap’s face fall as the numbers aligned in his head.

Christmas day.

Soap had gotten lucky all these years, he knew he had. He had leave fall over the Christmas break, or he’d been able to make arrangements with other soldiers, or when he joined the 141 Price had given them the time off, or the world seemed to slow down for a couple days and they simply weren’t needed.

But not this time.

Soap’s disappointed eyes dropped, his lips downturned into a faint frown. He didn’t say anything, there wasn’t anything to say. Nothing would matter whether it came from Soap, or Ghost, or Gaz, or anyone else.

They had a job to do. Service above self.

And Ghost had to watch that heartbroken face all the way back to their room.  

For as much good as Soap put into the world, he deserved better. They saw the worst of the world 364 days a year, and still Soap was able to remain optimistic, warm-hearted, kind.

He deserved better.

So that night, Ghost found himself in Price’s office, a suggestion falling from his lips that he needed some help with organizing. And with a nod and a grunt – the greatest level of acceptance he was ever going to get out of Price – he received a promise that Price would help.

And the days went by, that subtle spark that was always inside Soap continuing to remain dim, his disappointment hurting Ghost because he knew he couldn’t do anything to fix it. As Christmas day slowly approached, Ghost began to worry a bit more that his plan wouldn’t come in on time.

But then, Christmas Eve, 11:30pm.

A knock on the door jolted both of their heads up from where they sat on their separate beds, Soap looking up from his drawing and Ghost looking up from his book.

“MacTavish,” a muffled voice called out from behind the door. “You have a package.”

Furrowed brows glanced over at Ghost in surprise before flicking back to the door. He put his notebook down and walked over to it, Ghost following a few steps behind. When he opened the door, his eyes were pulled downwards.

Sitting in front of them was a cardboard box, 2 feet long, 1 foot wide and tall. It was hastily wrapped with packing tape on both ends, looking as though it had just come from a warehouse. On top of that box was another smaller one, half the size, this one decorated in striped Christmas wrapping paper.

Incredulous eyes glanced at Ghost again to try and find an answer. Ghost simply gestured towards the packages.

Soap pulled the boxes inside and closed the door.

He took out his pocketknife and expertly slid the blade across the tape to break the seal. He flipped open the top and reached into the dark box.

The branches flopped open as he pulled it from the box, expanding as if taking a breath. Faint shock rippled across Soap’s face as he glanced down at what he was holding.

A small Christmas tree only two feet tall, the synthetic pine needles dense, and a bright red base attached to the bottom.

“Uhh…” Soap breathed out as he put the tree on the table. He then turned his attention to the smaller wrapped box.

He carefully tore the wrapping paper off to reveal a standard sized postal box. Soap untucked the tab and opened up the lid. On the very top was a handwritten note, the bright green crinkle cut packing paper surrounding it in all directions.

Soap picked up the note.

“This…” he said quietly, “this is my Ma’s writing…”

He began to read the note out loud.

Hi love,

Ma here, hoping you have a Merry Christmas. We were all looking forward to seeing you, the kids especially. I know you can’t be with us this year and I know how disappointed you were, but we all understand that your job means you have more people that rely on you than just us. And that’s okay.

We’ll miss you dearly, but I hope wherever you are, you can still have a MacTavish Christmas. On Christmas morning, we will decorate the tree in your absence and I hope you get to do the same too.

Come visit when you can. I’ll be waiting to spoil you rotten with my cooking. I love you, mo chridhe.

“P.S., thank Simon for the idea-”

Soap whipped his head up to look at Ghost, his eyes quickly then glancing into the box which was stacked with ornaments. His mouth dropped open a sliver.

“These…” he said incredulously, picking one up, “these are mine. From back home. These are some of the one’s my Ma has. You…”

Soap’s eyes softened as he glanced at Ghost.

Ghost’s smile was warm but reserved. He picked up one of the ornaments, an old looking reindeer made from construction paper, googly eyes, and pipe cleaners.

“You said it was tradition that the MacTavish’s decorate their tree on Christmas day,” he replied tenderly, hanging the reindeer onto one of the branches. “I wanted you to still be a part of it this year. I know it’s technically Christmas Eve, but…”

Soap’s expression had melted into grateful disbelief, touched beyond belief at Ghost’s words. His eyes shimmered as he stared up at Ghost softly.

“Now c’mon,” Ghost said quietly. “Let me see what embarrassing family ornaments you have in here.”

Soap continued looking at Ghost for a few more moments, the weight of all his attention like a warm blanket wrapped around Ghost’s shoulders. Then, he smiled, Ghost’s life being ignited with that spark yet again.

Soap reached into the box and pulled another ornament out, smiling down at it sentimentally before slipping the ribbon around one of the branches to hang it on the tree. They slowly decorated the tree, Ghost barely paying attention to what the ornaments were. No, he was focused on the way Soap’s eyes lit up upon recognizing them, sometimes laughing, sometimes crinkling his eyes happily, something cringing.

“This one,” Soap said, holding up a small picture in a golden-rimmed frame with a young boy inside. He had a round face, crooked teeth, and the same familiar blue eyes. “This one was made in after school daycare. But as a kid I didn’t realize my Ma gave them the photo herself. But she still acted so shocked and thrilled to receive it from wee John.”

“Oh, and this one!” Soap held up a snowman wearing a t-shirt with the Greek flag on it.  “I got this one on a family trip to Greece.”

Soap’s eyes suddenly faltered in reminiscence. He picked up a ceramic dog, the golden retriever peeking its head out of a wreath, the name Baxter on top with the year 2015 on its collar. “This was my childhood dog. He was the best…”

Soap then widened his eyes as he reached into the box again. He pulled out a giraffe wearing a Santa hat made up of a bunch of thin, cylindrical beads that stood on top of a blue base.

“Ghost,” Soap said seriously, holding it out in between them. “I need you to shoot this giraffe.”

Ghost’s air pistol immediately became unsheathed and he levelled it at the giraffe, the muzzle hovering just a few inches away.

“Goodbye old friend…” Ghost lamented before pulling the trigger. His hand jolted up slightly at the recoil as the bullet was fired.

Soap pressed his thumbs into the base from underneath, causing the taut string that the beads sat on to suddenly go slack.

“Gah!” Soap let out, mimicking the sound of getting hit as the giraffe instantly flopped over. After a second, he let go of the button and the giraffe bounced back up, resurrected once again. He pressed the button several times, watching it flop over and over.

Soap giggled. It was so stupid, but Ghost succumbed to Soap’s joy and also found himself laughing at the floppy giraffe, the feeling light and freeing.

With his own smile plastered onto his face, he listened as Soap recounted some of the ornament’s stories. Or they simply laughed at the wonky one’s clearly made by a dumb child. Glittery pinecones, felt mittens, marker drawings on sheets of wood, one with Santa’s bare ass entirely on display, fancier snowflakes and bobbles.

And before he knew it, Ghost’s watched beeped twice, something it did at midnight every night. The tree was crowded with ornaments, some of the branches teetering under the weight. Soap looked down at Ghost’s watch, also familiar with what that beep meant.

Ghost leaned over to peer into the box, it now just a mess of crinkled paper. But peeking out from underneath the stuffing was something shining, yellow. Ghost reached in and pulled it out, shaking away the loose paper.

It was a star tree topper, its miniature size perfect to fit onto their miniature tree. Ghost stuck the curling base onto the top of the tree. It slanted slightly and he adjusted it with a finger nudge to sit up straight. Once he was sure it wouldn’t fall over, he turned back to Soap.

Soap was watching him with indescribable tenderness, an inkling of a smile lingering warmly on his face.

“There’s another MacTavish tradition I haven’t told you about…” he said softly, his voice low and quiet, his words just for the two of them.

“Yeah?” Ghost asked. “What’s that?”

Soap stepped closer, enough to send Ghost’s heart leaping into his throat. He was so close, all he had to do was reach out, he could pull Soap in by the waist, press them together.

Soap’s eyes flickered down to Ghost’s lips.

“The person who puts the star on gets a kiss…”

Then without hesitation, he leaned in, inching up slightly on his toes and pressing their lips together.

As soon as those lips were on him, Ghost’s mind blanked, whisking him away from reality until there was nothing else but the two of them. Ghost immediately melted into the kiss, his soul overwhelmed with relief after having suffered with yearning for so long.

Ghost wrapped his arm around Soap’s waist, easily pulling him as if they’d done it a million times before. Soap’s hand reached up and grabbed at Ghost’s shoulders, locking them in place.

It was beyond anything Ghost could have imagined, butterflies exploding in his stomach, and lights dancing behind his eyelids, and softness greater than anything he had felt. He was dizzy for a second as he felt himself reorient. Then, stillness. Every part of himself pointed at Soap.

Their kiss ended far too soon – though Ghost could have taken those lips forever and never gotten tired of them – and Soap gently rest their foreheads together. His hand cupped the side of Ghost’s face, such tenderness single handedly repairing the deep cavern that had torn Ghost’s heart open long ago.

His thumb gingerly rubbed back and forth.

“Merry Christmas, Simon…” he said softly.

Ghost couldn’t hold himself back and he searched desperately for Soap’s lips once again, finding salvation in their warmth. Soap chuckled and wrapped his arms around Ghost’s neck, happily sighing into the kiss as well.

[ssahotchnerr]

I remember reading somewhere that the first time most men get flowers is at their funeral and I think Aaron would have the sweetest, most flustered reaction to receiving flowers from his girl who just read that same fact and he asks why and she’s just like “I wanted you to know what it feels like to get flowers just because!”

AWWWW you're sooo right 🥹💓🥰

i can just see aaron coming home, seeing flowers on the table and at first he's taken slightly aback - his first thought being ??? who got you flowers 🤨 because it wasn't him, does he have competition??? and now he has to go out and get you two bouquets of flowers 😭 LOL. or of course there's the possibility you got them to have in the house.

you heard the sounds of his arrival; you hurry to him, throw your arms around him and give him his usual welcome home kiss 🥰🥰🥰 but after you pull away though, he grabs you again and gives you another - slightly more aggressive than usual because again he thinks another man is trying to gain your attention 😭

after, he tilts his head towards the flowers, still keeping you in his grasp and asks, "what are those from?" you just look at him all sweetly, and a bit flustered from the kiss yourself, tell him "i got them for you🥹"

aaron's sooo adorably confused. his eyebrows crinkle up, a light blush hits his cheeks, a breathless laugh leaves him and just goes what? why?? and you tell him 🥹 you love and appreciate him, he does so much for you and others, so you just wanted to show him your gratitude. PLUS you add in how he always gets you flowers, so you wanted him to know how it feels. and, this won't be the last time he receives them 🥰

THE WAYYYYYYYY his eyes just soften. he's gazing at you soooo lovingly and is all "sweetheart, you didn't need to do that." you press your lips to his again, and state you wanted to 🥹 hehe aaron's a bit lost for words - a tad overwhelmed and in disbelief of how it's possible to love someone so much - god he loves you. aaron smiles gently, kisses you again and thanks you <33333 that he appreciates the gesture and he's incredibly lucky to have someone like you.

LMAO he does share his initial thought of how at first he was like, 🤨 who do i need to have a talk with 😭😭😭😭 and you assure him, you're all entirely his 💖💓💝

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Where Pages Turn

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky sink into a gentle rhythm of an evening filled with warmth, words, and whispers, wrapped in the safety of each other.

Word Count: 1.2k ish

Warnings/Tags: Nothing but Fluff babyyy. Kissing , anddd i think thats its lolll , just a comforting sleepy fic <3

If I missed anything let me know!!

Authors Note: wrote this cutey drabble/oneshot little thing out of pure indulgence HAHA anyways read my first series I started hehe see ya on the next one bbys! 🌷💖

MY MASTERLIST ~ REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN!!

Bucky pushed open the heavy wooden door , his shoulders strained with the hard day’s work. 

His dark hair clung to his forehead slightly curling at the ends , sweat streaking down his temples , smudges of dirt on his jaw and collarbone. 

But you didn’t care. 

The moment he stepped inside , you were already up , your arms around his waist , your lips pressing into his , the taste of salt and fresh air on his skin and lips.

He smiled against your mouth , his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled back.

 “Hiya , doll,” he murmured , low and husky.

“Hey , Buck,” you whispered back , your hands slipping around his neck , feeling the dampness of his shirt under your fingers.

He let out a little laugh , pulling back enough to take you in , his eyes tracing over your sweet face. 

“Sorry I'm so disgusting,” he said,  but you shook your head.

“You’re perfect ,” you replied.

He gave you a quick kiss , a promise of more , then pulled back. 

“Let me wash up. Don’t want to get you all dusty and gross.”

You watched him turn and head to the washroom , his shoulders broad and strong as he disappeared down the hall. 

You exhaled , your cheeks warm from the kiss he had planted and the long day of waiting for him. 

Grabbing your notebook and pen , you settled onto the couch , pulling your favorite blanket around your shoulders. 

Alpine , your precious fluffy white cat , was already curled up against the wall ,  purring as the cool night air drifted in through the cracked window.

The dwindling fire in the fireplace was down to only glowing coals , so you waited , your pen tapping the page as you picked up where you left off in your newest novel.

 The words came slow at first , your mind half on the story and half on Bucky in the shower. Safe and at home.

But soon you were lost in it , the world you were building ; creating , unfolding in your mind , the characters’ voices and lives filling the quiet room, the writing almost writing itself with how quickly it was unfolding as you hastily wrote.

When Bucky reappeared , he was a different man. 

Freshly showered , wearing a soft gray shirt and flannel pajama pants , his hair still damp and pushed back , feet barefoot. 

He moved to the fireplace first , squatting down to poke at the logs with the poker before , adding a few pieces of kindling until the fire flared back to life. 

The orange , yellow glow danced over his face , his expression focused and calm as he tended to the flames.

You watched him , your pen stilling looking up from your notebook. 

“How was the roof?” you asked , your voice soft in the crackling silence.

He turned his head , a slow smile spreading across his face. 

“It was a mess,” he said standing , stretching his muscles. 

“The shingles were falling apart , and there was a hole in the corner where the raccoons got in. Took most of the day to patch it up , but it’s solid and all right now.”

“Raccoons?” you laughed, grabbing hands for him , discarding the writing on your lap..

“Yeah , little menaces ,” he said , chuckling.

“I think they were living up there for ‘bout a year by the damage they were able to do.”

You shook your head ,  grinning. “Well,  at least Steve’s parents will have a safe roof now they know to call the best guy to do it.” you whispered winking.

“Yeah,” he said , leaning back on his heels , satisfied with the fire. 

He brushed his hands together getting off any dust or soot.. 

“Oh—almost forgot,” you said suddenly , pointing towards the front door. “I went to the post office earlier today while you were gone at Stevies , and you got a package.”

His eyes lit up. “Seriously it came?” 

He moved to the door in 3 long strides , finding the box you’d left propped up against the wall. “Is it…?”

“Your nerdy book? Yes ,” you teased.

He shot you a mock glare. 

“Not just any nerdy book doll,” he said , holding it up like it was something sacred.

 “It’s the UK exclusive edition of The Hobbit. I’ve been waiting and saving for months.”

You laughed as he tore into it , the wrapping crumpling in his hands being thrown to the side. 

“God, you’re such a dork.”

He didn’t even look up , already pulling the book free.

 It was bound in green leather , the gold lettering glinting in the firelight. 

His grin was boyish , all teeth and crinkled eyes. “

It’s perfect,” he said, running his hand over the cover and text on the front like it was something alive.

You snuggled deeper into the couch , opening your notebook again. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, Mr. Baggins.”

He shot you a look , his eyes warm. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said , then dropped into the seat next to you. 

He cracked open the book , the pages rustling as he settled into it. 

You could feel the excitement radiating off him , like he was a kid again , discovering something magical.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence , the only sounds filling the home being  the turning of pages , the scratching of your pen ,  Alpine’s soft purr , and the crackle of the fire. 

Outside , the wind rustled the branches of the old oak in the yard , but inside , everything was warm and still.

Time passed in a haze. 

Your pen flew across the page , your story spilling out in words and sentences merging together , each sentence building on the last. 

Every so often , you’d glance up and catch Bucky’s expression , his eyes bright as he devoured the words of Tolkien’s world. 

Eventually after many yawns and fighting your heavy eyes , your hand slowed , the letters on the page blurring as sleep tugged at the edges of your mind. 

Your head drooped , the pen slipping from your fingers. 

The last thing you heard was the gentle sound of Bucky’s voice , low and amused.

“See , Alpine?” he said softly , glancing over at the cat sprawled in the window. “They work too hard.”

You felt his hand on your cheek , the warmth of his palm , as he brushed a lock of hair away from your face. 

Then his arms were around you with ease , ike you weighed nothing at all. 

You sighed, half-awake , your head lolling , resting on his chest.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his lips pressing to your temple.

He carried you down the hall , careful not to wake you and quiet as a mouse ,  he began tucking you under the covers and kissing your forehead before slipping in beside you.

His fingers found your arm and gave comforting soothing strokes up and down rhythmically.

 You drifted off with the scent of him in your hair , and the faint sound of Alpine’s purr echoing in your dreams.

With a kiss to your shoulder and another to your temple , sleep claimed bucky as well pulling the two of you into a perfect sleep , no fear , no worry , just love and your dreams  just like the stories you wrote and the ones 

he read.

-end

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Make You Mine 2

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

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

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

Summary: Your father is strict but his authority is challenged by the boy in town and the man at his door.

Characters: Arvin Russell, Lee Bodecker

Note: dirty old man vs. nasty young man

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The radio blares as you enter the front room, a plate in each hand. You hand one to the sheriff as he smirks and offer the other to your father. He doesn’t look at you as he cups his chin and slumps. You’re not sure he’s even awake. 

“Daddy,” you say. 

He doesn’t answer. You set the dessert on the round table next to his chair. You back up as Bodecker catches your eye. You bite back a frown. 

“I’ll get that rum,” you utter. 

You retreat and hurry off to the kitchen. You find two short liquor glasses and pour the rum. You return to them and place one glass by your father before giving the other to the sheriff. He examines the dark liquor. 

“Fine brand,” he drawls, “and a fine dessert. Hard to enjoy without a fine woman.” His blue eyes flick up to yours. The silver strands in his brown hair glimmer in the lamp light. “Where’s yours, then, baby?” 

“Mine, sir?” You fold your hands and step back. 

“You put all this work in, you should enjoy the fruits of your labour,” he tuts. “Ain’t that right, Jack?” 

You father grumbles as he leans toward the radio. It’s got an arched top, one of the ones back from before the war. Your grandfather’s. You don’t dare touch it. 

“Come on, then, you gotta have a bite,” he puts the drink down and lifts the plate off his lap, “here ya are, girl.” 

He cuts into the pastry with his fork and chisels away a creamy bite. Your purse your lips as he offers it to you. You gulp. 

“Sheriff, that’s for you. Really, dinner was more than enough--” 

“Go on,” he hovers the fork, the cream about to drop. “I’m sharin’, like a gentleman.” 

You nod and push your hands behind you. You ball them up tightly and bend forward. You're overly aware of his gaze as you close your lips around the tines and suck off the cream. You keep your mouth sealed as you pull back. 

You chew thoroughly before you swallow. He chuckles and balances the plate on his thigh. He curls a finger to beckon you down, “come here, baby girl, you got something...” 

You crinkle your brow but obey. Your father garbles senselessly as the commentators call an out. You wince as the sheriff drags his thumb across your lower lip. 

“Made a mess,” he purrs and pushes against the center of your lips. “Best clean it up.” 

He forces his way into your mouth and rubs your tongue, wiping the sweet cream on your tastebuds. He pets your chin before he pulls away. Your saliva glistens on his thumb. He puts it to his mouth and licks. 

“You’re just as sweet, baby girl,” he winks. 

You waver and look at the floor, “sheriff, there’s a real mess in the kitchen. I best clean it up.” 

“You always do what’s best, don’t ya?” He teases. “Go on, then. Be a good girl.” 

His words send chills over you. He's not saying anything wrong but his tone suggests otherwise. That look on his face too. You flit away, your breath constricting from the breath trapped inside. 

You exhale as you enter the kitchen. You focus on cleaning up. You wash the dishes meticulously, hoping to waste the time until the sheriff leaves. 

A sudden crash rings through from the front room. You wring the dishcloth and rush through the door. You’re daddy’s on the floor, his plate and glass around him. The radio continues to buzz. 

Bodecker stands over him, hands on his hips. 

“Told him to slow down,” he clucks. 

“Daddy?” You scamper forward. The sheriff looks at you and lays a hand on your shoulder. 

“Don’t you worry, baby girl. I’ll get him. He just needa sleep this off.” He squeezes and rubs with his thumb, reluctantly letting you go. “You lead the way, huh?” 

He bends and scoops up your daddy. You pout but can’t argue. You wouldn’t be able to move him on your own. You turn and guide the sheriff. You take him to the stairs and up to your father’s room. You open the door but stay outside. You’re not supposed to go in there. 

You watch from the door as he lays your daddy on the mattress. You rub your palms together nervously. He grips his lower back as he steps back. 

“Ah, sittin’ in that cruiser, no good on me,” he grits as he crosses the room. He shuts off the light as he gets to the door. 

“Is he alright?” You ask as he closes you out. 

“Should be,” he brushes his fingertips long your hip. “Don’t you worry. Seems you do too much of it.” 

“Oh... uh,” you step away from him. He looks past you and heads down the hall. 

He stops by your bedroom and spins back to you. You trip to keep from colliding with him. “This yours?” he taps on the door. 

“Um, yes, sheriff.” 

He spreads his hand on the wood, “really?” 

He grabs the handle and twists. You don’t have a chance to stop before he struts inside. You gasp and follow him. 

“Sheriff? What--” 

“I’m just lookin’,” he says as he heads for the bed. “It’s nice. Got a lady’s touch, ain’t it?” 

He admires the shelf clock. Your mom painted it. You teeter on your toes. 

“I guess, but...” 

“I’m gonna need the guest room,” he says. “Ain’t in no state to be drivin’. You got a heavy pour on ya, girl.” He turns and strides up to you. “That rum sure is strong.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry, sheriff--” 

“’Sides,” he stops before you, “should be sure your daddy makes it through the night. He’s a lush.” 

You look away guiltily, “I’ll make up that spare bed.” 

“You do that. I’ll clean up the mess he made.” 

He dips his chin and squeezes past you, so close you feel a tug in your skirt. You wait until you hear him on the stairs before you move. You go to the linen cabinet and take out some new sheets. 

You make up the bed, crawling over it to tug a corner tight. You don’t often have company. A whistle cuts through the air and you quickly back up off the bed, embarrassed at having your bum right up in the air. The sheriff leans in the doorway, grinning. 

“That’s a nice skirt. Fits ya real good,” he purrs. 

“Thank you, sheriff. All done,” you sniff and fix the collar of your blouse. 

“Now, you hear anything, be sure to come get me. It’s a big house, ain’t it?” 

“Yes, sheriff. I will.” You near the door but he doesn’t move. 

“If’n ya scared, you can always bunk with me,” he raises his brows and licks his lips. 

“I’m alright, sheriff. I hope you sleep well.” 

“You too,” he finally moves, just inside the door frame. “Sweet dreams.” 

“Yes, good night, sir,” you scurry out. 

“I know I’ll be havin’ nice dreams,” he slithers. 

🥧

You’re restless. Sleep doesn’t come easy as the winds whistle and the panes shake in the window frames. It’s more than that keeping you awake. 

The sheriff’s just on the other side of that wall. Sleeping, but still there. It was only ever you and your  daddy. Company feels strange. 

You toss and turn. You roll around enough to agitate your bladder. You sigh. You won’t sleep with the urgency pressing. You get up and tiptoe to the door. 

You go into the hall and creep down the bathroom. You close yourself in and flip on the light. The release is not much of a relief. You’re tense and uneasy. You wash your hands quickly and open the door. Your hand pauses before the light switch as a shadow greets you. 

You yipe at the sheriff as he stands in only his white briefs and undershirt. He yawns and scours you with he droopy eyes. His lifts his head and bats away the sleepiness. 

You hug yourself. Your nightgown feels thinner under his gaze. He presses his hand to his chest and hums. 

“Funny runnin’ into ya. Lookin’ mighty scrumptious, ain’t ya?” He drawls. 

You clasp your hands over the neckline of your nightie, “sheriff, I was just--” 

“What was you doin’?” He leans in, his hand on the door frame. “Was you thinkin’ of something fun?” 

“No, sir, just had to... go.” 

“Mm, mm, mm,” he looms over you, “you wasn’t thinkin’ of openin’ my door, was ya? Sneakin’ into the bed, keepin’ warm?” His eyes drift down to your chest and the fabric bristles against your hard nipples, “cold in here.” 

“No, sir, I wouldn’t--” 

“You wouldn’t? Is it ‘cause you such a good girl, hm? You tellin’ me a girl like you ain’t been with no boys?” 

“Sheriff?” You nearly shriek. 

“Well, look ya, baby girl,” he growls and lumbers closer, backing you into the bathroom. “You’re mighty fine. Might fine.” He grabs your hips and pens you in. “Any man’d be lucky to get you.” 

“Sheriff,” you whimper and push against his chest. “Please, I’m tired. I want to go back to bed.” 

“Why? You gonna go hide and touch yourself? Gonna think of me?” 

Is this a nightmare? It’s too distorted not to be. 

“I don’t do that, sir.” 

“You don’t?” 

“N-no, sir, and I don’t want to talk about that--” 

“You should,” he growls. “You should try it least once. Know what ya like.” 

“Please,” your voice quavers. “You’re scarin’ me.” 

“I’m scarin’ ya? How so, baby girl? You know I wouldn’t hurt ya.” He sucks his teeth. “I’d be real gentle.” 

You nearly choke. Silence curdles as you stare at him in horror. You know what he means. He’d be gentle while he—while you-- 

You push him and elbow by him. Horror keeps you moving. You won’t look back. You can’t. He chuckles. 

“Y’ain’t got now humour, you youngins,” he taunts.  

You get to your door as the trickle of his stream hits the toilet water. The door is open, shining into the hallway. He’s so blatant, so unafraid, you can’t help but wonder what you did to encourage him. 

🥧

You spend the rest of the night awake, watching the door. You don’t think Bodecker would let himself in but you also never expected him to corner you like he did. Each time you close your eyes, you see his. That shine in them; that darkness. 

No, he wouldn’t do anything. He was just messing with you. Your daddy always says he has a strange sense of humour. 

You can’t lay in bed all day. Even if you want to hide. After last night, you have to make sure your daddy is okay. 

You make yourself get up and get dressed. You don’t hear the sheriff. You sneak to the bathroom to go through your usual routine then emerge at last, ready but not. 

You go to your daddy’s door and knock. He doesn’t answer. You don’t expect he would. Especially after last night. 

Hinges creak and you lock up. You knock again. You should just go in. 

“Mmph, baby girl, you’re awake?” Bodecker says. 

You turn, pressing your back to the door. “Just checking on daddy.” 

“Such a good girl,” he is unkempt as he emerges. 

Again, he has only his briefs and his undershirt. Now that it’s brighter, you’re agape to notice the tightness in his lower half, the tension of fabric draw over his... part. You keeps your eyes up. A shake of hair juts up and his eyes are puffy with fatigue. 

“I’ll just have a look then go start breakfast,” you say. 

“Now, now, baby girl,” he charges toward you, “you go and start now. I’ll see to the old man.” He drags his knuckles up and down your arm. “I dreamt of you.” 

You blink, “you did?” 

“Sure did, but don’t compare to the real thing. Can’t,” he grins. “You got bacon? I like bacon.” 

“Yes, sheriff,” you gulp and back away. “Thanks uh... for checking him. But, er, he gets real mean in the mornings.” 

“All the better I should deal with him.” 

You sidle away, cautious. You turn at the stares and keep yourself from barreling down. You stop at the bottom to gather your wits. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s playing around. 

You go into the kitchen and get started. Eggs, bacon, bread. You light the stove and a hear a thumping. You pause and listen to the house. You hope your daddy isn’t causing too much trouble for the sheriff. 

That noise comes again. You only realise then it’s not upstairs, it’s the front door. You leave the pan on the burner and go into the entry way. You open the door sheepishly and peek out. It’s that man from the day before. The one that carried your bag. How’d he find you? 

He says your name and smiles. His brown eyes are warm and deep. You blink at him. 

“He-hello,” you murmur. “What, er... Arvin?” 

“You remember. Yeah, I was just passin’ by and I saw the cruiser out front.” 

“Huh? You mean—you need the police?” You ask. 

“No, no, I can take care of myself. I was just... concerned. Thought maybe you were in need of help.” 

“No, um, but... how... how did you know I'd be here?” 

“Yesterday, when I walked ya. I could go until I was sure you were back safe,” he explains. “That’s all. Long as you’re good, I'm good.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

“Who’s that then?” Bodecker asks as he comes down the stairs heavily. 

You wince and back up. You can’t close the door, that would be rude, but you don’t know that you should let the sheriff know that this man followed you home. 

“Sheriff?” Arvin calls through. “That you?” 

Bodecker sighs and comes down. You’re thankful he put his pants on at least. He grabs the door and rips it out of your grasp. You shuffle aside. 

“Russell, whatcha botherin’ her for?” 

“Not bothering, sir,” Arvin grins. “I was just confirming our planes. She’s comin’ with me to the soda shop this afternoon and I was making sure she don’t forget.” 

The sheriff growls. “Is that so?” 

“Sure it is,” Arvin sets his stance. “Gonna get her a cherry soda float. Right?” 

He looks at you. You don’t know what to say or do. If you say no, then you have to explain that you led him back here. Plus you’d have to reject Arvin and he’s been so nice. If you say yes then... then you have to go out with him and you don’t know him very well. 

“Yes,” you eke out. “Yes, I like cherry.” 

“Well, it’s not even eight in the mornin’ so you be off, boy,” Bodecker swings the door shut and faces you. “Where’s that bacon at?” 

[celestialgallaghers]

White Mustang: Wednesday [18+]

this one cost me a new laptop so I hope it was worth it...jk jk this part is my favorite so far and it's part of what sparked this whole idea so i wanted to get it right which is why it took me longer im #sorry.

also thank you for 200 followers!!!!💖

Prelude | Saturday | Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday

Summary: You were younger then, and it was only a crush. Something harmless born in the long hours of a studio summer. But now Noel’s here, newly divorced and quieter then you remember, sharing a house on your family’s holiday. He’s more distant, harder to read, and somehow even more gorgeous with age. Suddenly the feelings you thought had faded are back in full force. But he’s still off limits… isn’t he?

Word count: 6.3k

Wednesday

The next morning, Noel was different. 

Not in a way anyone else would have noticed, but you saw it instantly. He was lighter somehow. Like an invisible weight had slipped from his shoulders. It tugged at something deep and warm in your chest.

You didn’t know how he was going to act today. You barely knew how to act yourself. Now that you’d touched him. Tasted him. Knew what sounds he made when he was falling apart. It made whatever it was between you feel heavier. Potent and impossible to ignore now that you’d stepped over that line.

Your skin itched for him. The ache had settled into you so deeply you didn’t know how you were supposed to sit still and have breakfast across from him like none of it happened.

You wanted to push him more. Test him. See what other kinds of reactions you could pull from him.

But would he let you? 

Would he look at you differently and let those heavy stares linger instead of disguising them? Or would he slip back behind the wall? 

The uncertainty was making you feel entirely out of your depth.

“Sleep well?” you asked casually, keeping your tone light, your eyes fixed down as you nudged a fork through your eggs.

Across the table, Noel’s lips tugged into a crooked smirk that barely surfaced before it slipped away.

“Better than I have in a long time,” he said, voice low and almost private, like it wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone but you.

The words curled warm and tight in your stomach. You could feel yourself softening instantly, helpless against it.

“Oh? And why’s that?” you asked, risking a glance at him from under your lashes. “Sun wear you out, old man?”

He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, the crinkles around his eyes deepening with amusement. 

“Something like that,” he murmured, lifting his tea to his mouth.

You dropped your head quickly, a smile breaking loose before you could stop it. You smothered it against your coffee cup. You prayed it looked casual. 

Across from you, your dad flipped the page of his newspaper, blissfully unaware.

But you were not unaware. You kept your gaze steady and tried hard not to remember the sounds Noel had made last night. The way he’d come hot down your throat. The way his body had shuddered under your touch, surrendering for the first time. The way he’d finally let himself show his need…you wanted more. God, you wanted more. 

And he’d promised it. Promised to make it up to you. Whatever that meant, it was already burning a hole through you just waiting for it.

You set your utensils down a touch too neatly and rose from your chair. “Thinking of heading back down to the beach today. Anyone have plans?”

Your dad folded up the newspaper, setting it aside with a shrug. “Not really. Might go for a walk later on.”

Noel leaned back, his chair creaking as he pushed away from the table. “Dunno yet.”

You shrugged one shoulder, aiming for nonchalance. "Join me if you want."

His lips curled. The barest flicker of a smile sparked in his eyes more than on his mouth. “Sure.”

He stood, stretching his arms above his head with a slow yawn. Your gaze flickered before you could stop it, drawn to the thin strip of skin revealed just above his waistband. The faint line of hair disappearing lower…

Heat flared across your cheeks and your mind betrayed you, feeding vivid, uninvited memories of exactly what followed that trail. You could almost feel the weight of him on your tongue again, your throat tightening at the phantom sensation. You turned away quickly, before your blush gave you away.

Noel stepped beside you to help clear the dishes. You moved together in an easy rhythm, elbows brushing as you reached past each other. To anyone else, it would’ve seemed casual. But every graze made your skin tingle.

You wanted to touch him properly. To hook your ankles behind his back and feel him sink deep inside you. To bury your face in the warm curve of his neck and breathe him in. 

But not here. Not with your dad still at the table.

You swallowed it down hard, masking it under a neutral expression. Still, you let your fingertips linger just a fraction longer every time they brushed his.

And the quiet thrill that bloomed in your chest when he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, made you giddy.

You really had gotten through to him last night. He was letting himself touch you. Wasn’t pulling back. Wasn’t hiding it anymore. No hesitation. No second guessing. It was everything you’d hoped for and more.

Neither of you worked quickly. You dragged out the motions under the thin excuse of being thorough, prolonging the chance to stay near him.

His knuckles grazed the small of your back as he set a glass aside and your stomach dropped sharply. It was ridiculous how something so small could affect you so much.

You heard the scrape of your dad’s chair, his muttered words about getting ready, and then his footsteps faded down the hall.

The second he was gone, Noel leaned in. Close enough that his breath stirred the hair at your temple, warm against your skin.

“You have no idea what I want to do to you right now,” he murmured, voice barely audible.

The words landed like a punch low in your gut. Heat was unfurling in a hot, spiraling rush deep inside you.

You hadn’t expected him to say it aloud. Not like that. Not so blunt and raw. Quiet confessions like that…it sent your mind reeling.

Fuck he really wanted you then. And not in the distant, guarded way he had before. The realization was you making you lightheaded.

You didn’t even get the chance to answer. Footsteps echoed from the hall again and you forced yourself into motion, hurriedly rinsing the last dish with trembling hands. 

When you risked a glance at Noel, his eyes were locked on yours. The corner of his mouth was tipped up. Like he could see straight through you and knew exactly how hard you were trying to hide the want in your eyes. 

Emily’s voice broke the charged quiet as she bounded into the kitchen, bright and unaware. 

You cleared your throat fast, snapping the mask back into place.

“Morning,” you greeted, voice mercifully steady. “You up for the beach later?”

She grinned. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “Alright, I’m just about to get ready to head down. Noel, you coming?”

His gaze didn’t leave yours. Slowly, that private smile spread across his lips.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

You changed quickly, slipping into a soft blue bikini and pulling a light cover-up on. When you returned to the kitchen, Noel was leaning against the counter, reading something from his phone. 

You watched him for a minute. Everything between you felt sharper now. More electric. The air seemed to hum with it. 

There was no more pretending. No more wondering. The ground had shifted under your feet and now neither of you could ignore it. You both knew exactly how far this had gone. Exactly what you wanted.

Even though his sunglasses were already perched low on his face, you felt the flick of his gaze skimming over you. “Ready?”

“Yup, let’s go,” Emily chimed, coming up behind you and looping her arm through yours. You let her pull you outside, but you could feel it. Noel’s stare was burning heavy on your back as you walked ahead.

The beach was quiet this morning. You laid out a towel, smoothing it over the sand. Emily dropped onto your left. Noel settled on your right.

Slowly, you slipped the cover-up over your head and tossed it aside. The instant the fabric left your skin, you felt the full weight of Noel’s gaze dragging over you. Your skin burned everywhere his eyes touched.

This time, you didn’t shy away. You met it head on. Let him look. Let him know you felt it.

You bent to rummage through your bag, feeling around for a bottle of sunscreen. As you did, your chest shifted forward, breasts spilling over the curve of your bikini top. You kept your eyes steady on him, right over the top of your sunglasses. 

You caught the way his throat bobbed. His breath drew in shallow, nostrils flaring for the smallest second.

Heat licked up your spine. You had him now. You could be bolder. Ruthless.

You squeezed a slow line of sunscreen into your palm and smoothed it over your skin with more care than necessary. Your hands glided over the slope of your collarbones, the tops of your arms, moving deliberately slow.

You turned to Emily, handing her the bottle. "Would you mind getting my back?"

“Sure!” she chirped, still oblivious.

As she worked the lotion over your shoulder blades, you faced Noel fully and tilted your chest slightly toward him. The smirk tugging at your lips was devious. Meant for him alone.

Finally, you eased back onto your towel, stretching out languidly before settling back, book in hand.

You didn’t even pretend to read at first. You just soaked in the thrill of his full attention, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Each glance he cast was heavier than the last. Like he was trying to speak all the things he couldn't say aloud with just his eyes.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of your mouth when you caught the subtle shift of his hips. The way he had to roll onto his stomach for his own self preservation. 

A fresh wave of heat bloomed low in your belly. A dull throb pulsed between your thighs, sharp and insistent. You shifted slightly on the towel, already slick with arousal. Your bikini was light enough to betray you it if you weren’t careful. Somehow, that only made you burn hotter.

You sat up under the guise of rummaging through your bag again, parting your knees just enough to catch his eye. And catch it you did. His inhale was quiet, but sharp. Unmistakable.

The way his eyes dragged between your thighs set your skin aflame all over again. You swallowed and eased back down, crossing your ankles, squeezing your thighs together with a small roll of your hips.

Noel cleared his throat roughly. You smiled into your book. Triumphant even as you trembled slightly underneath it.

Eventually, the heat of the sun grew too much and you and Emily headed down to the water. The cool waves were a relief against your flushed skin. You tried to let them wash away the film of filth clinging to your brain, but it was no use. 

Even far away on the shore, you were acutely aware of Noel in your peripheral vision. 

On your way back to your towel, you passed him. As you did, you let a trail of cold water drip from your fingertips onto his back and shoulders.

A sharp gasp escaped him as the drops hit his bare skin.

You watched, biting your lip, as he shivered slightly, muscles tensing under the sudden chill. But it wasn’t just the water that rattled him. It was you. His stare was equal parts murderous and ravenous. Like he’d just about had enough of your teasing.

You loved it. 

You stretched back out under the sun, letting your skin dry slowly. Conversation drifted lazily between the three of you. Dinner plans. Possible restaurants. Menial bullshit. It helped keep your mind off of your dirty thoughts about the man sitting beside you.

Almost.

By late afternoon, you and Emily packed up and wandered back to the house. Your skin was tight from the sun, but it wasn’t just that. Your entire body still hummed from the unspoken exchange Noel had laced through every glance.

As soon as you reached the house, you slipped away toward the outdoor shower tucked behind it, eager to rinse the salt and sand from your body. The space was small and private, wrapped in sun bleached wooden slats, the flagstone floor warm beneath your bare feet.

You were just finishing up when the door rattled. Before you could react, Noel slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind him, sealing you both inside.

“Noel, what are you—”

He didn’t let you finish. His finger pressed to his lips, eyes dark. The look alone silenced you. Made your stomach flip.

Wordlessly, he stepped behind you and tugged you flush against his chest. His body was searing hot. You could feel the hard line of him through his swim shorts, nestled against the curve of your ass. Your breath faltered helplessly.

One hand slid low, fingertips ghosting over the front of your bikini bottoms. The other splayed wide across your stomach, pinning you tight against him. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and you felt him exhale hard as his fingers pulled the scrap of fabric aside and found you. Still wet and needy for him.

A groan reverberated low in his chest, vibrating into your back. His fingers dragged through you slowly, maddeningly, and a strangled sound tore from your throat.

Noel’s palm clamped over your mouth instantly, smothering it.

“Shhh,” he breathed against your ear. “Told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

You barely managed a nod before he pushed a finger inside, curling it so perfectly you nearly collapsed. Your back arched against him, thighs already trembling. His breathing faltered, hot and unsteady as his nose dragged along the slope of your neck.

He slid another finger in beside the first, stretching you just right, stroking deep and unhurried as you clamped around him. The slick sound of it was swallowed by the patter of the water, but it echoed loud in your ears.

You whimpered behind his hand, your entire body trembling. You’d been so on edge the whole trip that your orgasm was already hurtling toward you. 

His cock pulsed hard behind you as his fingers pressed into that devastating spot over and over again.

Your hips bucked. His grip around you tightened, pulling you back. You could feel him grinding subtly against you, desperate for relief but holding back, the control making you ache even more. 

His thumb brushed over your clit and your knees buckled. You couldn’t stop the breathy moans that spilled from you. He clamped his hand tighter over your mouth. His fingers inside you worked relentlessly now, the pad of his thumb circling until you were shaking. You could feel yourself tightening around his fingers, right on the edge.

Noel’s breath was ragged against your shoulder. He increased the pressure of his thumb and you pressed back hard against him. You could feel his teeth scraping lightly before he bit down hard to stifle his own moan.

It shattered you.

Your orgasm crashed into you fast and brutal, ripping through you. Your body spasmed against him, muscles locking down around his fingers as his arm cinched you tighter. You gasped raggedly into his palm, trembling as he coaxed you through every last wave.

He didn’t stop until the last tremor subsided, until you went limp in his arms. Only then did he slowly ease his fingers out. His free hand steadied you as your legs nearly gave way beneath you. Carefully, he turned you to face him. Your chest heaved, lips parted, still dazed as you watched him bring his slick fingers to his mouth and suck them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. He smirked around his fingers, clearly pleased with himself at how he’d absolutely wrecked you.

You sagged against the cool wooden slats, shivering from the comedown. It took a few moments before you registered the ache blooming in your shoulder. Your fingers rose to brush over the faint indent of his teeth.

“Noel,” you hissed under your breath, somewhere between scandalized and breathless. “I’m gonna have to hide that for the rest of the trip.”

“Whoops.” His voice was unapologetic.

You swatted at his chest, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. You were leaning in, about to kiss him, when—

Your father’s voice rang sharp from outside the shower, footsteps drawing closer.

Your blood ran cold.

“Have you seen Noel? We’re leaving for dinner soon and I can’t find him.”

Panic shot through you. Your eyes snapped wide, meeting Noel’s gaze.

“No!” you called out quickly, forcing your voice to sound even. “Maybe he’s still down at the beach.”

You were both frozen until his footsteps passed and slowly faded away.

Noel exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. That was too fucking close. We’ve gotta be smarter.”

“You mean you have to be smarter,” you hissed, though your voice came out more breathless than stern. “You’re the one who came in here in the first place.”

That’s when your eyes dropped down and caught the unmistakable bulge straining hard against his swim shorts. The outline was obscene. Clear enough so that you could distinctly make out the head of his cock.

You clenched again and your hand moved toward him, desperate to give him the same relief he'd just given you. 

But he caught your wrist in his grip, gently swatting it away with a shake of his head. His jaw was tight. “Not now. You should go before he starts wondering.”

His tone left no room for argument, even as his cock twitched visibly against the thin fabric. You bit your lip, flicking your gaze down, up, down again. You didn’t want to leave. 

“Go,” Noel said with a soft, warning laugh, though his voice was strained. “I’ll take care of it.”

Reluctantly, you turned to slip out but couldn’t help glancing back. Noel stood under the spray, flipping the water handle to cold with a grimace.

You wanted to stay so badly, feel him heavy in your grip again, but knew that he was right. You had to be more careful.

You forced your legs to carry you back into the house, into your room, though they trembled with every step. You could feel him on you. Still. The ghost of his touch sinking deep into you.

Jesus christ his fingers. He was good. Way too good. You already ached for more.

You exhaled a shaky breath and tried to focus on getting ready, though your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

You managed to pull yourself together just in time. By the time you emerged from your room, the sun had sunk low on the horizon. Your skin still thrummed faintly, hypersensitive from the release you’d so badly needed.

Every shift of your dress over your shoulder grazed the spot where Noel had sunk his teeth into you. You’d checked it earlier. It was unmistakably a bite mark. With luck, it’d fade by tomorrow. You prayed it would.

Everyone was gathered in the front hall, relaxed and tinged pink from the sun. Noel appeared last. Freshly showered, hair damp at the ends. He was calm. Effortless as always. 

But you saw through it. The way his expression was just slightly tighter than usual. He was still on edge, his body angry at him for the release he hadn’t taken.

His gaze flicked to you once. Barely a glance. 

It landed like a gut punch. Your core clenched hard at the memory of his fingers buried deep inside you. Goosebumps prickled over your skin. You had to swallow thickly and tear your eyes away.

You all piled into a car and headed into town, winding through narrow roads. You forced your eyes on the landscape outside the window, trying to take a moment to steady yourself.

The restaurant your father had chosen sat at the edge of a cove, tucked beneath a canopy of string lights and fig trees. The air was balmy, waves rolling gently beyond the terrace. It was almost beautiful enough to pull you out of the lust clouding your mind.

This time fate, or something crueler, landed Noel beside you. Both a blessing and a curse. You were hyper aware of him. Every quiet shift. Every slight brush of his arm against yours. Each contact sent sparks through you.

Throughout the meal, the conversation meandered easily—music, the day’s beach antics, plans for the rest of the week—but beneath the table, a second conversation unfolded in silence. 

He was mid-story, voice smooth and low. The others listened, but you didn’t hear a word. You were too focused on the curve of his neck. The clean, intoxicating scent of him. Faint soap layered with something sharper. It was like an aphrodisiac.

His knee knocked into yours. Barely there. He backed off instinctively, but stayed close. Just centimeters away. Like he was daring you to bridge the gap.

You caved instantly, pressing your leg into his. 

Noel’s fingers tapped idly on the stem of his wine glass as he continued talking, but his knee pressed just a touch harder into yours.

It was like the shower had never ended. You could still feel his hand clamped over your mouth, his fingers stroking deep inside you. You shifted in your seat, thighs angling together beneath the table.

His lips twitched. He’d noticed. Of course he had.

And then, so subtly you might’ve imagined it, his tongue flicked out, dragging slowly across his bottom lip. Like he was still savoring the taste of you.

The wine was making your head fuzzy. You had to remind yourself to look away. Not to let your gaze linger too long on the sharp arch of his nose or the open collar of his shirt. Don’t make it obvious. Don’t get caught.

Toward the end of the meal, your father flagged down the waitress for a photo. Noel’s arm slipped easily around the back of your chair. You leaned in without thinking. His body radiated heat. 

After the camera flashed, his fingers ghosted along the nape of your neck. It was barely a touch, but it shot straight down your spine and pooled between your legs

By the time you all climbed back into the car for the ride home, you felt wrung out. Overheated.

The car was quiet with that sleepy, satisfied kind of silence that followed a heavy meal and a long day in the sun. Emily sat beside you, scrolling idly through her phone. Up front, your father and Noel talked lowly. The windows were cracked open, letting the salty breeze curl through the car.

It was one of those rare moments you knew you’d think about long after it passed. 

By the time you arrived back at the house, the sky had deepened into navy, stars starting to emerge. Your father stifled a yawn as he unlocked the door.

“Think I’m calling it a night,” he said through a stretch. “Long day.”

Emily agreed, her words slightly slurred from the wine she’d sipped all evening. “Me too, I’m knackered.”

You nodded, murmuring something about needing sleep as well. But the second their footsteps faded up the stairs, your eyes snapped to Noel’s.

It hit you like a physical thing. All the restrained desire simmering under the surface at dinner was now uncontained. His expression darkened, the facade of calm dropping completely now that you were alone.

Neither of you said a word. You just moved.

Your steps were silent on the cool tile as you crossed through the kitchen and slipped outside onto the patio.

It was still. Warm. The faint sound of the sea drifted up from below.

Noel backed you into a hidden corner and finally, finally, he spoke.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” he said. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth dry. But you held your ground.

“Yeah? What did you expect me to be? Well behaved? Shy?” you whispered back, leaning into his space.

“Maybe.” His gaze flicked over your face. “That’s how I remember you.”

A slow smirk curled at your lips. Your stomach flipped hard at the admission. That part of you lived in his memory.

“Well, I’m not that girl anymore,” you whispered. “But I can be. If you want me to.”

His hand snapped up, fingers curling tight at the back of your neck as he dragged you in, mouth crashing to yours. It was messy, consuming, exactly what you’d craved all damn day. You met him with equal force, nails curling into the front of his shirt as you pressed close.

“Fuck, you’d do anything if I asked, wouldn’t you?” His breath skated hot over your lips, ragged like he already knew the answer.

“In a heartbeat,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you spoke.

A half-laughed breath punched out of him before his mouth slammed back to yours. The heat of it made you shiver. His hand slid to your hip, fingers digging through the thin fabric of your dress as he pinned you to the cool wall of the house. You gasped softly against his lips, the contrast sparking sharp through your nerves.

The kiss broke long enough for him to mutter against your lips, “Can’t stop thinking about earlier…the way you fell apart just from my fingers…god—”

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip, dragging a groan deep from his chest. You fisted his shirt tighter and pulled him closer. He tasted like expensive wine and something singularly his—rich and addictive. You licked into his mouth, chasing every last bit of it.

He finally tore back, resting his forehead to yours, breath unsteady.

“Hasn’t been like this for me in years,” he murmured against your skin. “Feels like I’m twenty-five again.”

You smiled against his lips, fingers threading into his hair. “But you’re not,” you whispered. “Men my age couldn’t make me come that fast. No one could.”

The words tumbled out before you could catch them. Maybe you shouldn’t have said it but it was true. He was twice your age, with twice as much experience. You bet there were things he could do to you you hadn’t even dreamed of. You shivered at the thought.

“You’re still wet, aren’t you?” he asked, reverent, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” you whispered, breath catching.

Noel cursed under his breath, hand sliding down to gather the hem of your dress, skimming maddeningly slow up your thigh. You twitched beneath his touch, aching—

And then a door creaked open inside the house. Footsteps padded softly over tile. Voices carried faintly.

Your body locked up, rigid in an instant. Noel froze too, chest heaving against yours. His head snapped up, hand dropping from your leg, your dress falling swiftly back into place. He exhaled hard through his nose, jaw clenched, visibly reeling himself back in.

You both stood perfectly still, straining to listen.

After a long, tense moment, the footsteps retreated. A door clicked shut.

Noel let out a breath slow and shaky, his forehead dropping back to yours. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” he muttered under his breath. His thumb swept a slow, soothing stroke along your jaw. “Wish we had this place to ourselves.”

You let out a breathless laugh, pulse still hammering. The fact that he wanted you all to himself made your stomach twist.

“Tomorrow,” he rasped, lips brushing yours. His teeth caught your bottom lip gently before letting go. “I’ll make time. I swear it.”

You nodded, thighs clenching involuntarily at the promise laced in his voice.

Reluctantly, he eased back. His eyes dragged down your body with a long, hungry sweep before he exhaled sharply and raked a hand through his hair.

“Get some sleep, yeah?” he murmured. “You’ll need it.” His smirk made your stomach bottom out.

And with that, he slipped quietly back inside, leaving you trembling against the house, body buzzing and mind spinning with everything tomorrow might bring.

2:38 am

It was useless. Sleep wasn’t coming.

You’d tossed and turned for hours, sheets tangled around your legs. Your skin was too warm despite the ocean breeze that slipped through the cracked window. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Noel’s face inches from yours. The trail of his hand up your thigh. The shower…

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to force your mind to think of something, anything, else.

And then—

A soft knock.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You bolted upright as it came again, barely audible, as if whoever stood there was praying not to wake anyone else.

You didn’t need to wonder who it was.

Your feet hit the floor before you could think. You cracked the door open and yanked him inside, your mouth colliding with his, frantic and hungry. Noel kissed you like he’d been starving for it. His hands gripped your waist, hauling you flush against him. His tongue slid deep into your mouth as he walked you backwards toward the bed.

Your legs hit the edge and you tumbled down together, his weight blanketing you. You barely caught your breath before his mouth claimed yours again, urgent and bruising.

“Tried to sleep. Couldn't,” he muttered between kisses.

You let out a shaky breath. “Me either.”

Then his mouth crashed into yours again, so deep you forgot how to breathe at all.

He ground his hips against you and you gasped sharply, the thick press of him against your thigh making your pulse stutter wildly. Your head tipped back and his lips instantly dragged down your throat, biting and mouthing at your skin. His hands roamed hungrily, sliding beneath your shirt to trace over the soft curves of your stomach and ribs.

There was something different in him tonight. His touch was bolder. Last night had been about breaking down his walls. Getting used to your touch. But now that he’d allowed himself to feel, he wasn’t holding back.

He shoved your shirt higher, mouth dragging lower until his lips closed around your nipple. You gasped, arching into the wet, hot pull of his tongue. His other hand pinched at your opposite nipple, sending sharp sparks racing across your skin until you were a panting mess beneath him.

He pushed one of your knees up toward your chest and ground into you, breath ghosting against your ear.

“Can I?”

Your body shivered, too worked up to speak. You just nodded frantically.

He kissed you once more before pulling back to drag his shirt off, and you hastily kicked off your bottoms. Your breath caught in your throat, hardly able to believe this was about to happen.

He returned to your mouth, slower this time, as his hand slid lower. His fingers slipped easily through your slick folds and he hissed under his breath.

“Jesus christ…”

You reached for his sweats, but he gently batted your hand aside, shoving them down just enough to free himself. The thick, velvety heat of him dragged across you and you whimpered, arms winding tight around his neck.

“I know,” he whispered, calming and coaxing all at once. “Just a second, love.”

He slicked himself up, both with you and his own arousal, then lined himself up and nudged at your entrance. Slowly, he pressed into you, stretching you open inch by inch.

You shivered violently, mouth falling open in a silent moan. God, he was thick. Even as wet as you were, there was a faint burn as he stretched you to take him.

“Fuck… so tight…” His voice cracked, wrecked.

He bottomed out and stilled, chest heaving above you. You felt every inch of him buried deep, the fullness almost overwhelming. You clenched helplessly around him and he choked out a broken noise.

Your arms clung tighter around his neck, breath ragged as you tried to adjust. After a few shaky breaths, you shifted your hips in silent permission.

“Noel,” you gasped, pleading.

He let out a shuddering breath and finally began to move in long, slow strokes that knocked the breath right out of you.

Slowly, the ache blurred into pleasure. And then he angled his hips just right and hit something so perfect inside you that your whole body jolted, a shocked gasp ripping from your throat.

“Yeah?” he ground out.

Instead of answering, you dragged him down into a kiss, need spiking sharp and fast. His grip on your hips tightened and he found his rhythm, thrusts snapping harder. The new angle had you crying out against his mouth, the pleasure deep and shattering.

 “Shh,” Noel breathed. “Gotta be quiet, love.”

You nodded frantically, burying your face against his throat as he drove into you faster. Your orgasm was coiling hot, barreling toward the edge.

He gripped your thigh and pushed it higher against your chest, opening you wider to him. Christ, you could feel him so deep. 

You shuddered, breathy little sounds punching out of you with each thrust as you tried to muffle them against his shoulder.

A choked whine slipped from him when you clenched tighter around him. His hand slid between you and found your clit, circling it tight and fast. Your orgasm hit hard, your entire body arching, muscles locking tight.

Pleasure detonated through you. You shattered around him with a muffled sob, clenching hard and trembling violently as waves of heat rolled through every inch of you.

Noel let out a strangled groan, dropping his head into the pillow beside yours. His hips snapped into you with shallow, frantic thrusts as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pulsing deep inside you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he muffled his throaty moans into the pillow.

Your bodies clung together, slick with sweat, clothes still half on like neither of you had been able to wait. You felt the thick throb of him still pulsing inside you, aftershocks rippling through your own spent body. Neither of you moved. The air between you was heavy and damp, the room thick with the smell of sex.

Finally, he slid out of you and you shivered at the sudden absence of heat. His hand slipped from your thigh, your leg falling lazily to the bed. Your eyes fluttered shut, chest rising and falling hard as you tried to steady your breath.

You were wrecked. Completely undone. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had fucked you like that. With that kind of intent, that kind of certainty. Noel knew a woman’s body and he wielded that knowledge with devastating precision. Your thighs still trembled faintly as you felt the mattress shift beside you.

You blinked your eyes open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Here,” he said quietly, holding out a damp towel.

When you didn’t move, too dazed, he simply leaned in and wiped between your thighs himself. Careful and gentle. The tenderness of it made something sharp twist in your chest. It felt too intimate.

You didn’t know why it got to you like this. You’d done the same for him the night before. But somehow, this felt heavier. Like it meant something you weren’t ready to name.

The mattress dipped again as he lay down beside you, his breathing still rough and unsteady.

You turned to face him, catching his face in the silver wash of moonlight. It made him look younger somehow. Or maybe that was just the softness that came after sex. 

His lips curled in a small, easy smile as he reached out and brushed your hair gently back from your face.

You couldn’t help the shy smile that tugged at your lips in return.

“What was it you said this morning about me being an old man?” he teased, voice hushed and warm.

You let out a breathless laugh. “That they really know how to wear a girl out.”

He broke into a laugh that echoed too loud in the stillness of the house. Quickly, you clamped a hand over his mouth.

When his laughter faded, you pulled your hand back.

“Do you think we were too loud?” you whispered, suddenly anxious.

He smirked lazily. “I think you might’ve been.”

You swatted at his chest, but the grin broke through anyway.

“I’m serious,” you murmured, your heart thudding harder now.

His expression softened, grin easing into something calmer. “Nah. It's late. They’re dead asleep.”

You let out a shaky breath as silence settled between you again, heavier this time. When you glanced back over, you noticed his eyes had drifted shut.

“Oh no you don’t,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder. “You cannot fall asleep in here.”

His lashes fluttered as he cracked one eye open, voice thick and drowsy. “Don’t make me go back to that couch. It’s miserable.”

You huffed a soft laugh, your chest tugging at the sight of him—disheveled, flushed, and reluctant to leave. But you both knew he had to. If Emily or your dad came downstairs and saw him missing from the couch, it’d be over.

With a quiet sigh, Noel finally sat up, tugging his clothes back into place. You almost told him to forget it, to stay, but it was too risky. You stayed quiet, just watching him as he dressed.

Once he’d pulled his shirt over his head, he turned and let his eyes drag slowly down the length of your body one last time. Then he leaned in and kissed you softly. Too soft.

“Night,” he murmured against your lips, a ghost of a smirk playing there, before slipping out into the dark.

You were left sprawled across the bed, skin bare and still faintly trembling. You stared up at the ceiling, breath short and head spinning, completely unable to wrap your mind around the fact that he had just been inside you.

You knew then that no one would ever come close to him. But what the fuck were you supposed to do with that?