#I do think it is solid enough if I explain it right

[princemick]

my whole research is like... fucking me saying stuff and putting sources on it to 'prove' why its true but its unprovable, like gorl I do an art education study not filosophy

[navybrat817]

Just to See You Smile

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your emotions get the better of you at work, and someone just wants you to smile again.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Crying, bit of low self-esteem, fluff, sweetness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not in a great headspace at work (and won't be for the rest of the week), so I wrote this small thing. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It wasn't professional to cry at work. Letting your emotions get the better of you was something to do off the clock. You could usually grin and bear it on the bad days but today was more difficult than usual and you could explain why. Everything just felt heavy, like the weight of the world was pushing you into the ground until it buried you. Until you couldn't breathe. And you didn't make it to the bathroom in time before the tears came. 

At least no one saw you. 

Grabbing a tissue to wipe your face after a few minutes, you studied yourself in the mirror. While you didn't have a full breakdown, it would've been obvious to anyone looking at you that you cried thanks to your puffy eyes. Maybe if you kept your head down and buried yourself in your work for a bit no one would notice. It wasn't like anyone noticed you anyway. No one really talked to you outside of needing help with an issue. 

A reliable teammate, and nothing more. 

With a deep breath, you walked out of the bathroom and told yourself not to cry again until you got home. But you were so busy keeping your head down that you ran straight into a wall. Well, not a wall, but you did hit something solid. Firm. Warm. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” The soft baritone sent tingles down your spine. So did the gentle grip on your arms. “Are you okay?” 

Lifting your gaze, you gasped and stared into a pair of startling blue eyes. Your cheeks warmed under the intense focus. Jesus, you walked right into Bucky Barnes. Crying in the bathroom was bad enough, you had to crash right into a super soldier who smelled like heaven and looked like a god?

“I think so,” you answered, your eyes wide when he stepped back to assess you. For a moment, you pretended he was looking at you and holding you as if you mattered. “Really, I’m fine. It was my fault for running into you, so I’m sorry.”

Your heart nearly ceased to beat when he gave you a small smile. Did he realize how it lit up the blue of his eyes? He didn't smile much when he roamed the halls, but he spared a smile for you. “You’re more than welcome to bump into me.” 

“I… Really?” you asked, your cheeks hot all over again. Bucky knew your name, had repeated it back to you when he introduced himself to you, but he kept to himself when he wasn't on missions. Surely, he didn't want you bumping into him. He was just teasing, being nice. 

But what if he wasn't just being nice?

So many thoughts raced through your mind when his thumbs grazed your skin. “Yeah, really.” 

“Oh.” You giggled, a small sound, and it was nice to think that he was flirting with you.

That feeling didn't last long when his eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure you're okay?” he asked, sweeping his gaze along your face. Had he figured out that you wept not too long ago? “You can tell me if you aren't.”

Your heart turned over at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn't asking just to ask, and it meant more than he knew that he wanted to know. But when you opened your mouth, ready to tell him that it was a rough day, you shut it just as quickly. He didn't need to hear about that. He had more important things to deal with than someone forgettable like you. 

After all, he was a hero and you were… well, you. 

“I just…” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Just what?”

You realized you were holding your breath with him so close and finally exhaled. “I just need to get back to work, Sergeant Barnes. That’s all.” You tried to smile at him, but he could likely see the strain behind it. Though you considered yourself invisible to many, he was too observant not to notice.

He stepped further away and let his hands fall to his sides. While he didn't look convinced by your answer, he respectfully didn't push it. “Call me Bucky,” he whispered.

“Bucky,” you whispered, tasting his name on your tongue.

“And I’m around if you ever want to talk. I don't mind,” he offered, gently brushing past you and making you shiver all over again. 

“Thanks,” you managed to say, turning to gaze after him. You may have checked him out, too, because you couldn't help yourself. Not when he wore those tactical pants so well. “Really, Bucky. Thank you. It means a lot,” you called after him. 

He didn't have to ask how you were doing or offer you anything, but he did. 

He stopped to give you another smile over his shoulder. “You're welcome,” he said. Your knees nearly gave out, but you smiled back before he walked around the corner. 

“What a man…” you whispered, fanning yourself and briefly forgetting that you were at work and that you had a job to do. 

As you straightened up and headed back to your desk, you spotted something that wasn't there before- a candy bar. Your favorite candy bar in fact. Intrigue filled you when you saw the note beside it, but you didn't recognize the handwriting. 

“Something sweet to put your sweet smile back on your face.”

You warmly smiled and hugged the candy bar and note to your chest. All this time you thought you were invisible, but someone cared and paid attention enough to leave a treat for you. The small gesture made a world of difference in your day, like Bucky offering you kindness. You selfishly wanted him to be the one who left the candy bar, too. 

A girl could dream. 

What you didn't realize was that Bucky was right around the corner, his heart racing and smiling to himself as you enjoyed your treat. You tried to blend in with your surroundings, but you stuck out to him in the most wonderful way. You had from the start. 

What you also didn't know was that he spotted your tears when you left your desk minutes ago, nor did you know that he rushed to get your favorite candy bar from the vending machine nearby while you were gone. He wasn't sure what upset you, but the sight of your tears broke his heart. He wished he would've had time to get flowers, but he hoped the small pick me up helped you feel a bit better. 

And maybe tomorrow if luck was on his side he could talk to you, treat you to lunch, and keep that sweet smile on your face. 

Look, I love the idea of Bucky leaving all sorts of treats and trinkets for you because he's awesome like that. Also, please be kind to yourself. You lovelies deserve good things. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Never Been Kissed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.

A.N. - This one is for all my The Prophecy Girlies... also known as the most self indulgent thing I've ever written.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

"Come on," Sam coaxes. "Tell us or take a drink."

You swipe up the shot set before you, downing it without so much as a wince. You cross your arms, keeping your chin defiantly raised as you settle further into the couch, "I'm not telling you anything."

“Boo,” Sam playfully heckles, his drink sloshing in his hand. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. Just tell us.”

“Absolutely not, I already took the damn drink.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, refusing to back down, “Unless it was someone here?”

“Oh my God.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Sam, I did not hook up with anyone in this room.”

“Yes!” Sam teases. “That explains everything! That’s why you drank!”

“Or maybe I just don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’ve been drinking all night. And there’s only one reason you won’t tell us anything - because it’s someone in this very room!”

“Settle down, Sherlock,” Bucky cajoles.

You swipe the glass from Sam's loose grip, “You’re drunk, Sam.”

Sam boops your nose, swiping the glass back, “I’m not the one that’s been drinking for every question.”

“And yet, I'm still not nearly as drunk as you are," you shoot back, setting your drink on the table. You pat Bucky's shoulder, standing up from the couch, "And now, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, children.”

“Come on,” Sam drunkenly whines. “Don’t be a sore loser!”

“I have a debrief first thing, and I’m the only one of you assholes that won’t need to be carried to my room.”

Sam shouts after you, “Boo!”

Not a moment later, you feel a warm hand tap your shoulder, “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh, sure.”

As you walk together, Bucky leans in conspiratorially, “So… now that it’s just us… Who was it?”

You groan, “Not you too.”

“Come on! It’s me! You can tell me!” Bucky cajoles.

“It’s none of your business.”

"I’m not asking for details. I just wanna know."

"You’re pushy when you’ve been drinking that Asgardian stuff, you know that?"

"Come on. It really can't be that bad. I probably don't even know the guy... unless I do?"

You hold his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to just drop it, "Bucky... enough."

"Was it Sam? Steve? Come on, I won't judge you if it was."

"Bucky, stop."

"Come on, just tell me!"

"No! Now drop it!" you snap.

Bucky freezes, his eyes widening, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

You start to storm off, tossing a sharp retort over your shoulder, "Maybe not to you."

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He jogs after you, resting his warm, gentle hand on your forearm to stop you, "Really. You don't have to tell me. I was just being a dick. You’re right, it’s none of my business."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach for yelling at Bucky. "I can't tell you."

His brows furrow, "What?"

This was it. This was when everyone found out your deep, dark, embarrassing secret. You take another deep breath, bracing yourself for Bucky’s laughter and ridicule, "I can't tell you... because it hasn't happened yet."

His worry and confusion only compounds. His neck cranes slightly, almost like he believes his super solider hearing failing him is more plausible than your complete and total inexperience, "What?"

You take another massive breath, your cheeks heating, "I've never - it never happened for me."

“Huh?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

"Wait, wait, but earlier - earlier Natasha asked you about your first time. You said - you said it happened later than people might think."

You couldn’t believe he really wasn’t getting it. It was something you had come to accept about yourself. There was just something fundamentally wrong with you. Something not quite right. Something unloveable - at least in the romantic sense.

Shame heats your face, and you have to clench your fists in some hopeless attempt to keep it together in front of Bucky.

You try to shrug as casually as you can, "It's not technically a lie. Most people don't think someone can make it this long without your first kiss happening."

“Wait, wait.” If he was struggling to understand before, this may have just broken him. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”

You swallow the knot in your throat, hoping the word doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, “No.”

Your shoulders sharply rise with a forced intake of breath as you wait for it. You wait for the litany of platitudes. The halfhearted consolations and excuses.

While you’d never told anyone about this missed rite of passage, you had mistakenly confided in a select few. You never said too much. Never said that you hadn’t ever been kissed. You usually offered something offhanded about not really dating much.

They didn’t need to know just how deep your inexperience ran. It didn’t matter anyway. The response was always the same. Some surface level words of comfort or dismissal.

You could practically hear the words falling from Bucky’s lips.

'It'll happen when you least expect it.'

'You just have to stop looking.'

'Put yourself out there.'

'You should lower your standards.'

'You're not missing out on much.'

The words you know all too well never come.

He chews on his bottom lip, his own mental turmoil as clear as day on his face. He didn’t know what to say and that was clear. He opens his mouth and your brace yourself for impact.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You freeze, a little shocked by his response. “Don’t be.”

“No, no, I was being a dick and pushing you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with. I should understand that better than anyone else here.”

“I just - I don’t really tell people. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” you scoff, a little too defensive. “It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a grown ass woman that’s never been kissed. I’m a grown woman that no one’s ever show the least bit of interest in.”

His hands stop mid air, “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”

He quirks an incredulous brow, “No one’s shown interest?”

“No…”

His entire head twists with disbelief, “No one? Really?”

“I’ve never even been asked on a date before,” you confess.

“What?”

“Will you quit saying that?”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just a little hard to believe.”

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because it’s you! Look at you! Someone must’ve shown interest at some point.”

You try to shrug it off again, desperately hoping that Bucky doesn’t see how much this actually does hurt, “No. It’s always just been me.”

“Not even like a schoolyard crush or something?”

“Well, I had crushes, sure. That doesn’t mean that anyone had them on me.” Bucky’s face remains frozen in that confused, disbelieving grimace for a beat too long after you’ve finished speaking that you feel desperate to paper over the emotional cracks. It’s fine. That’s what you’ve told yourself your entire life, and that’s exactly what you’ll tell him, “Listen, I’m fine with it now. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m content. Maybe romance just isn’t in-“

“Can I kiss you?”

Now, it was your turn to look confused and taken aback, “What?”

“Can I?” he offers again, his eyes flicker to your lips so quickly you can’t be sure you didn’t just imagine it. “Kiss you?”

You immediately begin to backtrack, taking a half step back to put some distance between the two that seems to shrink with every passing moment, “Bucky, you really don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?”

Your eyebrows pull together in disbelief. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His answer is so immediate and reflexive it’s hard not to believe him. “I want to. Please.”

His whispered ‘please’ is your undoing. You nod ever so slightly, your voice nothing but a choked whisper, “I won’t be good at it.”

“I don’t believe that.” At this point, he’s staring at your lips more than anything else. His flesh hand raises to your cheek, softly cupping it. “Just relax.”

Your breathing comes faster as his breath dances across your cheeks, “Bucky…”

“I want you to remember this.” You’re not sure he meant to say that out loud, but the words sent a pleasantly unfamiliar shudder down your spine.

And without another word, his lips gently brush yours. For a long moment, you just stand there, not moving an inch. Until your hand moves of its own accord to rest on his chest. It slowly trails up his shoulder and down to the nape of his neck. Your mouth hesitantly moves against his, slowly becoming more relaxed with each little breathy sound he pulls from you.

It feels like forever and a split second all at once. Especially when he slowly drags his lips away from yours. As he pulls away, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you while it still lingers on his lips.

He rest his head against yours for a long moment. His lips are puffy and glistening under the low light of the Compound hallway, “There. Now, you’ve been kissed.”

AnonymityIsFun MasterlistBucky Barnes Masterlist

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[satoruan]

How their kid breaks their heart  — Jujutsu Kaisean

( cw ) f!reader, fluff, domestic, kinda hurt/comfort but not really hehe just butt hurt husbands, breastfeeding  

featuring. Gojo Satoru, Choso Kamo, Nanami Kento 

authors note. I haven’t written anything in so long I think I forgot how to. Anyway, I love dilfs ❤️ JJK dilfs are my favorite thing ever.

CHOSO KAMO 

Choso’s infant has been screaming for what felt like hours, he has a clean diaper, there aren’t any tags on his clothes that may be bothering him, he’s swaddled tightly, and he refuses to drink the lukewarm bottle Choso made him so that must mean he’s not hungry, right? Choso just wanted to be able to do this himself, take care of his baby, and not depend on you so much but when you step into your bedroom after returning home, he almost starts crying too. “I-I can’t-” He stutters, eyes wide as you make your way into your shade bed. “Hey, hey it’s okay baby.” You whisper as your hand moves to cup the side of his face. You lift his head and kiss him a few times before reaching for your baby. He continues to scream before you give him your breast. He settles down almost instantly. “He hates me.” Choso almost whimpers as he lays his head on your shoulder, the both of you looking down at the little boy. “No, he doesn’t, I promise you he doesn’t.” You say, reaching down to kiss his forehead. “I tried to feed him and he just turned his head and screamed, it felt like he was cursing me.” He grumbles, rubbing at the baby’s swaddled feet. “That’s because he it’s used to the bottle, he’d rather have a boob, rather suck the nipple than the bottle tip.” You explain to your husband. “Well, at least he takes at me in that regard.” “You’re disgusting.” 

GOJO SATORU 

“Daddy look, it’s Uncle ‘Guru!” Your daughter squeals as she grabs a photo from the pile on the floor between your little family. You guys were supposed to be making a scrapbook but Satoru and your daughter weren’t much of a help. “Yes, that is Suguru baby! That’s from when we were back in high school and look mommy’s there too” Satoru smiles at the photo. “Were you and Mommy married?” She asks with a smile on her face. “No, not yet—“ “I’m gonna marry Uncle ‘Guru!” She exclaims, looking at her father with a huge smile on her face as the thought infiltrates her mind. Satoru feels his heart sink into his stomach. This can’t be happening. “He’ll be the bestest husband in the whole world Daddy!” “What about me baby? Wouldn’t you rather marry someone like Daddy?”  He whines trying to take this picture out of her hands. “Nope! I wanna marry Uncle ‘Guru! You’re too stinky.” She side-eyes him before going to sit next to you, picture still in hand. Satoru just stares at her, mouth slightly agape as she smiles down at the old picture. You lean over the scrapbook and pat your husband’s knee. “Well, ‘Toru that’s another one of our daughters that would rather marry Suguru. Better luck next time.”   

NANAMI KENTO 

“Come to Daddy!” “No come to mommy!” You playfully shove at Nanami’s shoulder. Your baby stares at you two from a few feet away with curiosity. You guys were doing that trend that was circling social media, set your baby across the room and see who they crawl to. “Daddy lets you eat some of his solid foods, come to me, sweetheart.” Nanami pats the floor, motioning for your baby to come his way. Your baby starts to crawl slowly, looking at both of you, questioning who he wants to crawl to. “Mommy has an endless supply of food on her right now, Daddy doesn’t have any on him! Come to Mommy!” You tap at the hardwood floors. Your baby seems to make up his mind then and rushes to you. Nanami frowns as you jump up and celebrate. He was certain you he would crawl to him. “Ha! I win you lose! Mommy’s the best!” You laugh and soon enough your son starts to laugh too and even though Nanami is a little hurt he can’t help but smile and join his little family’s celebration. 

[shybluebirdninja]

A Long Road

Summary: Logan, old and insecure, finds comfort in the warmth of his younger girlfriend despite whispers of doubt from others.

(Oldman!Logan Howlett x Younger!Gf-Reader)

Logan’s POV

The coffee shop wasn’t too crowded, but it wasn’t empty, either. Enough people for a few glances to find their way over to us—for the murmurs, the curious looks.

I sat across from her, trying to look comfortable while stirring a cup of black coffee that’d gone cold ages ago. She had some fancy latte with cinnamon sprinkled on top—whatever they do to drinks now—and damn if it didn’t suit her. That sweet, new taste on her lips seemed right. Meanwhile, there I was, sticking to my usual, too set in my ways to try anything else.

But that wasn’t what was getting to me. It was the people. Or maybe it was just me. Seeing the way they looked at her, then looked at me, wondering what the hell she was doing here with a guy like me.

Some guy at a corner table gave me a quick up-and-down glance, as if he thought I wouldn’t notice. The words nearly spilled out, some snap about minding his own business. But she was scanning the pastry menu, her eyes bright, so I bit it back. Didn’t want to wreck her day.

“Babe, you wanna try one of these?” she asked, her finger tracing the list of pastries. There was a glint in her eye, all excitement over something simple—an apple twist or whatever fancy name it had.

I forced a smile, grumbling under my breath. “Eh, coffee’s enough for me, sweetheart.”

She just laughed, nudging her coffee cup forward, insisting. “Come on. Live a little. It’s apple cinnamon. You might like it.”

I rolled my eyes but took a reluctant sip, letting the cinnamon and sugar coat my mouth. It was...fine, but it wasn’t me. I grunted in approval, handing the cup back, catching her watching me like she found it all adorable or something. I tried to act casual, but it only made me feel more... out of place.

Across the room, two people whispered, stealing glances our way. Couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could guess. ‘Serious? Those two? Must be her dad. No way they’re together.’ Their words hung in the air, even if they hadn’t said a damn thing.

“Hey, uh...maybe we should get outta here,” I mumbled, tugging my jacket off the back of my chair, feeling the worn leather under my fingers. This place was starting to feel too damn small.

She looked up, confused but gentle. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just... too many people.” I forced a shrug, standing up and trying to shake off the irritation clawing at me.

We headed out into the cool evening air, her arm brushing against mine as we walked. For a second, it felt good—free, just us. But as soon as we stepped inside the apartment, something in me cracked wide open. I shut the door, staring at the floor. Couldn’t bring myself to look at her, couldn’t explain the feeling clawing its way up my chest.

“What’s wrong, babe?” she asked, her voice soft as she set her keys down, coming closer.

My throat tightened. I couldn’t look her in the eye. “You know, I’m almost two hundred, sweetheart. And I look every year of it.” My voice came out rougher than I wanted, almost a whisper. “People look at us, and they think...”

She reached up, placing her hands on either side of my face, thumbs brushing over the lines and scars. The worn edges, the parts of me that looked like they’d been through hell and back. “Let them think what they want. It’s just noise, Logan.”

I let out a laugh, bitter and hollow. “Noise, huh? Well, that noise gets pretty damn loud sometimes.” My voice broke, my hand coming up to grip her wrist, holding onto her like she was the only solid thing in my world. “I mean, hell...if this is how they act when we’re just dating, what’re they gonna say if I...if I ever asked you to marry me?”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned closer, so damn calm, brushing her lips over my forehead. “Logan, I don’t care what they say. I’m here with you. I chose you.”

Those words broke something in me, something buried so damn deep it hadn’t seen daylight in decades. Before I knew it, my throat tightened, my eyes burning with something I hadn’t felt in years. I closed my eyes, letting her hold me, feeling the steady beat of her heart as I let the tears fall.

After a moment, I pulled back, taking her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing along her cheekbones, rough and calloused.

“I’m gonna mess this up, you know,” I muttered, trying to manage a half-smile, the sarcasm slipping out of habit. “Gonna scare you off with all this old-man crap.”

She smirked, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Then you better hold on to me tight, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere.”

I kissed her, slow, letting myself feel every second, every taste of that damn cinnamon latte still lingering on her lips. Holding her like she was the one damn thing keeping me together.

[pedgito]

ORBIT YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆ CHAPTER TWO: SUN

↝ series masterlist | joel miller masterlist | full masterlist

summary — your relationship with joel only becomes more skewed over the course of your time back at college before summer break, spending most of the time communicating with him through a screen.

author's note — it's here! i don't have much to say other than if you read and enjoyed the first chapter, i'm glad you're back!!

content warning — 18+ MDNI, dbf!joel, virgin!reader, age gap (20s/40s), terms of endearment (kiddo, sweetheart), phone calls, old man!joel trying to figure out technology, video calls, mutual masturbation over facetime, dom!joel, edging, orgasm denial, teasing, some attention seeking behavior, handyman!joel, teasing the shit out of this man

word count — 8k

It took a month for you to cave and call Joel.

You had tried to put on a front, like…really tried.

But, something about him calmed you.

It started with texts.

Joel

Some idiot took a staple gun to his hand.

How’s the astro whatever going?

You

AstroPHYSICS.

Linear Algebra is kicking my ass.

Joel

Damn that sucks.

The wording of it is plain and obviously, monotone, but you know he means it.

He checks in on his own occasionally, not bothering to text back when he sees you’ve read it, only really needing a sign of life, but then boredom strikes and you call him one night.

But, you have a totally legit and valid reason.

There’s no greeting or pause, the moment you hear him pick up, the words spill out.

“So hypothetically, if someone was to…I don’t know, break a handle off from the inside, how fucked are they?” you ask, staring at the broken mechanism in your hand with your towel tucked tight around your body and still dripping wet from your shower.

You can hear a spoon clinking against ceramic on the other end, the beep of a machine in the background, “Depends, are they talkin’ to me right now?”

You glance at the time on your phone, nearing ten o’clock at night, “Are you drinking coffee this late?”

“Yup,” he answers easily, slurping for emphasis, “didja break your doorknob?”

“Yes,” you reply distantly, like you’ve placed your phone away from you.

You had, Joel realizes after a while, hearing some clambering and a curse on the other end.

“Joel, I’m fucking stuck and my roommate isn’t home. I’m going to die in this shitty bathroom and all I have on is a towel, oh god…I think I’m having a panic attack,” you begin to ramble, dropping the broken half of the doorknob in a panic as you reach for your phone and drop to the floor, sinking against the cool wall of the tub.

“Sweetheart, you could always hang up and call the fire department,” Joel offers, “I’m sure they deal with shit like this all the time.

“Joel, I’m practically naked—and it’s embarrassing.”

“Worse is you dyin’ and they find you in just a towel,” Joel offers lightly and you can’t help but laugh at his dry attempt at humoring you despite your worry, “listen, can you fit it back into the hole? Sometimes it’s just because of a loose screw, if you can get the mechanism to connect long enough to turn the lock back, you’ll be alright,”

“How do I do that?” you ask candidly, slowly reaching for the doorknob as you rise to your knees and move toward the door again, carefully placing your phone against the door and putting Joel on speakerphone, “do I just—”

There’s a long silence and Joel hears what he thinks is you working away at making your escape, but it is eventually followed by a yelp and Joel nearly jumps from his seat on his couch like it would do anything.

He’s shouting your name on the other end for a solid minute before you finally answer.

“Christ, kid,” he exclaims, “what’s goin’ on?”

“Oh, my roommate showed up—I’m fine now,” you explain, “door is still definitely broken, though. I’m sorry for botherin’ you, I was freaking out a little,”

“Hey, nothin’ wrong with that,” Joel comforts you, “you gonna be alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you assure him, “uh—goodnight?”

Joel chuckles, slurping loudly at his coffee, “Goodnight.”

After a couple months, those calls turn into more.

You’re working through your term paper when Joel’s name flashes in the corner of your laptop screen.

It was a video call. 

That was strange.

You were barely dressed, a shirt hanging low enough beyond your waist that it covers the underwear and lack of shorts you had on, a blanket draped loosely over your shoulders.

You answered it anyway.

“She ain’t gonna answer, Tommy,” Joel speaks to his brother, presumably out of  frame, “kid’s after a hell of a major at college, she ain’t got time to chat with you like that,”

“Joel,” you interject amusedly, “Hi,”

“There she is!” Tommy has never lacked in warm greetings, his smile showing bright under his thick mustache, clamping his hands over his brother’s shoulders as he leans down and into frame, “Hey, sugar, how’ve you been?”

You subconsciously pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders and lean into frame, “I’m surviving—college sucks, ya know?”

“Uh, I don’t, but, I’ll take your word for it,” Tommy chuckles, “Joel’s over here braggin’ about you bein’ a genius, like we didn’t already know that.”

Joel rolls his eyes, chewing absentmindedly at the tip of his thumb to hide the flash of embarrassment that he had been bragging about you to his brother.

“S’nice seein’ you, kiddo,” Tommy says fondly, “You’ll have to come visit us in the summer, miss havin’ you around. It’s been too long,”

“I’ll try,” you half-promise, eyeing Joel with a creeping suspicion as his head tilts up to look at his brother as he waves at you, suddenly standing and disappearing from frame to walk Tommy out, at least, that was what you assumed.

When he returns, his fingers peek into frame first and his body follows, sinking into the dining room chair with a silent look of apology, “He’s been buggin’ to see ya,” Joel explains away.

“Uh huh,” you reply as you opened up another window on your laptop to begin typing in your notes from an earlier class, “surprised you know how to work that thing,”

“I don’t,” he admits, “Sarah had to walk me through it over the phone before I called you,”

“Old man can’t figure out technology,” you tease, “I’m shocked,”

Your hand presses against your chest with a sneaking smile before you continue to type swiftly, the clacking of the keyboard audible to Joel as he leans forward again, squinting, and you catch him in the corner of your screen, laughing softly.

“You need glasses,” Joel knows it, you know it—still, he waved you off.

“Alright, we’re done here,” he says abruptly, having heard a billion and one lectures about his eyesight, “goodnight, kiddo—m’sorry if I fucked up your studying,”

“All good,” you tell him honestly, “I’ll just go and die of boredom now.”

It was a slippery path to more, neither of you expecting it initially.

Joel was practiced in keeping you at a distance without completely losing you, despite what had transpired on the camping trip a couple months prior, almost like a fever dream when your mind slipped there now.

He’s fit you into his routine—Sarah, Ellie, then you. 

But, of course, you push it as far as he’ll let you.

You

Can I call you? I had a test to study for and I’m falling asleep.

Joel sends a thumbs up, which makes you huff out a weak laugh.

You’re in a similar attire to the last time he called, but the blanket was balled up at the end of your bed and your room was empty for the night—most students were out partying on a Friday night, but you were burying your head in study about Quantum Mechanics. 

Admittedly, Joel had saddled himself for his own source of entertainment for the night—or well, release. The ding of your message had startled him slightly, palm rubbing over his slowly swelling cock as he scrolled through his favorite site, mumbling out a faint “Shit,” as your name appeared and hastily deciding to respond, not much critical thinking on his end.

“You’re my accountability for the night,” you tell him immediately, your face pulling up on the screen of his laptop as he clicks on the green ANSWER button, “alright?”

“Hello to you too,” Joel responds, catching a glimpse of his knee where he’s planted it up on his recliner, his elbow resting into the arm of the chair as he looks at you, face turned down as you flipped through a hefty pile of notes.

“Sorry, hi,” you correct yourself, offering a shy smile that Joel knows wasn’t that shy, “usually my roommate has music blaring and it keeps me awake but it’s too quiet, were you busy?”

Joel clears his throat, his erection not flagging in the slightest—shamefully, it had only gotten worse as he glanced at your breasts that were spilling out of the thin tank top, your bare nipples poking through the fabric and leaving very little to imagination.

“I’ll be alright,” Joel decides on, reaching for the remote to turn on his television, settling into a comfortable silence with you, “what’re you studyin’ tonight?”

“Quantum Mechanics,” you reply simply and Joel’s eyebrows raises in question, not prepared for the spillage of information on that topic, you look up at the exact moment he makes a face and giggle, “I’ll save your ears, don’t worry—so…you were busy?”

“You’re doin’ a lot of talking for someone who should be workin’,” Joel reprimands and the way your body reacts isn’t a surprise at all—maybe this was a bad choice.

“Quiet as a mouse,” you promise, shaking out your drying pen as you scribble it on the paper but it does nothing, without thinking, you stand, snug underwear on full display.

These are brightly colored and nearly see-through, hugging tight at your hips as Joel stares, entranced, at the curve of your ass and how perfectly it sits in frame as you lean around your desk to reach for a new pen, not even realizing what you had done until after sitting back down.

His eyes are wide before he can fix his face, “I—sorry, I’m rarely dressed when I’m in my room. I didn’t even think—” Joel hates how quickly his cock rises to full attention, adjusting himself further down the frame, and he makes a dismissive noise as his face morphs into a scowl, his default setting.

It hadn’t been intentional, but you’ve begun to notice something about Joel.

You spotted it back at camp, the night at the picnic table, and even now. 

His gaze drifts, even without trying. He’s forcing himself to look at your face, the green light shining beside his camera, anywhere but the sight of your tits on his screen, but his self-control was severely lacking around you as of late.

And, you weren’t focusing that well, anyways. 

You fake it, scribbling down some mindless nonsense in place of what should be your notes before you fake your pen drying out again and Joel had started to scroll quietly through his phone when he sees the shift on screen, but instead of turning out of frame you’re standing dead center, leaning over to reach the back of your desk.

He can see a sliver of your stomach where your shirt has raised, thighs pressing into the edge of the desk, where your panties tuck against your inner thighs, the outline of your pussy staring him down through the fuzzy camera lens and Joel jerks so hard at the sight that his camera shakes, biting away the silent laughter that fills your chest as he curses under his breath.

“Sorry, shitty pens,” you excuse lamely, returning to your seat, “what’s keepin’ you busy?”

“Answerin’ emails,” he lies, “tryin’ to get the contract for this next job figured out,”

Because, no, he hadn’t been scrolling through a list of videos to find something to interest him, subconsciously searching for anything that reminded him of you or resembled you, frustrated with how prevalent you had been on his mind since the camping trip but too pathetic to admit it to himself. 

Avoidance was always the easier route.

“Riveting,” you smile kindly and survey him from across the screen, feigning a chill as you turn in your chair to spot the blanket on your bed, but Joel’s words come first.

“You’ve gotta stop gettin’ up, kiddo,” Joel pleads, face turned down but his eyes fixated on you.

You tilt your head and smile devilishly, but instead of getting up, you push your chair back to reach for the blanket—somehow, it was worse for Joel this way.

He watches you curled up in your chair, clearly enjoying that effect you had on him even from miles away, every inch of skin on display save for the few clothes you had on and it brings him back to the tent, flashes of your blissed out expression as you had listened to him so easily, bent yourself to fulfill his fucked up obsession with control over you in that moment.

The difference now is that you had the upper hand, knowing he’d never step out of place on his own, but with enough torture, Joel would inevitably break.

“He invited me out for drinks this weekend,” Joel says suddenly, desperate to distract himself, clicking his phone shut and shifting his gaze to his hands, still placed over his aching cock but unmoving, almost like punishment for viewing you this way.

You shrug the blanket around your shoulders and snap your textbook shut, trading it out for another place out of view, “You haven’t spoken to him since, have you?”

His non-answer is obvious, glazing sideways toward the front of his house in the exact direction of your childhood home and you shake your head with a dismissive smirk.

“You think he’ll take one look at you and know?” you inquire and Joel shifts back to you, eyes narrow slightly, and you add salt to the wound by mimicking him, “Sorry, I’m gonna have to skip out on drinks. I fucked around with your daughter and now I’m feelin’ guilty about it.”

“It ain’t guilt,” Joel argues.

“Isn’t it?” you challenge, “s’all well and good until you gotta face reality, right?”

You sigh deeply and snap the textbook shut, stack your papers neatly before you push them aside, “I interrupted you, didn’t I?” you ask him, glancing up at the picture frame placed behind Joel that showed the glare of the screen, the small rectangle that housed your face in the corner but the browser open and brandished with a popular adult site, slowly, you grin, “How do I compare?”

You’re being coy and it was fraying every nerve that Joel had left with you.

“See,” you begin, “the thing about technology like this—we’re miles away, but somehow it still feels like you’re right here with me,” Joel’s dick twitches at the sound of your voice, watching you lean back in your chair, the blanket falling from your shoulders, “but, it just isn’t enough.”

“We’re not doin’ this again,” Joel forces out, voice gruff and hard.

Still, his hand presses down against his cock to soothe the growing ache.

“Then hang up,” you say dismissively, pulling your straps down your shoulders, his eyes stuck like glue to the screen despite his words, “no?”

Joel shakes his head and you laugh softly at him, nodding in understanding.

“I wish I was there,” you tell him, voice softer, “wish you were here—” your fingers pull at the fabric of your top until your breasts spill out, hands cupping them together and squeezing, “and here,” your eye him, half-lidded, watching the subtle but visible movement of his hand as his laptop had readjusted purely by accident, working himself over with a rough squeeze through his pants.

Joel feels his throat swell, like he’s committing the ultimate sin. 

Seeing you like this is different, vulnerable, baring yourself before him without an ounce of hesitation—only for him, not out of defiance or an itch to prove a point.

You’re needy, wanting, and he can see it in the way your mouth parts with a sharp breath as your fingers drag slowly over your nipples, trading one hand to trail further down your chest and out of frame, “mostly here, though,” he can’t see it, but your hands dip under the fabric of your panties, fingers spreading through the wetness that had gathered there, just from looking at him, knowing the effect you were having on him, “is that where you wanna be?”

Joel nods despite his mind searching for a reason to stall this from happening, palming his cock more noticeably through his sweats, and instead, he blames you, “This is all your fault,” he grits out, but you know he isn’t talking about the depravity at hand, rather the sizable bulge, then he was shifting his hand under the waistband of his pants to grab at his cock, knowing that first touch would seal his fate.

You two were already well-invested in the situation at hand, there was no end in sight.

“Is it?” you ask curiously, gasping as you dip two of your fingers inside of you and curl, squeezing tightly at your breast.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath, hand working vigorously now under the fabric as he leaned adjusted his laptop to the arm of the chair more securely, sweetening the angle as his face strains out of frame but it gives you the perfect view of his heaving chest under his shirt, the thumb of his free hand curling over the waistband of his pants, giving you an enticing view of the trail of hair that led down to the base of his cock, desperate to taste him, “You can’t keep doin’ this to me.”

His gaze is locked onto the screen, pupils blown wide with a mix of desire and desperation as he watches you explore yourself, though all you can catch is the way his mouth hangs open, hastily shoving his shirt up.

“Let me see,” you beg, needy, “fuck—I miss it, miss you.”

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he mutters under his breath, and you can see him shifting in his chair as if contemplating his next move. “You’re pushin’ me.”

Regardless, he listens.

He shifts the material down his legs with a sharp, messy tug until he can kick the clothing away, his cock at center frame and painfully hard, balls drawn tight as he fists his cock swiftly, tugging alongside your breathy moans.

Normally, you’d drag this out and make use of the expensive toys you’ve kept so near and dear, but Joel was beyond worked up, teetering the line of busting his load, and you were impatient.

“Go on,” Joel encourages with a grunt, “since you’ve been teasin’ me all night,”

You reach forwardly quickly and angle your screen down slightly, still keeping yourself in frame but remove your panties, tantalizingly slow as you spread your legs apart, your fingers driving down the center of your folds as you circle your fingers through the copious slick that had grown in such a short amount of time, the glint of it visible even with the shitty laptop camera.

Joel chokes on a breath, dragging his thumb over the head of his cock and around, circling the sensitive tip as he traded glances between you and his throbbing length, "Show me how much you miss this," Joel breathes, his voice straining with every syllable.

Your fingers move expertly, teasing and exploring yourself with a sense of urgency. The heat between your bodies grows palpable, words exchanged through lust-laden breaths alone, your fingers circling over your clit desperately.

His hand works faster, the slick sounds of his arousal mixing with the echo of your moans.

You can see him struggling to keep his eyes on you, but every flick of your fingers sends him closer to the edge. Your body arches away from the chair, the soft glow from your screen highlighting every curve as you give in to the heat that was coiling in your gut, breathing heavily.

“I wish you would just touch me,” you say breathlessly, “— jus’ take care of me like you always have,”

Joel’s hands tighten around himself at the thought of you—how soft you would feel wrapped around him, how perfectly you’d fit with him, “You’re killin’ me,” he grits out, “you’re fuckin’ kill me—”

“You could be here, Joel,” you whimper, voice thick with desire. “I could be there with you. We could take our time…”

“Sweetheart,” it was warning, watching his fist work furiously around his cock, open-mouthed and strung out groans as he rocker his hips up into his grip, “I’m with ya, I’m right here—”

“S’not good enough,” you say truthfully, body shuddering as your orgasm was clawing at the edge of your sanity, “I wanna feel you so bad, want you to–fuck me—”

“C’mon sweetheart,” He groans, “make yourself come while I watch,”

You let out a whimper at his words, feeling the weight of his gaze on you despite only half of his face being visible. You lean back in your chair, spreading your legs wider, giving him a full view of your glistening core as you press two fingers deeper inside alongside your fingers that work over your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Just like that,” he urges, his voice low, “Let me see how much you want it.”

You nod, breathless, feeling the pressure building within you like a coiled spring ready to pop, “Come with me,” you murmur between gasps, the distinct sound of skin sliding against skin echoing through the call, “please…please…”

Joel spills over his fist with a noisy grunt as you come, letting out a muffled cry through your palm as you hand clasps over your mouth, watching his cum spray against his stomach and drip over his fist, his breathing slowing as the moment passes.

He grimaces at the mess and you giggle, easing your shaky legs down to retrieve your underwear, leaning in close to the screen as he adjusts until his face is back in view, your tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you look at him, full seriousness, “I bet you wish I was there to clean up the mess now, huh?”

He shoots you a glare, though his scowl is visibly softer.

He cleans up hastily, watching you organize your things away quietly, collected, like you hadn’t just come apart from the sound of his voice and his leaking cock and Joel has the sense that this was always the plan, like you were always one step ahead of him, even when he wasn’t planning.

“Did you actually need to study?” Joel asks after a beat, “Or am I that gullible?”

“I found that experience…very knowledgeable, actually,” you joke, adjusting your shirt back into place and never amiss to the way Joel eyes your breasts hungrily.

Joel chuckles, the sound deep and throaty, raw, “A hell of a way to kill time on a Friday night,”

You nod knowingly, “Goodnight, I guess?”

Joel snorts out another quiet chuckle and nods, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

–

If only it had remained that easy.

Joel goes radio silent soon after—maybe busy, maybe torn up from the guilt that always seemed to creep back in after talking to you lately, but it worried you.

That, and, Joel listened.

He listened when no one else really did.

When you ace your semester final, there’s no one to tell.

Your father never answered his phone, a voicemail box full that he refused to empty, and a devastatingly lackluster response when you were able to reach him for something. Only when you were in town did his effort feel genuine, but even then, it was sparse.

It was little things—small things that seemed unimportant to others but that you knew Joel would treat as if they were bigger than life, a warm feeling you never felt with anyone but him.

Tommy, too—but with Joel, it was substantially different.

And when you get desperate, you get reckless.

You weren’t sure how he was going to react, but you snapped the picture anyway.

You had your breasts spilling over the edge of the lacy bra, hand resting on your hip as you framed yourself in the mirror, cutting off just at the tip of your hips and the way your finger hooked into the fabric.

It takes you too long, going back and forth over this being a terrible idea or a genius one, momentarily scrolling over your father’s name with worry, knowing that even with his lack of caring, he’d still send a message after a length of time, even if it was one-word. 

Then you scroll to Joel’s name, scrolling through the various back and forth calls that had taken place over the span of a month or two, feeling a sinking in your gut that pulls the courage away.

It doesn’t return until later that night, conflicting thoughts in your head as you lay half awake and scrolling through your phone again that you find the brevity, swiftly scrolling through your contacts with blurry eyes to send the photo before you second guess yourself.

You succumb to sleep quickly after, avoiding the anxiety that creeps into your chest but returns the moment your eyes open, checking your phone with not a notification or response back in sight, half-tempted to drive back to Austin in search of answers.

But, on a whim, you scroll, checking through your messages and finding your father at the top, figuring that it should be Joel, but it wasn’t—then, it dawns on you.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse, quickly opening the message to exactly what you’re suspecting as the realization washes over, the scandalous picture on full display and SENT under your father’s contact name.

You scramble, rising to your knees in bed as you panicked to text Joel a simple 911 and pray that he picked up—fortunately, he does.

You try to stifle the anger that boils to the surface at how easily he answers after radio silence for so long.

“I’m going to ignore that you’ve been ignoring me,” you interject quickly before he can speak, “but please tell me you’re home or at least close to home,”

“I broke my phone a couple weekends ago, I’ve been waiting for the new one to come in,” Joel explains passively, but he hears the panic in your voice, “why—what’s goin’ on?”

“Are you home?” you ask again.

“I’m walkin’ out my front door,” Joel begins, hearing the door click shut.

“I need you to get my dad’s phone,” you explain vaguely.

“Alright,” he sounds unconvinced, answering slowly, “and why is that?”

“I sent him something by accident,” you rush out, heart racing as panic rises in your throat.

“Wait, what? What did you send?” Joel asks, the concern in his voice palpable. 

You can hear him moving quickly down the steps, the sound of his boots hitting the pavement echoing in your ear and you send the photo over without any preamble or explanation, hearing his keys fall to the pavement.

“It was supposed to go to you,” you admit, feeling heat in your cheeks despite the distance between you, already suspecting the frozen look on his face, “I wanted you to answer me.”

“Kiddo, I’ve just been busy,”

“It’s been a month, you said you’ve been trying to get a new phone for a couple weeks,”

“We’re really arguin’ about this right now?” Joel asks, already heading toward your father’s house across the street, hastily coming up with a plan in his head, “You can’t do this shit.”

He leaves you on the phone as he shoves you in his back pocket, coming up with a bullshit excuse as he asks your dad for his phone, hearing how it had been dead all morning and hadn’t had a chance to check his text from you, specifically, hearing the uptick in Joel’s tone as he urges him to hand the phone over.

You can vaguely hear something about Joel needing to add his new number, even though it clearly hadn’t changed at all, your dad reciting his code as Joel attempts to make idle conversation to distract your father, assuming he’d accomplished what he came to do, you hear the brief goodbye and then loud shuffling in your ear.

“....what happened?”

“I took care of it,” Joel tells you, before swiftly switching gears, “do you have classes today?”

“No,” you answer hesitantly, “why?”

“I’ll be there in a couple hours,” You’re not sure why the admission makes you panic.

“Joel—”

“That was real fuckin’ stupid, you know?” Joel starts,

“What? Are you gonna rush down here to punish me over it?” You retort, a tinge of frustration in your tone.

“Is that what you need?” Joel counters.

There’s a heaviness to the silence that neither of you address.

“Just be ready,” Joel says with finality.

–

“I was ignoring you.”

He’d taken you to a diner further into town, wordless upon arrival, his hands tight on the steering wheel. The moment you two receive your food, he speaks, despite how you had been staring him down the entire ride there and while you waited for your meal.

“No shit,” your laugh is hollow, arms crossed over your chest, “you remember how I gave you an out and you still said no?”

The guilt is evident, flashing across his face as he eats, pointing toward your own to urge you to do the same, halfway through the meal he wipes his mouth and continues.

“It was a couple weeks, but I couldn’t stop fuckin’ thinking about it,” not you—it, whatever had been transpiring between you two, “I’m tryin’ to hold a damn meeting over zoom about scheduling and all I can think about is how you sound,”

“Then why ignore me?” you press him, “Why?”

“Because I should care about you the same way I care about my girls,” Joel admits, twisting idly at the watch on his wrist, arms settling against the table, “I do—but you’re not…mine,”

“What does that even mean?” you ask, increasingly irritated.

“I don’t want you thinkin’ you owe any of this to me. You ain’t my daughter and I never tried to be your father, we’ll never be that,” Joel explains and while he had filled a void that was lacking, you could recognize the difference, “but me and you, doin’ all that—I mean look at you, sending that shit to him, even accidentally—”

You weren’t thinking, only acting on desire that wasn’t even fully returned.

It was your turn to sit in silence, looking briefly out the window to the passing cars.

“The other two weeks weren’t that—I dropped it on site during my break and it got ran over, tore it to shreds. I had to replace it. You’re fuckin’ lucky I picked up, saved your ass…”

“So, what was your plan here?” you ask, impatient, “Lecture me? Discipline me?”

“Neither,” Joel decides, throwing a dirtied napkin on his empty plate before he nods to leave, placing a wad of cash onto the table to pay for the ticket.

–

Joel was unsettlingly silent, still tense from the meal you had shared, but he keeps making turns and you’re becoming more and more annoyed as time drags on.

“Don’t think I forgot about your birthday,” Joel quips, turning down a darker road with no street lights, leading to a building shrouded with darkness and surrounded by a thick, metal gate, “I’ve been tryin’ to find the right time to bring you out here, been buildin’ it for the past six months and Ellie thought you’d like it, mighta…brought it up to her,”

It’s giving you emotional whiplash the way he slides back into the comforting man he always has been in your life, physical and mental feelings aside, he’s always been good at it.

The concern is etched on your face as you squint to see through the darkness, wondering how many laws you were breaking as you passed the NO TRESPASSING sign, quickly snapping your head over to look at Joel.

“I’m headin’ the project, ain’t nothin’ for you to worry about,” Joel soothes, “now you ain’t gotta forgive me and you can go back to hatin’ me after this—”

“Easy,” you reply quickly, feeling the car pull to a stop as Joel cuts the engine and removes the keys, “you know—my birthday isn’t for another few weeks, so you’re a little early,”

Nitpicky, but you had nothing else to bite at him with.

Joel grins and beckons you out of the truck, shoving his key into the lock on the gate as you approach close by, snaking under his arm as he raises it to pry the gate apart, following in close behind.

“Lately we’ve been stickin’ to residentials but,” the door opens, hefty and solid metal as Joel urges you inside, “ain’t never built an observatory before, first time for everything ya know?”

Your eyes widen at the sheer size of the inside, the roof expanding high above your head to accommodate the large telescope that sat in the center of the room. The walls were adorned with intricate diagrams of celestial bodies, constellations mapped out with careful precision, and the ambient light was soft but inviting, casting a gentle glow over the room. 

It felt like stepping into a sanctuary dedicated to the stars and space.

“Wow,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, taking in the sight of the observatory with an honest, authentic surprise before you pause, peering at Joel with a slight hint of worry, “—this is…breaking at least a few rules, isn’t it?”

Joel nods admittedly.

You walk around aimlessly, admiring the craftsmanship before your fingers trail along the lens of the telescope, dancing around the question without asking.

“All yours,” Joel tells you.

“Did you like it?” you ask suddenly, squinting to peer through the open slat of the ceiling and into the sky, astounded by the detail it shown, frozen for a stretch of time before Joel makes a noise, something between a huff and laugh, looking back over to find his hands settled against his hips, eyes squinting as if he’s searching his mind for the right answer to your question.

“Don’t lie,” you tell him, “I just…thought that you would like it. I’ve never taken one before, for anyone…”

“Look,” Joel starts, his tone growing serious as he moves closer to you, “I don’t think you need me to answer because you already know—you just wanna hear me say it,”

Damn, he was good.

You turn slowly on your heels to meet his approach, arms crossing tightly over his chest to close himself off to you, but you only step closer.

“Then say it,” you challenge him smugly, watching him swallow quietly under your gaze.

“We’re not—”

“Oh, save it,” you interrupt in a snarky tone, “I know the moment you get home you’re gonna jerk off to it and then try to pretend you’re better than all this,”

“It ain’t that,” Joel says defensively, “when the fuck are you gonna understand that?”

“Pull it up,” you demand him, nodding your chin toward the phone buried in his pocket.

Joel sets his jaw and yanks his phone from his pocket, realizing that his phone was still open to the exact photo you had sent him earlier, eyes lingering on the photo before you press a finger against his chest, “It would kill you, you know, to admit that you might want me,”

You casually lean over to click on the message, promptly deleting it.

“Is that all you’re worried about?” Joel asks, “You’re reckless, you don’t think about the consequences of shit like this? If your daddy had seen that photo—”

“Take me back to my dorm.”

“What?”

“Where do you draw the line, Joel? Is it only the thought of fucking me that repulses you? Oh, but telling me how to get myself off isn’t off the table, letting me jerk you off in the middle of the night and lick up your cum, that’s fine, right?”

His jaw clenches at your words, the tension thick in the air between you two. 

You can see the struggle in his eyes as he fights against the pull towards you, his mind racing with conflicting feelings and thoughts.

“Stop,” he commands, though his voice lacks conviction. 

He takes a step back, but you follow, closing the distance between your bodies. 

“Why?” you ask defiantly, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze, “Why should I stop when you’re clearly thinking about it?”

“This ain’t the place for that,” he mutters, but even as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your lips, and there’s a primal hunger lurking just beneath the surface before he grabs your biceps and hauls you back out and to his truck, opening the passenger side door with a less than gentle manner as you climb inside, closing the door when you’re safely inside before slipping into the driver’s seat, silence settling.

He shifts in his seat, a growl of frustration escaping his lips. “This ain’t a game,” he warns, but his eyes betray him—showing a flicker of interest as they devour you whole, “if you can’t understand that—this, it can’t happen.”

“I think you really underestimate me,” you retort.

“No, I’m fuckin’ terrified of you,” Joel admits suddenly, “and how you’re makin’ me feel.”

Empathy has always been your weakness, but you’re hesitant with him now.

Guarded.

“If you didn’t want this I’d rather you say it instead of draggin’ this along,” you tell him.

Joel's gaze hardens, the tension between you thickening as you challenge him. 

He was caught in your web, and he knew it.

“I want you,” he finally admits, the admission hangs in the air like a charged storm cloud ready to strike lightning down on the cab of his truck.

“Then stop fighting it,” you breathe into him, moving closer now but still keeping a distance, his face melting against your touch as you turn his head to look at you, “I can keep your secrets, Joel.”

He doesn’t answer with words, but he looks at you.

Right at you, eyes stuck on the way your lips part, taking in a shaky breath.

“I’m still wearing it,” you admit, voice raising a subtle octave higher with a sudden nervousness, “if you wanna see?”

Joel’s eyes drag to your chest instinctually, looking around quickly to survey the area.

He knew there wasn’t anything to worry about out here, covered in a thick shadow of darkness save the gentle light of the moon and he nodded, the weakest you’ve ever seen him.

Your heart races as you slowly lift the fabric of your shirt, revealing the delicate lace of the bra beneath. The air thickens with a hunger that washes over Joel’s gaze, his hand slowly drifting to rest against the knee that had shifted over his spread leg

“Fuck,” he breathes, as if he can barely contain himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

It was the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him at this moment that sends a thrill down your spine. You continue to tease, inching the straps of your bra down over your shoulders, as your fingers curl over the lacy cups and pull down.

 “You can have a taste,” you whisper, your breath catching in your throat, “if you’re willing to get over that no-touch rule,” you notice the way his hand has already seemed to bypass it, squeezing at your knee gently before his fingers slowly curl around the side of your waist, pushing and pulling at the same time until your chest is presented to him, his eyes lingering on you for a brief moment before he places kiss at the center of your chest.

The warmth of his lips leave a sting as he trails, each side of your collarbone, your shoulders, down your chest again, the gentle contact sending shivers racing through your body. 

You gasped softly, arching your chest further toward him, craving more and willing him to close the distance. “More,” you urged breathlessly, your hands finding their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer.

Joel’s mouth moved lower, kissing down your torso with a fervor that made your heart race. 

His lips trailed over your abdomen, hot and possessive, as his fingers tugged at the fabric until it folded over, hanging uselessly under your breasts.

He paused for only a moment before lifting his gaze to meet yours again—his eyes dark with desire before you’re moving, quick and sudden as you spread yourself out over his lap, gasping at the feeling of his teeth dragging over your nipple, his tongue swirling around the skin as it hardened in his mouth.

Your back arches in response, thighs pressing tightly against him as you let out a low moan, watching him place gentle, but sloppy kisses as he looked up at you, gauging your response.

Your eyes are heavy, weighted down with pleasure as you sigh, head falling back in response.

“You have me,” you tell him, like a mantra, repeating with every touch of his lips.

Joel wasn’t planning on letting you go.

–

Joel watches you through the tiny screen of your phone as you fiddle with the new doorknob a day later, face contorted in concentration as you twist the screw into the fitted hole, “If this doesn’t work I’m kicking this door down,” you sigh, giving the screw one last tight turn before it clatters to the floor.

“I just walked you through, step by step,” Joel argues, “I’m startin’ to think you just don’t trust my advice…”

“Jury’s still out,” you respond absently, rising to your feet as you wiggle the doorknob to ensure it was secure before closing the door and opening it a few times, feeling satisfied went it doesn’t wobble when you pull, “....alright, you did good,”

Joel snorts tiredly, his camera fuzzy and badly lit as he laid in the dark, glasses hanging from the bridge of his nose as he looked at you through the screen of his phone. 

He listened, clearly. You had nagged him over his terrible eyesight for years.

“You should be paying me for my expertise,” he jokes, a lazy grin creeping onto his face despite the late hour and you smile at his growing openness to flirt with you.

“Is that right?” You ask, slowly lowering yourself onto your bed, “What would you charge for a handyman like you?”

“For you, pro bono,” Joel says softly, rounded out by a yawn.

“I know something you can bone,” it was so bad it made Joel groan in disgusted amusement.

“Go to bed, sweetheart,” He urges, and the words have never sounded sweeter.

–

A couple days later, you’re holding up his work for a much needed opinion.

The dress hugs your figure perfectly, but you’re still undecided.

“I like the green one more,” Joel adds, his backdrop dull and grey, blank aside from the scattered post-its—he was calling you from work, which was new.

“You just said you liked the purple more,” you argue, easily stripping the dress over your head and walking toward the camera topless, his gaze flicking up cautiously out of habit even if he was protected on all sides.

You fit the green, pattern embroidered dress over your body and examine yourself through the screen, not quite sold, and neither is Joel.

“If you say you like the purple one again,” you warn him, “I’m blocking your number.”

“Can’t help it, kiddo,” he shrugs, “M’just feelin’ indecisive.”

Most of your interactions had been held purely over phone calls or video chats lately, desperately awaiting the end of your semester before summer break, attempting to make the best of the situation despite Joel’s still…occasional weariness about your relationship.

He was waiting for the other shoe to drop—knowing that no matter what good he had in his life, something was bound to fuck it up.

“Guess I’ll just go naked,” you decide, pulling the dress off in frustration before tossing it into the pile of clothes at the foot of your bed,

“Say that again,” Joel orders, his actions pausing on the other end as he stares you down.

“I guess I’ll go naked,” you say with emphasis, pushing your phone back slightly to prop against your pillow as your breasts push together by the force of your arms as they press into your mattress.

“Don’t joke like that,” Joel threatens, though his intention is empty. The tension crackles between you, thick and electric, a mixture of anticipation that never fails to send your heart racing.

You smirk, teasing him with a playful shrug as you lay out on your stomach, chin resting against your curled fist,  “What are you gonna do? Drive down here and stop me?” Your tone is light and playful, but Joel isn’t finding it amusing.

“You keep actin’ like a brat—” you’ve never seen him so serious, immediately pulling back on your teasing, “then yeah, I will.”

“Jeez, sorry,” you laugh slightly, “I’ll cool off then.”

“You wouldn’t listen to me even if I begged,” Joel says decisively, “so fuckin’ hardheaded,”

“I can,” you argue playfully, “for you, yeah.”

“Touch yourself,” he orders suddenly, your eyes widening at the command.

But, he waits, not a single ounce of wavering on his end.

“You’re serious?” you ask incredulously, half-laughing.

“Dead serious,” he replies quickly, “I’m not playin’ with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you consider it, the thrill of submission sending a rush of warmth through your body. You adjust your position slightly, arching your back to subtly tease him before slowly slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. 

“Go on,” he encourages, “play with yourself, sweetheart.”

Admittedly, it was too easy.

Having him there, stern gaze stuck on you as your fingers circled your clit with a newfound urgency, free hand fisting into the sheets so hard you think the stitching might rip.

“Keep goin’,” Joel speaks distantly, “look up at me, kiddo,”

You do, embarrassed at how desperate your expression read through the camera, teeth sunk into your bottom lip as your hips rocked against the hurried movement of your fingers.

“Yeah, you close?” Joel asks, watching you stifle a moan into your arm. 

You nod frantically and release a sharp, shaky breath.

“Stop,” he demands suddenly, your body listening so intensely that you don’t even think when your fingers stop moving, they just do.

“What the fuck, Joel?” 

“Hands off ‘til summer,” Joel orders—it wasn’t that far, but enough that you scoff, which Joel takes as an act of defiance and raises an eyebrow in question, “that a problem?”

Shamefully, you shake your head.

“A couple weeks won’t kill you,” Joel assures you, “but if I find out you have…”

“I won’t,” you promise him, meaning it.

“Green, by the way,” Joel adds casually, “I like the green.”

You roll your eyes playfully at that, hearing his muffled but sincere goodbye as you hang up on him, your airy giggle like a melody as it sings through his speaker.

If only he could hold himself to the same damn rule.

-

previous chapter | next chapter

-

divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

[bi-writes]

Do you think MOB's ex would ever come looking for her one day?

mail-order bride

simon opens the door for you, taking your hand as you get out of his truck. you brush off the front of your jeans, smiling as you step around him and onto the sidewalk.

"said an hour or so?" simon mutters, shutting the door behind you. you nod, looking around at the shops.

"yeah, i just need some things, but i also wanna look around. maybe get some books or something...i don't know."

simon shrugs, flipping his hood up over his head. he bends to give you a kiss over the mask, and you thumb at his jaw gently.

"i'll pick ya up 'ere in an hour then," simon murmurs. "call me if ya need somethin', love. and if yer not back 'ere in an hour and ya haven't texted me, i'll come lookin' for ya."

you giggle, "i know, simon. i'll see you."

he smiles under the mask, you can tell by the way it moves and the way his eyes crinkle a little. you lean up and give him another kiss over the mask before making your way down the main road, stepping into a boutique to look for some new clothes. you wave at simon as he passes by, and he salutes you before driving off.

you love spending time in town. you love visiting the shops, getting pastries, having some tea by the bookstore and buying little trinkets from the antique shop. simon likes the cheese shop. they sell some of his favorite french cheese, and they have wonderful wines that they pair with it that you love drinking together for dinner. you pick up a bottle along with some cheeses and bread, and just as you leave the shop, you bump right into a solid back, dropping one of your bags and nearly tripping into the road.

"oh, fucking hell!"

you gasp, clutching the rest of your bags to yourself. the man turns around, glaring at you, and you feel sick.

what the fuck is he doing here?

"oh well...isn't this a wonderful surprise?" he snorts. you pick up your fallen bag and straighten up, stepping back to create distance between you.

"hi..." you clear your throat. "i...i'm meeting someone, i have to go--"

"oh, where are you going?"

he blocks you from stepping around him. you meet his eyes, taking a deep breath. he always liked being able to control every aspect of you, from where you stood to what you did that day. your skittishness...your apprehensiveness...it's ingrained in you from your time with him. it's hard to explain being afraid of someone who never even really touched you, but you left before you thought it could get that far.

"that's really none of your business," you say softly. "excuse me."

he sidesteps again when you do, and this time you frown.

"you..." you glare at him. "...need to get out of my way."

he grins, a humorless laugh coming out of him. you don't like the way he's standing there, and you don't like how calm he is.

"oh, i didn't realize little kitty had grown some claws."

maybe you have. you've started to shed your scared exterior, mostly because there is someone behind you now, someone bound to you, supportive enough to make you more confident, braver, stronger. you stand a little taller, clenching your jaw, and you close the distance, stepping closer, and you cant your chin up so you can look at him hard.

"i don't know what you're doing here," you say lowly, "but you need to get the fuck out of my way, or you're going to have some other problems that you certainly can't handle."

he raises a hand, about to touch the lapel of your jacket. you grip his wrist, holding him there, and you tilt your head to the side.

"and if you touch me, you'll be sorry for it. now step aside, asshole, or i will make it a very hard day for you."

"c'mon," he chuckles. "let's go get a drink. there's a pub just down that way--"

"what part of no, and get out of my way, makes you think i wanna have a drink with you?" you scoff. "are you serious? are you that stupid that you think--"

"you listen here," he snaps, pointing his finger, getting in your face. "it's not my fault that you're--"

you step backwards when a big hand comes around you, snatching his wrist and yanking his finger out of your face. you look to your side to see simon standing there, shuffling in front of you, putting himself between you.

"now, i don't much care for interrupting, but you've got y'r fuckin' finger in my wife's face, and i'd like to know why."

you take a glance at your watch, and you realize it's past the time simon said he would pick you up. you sigh, reaching up and sliding your hand up simon's arm, and he lets go.

"it's fine," you tell him. "he was just on his way out."

he's shaking. stumbling backwards, clutching his wrist, glancing between you two. simon holds his hand out finally, beckoning him.

"your wallet."

"w-what?"

"give me y'r bloody wallet," simon snaps.

"simon--" you try, but he clicks his tongue as he snatches the wallet from him, shuffling an ID card out before reading his name out loud, and his address. simon chuckles darkly, cracking his neck before tossing the wallet at his chest.

"i know y'r name," simon murmurs. "and i know where ya put y'r head at night. where ya piss. where ya change y'r clothes. if i ever see ya talk to my wife again...if i even see ya walk down the same fuckin' road as 'er, i'll come and visit you. and we'll 'ave a chat."

"r-right, i--" he stuffs his wallet into his pocket before leaving, hurrying down the road. he doesn't even look back, doesn't look behind him. when simon turns around, you can tell just by looking into his eyes that he's angry.

he reaches over and takes the shopping bags from you, holding them in his sweaty fists as he nods his head towards his truck down the road.

"let's go," he snaps, and you hurry to follow him, reaching for his bicep. you hold onto it gently, stopping him, tugging him towards you as you block him by stepping in front of him.

"simon," you look up at him. "hey--"

"who was tha'?" he asks.

"a terrible nobody," you say softly. "one that i would rather forget."

"i--"

"thank you," you interrupt him gently. "for standing up for me. thank you...thank you for always believing me. for supporting me. for always showing up when it matters, thank you..."

simon bends, leaning his forehead against yours, and he breathes in shakily.

"your pain is mine," simon mutters. "your...discomfort is my discomfort, your joy is my joy."

you both close your eyes, smiling, and he hums when he feels another kiss, soft, the lightest press against his mouth that he feels ten times stronger than normal.

"i love you, simon," you whisper. you hear the bags drop onto the floor, and then two big hands cup your face, leaning it back, and he stares down at you almost painfully. it feels like you aren't real. he feels like it must be a dream, like this can't be his reality.

"i love you more, baby."

but when simon opens his eyes, you're still there.

[buckysleftbicep]

letters through time (5) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: modern!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: none, a little angst and a ton of fluff to make up for the heartache in the previous chapters!

summary: you find a letter from 1944 hidden in the old brooklyn apartment you moved signed by one james buchanan barnes. you write back, he did too, and somehow, across decades, you both fall in love.

word count: 1.8k

author's note: hi my loves, we have finally made it to the last chapter!! i can’t even begin to express how grateful i am for all the love this series has received. your kind words and sweet comments means the world to me, especially because, truthfully, i never planned on sharing my fics on here! writing was something i turned to when i needed to cope, and to know that people do enjoy what i write means so much more to me than i can explain. i love you guys so much and stay safe out there!

series masterlist

He tasted like rain and everything you’d been aching for.

His hands cradled your face as he kissed you, slowly and gently, like he was rediscovering something he thought he’d lost. And maybe he was. Maybe you both were.

You clung to the lapels of his coat, grounding yourself in the feeling of him—solid, real and warm. Your lips moved in sync with his, tentative at first, then deepening into something filled with quiet desperation and promise.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, the silence between you didn’t stretch awkwardly. It settled, full and alive, charged with all the things you hadn’t been able to say but had always hoped.

He smiled. And your knees nearly gave out. “Hi.”

You huffed a soft, tearful laugh. “Hi.”

Bucky’s eyes, those familiar cerulean eyes that once lived only in your imagination, behind layers of ink and yellowed paper—were softer now. Maybe because they weren’t just gazing out from a photograph. They were looking at you. Seeing you.

“You said you remembered everything,” you whispered, just to hear it again. Just to be sure. “All of it?”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t at first,” he said. “They wiped so much. I felt like I was swimming through fog. But something about your letters… they stuck with me. Even when everything else slipped away.”

His voice faltered, rough with emotion. Your heart ached just hearing it.

“I think it’s because you were the one thing they didn’t account for,” he said. “You weren’t part of my past. You were my future.”

Tears rose again, unbidden and overwhelming.

You took a small step back, just enough to really look at him. The lines on his face. The tiredness in his shoulders. The wear carved into him by time and war and loss. He wasn’t the young man in the photograph anymore—but that didn’t matter. He was still him.

Still Bucky. Still James.

“Can I come in?” he asked gently, his voice nearly a whisper, like he didn’t know if he had the right to ask.

You nodded and stepped aside.

He entered slowly, his eyes scanning the apartment like he was trying to memorize it. When his gaze landed on the cabinet—the one that had given you his first letter—his steps faltered. He reached out, brushing the wood with his fingertips.

Then he turned to you, something tender and aching in his expression.

“You kept them, didn’t you?” You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

Silently, you led him to your bedroom. You knelt and pulled out the box from beside the bed sealed all those months ago like a secret too sacred to discard.

You placed it between you on the edge of the mattress. Bucky reached for it as if it were a relic.

He opened the box carefully, gently. Inside lay the neat stack of letters. The faded daisies he had once given you you had once pressed between pages. The polaroids. The familiar curl of your handwriting wrapped around stories, questions, hopes.

And his.

He picked up one of the earliest notes, reading the words aloud with a disbelieving laugh:

“You sure you’re not pulling my leg, sweetheart? Phones that do everything?”

You smiled as he chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. “God, I really thought you were messing with me.”

He flipped through a few more, his fingertips lingering on each one. Then his hands stilled, eyes landing on the letter you’d written after your visit to the Smithsonian, the one with no explanations, no logic. Just hope.

Please come back to me, James.

He inhaled sharply. Closed his eyes. Swallowed hard.

When he looked at you again, tears shimmered in his lashes.

“I’m sorry it took so long.”

You shook your head, your throat too tight to speak at first. “You came back Bucky. That’s all that matters to me.”

He reached out and took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

The silence between you was heavy, thick with all the things that had been lost and everything that had managed to survive. But it wasn’t painful. It was full. Alive.

Eventually, you migrated to the couch. The storm had dwindled to a whisper outside, you curled into each other like magnets long kept apart, finally drawn back into place. His arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, your legs tucked beside his.

“So,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest, “what happens now?”

Bucky tilted his head, glancing down at you with the same boyish softness you had once only known through paper.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I’d like to find out. With you.”

You smiled. “You mean you don’t have a Stark Industries time machine stashed in your back pocket?”

He snorted. “Nope. Just trauma and charm, doll.”

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his shoulder. He smiled wider, and tightened his arm around you.

And for the first time, in what felt like a hundred lifetimes, it finally felt like home.

The next few weeks were gentle. Bucky didn’t leave.

He stayed in Brooklyn, in the apartment that had once seemed like a strange anomaly in the timeline of your life, but had somehow become the bridge between past and present. Between you and him. Day by day, you came to know the version of James Buchanan Barnes who existed not in ink or memory, but in flesh and blood.

You learned that he was quiet in the mornings, that he liked his coffee strong, nearly burnt, and that he always read the newspaper from front to back like it was a ritual. You teased him for it, joking that he had officially become a grandpa, and he would roll his eyes but smile every time.

He still called you “sweetheart.” But now, he said it softly against your skin, with the warmth of someone who could reach across the bed and kiss your forehead after saying it. And every time, it made something settle in your chest. Something that had been waiting a very long time to rest.

He told you stories.

Some were light—childhood pranks with Steve, the time he tried to sneak out of camp only to be caught by a very unimpressed drill sergeant, his fascination with how different Brooklyn looked now.

Others were dark. Much darker. He told you about waking up in cold HYDRA cells with no idea who he was. About the way his memories had been stolen and stitched back wrong. About the fragments that survived the breaking—faces, smells, sounds. Your name.

“Every time they woke me up,” he said once, voice low and rough like gravel, “even when I didn’t know who I was… I remembered this apartment, that drawer. I didn’t know why. Didn’t know what it meant."

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The ache in your heart was too big for words, too swollen with everything he’d lost and everything you’d both somehow found again.

So you leaned in and kissed him.

Not because it made the pain go away, but because it was the only thing that ever made sense through the ache. Because he was here. Because he remembered.

Because against every odd, you had both survived long enough to find your way back.

And in the quiet that followed, when he rested his forehead against yours and breathed you in like a prayer, you knew that this soft, tentative beginning was worth every letter, every silence, every tear.

You were finally writing the rest of the story together.

Some days, you visited the Smithsonian together.

You stood beside him at the wall that once made you cry. This time, your fingers were laced with his. You watched as he stared at his own photograph, eyes tracing the younger version of himself frozen behind glass. There was a tender stillness in the way he looked at it, like he was seeing a ghost he had finally made peace with.

Then, just above a whisper, he said, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

You turned to him, eyes stinging, and squeezed his hand tighter.

Later that evening, over the soft creak of floorboards and the smell of dinner lingering in the air, you asked him quietly if he ever wanted to get rid of the letters—if maybe it was too painful to keep them.

He shook his head almost instantly.

“No,” he said, voice steady. “They’re not just letters. They’re the only part of me HYDRA couldn’t take.”

You didn’t press him. Instead, you took the box out together that night. Laid the letters across the table, smoothing them out with careful hands. Then, slowly, page by page, you tucked them into a leather-bound album—a home worthy of their weight.

Every page was a piece of a love story that should have never existed. A story folded in time, hidden between floorboards, sealed in ink and hope.

Every word proof that somehow, impossibly, you and Bucky had found each other again.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

One evening, months later, you found another letter in the drawer.

This time, it wasn’t old.

It was new. Fresh. The envelope was crisp, the ink still slightly smudged, like it hadn’t been folded for long. You blinked in surprise, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for it, heart already thudding.

You opened it slowly, cautiously, like it might disappear if you moved too fast. Your brow furrowed in confusion at first—until you recognised the handwriting. That familiar scrawl, equal parts elegant and hurried. The same ink that had once kept you company across time.

Your lips parted in a quiet gasp, and a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you began to read:

Dear (y/n), I never thought I’d get the chance to say this in person. Never thought the girl on the other side of my letters would be real. But here you are. You once said you didn’t know what you meant to me. That maybe it was just a moment frozen in time. But I need you to know that you’re everything to me. The letters brought me to you. But your heart kept me here. And I plan on staying. Forever yours, James

You laughed through your tears, pressing the page to your chest as you turned toward the doorway. And there he was.

Bucky stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, that same half-smile dancing on his lips, the same one you’d first seen in an old photograph, the one that had lit up your heart before you’d even known what it meant to see him smile for real.

“You’re such a sap,” you whispered, wiping at your cheeks even as your laughter cracked through the tears.

“You love it,” he said, not even bothering to hide the warmth in his voice.

You crossed the room in three steps and threw your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He held you close, solid and warm and real, like he’d never left. Like time had finally settled into something soft enough to hold.

You kissed him then, slow and sure, and you were right.

You did love it. You loved him.

And maybe, somewhere deep down you always had.

a/n: this series will always hold a really special place in my heart, thank you for reading!

taglist: @ndanddnd @darling-eos @alikkatz @creepybake @maryssong23 @mgchaser @hiraethmae @coffeecigsandcommentary @iyskgd @silverdoragon @lori19 @counterstr1ke @cyberxlust @throwmethroughawindow @keira-kaz2y5 @herejustforbuckybarnes @tpwkyarely

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi Shinazugawa falling hard for his polar opposite but is too subborn to confess until he does

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,9k

Synopsis: Sanemi was never the type of guy who falls for something stupid as love. Especially not when it comes to his polar opposite, especially not with such a kind and gentle girl like you... Right?

Warnings: this is pure fluff y'all, reader and Sanemi being innocent babies, a tiny bit enemies to lovers

Thank you soo much for that cute request @blunderland, I just knew I had to write that asap hehe. Let me know what you think <3

There you stand with your stupid perfect face and smile so gentle that you could tame a demon with it. With worried expression, you bend over the little demon girl and inspect her wounds carefully.

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon”, you speak out while caressing her dark hair.

What a poor girl she is. And her brother…Your eyes drift towards the boy with the beat-up face. What he had to endure is truly unfair, too much to bear for a single person. He really lost his whole family apart from that one sister who got turned into a demon.

And now he’s fighting for the demon slayer corps.

“I admire you.”

Tanjiro Kamado’s eyes widen in utter surprise.

“There’s no need to admire me. Actually, I’m the one who’s looking up to you. You’re the first person who didn’t judge my sister because she’s a demon.”

“Demons were once humans too”, you explain briefly while gracefully getting up.

“And I refuse to see them as anything else until they prove the opposite.”

“What kind of fuckery is this, (y/n)?”, an oh so familiar voice barks at you from behind.

Sanemi Shinazugawa really seems like a man with a heart made out of solid ice with his hateful orbs gleaming at Tanjiro and his sister.

“Don’t you think they proved themselves more than enough, Sanemi? If Kagaya-sama agreed on allowing Nezuko Kamado to live and her brother to continue fighting for the demon slayer corps, there is nothing to question for us hashira.”

“Don’t touch that demon brat so casually”, he hisses through gritted teeth while grabbing your wrist tightly.

Your heart skips a beat when his bare skin touches yours. How ridiculous it is that you developed feelings for him. Out of all the other hashira, it was always Sanemi Shinazugawa before everyone else. Those rare moments of tenderness he shows from time to time, the way he worries about his comrades without expressing his true feelings to the world. His closed like a treasure, so gorgeous that you can’t take your eyes off him.

“That isn’t a very nice way to talk to our guests, Sanemi”, you reply softly.

Urgh. He can’t fucking stand you with that scolding expression on your face, how your other hand still rests on top of the head of that demon brat. Why do you have to be so sickening kind to everyone you meet? Why are you even a part of the demon slayer corps with that strange attitude of yours?

“Guests? Are you talking about those intruders? If it was for me, I’d rip both of your heads off without blinking-“

“Sanemi.”

Before he’s able to react any further, he finds his own face framed by your much smaller hands and eyes focused onto his so intensely that he feels his cheeks heat up in an instant.

Why…Why is he suddenly feeling so hot? He should slap your hands away, should show you your place-

“Trust me, I understand your anger. But they are innocent until they prove themselves guilty.”

Those calm eyes who never lose their composure, the eyes he threatened to get lost in countless times already. Why do you have to be so damn gorgeous?

Gorgeous? He furrows his eyebrows, body yanking away from yours instantly. There’s nothing gorgeous about someone like you.

“If you really think that you’re a fool”, he bites back before turning on his heels and storming away.

What the hell was he even thinking? You, gorgeous…Just because your eyes seem to sparkle in the sunlight or the way your hair looks like liquid silk when a ray of light hits it perfectly. Or maybe because of the way your uniform hugs you so well, because of your strength. Or is it the way you look at him?

Sanemi shakes his head vehemently. That’s absolutely ridiculous. You’re the complete opposite of him. How could he ever like you?

“I think Shinazugawa-san likes you, (y/n)!”, Mitsuri babbles out while making her way back with you.

“Really? It definitely didn’t look that way”, you reply with low voice.

Oh, how much you’d hope that someday, the wind hashira actually likes you back. Even though both of you are polar opposites, even though you might never be on same terms. You still somehow managed to fall hard for him.

“Don’t give up hope, (y/n)! I definitely caught the way he looked at you earlier!”

You smile at the girl next to you gently, how she starts analyzing every minor detail of your confrontation earlier on. Mitsuri always swore that there is chemistry between both of you.

“And I’m never wrong when it comes to love, you can trust me (y/n)!”

“You’re a fool for treating (y/n) like trash, Shinazugawa”, Obanai comments dryly while letting his feet dangle from the tree he’s resting on.

“What are you even talking about, huh? It’s none of your business how I’m talking to her anyway.”

“(y/n) truly has a tender and kind soul. What a shame it is you hurt her like that”, Gyomei adds, tears streaming down his face in waterfalls again.

“Are you too dumb to realize she has feelings for you?”, Obanai continues.

You? Feelings for him? He huffs out loud. Absolutely ridiculous, maybe even impossible. Why would someone like you fall for someone like him? Not that he’d care for you like that anyway…

“I don’t give a shit”, Sanemi finally mutters through gritted teeth.

“Shinazugawa, it seems like you have a type”, Gyomei declares all of the sudden.

Something inside Sanemi snaps.

“Are y’all actually too dumb to realize that (y/n)’d never want me? I’m actually so far away from being her type I might be on a whole other planet! It’s like everything I am is exactly what she doesn’t want”, he finally blurts out.

Sanemi’s heavy pants hang in the air while the eyes of Obanai, Giyu and even Gyomei are set on him.

“You should really start working on your self-esteem, Shinazugawa.”

“JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE Y’ALL!”

No, he can’t stand their bullshit anymore. Without listening to another word, Sanemi stomps away in the direction of his estate.

“(y/n) being in love with me? That I don’t laugh, why would I even care about that girl?”, he mumbles under his breath.

-a few days later-

Sanemi swallows heavy, orbs wandering up and down your body. You’re not wearing your usual black uniform and blooming haori. No, you look like a fucking goddess in that kimono and with those flowers braided into your hair.

“Do you think I look like too much?”, you question quietly, your own eyes wandering down your body in distress.

Maybe it was a mistake wearing that kimono for your meeting with Mitsuri. Of course, you knew she’d ask Obanai and Sanemi to accompany you. After all, it’s no secret that she adores the serpent hashira and knows too well about the feelings you hold for Sanemi. But now that you stand in front of him in something apart from your usual uniform, your confidence is blown away by the wind.

“You have to be kidding me. You look gorgeous”, Sanemi blurts out before thinking twice.

Fuck, did he really say that? You definitely think he’s a creep now. Maybe he should get going before it gets uncomfortable-

Your heart skips a beat, cheeks heating up in an instant. Did Sanemi Shinazugawa just call you gorgeous when he’s standing in front of you in that dark green kimono? How is it possible you’re never seen Sanemi in something apart from his usual uniform, that you never went out with each other?

“You look very handsome yourself. Dark green really suits you well”, you reply shyly.

Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same about you? No, that would be absolutely ridiculous, right?

“(y/n), actually there’s something I wanted to say you for quite some time now…” What the hell is he blabbering about? There’s absolutely nothing he has to tell you apart from how fucking annoying you are. You and your gentle voice, you and your captivating smile. You, the polar opposite of him-

“Oh, I actually wanted to tell you something as well!”, you reply a little too fast.

For a moment, you fear your knees might give in. Is this really the time to tell him about your true feelings? “Sometimes you have to be brave, (y/n), especially when it comes to true love! Confess to him!”

Mitsuri is the love hashira. She should know best, right? But what if you’ll make your relationship only worse by making him uncomfortable? What if he doesn’t even like you?

“Sanemi, I…I actually…I-“

“I love you, (y/n)”, Sanemi finally blurts out.

Oh.

There you stand with your opened mouth and blank mind. Did he really just say that? Maybe he didn’t mean it that what. But what if…What if he actually means it?

“You…love me?”, you breathe out.

“I know I’m your polar opposite and that I treated you like shit and I really don’t expect you to actually like me back. I just…wanted to let you know…”, the white-haired man opposite of you mutters while scratching the back of his head.

“But I actually do like you back…”

Sanemi’s eyes dart towards you immediately, his very own cheeks discolored bright pink.

“You…what?”

“I guess I was just never brave enough to let you know since I was sure you hate me…”, you mutter in response.

“Me, hating you?”

All of the sudden, you find his strong arms wrapped around your waist and his face only inches away from yours. You fail to breathe, your whole body refusing to function properly. That force of a man who never really seemed to care about you while your feelings for him were all over the place…He holds you so tight that your wobbly legs don’t have to carry your weight anymore, his usual so distressed orbs now looking down at you so passionately that your heart skips a beat.

“Do I look like I hate you?”, he challenges while pulling you even closer.

You expected a lot of things that could have happened today. Sanemi Shinazugawa declining Mitsuri’s invitation in the first place. Sanemi Shinazugawa keeping his safe distance to you. Sanemi Shinazugawa barking at you for being a blowhard. Sanemi Shinazugawa criticizing each and every little thing you do. But Sanemi Shinazugawa admitting his love for you, Sanemi Shinazugawa holding you tightly in his arms?

Not in a million years.

“I love you too”, you finally speak out.

“I actually did for quite some time. But I always thought you’d never like me back.“

“Well, here I am liking you back, idiot”, Sanemi mutters.

Is that a smile on his face? Why does it suddenly feel like his lips are moving closer? Oh, you thought about kissing that man countless times. Each and every night, you imagined what the privilege of feeling his soft lips pressed against yours might feel like. Is he rough, gentle? Did the wind hashira already share a kiss or two? Out of instinct, you close your eyes, allow yourself to get lost in his arms.

“Look what we have here. Seems like the two of you finally managed to admit your feelings”, Obanai’s dry voice jeers at you from behind.

Your eyes dart open immediately.

“No Iguro-san! You’re interrupting them!”, Mitsuri hisses.

“Are you too dumb to see we’re in the middle of something? Get lost, you fools!”

“I KNEW IT (Y/N)! I KNEW HE LOVED YOU!”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

[pagesfromthevoid]

Honey & Glass | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, not a lot of Bob interaction just yet, Valentina and Walker need their own warnings

Author's Notes: I love him, okay? I'm not even sorry.

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Six Months Before the Void

“Sergeant Barnes, if you would just give me a chance –,”

“A chance to do what, exactly?” Bucky asked, turning to face the young woman who had –for the better part of an hour –been following him through the charity event.

“Help with your campaign!” She explained, throwing her hands in the air. “Sir, you’re an icon. A legend. So it genuinely pains me to say this. But you suck at talking in front of the camera.”

He stared at her for a long moment, considering what she was saying. Okay, sure –he wasn’t great at interviews. But he was polling better than everyone else running against him. That had to mean something, right? He rolled his neck, pushing aside an annoying tingle that had shot up his spine. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued, stepping in front of him, putting her hands up as if she could stop him from leaving. “You’re thinking that you’re polling better than everyone else running against you, and that has to mean something.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “How did –,”

“And it does mean something –but it won’t if you don’t learn how to address the public. The whole ‘man of the people’ schtick gets old fast when it’s less endearing and more ‘is this man actually qualified?’”

He doesn’t have time for this, he decided, shaking his head. Then he reached out to just move her –something he didn’t really like doing, but she was too persistent and kind of annoying, so he needed her to go away.

“I’m not going away!” She exclaimed, ducking away from his touch –as if she anticipated it. “Also don’t manhandle people –sir, do you realize how bad that looks? Like, our mayor does enough of that.”

“How are you doing that?” He demanded, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to the side. Though his grip wasn’t tight –he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Doing what?” 

“Can you read my mind?” He demanded again, glaring down at her.

“I mean…,” she dragged out the phrase, making a ‘maybe’ sort of motion with her hands. “Listen, I told you I knew what you were thinking. But that’s not all I can do –and I can use it to help you.”

“Why on earth would you want to use your superpowers to help me run for Congress?”

“Because I actually think you can do good for Brooklyn,” she insisted, and Bucky swore that she was being genuine. “I am being genuine, sir. I care about my city. And I do think you can do a lot more than most can. But you need a public relations specialist and I am really good at my job. Theoretically, at least.”

“Theoretically?” He asked, frowning deeply.

“I mean, you would be my first client because I finished my Master’s like right before the Blip then disappeared technically, but I know I can be really good at my job if you just give me a chance. Please. I’ll even do it for free!”

“I’m not –you’re not doing it for free. I’ll pay you –,”

“Yes!” 

Present Day –D.C.

“Any word on our friend?” Bucky asks, glancing at his PR specialist slash assistant slash…well, everything, really. 

He isn’t sure how to describe the young woman who stood next to him, because she’s a jack of all trades at this point in his very short Congressional career. She started off managing his social media and helping his public image before the election. Bucky had to give credit where credit was due: the girl is good at her job. Her speech writing skills are solid. She keeps his message and support consistent. She even managed to get him less stiff and weird on camera. She keeps him on schedule and pushes him through things he doesn’t want to do, with both a smile and a snarky comment that lightens his frustrations. 

Her abilities came in handy quite a bit in these tasks. Between reading the minds of the people around her –knowing what they wanted, how they felt –and being able to project positive thoughts into a crowd…well, Bucky is glad she was so persistent six months ago.

But then she had a run-in with one of his opponents supporters, showing up to work disheveled and frustrated.

“It’s nothing,” she had insisted, “Just some asshole who thinks I’m a monster for helping you.”

Bucky decided that he could teach her a few things too.

She was a fast learner, and a willing student. If she got knocked down, she got up again and immediately sought feedback and improvement. While she’s no super soldier, she is able to hold her own if she needs to —after a few months. Bucky taught her how to handle a weapon or two, she taught him how to use Twitter and TikTok (which he hated, but damn did it help his numbers). It’s a good partnership.

The latest lesson is a bit of espionage –nothing super intense. Bucky is working on how to get Valentina Alegra de Fontaine impeached –and while his assistant was a great asset in confirming that Valentina was, in fact, guilty…well, the public doesn’t know he has a mutant in his employment. And while Bucky has no issue telling anyone, she does –and it isn’t his secret to tell.

“None of my family knows,” she explained over a beer one night after another charity gala. “I don’t…It’s not something I need anyone to know. I already know what everyone thinks; I don’t need them to start thinking specifically about me too. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Her assistant –her name is Mel –is on the fence about her boss,” she explains, clicking away at her phone as she sends him over her notes. “I tried talking to her but she pretty much immediately beelined for the door when I got closer.”

“Who's the unapproachable one now?” He jokes, grinning down at her as he grabs a champagne glass for both of them. 

She snorts in response, taking a sip of the bubbly he hands her. “Still you, sir.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, nodding some as he looks around the room. “Anything else?”

“She’s getting rid of any and all evidence of O.X.E and something called Project Sentry,” she continues, though she’s hiding her lips behind her glass. “I couldn’t figure out what that was –I’m sure something ratchet.”

“Ratchet?” He asks, frowning deeply.

“Terrible,” she offers. 

Her and her millennial slang. He couldn’t understand it half the time.

“I’ll try to get closer –,”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, stepping in front of her. “Cool it for the night. I have some angles that I can work with; I need you to do what you do best now.”

“Get people to think you’re not a weird old man from the forties?”

“...yes.”

“Can do, sir.” She salutes him, grinning up at him. 

Bucky shoos her away, shaking his head, then heads off to locate Congressman Gary about his findings.

*****

She sees coordinates.

She knows she promised Bucky she wouldn’t get closer to Valentina, but she never promised she wouldn’t pay attention to Mel.

“I know you’re avoiding me,” she comments as she slips behind Mel with a polite smile and glass of champagne. “I don’t know why. I thought we were like…I don’t know, two peas in a pod. Assistants to weirdly powerful people –,”

“Oh, I’m not –,” Mel starts but bites her tongue. “I’m not avoiding you. Just super busy. You know, being an assistant to a weirdly powerful person.”

She nods, sipping her drink thoughtfully. But Mel is focused on her tablet again, and the coordinates are flashing in her mind as she looks at a name –John Walker. U.S. Agent. Dime store Captain America. She makes a face behind her glass, unable to help it. 

The same coordinates flash again, indicating that Walker was being sent somewhere to get rid of someone named Belova in Utah. 

She hums as she jots down the coordinates in her phone, fully intending to send them to Bucky.

“Well, well –finally, I get the pleasure of meeting the little girl who’s made our junior congressman remotely functional,” Valentina announces from behind, catching her off guard. “You know, you could do a lot better.”

She smiles politely, though she wonders if it looks as forced as it feels. “I don’t think I could, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Valentina hums, bumping shoulders with Mel, who looks painfully uncomfortable. Her thoughts are loud. What is she doing? She literally told me not to talk to this girl. Why is she talking to her? What’s her angle? Is she trying to fire me? Do I want to be fired?? “Could work with us –I bet your skills would do wonders.”

She narrows her eyes at the inflection –at the implication –in Valentina’s tone. “I think you have an excellent assistant already, Ms. de Fontaine –,”

“Oh, I don’t need another assistant. Mel is perfect,” though her tone sounds…alarmingly poisonous. “You, though…you could be so much more than just Bucky Barnes’ pretty assistant.”

“I am more than that, ma’am,” she argues, narrowing her eyes. 

“I think you have the potential to be a hero,” Valentina continues, ignoring her. “Think about what you could do with those powers of yours.”

“I don’t –,”

“Oh please,” the director of the CIA interrupts. “Number one, it’s obvious that you can read minds. You know way too much and have almost no contacts in D.C. Just because everyone else in this room is oblivious doesn’t mean I am. Number two, you have an actual talent –something that can literally calm down the worst of the worst without even touching them. Think about what you could do with that.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself. Valentina is manipulating her. She knows that the director is. It’s obvious, and Valentina isn’t even trying to hide it.

“I’m making an impact here,” she says, though she’s not half as confident as she was before. 

“Are you, though?”

“More so than a woman experimenting on humans and destroying the evidence.”

Valentina laughs –well, snorts really, because her laugh is not from amusement. “Shit, you know. I thought I could get you. That’s unfortunate. Now you’re just a liability.”

Her brow furrows and as she’s about to call out –for Bucky, for someone –there’s a high pitched screeching in her ears and everything goes fuzzy. She curses out loud as Valentina calls for help –as someone helps her up and leads her away. She can’t hear what’s going on –she can’t see what’s being presented to the crowd. But through blurry eyes, she can see Bucky trying to make his way through the crowd. 

She’s blacked out before she knows if he’s going to help her.

*****

Her head hurts.

That’s all she can focus on.

There’s a dull ache in her skull like someone took a screwdriver and tried to scramble her brain through her ears. 

The pain, however, is overcome by the sound of gunshots echoing in an empty room.

She rolls over, bumping into a crate or something, and tries to push herself onto her knees. There’s yelling and gunshots and she’s barely able to think let alone move. But she manages to get herself sitting up, eyes screwed tight as she presses her head into the crate behind her. She needs to get her bearings. She needs to figure out where she is and she needs to call Bucky because she fucked up and now she’s probably in danger and –

“It’s getting kind of tense out there,” a voice whispers –trembling, soft. 

But she’s not expecting anyone to be so close to her and she screams out, throwing herself away from him. 

The gunshots stop, and there’s a silence for a moment as the weapons shift towards her and this man she doesn’t recognize. Though, she’s certain that even if she could see properly without feeling like her brain was bleeding, she wouldn’t know who he is.

“And who are you?” Someone asks, and she can hear footsteps coming closer. 

She tries to mask herself –hide from whatever is probably going to kill her –but the moment she even considers her powers –there’s another violent jolt down her spine and she cries out in pain.

“Oh,” the man above her says, putting his hands up. “I’m –I’m uh, Bob. I don’t –well, I don’t know who she is –,”

“Don’t involve me in this,” she hisses as he points to her, though she looks up as John Walker peers down at her. She glares at him through squinted, bloodshot eyes. 

“Aren’t you…Bucky’s assistant?” He asks, holstering his gun.

She nods once, swallowing hard. “Yeah…yeah, I am.”

“How the hell did you both get in here?” the Russian asks.

“I don’t remember,” Bob admits, still trembling some as he looks down at her on the floor. “I found her like that –,”

“I think I was kidnapped,” she explains as Walker offers her a hand to stand. She slaps it away and slowly pushes herself up. “Fucking Valentina –,”

“So just to confirm,” the Russian begins. “Valentina sent…all of us here, to kill each other. Plus two civilians?”

“I think she sent me here to get killed,” she offers, leaning against the crate to hold her up. “I, uh, can read minds and shit.”

“Ah, okay. Liability,” the Russian confirms, as if it was obvious. “Doesn’t explain Bob though.”

“Wait, you guys were sent?” He asks, and she’s taking a breath and finally finds herself focusing a little better.

She glances at Bob now, taking a moment to finally look at him. He’s in scrubs, disheveled and confused. She, probably inappropriate for the moment, thinks he would be kind of cute if he was a little more cleaned up. Or least not in scrubs. 

There’s not a chance in hell she can read his thoughts –her brain is still a mess. She tries to focus her gaze, blinking away the fuzziness that had overwhelmed her. Things were getting clearer; their thoughts —though still fragmented and scrambled like a TV without signal —were finally breaking through. He’s standing there barefoot and it's hard to believe that he wasn’t just…here already. He seems too confused to have snuck in, and more importantly too scrambled.

“I don’t think it matters, really,” she finally says, standing up straight. “We need to get out because Valentina is absolutely trying to kill all of us.”

“Okay, these two —yeah, I get it,” Walker argues, motioning to the Russian —Yelena— and the other woman —Ava —she’s gathered. “But I’m a decorated war vet. I was Captain America —,”

Bob suddenly laughs, and the sound feels almost unnerving in the situation they’re in. She turns to him, his fragmented thoughts loud and…and scary.

Walker isn’t amused. “What’s so funny, Bobby?”

Some thought —or maybe emotion —flares up in Bob but he just laughs uncomfortably again. 

“You keep saying you’re Captain America,” he explains, wringing his hands. 

“And why is that funny?” Walker presses and his thoughts are getting louder now too. 

“It’s just…you’re an asshole.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Walker looks mortified and angry. Yelena is clearly holding back her laughter while Ava is more focused on getting the hell out. But Bob is laughing —boyish, timid, and dare she admit it, kind of cute. And she can’t help but laugh now too. 

“Oh, god. He’s got such a point. God bless you, Bob, thank you so much for seeing things clearly,” she agrees, putting a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Walker’s literally the worst.”

There’s a moment. The room shifts, like how it shifts when she uses her powers. But it’s darker, and she’s familiar with her room she’s standing in. It doesn’t last though. As she’s trying to figure out where she is, it shifts back. 

And suddenly she’s back in the vault, hand on his shoulder, and everyone staring at her like she’s lost her goddamn mind. Maybe she has, because she’s worried she’s accidentally lost control. And that’s never happened before. She’s usually in far more control —but she chalks it up to anxiety and shakes herself out of it. She didn’t mean to do it; it wasn’t on purpose. Bob does seem a bit put out by it though; blue eyes wide as he stares at her like he’s done something wrong. 

“Sorry, I —,” he starts, but an alarm goes off, interrupting her thoughts and she drops her hand from Bob’s shoulder. 

“We need to get out of here,” Yelena states, pointing to the clock on the wall. “We find the console that controls the barrier, Ava can get through and open it from the other side. Once we’re out, we split up, we find an exit. Walker, keep assistant girl and Bob alive.”

There’s arguing, and their thoughts are getting louder as she’s finally coming into focus again. She wants to argue and remind them what her name is but it seems redundant at this point, given she’s probably going to die. 

Oh. Oh god. She’s actually going to die. She’s actually enough of a liability that someone wants her dead and she’s going to die in a vault underground, with a bunch of assholes and some guy named Bob. Her hand grabbed at her chest, trying to ease that panic as she fell against another crate, sitting down and breathing hard. 

“I’m going to die because I’m too good at my job,” she mumbles to herself. “God, what the fuck?”

“You’re not going to die,” Walker insists as Yelena shouts out in discovery. Walker turns his attention to the Russian, hurrying over to smash the controls in with his shield. 

“We might die,” Bob offers, as if that was reassuring. He sits beside her, hands in his lap as he picks at the skin around his nails. “It’s fine, I think.”

Another yell of triumph and they both watch as Ava phased through the walls, finding an escape. If she wasn’t so scared of death, she would have been wholly impressed. Bob patted her shoulder awkwardly —though she pulled away. 

“Don’t —I don’t want to accidentally make you see my thoughts,” she explains, frowning deeply as he drops his hand. “I appreciate the thought, Bob. I just —I don’t want to freak you out.”

“Oh,” though he doesn’t really seem to understand what she means. 

“Come on!” Walker suddenly screams, hitting the door. “Where the hell is she!”

The two civilians stand, moving to stand behind Yelena and Walker. The timer is counting down and the thoughts around her are…alarmingly accepting of their fates. Walker and Yelena both seem to be totally fine if this is where the line ends for them. And Bob…well, his thoughts are still fragmented and confusing, but he seems just as willing to die down here as the other two. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers, covering her eyes. “You’re all suicide risks.”

[sempiternalmuze]

Running Through the Halls of Your Haunted Home

Jack Abbott x doctor!Reader who has some problems being loved

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, hurt comfort, reader runs away for a bit (story takes place when shes back), Robby being Jacks best friend, age/jobs not really established, implied not great childhood for reader, jack loves her ohmygod??, jack would never leave her tbh, a bit more flowery than i'm used to writing so let me know, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

Five months. That was the timeframe Robby had laid out for you when you'd came to him a few days after Christmas, explaining that you needed a break, need time away from the Pitt, the city, the state. He'd been kind enough to not ask too many questions, but you knew he'd hear it sooner than later directly from Jack during one of their therapy sessions.

So three days after Christmas you packed your bag, grabbed your passport, and changed your number. From one day to the next you had gone from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center to Portel, Brazil with Doctors Without Borders.

And you lived. You took the time you needed to find your peace again, to pick up the pieces that you had left behind in the dusty apartment Jack and you had shared.

But now it was May-- and Robbie was calling your number every few days. And today when you answered he'd sounded at about wit's end.

"Time's up kid, we need you back here." He sighed, and you could almost see his hand running over his face, tired and no doubt thinking about a fourth—fifth—coffee.

You had stayed silent for a moment, playing with the sheet of your hammock. You glanced at the tents set up by the river, kids running around in a game of tag, parents watching from the sides as they spoke to the other doctors on your crew.

"What if I told you I liked it here more? Then what?" You said, glancing back at the water.

Robby lets out a throaty laugh, one that pulls you away and forces you back to the shuffle of the Pitt. "Because if you did, you would've just said that."

It's a valid point— and true. You wouldn't be asking, wouldn't be hoping he'd tell you any different. You probably would have blocked him, sent an email to Gloria and moved on with your life.

"And I also know what you've got waiting." He whispered. And he was right. You wouldn't just leave like that and not tell Jack. The only reason you had been able to do it the first time was because you knew it was temporary, and small fold in the story you two shared.

"How is he?" The weight was heavy on your shoulders, an invisible force that only left in the depths of night and that was if you were tired enough to fall asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow. Jack was strong, and smart. He'd been through so much worse than a girl who was afraid.

"Well...he visits the roof a lot more now. The first few weeks were...well they were real bad kid." He pauses, like considering what would be too much to tell you. "I offered him to come stay with me, get away from the apartment, but he said he liked it. It gave him a reason to hold on."

Reasons to hold, how very Jack Abbott of him. To want to have hope, to find the reasons even though he wasn't sure where any of it would lead.

"He'd doing better now, I don't have to act like a hostage negotiator too much these days. He comes out to the park with us after work and he makes jokes with the new med students. But he misses you, a lot."

You nodded with a hum into the phone. The sun was so peaceful this time of day, it bounced off the water and on to your skin. You let your eyes close and let your mind drift back to those months ago, from even before the fight, to when things were still solid between the two of you.

Walks in the park after a long shift, hands intertwined as he poked fun at you for your decisions during a shift. The nights spent in bed, room slightly too cold because otherwise you'd burn up with his body heat. Even on the days when it was hard, when his active duty days caught up to him, there was still something to have, because he'd let you hold him, let himself talk and talk about the people and the days of roughing it, of the bad things he saw, of the pain of a leg that was no longer attached to his physical being.

"Kid, I gotta let Gloria know by tonight. Are you back?" Robby's voice broke through the speaker with a crack of static.

"Of course I am Robby."

Now you were running through the airport, hair a mess, sanity hardly in tact. Cassie had been kind enough to come grab you after dropping off Harrison with Chad for the weekend. Today and tomorrow would be your days to get settled, then straight back to it on Monday.

"I've missed you so much!" She squealed, arms wrapped around your center tightly. "You have no idea how much it sucks to have to take on that waiting room with myself and Javadi." She laughs.

"Oh I bet, what would you ever do without me?" You laughed. You held her tight before you both crawled into the car. She started the engine, waving off some security yelling at her and took off.

"How was it?" She asks, face covered in excitement.

"It was amazing Cassie. The people, the pace, the location, all of it was just-perfect." You sigh and throw your head back. "I think it was exactly what I needed."

"That's great." She says. Her tone tells you that there's something else, something on her mind that she isn't saying out loud.

It takes about three minutes of uncomfortable silence and a red traffic light for her to turn to you. "Have you talked to him?"

Cassie was one of about four people who definitely knew what was going on between you and Jack, one of a few who knew lengths you'd go for one another. Her tone is soft, prodding but not overstepping.

"No, Cass I...I didn't want to do anything that might...I don't know, hurt more than it already would?" You sighed. You covered your face with your hands. "I felt horrible, for taking off on him the way I did. But I just...I knew that he'd make me stay."

Cass nods along, listening. She takes your hands in hers, holding it softly over the center console. She doesn't push or try to interject her own thoughts about the whole thing into your mind. She knows you well enough to know that no decision you made came lightly, that it took hours and hours of thought and careful planning.

The light turns green and the car starts moving again. "You don't have to go back so soon. You can stay with Harrison and I if you want to." Cass offers, a small glint in her eyes.

You take a moment to consider before looking out the window. "I need to go back Cass. To my home, to my stuff. I need to go back to him. I ran once but I'm ready. I finally feel ready to face what we left behind." You smile, hands gripping the door handle a bit too tight.

Cass nods and hums. "Just know I'm there. If you need me."

And that's what the conversation is left at. Fifteen minutes later your left staring at your building. Cass offered to go upstairs with you, but you'd elected to face it all yourself.

There were two options that stood in front of you. One, Jack was home, asleep, getting ready to head to bed and face another grueling night shift. The blackout curtains would be drawn and the apartment quiet. Would the floorboards remember your steps or creak under the unfamiliar weight of your long lost body? Maybe they would, and then they'd wake him, and you'd have to explain the last five months of your life to him while he was half asleep.

The other option was simple, he wasn't home, maybe getting groceries before he inevitably came home to crash out on the couch. It had irked you so much when you first started dating. The way he'd get off a few hours before you and offer to do the shopping, just for you to come home and find him asleep in the most neck sore position possible, jacket barely off, jeans twisted too tightly across his legs. But eventually it became a comfort, the way you could rouse him and make him follow you to bed, where you'd help him take off his prosthetic, rip off his scrubs in return for a clean shirt and pj pants. Or sometimes when you were both so tired after a rough day you could snuggle yourself between his arms, him hardly waking up, but still opening his strong arms so you could press against his chest.

And you find yourself hoping it can be like those distant couch sleeps. That he'll be there, asleep on the couch, and you can just lay with him, head pressed against his chest, snuggled right below his chin as his fingers splay over the middle of your back, gripping you as to not let you disappear again.

So when you turn your key into the lock, you take a deep breath. With the click sounding, you push the door open. You roll your suitcase in first, setting it to the side. Then you pause, listening. There's silence, and for a moment you think you're safe. The buzz of the AC when it clicks on startles you, but not as much as the man standing before you.

Jack stands near the couch, hand holding on to it, like he might fall over. He wears a tight black tee, some washed jeans and his tennis shoes. When you finally meet his eyes you see something, a glint of pain? Maybe sadness, maybe shock. His hair is slightly longer along the sides, his facial hair a bit more clean shaven than the stubble you had last seen him in. He doesn't move, neither do you. Its like the saddest cowboy stand off you've ever witnessed.

The click of the door behind you finally breaks the silence. You take a step forward, placing your keys down on the entry table. You can't tear your eyes from his. You wish you could read his face, know where to start on the long list of apologies and begging of forgiveness.

"I know you probably hate me. I know you maybe wish I would have never come back. And I know when I left we were in a bad position, a position that I never wanted to be at with you." Jack opens his mouth to say something, but you're quick to silence him with a raise of your hand.

"But I'm here. I'm here because I love you. Because I never wanted to leave in the first place. And you are the first stable thing I've had in my life since med school." A sudden hiccup burst from you, followed by tears. You couldn't stop it. In an instant your face was crumpled, warm, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Sweetheart..." Jack mutters, marching towards you until his arms swaddled your frame, arms pressing tight around your ribs, fingers grasping at your hair. His face pressed deeply against the crown of your head, and his chest pressed perfectly against your ear until you could hear the thumping of his heart.

"Jack Abbott you— God you fucking took my life and put it back together in ways I didnt think possible. You showed me that I could be loved. I was worthy of love and attention."

You pulled away, Jack's arms still resting across your waist, fingers digging in, as though fully releasing you would mean you walking out the front door forever this time.

"And I ran. I ran because I was so fucking scared that you'd wake up and decide that I wasn't worthy, that you didn't need to be here. And I wouldn't be able to handle that." You glanced at him, and while your vision remained slightly blurred, you found that he was already looking back at you. For a moment you thought pity might be the thing coursing through his dark eyes, but you realized it wasn't even close. It was more like concern, fear.

"I picked that fight because I thought it was the only way to get you to leave. But you didn't. You refused to leave, to give in. And that made me mad." You laugh, wiping your face. Jack cracks a smile, followed by a small chuckle of his own.

"You made me mad because instead of doing what everyone else has done, you planted your feet. And that made me the most scared." You said, staring down at the ground. Jack gave you a moment to collect yourself, and when it seemed your breathing had finally calmed a bit, he took your hands in his, fingers intertwining with his own, his calloused palms pushing against yours.

"I planted my feet because I knew exactly what you were doing." He says, soft, speaking more into your hair than into the open space around you two.

"It was a stupid battle, and you're not stupid, so of course I knew what you were doing. Because I know you, sweetheart." he chuckles a little, the sound vibrating in his throat. "And more importantly, I planted my feet because I wanted to stay. You have never ever been anything short of the most beautiful, loving, smartest, strongest woman in my life. You are the best thing I've had in years." He sighed, his hand lefts yours as it moved up your arm, until it fell onto your jaw, guiding your eyes to his.

"And you put me back together. And I love you for that." He finishes. Neither of you two move, letting each others words swell around your embrace.

Your eyes drop to his lips, soft and kind. He doesn't hesitate, pulling you against him, letting your lips grace each others for the first time in months. You sigh, pressing your body against his. He holds you close as you two drink each other in.

Eventually he pulls away, rests his forehead against yours.

"I've missed you."

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

[lovelybucky1]

If you’re still taking requests would you be interested in writing smth along the lines of reader telling sam & joaquin she’s never had an orgasm from anyone but herself and they help her out..?

these two together drive me crazy // takes place in the go greek! universe // go greek! masterlist // 18+ minors dni

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” Sam asks incredulously.

“I’m telling the truth!” you defend.

“Not even by yourself?” Joaquin chimes in.

“Nope.”

“But you’ve had sex before, right?” Sam seems personally offended by this.

“Yes, I’ve had sex and yes, I masturbate. I just have a hard time getting there.”

Sam and Joaquin share a look. You’re sitting next to Sam on the couch, your feet propped up on his thigh, while Joaquin sits in the arm chair to the left of the couch. There’s a movie on the TV that none of you really care to watch, but the sex scene sparked some lively conversation.

“So all the times you’ve had sex and didn’t cum, the guy was just cool with that?” Sam asks.

“Well…” They both raise their eyebrows in anticipation. “They didn’t exactly know I didn’t.”

“You faked it?” Joaquin asks, taking his turn to be offended.

“It’s easier to fake it than having to explain why I didn’t. And some guys’ egos are way too fragile and I didn’t want to have to deal with that.”

“That’s so not fair,” Joaquin says, shaking his head.

“Y’know,” Sam starts, grabbing both yours ans Joaquin’s attention. “I have a pretty good reputation with the ladies.”

“Sam-”

“I’m just saying! I could help you out. We can try different things and figure out what works. And if nothing works, my ego won’t be hurt. No faking needed.”

Rolling your eyes, you pick your foot up and push against his sholder. “You’re hilarious.”

“I’m serious!” he says, grabbing ahold of your ankle so you can’t kick him again.

“I could help you instead,” Joaquin adds.

“You too?” you groan, looking between both of them.

Joaquin stands up from the chair and kneels down next to you. “We’re both down to help you. If you don’t want that, tell us to fuck off and we will.”

“But we can give you what you need,” Sam says.

They’re not teasing anymore. Their expressions have turned serious, like this is a genuine offer. You look between them both, and after a moment, you hesitantly nod.

“Okay.”

“Okay…?”

“Okay, I’ll let you guys help me out.”

Somehow you’re lucky enough for this to happen while you three are the only ones home. You end up with your back against Sam’s solid chest, his hands holding your legs open while Joaquin lays between them.

They had coaxed you out of your panties with gentle touches and sweet words before Joaquin kissed his way up your thighs.

Sam’s mouth is next to your ear, mumbling words that make your toes curl. He’s making you tell him everything you’re feeling, what you like and what you don’t. You get they’re trying to help you, but you’re not used to talking about things like this.

Joaquin curls two fingers inside you to rub against that spot inside you that drives you crazy. His tongue swirls around your clit, causing you to squim in Sam’s hold.

“How do you need it? Harder, softer, faster, slower? Gotta talk to us, sweetheart,” Sam says.

“Harder, please, harder,” you gasp.

Joaquin obliges and sucks your clit firmly. It borders on too much, too overstimulating, but the consistent plusing of his fingers forces you closer to the edge that has eluded you for so long.

“I think- I think I’m gonna-”

Instead of changing things up or trying to make your orgasm come quicker, Joaquin maintains what he’s doing. Same pace, same pressure. The only thing that changes is where he’s looking. His eyes were closed but as soon as you announced that you’re close, they shot open to look up at you.

“Don’t hold back, baby. Let yourself go, cum for us,” Sam mumbles, voice low and breath warm.

All of your muscles tighten, starting from your toes and spasming through your abdomen. Your thighs attempt to clench around Joaquin’s head, but Sam’s hands keep them spread wide.

You want to moan, try to, but the sound gets caught in your throat as pleasure washes over you. Joaquin doesn’t let up and continues, despite the ache that must be burning in his jaw. He lets you ride that high until you physically can’t.

“Joaquin, Joaquin, please, I can’t take it,” you gasp.

Mercifully, he pulls away. He leans up on an elbow and wipes his mouth with the back of his other hand casually like he wasn’t just face down between your legs.

“How was that?” he asks, a stupid, boyish grin on his face.

You close your eyes and lay limp against Sam’s chest. He wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, the squeeze feeling like a weighted blanket.

“I think that answers that,” Sam chuckles. “You did so good, sweetheart.”

You hum in acknowledgment of his praise. You’ll deal with the aftermath of this little arrangement later. Right now, all you want to do is bask in the glow of your orgasm and the attention of Sam and Joaquin.

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 8 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It has been too long since you heard from Bradley. Perhaps something went wrong. Or maybe he was avoiding you. Just when you start trying to accept that the last few months were too good to be true, things start to turn around again.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley being sweet

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Days went by. With only two weeks left of Bradley's deployment, you weren't really expecting to receive air mail at school with your name on it, but you certainly did miss it anyway. Your students asked about him every morning, wondering if he'd sent a new email, hoping for another video with Marty. But you got nothing in either of your email inboxes.

He was on your mind almost constantly. What happened on his mission? Did the Navy decide it was okay to cut off communication right when you were completely attached to hearing from him? Did this really mean you had to wait until the aircraft carrier arrived back in San Diego? 

It was right before your students were due to arrive in your classroom that you had perhaps the most distressing thoughts of all. What if something went terribly wrong and he didn't survive? Or what if this was simply his way of ghosting you before he had to see you in person?

Jayden raced in ahead of the rest of your class, calling your name along the way. "Did Lieutenant Bradshaw write back yet?"

You pointed him toward his desk as you shook your head. "I already explained that he may not have time to respond before his deployment ends."

Jayden just bounced in place in front of you. "Then that means he can visit us when he gets back!"

Now a small group of your kids surrounded you, and you wished more than anything that you could tell them that Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, their beloved pen pal, would definitely be visiting your classroom in a few short days. Instead you told them, "Please, take your seats so we can start our Natural History lesson."

This turned out to be your new normal. Every time you got an email notification, you jumped to unlock your phone, but it was never a message from Bradley. When you saw a box tucked in your mail cubby in the school office, you ran for it, only to find the science supplies you ordered weeks ago had arrived. You even forced yourself to go back and read some of the old emails from him, just to make sure it all really happened, but his words left you aching for more.

...I like giving Gorgeous teachers butterflies...

...You'd look adorable snuggled up in your bed. But then again, when aren't you completely Gorgeous?...

...Gorgeous girl, you're messing with my head...

...And it's not a matter of if I touch you, it's a matter of when...

After nearly two weeks had gone by, you tried to figure out if the USS Theodore Roosevelt was back in port, but short of driving to North Island to see for yourself, you couldn't seem to find a solid answer online. And if you did drive there and found it at the dock, what were you supposed to do? Contact the US Navy? If they told you that nothing happened to Lieutenant Bradshaw and that he was perfectly fine, you'd be mortified. If they told you something in fact did happen to him in the last two weeks, you'd be devastated. That's assuming you could even get them to give you any information at all which was doubtful.

On Friday, you were on the verge of tears as you got ready for work. "You're being ridiculous," you whispered, and that fact made you want to cry even more. You tried to take the time to make yourself look presentable, thinking that may be the key to having a good day. Your outfit was cute. Your makeup looked nice. But you weren't smiling, and you didn't feel like doing so at all. 

You grabbed your bag, hoping the short ride with your favorite playlist would be enough to get your spirits up, but all you could think about was how you probably weren't cut out for life with a guy in the military anyway. Waiting around like this to see what was going on was making your stomach upset, and you weren't getting enough sleep. When you closed your eyes, you just pictured a very kissable face with a scarred cheek and big brown eyes.

"You need to focus," you scolded as you parked your car and headed into the school with your ID badge. You had eighteen kids who required your attention, and you'd once again give it to them, because you were fantastic at your job. 

This morning, Violet was the first one to mention Bradley in passing, and you had to shake your head. "Please find your seats. If I hear from Lieutenant Bradshaw, I promise I will let you know. I'm not hiding any letters or emails from you all, okay?" You tried to smile as you said, "I'd like to hear from him every bit as badly as you would. I can guarantee that."

You struggled through your morning lessons, often reminding yourself that you needed to focus on your students. Then you sat quietly at your desk with the classroom lights off during lunch, scrolling back through the dozens of emails you'd exchanged with Bradley on your phone. You pulled up the picture of the sun setting behind him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and even though you tried, you couldn't find anything other than the most sincere expression on his handsome face.

Maybe he would text you this weekend, letting you know he was back and your date was on. You had to believe he would still contact you. When the bell rang, you counted to ten, and then your students came flooding back through your classroom door. They wanted to tell you all about how Jasper from Mrs. Wynn's class got in trouble during lunch, and you humored them before saying, "I'm sure none of you would misbehave like that in the cafeteria."

"No way!" Henry promised.

"That's what I like to hear," you told him with a forced smile. "Once you're all in your seats, we'll start our math lesson. Maybe I'll put a few aviation problems on the board at the end if you show me how well you can focus for the next twenty minutes."

You had just started copying the first fraction that you wanted to discuss from your notebook onto the board when there was a sharp knock on your classroom door. You sighed and let your forehead rest briefly on the white board, knowing that another disruption would completely derail your kids after all the lunchtime nonsense. When you turned to face the door, they were already starting to chatter with each other. 

"Come in!" you called out, and every head in your room whipped around to see who was there and what they wanted. 

When the door swung open, the room went silent. The first thing you thought about was how peculiar it was to see someone in a khaki military uniform standing there. Then your eyes slid up that tall, muscular frame as your lips parted in surprise. As soon as you met his gaze, he smiled and said, "Hey, Gorgeous."

You couldn't speak. As he took a full step into your classroom and pulled the door closed, you finally noticed he was holding some pretty flowers. Then he was heading your way, his combat boots squeaking ever so slightly against the tile floor with each long stride. Bradley Bradshaw wasn't hesitating at all as he made his way directly to you while your students started talking again.

"It's Lieutenant Bradshaw!"

"I knew he'd come visit us ever since I asked him to!"

"Does this mean his deployment is over?"

"Why does he have flowers?"

He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of you, and the butterflies in your belly were fluttering so much, you were convinced you could float off of the floor. You weren't sure what else to say, so you simply whispered, "Bradley."

His smile grew as he said, "I love the way that sounds when you say it." You could only squeak in response, and his warm gaze flicked from your eyes down to your lips. At this rate you'd be a puddle at his feet in the next ten seconds. He swallowed hard, cheeks flushed as he leaned in closer, taking another small step forward until his boot gently bumped your shoe. His voice took on a raspier edge as said, "You told me you wanted me to kiss you as soon as I saw you."

He didn't stop slowly closing the distance, and when you reached out and let your fingers tangle with his, you whispered, "Please." Then you closed your eyes as his lips brushed feather light against yours. You gasped. He was here. Nothing had ever felt as good as this in your life. You opened your eyes to find him grinning right in front of you, and you chased him for another one of his dreamy kisses.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw kissed her!"

"I think they're in love!"

"They are definitely going to be girlfriend and boyfriend!"

Bradley wrapped his fingers around yours a little tighter as you and he laughed, and he ducked his head before looking up at your class. His cheeks were the most alluring shade of pink as he told them, "Hey, I hope you don't mind that I decided to surprise you and your teacher."

"We don't mind!" shouter Oliver as he was practically sitting on his desk now in excitement. All of the kids were bouncing with anticipation, and you couldn't stop smiling as Violet clapped her hands together.

"Great, because I brought my responses to your last batch of letters, too. I can't thank you enough for being my pen pals for the last few months. You made my time away from home a lot more fun." He turned to look at you before softly adding, "And you made coming back home feel really good."

You wanted to kiss him again. You wanted to run your fingers along his scars and press your lips to his skin in their wake. You wanted to bury your nose against his neck and inhale the smell of his skin and his uniform collar. You wanted to feel his mustache on your lips. Instead, because every eye in the room was on the two of you, you told him, "I'm really happy you're here." You tugged on his hand so he was standing front and center, and you turned to your kids and asked, "What do we say when we have a special guest visit us?"

"Thank you!" they all shouted in unison.

"That's right," you told them. Then you looked up at Bradley, and he handed you the flowers with a crooked little grin, and that's when you noticed he had a small notebook in his hand as well. 

"Can I call each kid up to get their letter?" he asked, as if you would deny him anything at the moment. "Then I can put faces to all of the names."

You were still definitely at risk of melting. "You wrote each of them a personal letter again?" you asked him, holding your flowers to your chest and trying not to swoon.

"Yeah," he replied, opening his notebook to show you. He stood there, looking devastatingly sexy, tearing out a page for every kid. He called each of them up and talked to them for a minute. He remembered the name of Jayden's dog. He remembered that Violet loved neon-colored everything. He remembered that Henry said his grandfather was in the Navy. He remembered so much, and he was so willing to indulge all of their questions.

You just stood there with your flowers and watched this endearing man captivate all nineteen of you with his words. He let Oliver try on one of his insignia pins. He drew a diagram of an aircraft carrier on your white board. He met your gaze more often than not. He smiled at you every time he did. He told your students that the reason they were so smart was because you were such a good teacher. The butterflies were here to stay now.

When you looked around, you noticed that your kids were cherishing their personal notes just like you were your flowers. You didn't want this afternoon to end, and yet, as soon as the first bell rang at three o'clock, you jumped to attention. The sooner your students cleared out of the room for the weekend, the sooner you could hopefully have a few minutes alone with Bradley before he wanted to go home and rest.

"We need to pack up," you announced, finally setting the bouquet down on your desk while Bradly affixed his pin back on his uniform shirt.

"Do we have to?" whined Jayden. "Lieutenant Bradshaw like just got here!"

He had in fact been in your classroom for over two hours, but you couldn't blame them for wanting more. Bradley cleared his throat and looked at you as he said, "I could come back again?" with that sincere gaze you were already weak for. "Spend a few more hours answering questions? Maybe bring some engine parts with me?"

You bit your lip before you could whimper out loud, and he started to head in your direction. "We would love that," you told him.

"Yeah?" he asked you as your kids erupted into a rowdy mob, grabbing all of their belongings as the final bell rang.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, waving lazily to your students as they shouted their goodbyes to both you and Bradley. His steps had him reaching you right as the last few kids left your room, and you whispered, "You'll come back?"

He reached for your hand as he said, "I'll do anything you want, Gorgeous." He must have been able to read the needy look on your face, because when you tugged on his hand, he came all the way to you. His other hand ended up at your waist as his lips found yours, and this time, the feather light kisses deepened as you parted your lips. Bradley groaned softly, kissing you just right, and then he whispered, "I've been dying for this."

Your arms went around his neck, kissing him a little frantically, melting at his touch and the feel of his soft, wavy hair between your fingers. "Me too," you told him before pulling his bottom lip gently between yours. He backed you up until you bumped into your desk, and all you could think about was how good his weight would feel on top of you.

Your skin felt too hot when he finally broke the kiss, panting softly as you ran your thumb along his scars. "I didn't like not hearing from you the past two weeks," you told him, and his brown eyes softened even as his hold on you tightened a little bit. "It was... kind of scary."

"I didn't like it either," he told you. "And I was going to text you immediately when we docked this morning, but then I decided to just come here instead." He grinned as your fingers crept back up into his hair. "If they didn't let me sign in with my military ID in the front office, I don't know what I would have done. I just wanted to see you."

You kissed his chin and said, "Usually I hate surprises. But this one was perfect."

"Okay, see, that's good information to know," he rasped. "I only got a ride home long enough to throw my duffle in the front door and hop in my Bronco. I stopped for the flowers, and then I just wanted to get here with my notebook."

You tipped your head back and whispered, "How am I supposed to deal with how sweet you are?"

"Oh! That reminds me," he muttered, rubbing his hand along your back before releasing you and strolling over to where he left his notebook on Oliver's desk. The way your body wanted you to follow him was surprising, but it gave you a chance to look at him again from head to toe as you stood next to your desk. There was nothing out of place on this man, and you pressed your lips together as his bicep flexed against his shirt sleeve. He tore another sheet of paper from his notebook and said, "I have one more note to deliver."

He walked back over to you, and when he held it up with a hopeful look, you took it from him and read.

Hey, Gorgeous. I couldn't wait one more minute to see you. And now that I'm here, I don't want today to end. Is there any way I can convince you to let me take you out for our first official date tonight instead of tomorrow? Bradley

When you looked up from the page, his eyebrows were raised, and that crooked little grin was hovering close to the surface. "I know I said to plan for tomorrow, but I can't fucking wait that long."

You bit down on your lip, shocked by how much better today turned out to be than you could have ever imagined earlier this morning. "Yeah. You've convinced me, Bradley. Tonight sounds perfect."

With that, you were treated to a little smirk beneath his mustache. He carefully took the sheet of notebook paper from your hands, set it down next to the flowers on your desk and proceeded to kiss you senseless.

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

He's going to make me hyperventilate. Those kids were SO excited to have him in their classroom, but they were nowhere near as excited as Gorgeous! He's home! And he wants to have his beach picnic and takeout and makeout sesh immediately. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

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[hyunsvngs]

halloscream

was it jeongsung in the bedroom?

warnings 🔪: poly relationship dynamics, they’re serial killers, knifeplay, clitplay, unprotected sex, oral (m rec), bloodplay (be warned about this one, it’s not their blood), one whole line of daddy kink, mxm as well as fxm

it’s getting late. they’re late, to be more precise, but you feel as if you look at the window again it will feel like even longer. you tap away at your keyboard. it’s too quiet - the house is empty with your parents out at dinner. normally your two boyfriends would be making enough noise to drown out the everlasting silence, but again, they’re nowhere to be seen. your foot taps against the carpet impatiently underneath your desk.

a noise from your back garden catches your attention. nothing too loud, just a rustle of leaves and a few small thuds, but it has you rising from your computer chair to check it out. jisung would chastise you. “don’t you know horror movies?” he’d say, eyes round and wide, “investigating a strange noise is how you die, jagi.” still, you’re pissed that they’re late, and you also know full well that your boyfriends are the only threat to your small, isolated town. 

it started last year. jeongin came bursting through your window, clad in a halloween costume drenched in blood, and you laughed in his face thinking it was fake. it wasn’t fake. jisung followed closely behind him, a knife in his hand still messy with the efforts of their mission, and you almost had a heart attack. jeongin had to sit you down and explain, but really, there’s not a lot of explaining you can do when your girlfriend finds out you’ve been killing students from the local high school. 

they’re psychopathic, to put it lightly, but surely you are too - one toothy smile from jeongin and a comforting rub of jisung’s hand on your back was all it took. you’d accepted it all. 

now, you stand at your window, sticking your head out of the open pane of glass. the autumn air is crisp and it bites at your flushed, alarmed cheeks. when you can’t see anything through the darkness, you sigh, pulling your body back into your room. it’s not them. you turn to make your way back to the computer. maybe they’ll call before they come, just to let you know not to be scared and-

“ugh,” jeongin’s voice groans from behind you. your head whips around, shocked to see that he actually looks reasonably presentable. he’s in their signature costume, long, pitch black fabric drowning his lightly toned frame, and he carries the matching mask in his hand. “i thought you’d at least help me inside, baby. are your parents even home? i could’ve just used the front door.”

there’s other things on your mind. you’re pissed he’s late, and your arms fold over your chest. “where’s the other one?” your voice is dismissive, as if you don’t care about where jeongin’s partner-in-crime normally is. of course you care. one of your boys never comes without the other - quite literally - and you try to peek behind jeongin to see the missing boy. he crowds in through your window to block your vision, toned arms and long legs climbing through his chosen entry point. 

“he’s on his way,” jeongin says. the mask drops from his hand to the floor in favour of wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in, the fabric of his halloween costume scratching against your bare collarbones. you’re in one of jisung’s old oversized shirts, and the neckline is stretched beyond belief. your hands soften the impact by bracing themselves on his shoulders. “he got caught up with something. you understand, right?”

he feels like he’s everywhere in your room at once, an aura that only jeongin could have wrapped around you. it’s all it takes to calm you down, to forget about the fact that they didn’t even call, and then you’re focusing on the feeling of something solid pressing into your thigh. 

your hand moves down. his eyes follow the movement, narrowed, head tilting to the side as if he’s daring you to touch. you do, because you always rise to jeongin’s challenges. your fingers wrap around the object with a mischievous giggle. “is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?”

“that’s a knife,” he responds, quick as a bat. his hand wraps around your wrist and moves you a few inches to the right, positioning your hand over his actual cock and oh. it’s throbbing, and you can feel the way the shaft hardens further in your hand, even through the layers of fabric. you blink up at him, all coy through your lashes, and he raises an eyebrow. “i’m hard because i just killed someone, and that’s turning you on. do you know how fucked up that is?”

“it’s even more fucked up to be hard after killing someone,” you say, hands moving to his hips. you begin a backwards walk to your bed, pulling him along with you. jeongin’s more than happy to follow. his body slides between your legs easily, erection pressing into the middle of your sleep shorts, right above your core, and you try to catch his lips with yours. he moves away from your face with that signature cheeky grin, one that only jeongin could pull off. “why? first you’re late, and now no kiss? don’t wind me up, jeonginnie.”

“i’m gonna lick your pussy, that’s why,” his voice is low, tone steady. it makes a shiver run down your spine, but you’re nodding, letting your thighs fall apart. jeongin’s grin widens at the effect he has on you. he’s still in that stupid costume, but you watch his body slide down your bed until his face is nuzzling into your core.

you can’t help it. you’re curious, and they may say curiosity kills the cat, but well - the only thing killing anyone is rutting his nose into the covered pudge of your clit. “who did you kill?”

“what?” he scoffs, pulling your sleep shorts to the side with two long, gloved fingers. the texture of his gloves is cold against your heated mound, and you stutter out a breath, hands moving to the sheets beside you. “does it matter, jagi?”

“y-yeah, it does,” you whine when he dips down, tongue licking over your clit for the first time tonight. he’s talented with his mouth, but he’s normally better with his fingers. jisung’s forte is oral, and you let your mind wander again. where is he? you’re missing the essential third piece in your beloved psychopathic throuple.

when he speaks again, the vibrations hit your pussy. “he was a lowlife. don’t worry about it. he deserved to die.”

“you say that about e-everyone- oh my god,” he sucks your clit into his mouth as you’re speaking. it makes you surge from the bed, back arching, hand weaving into his hair to pull and tug to where you need him to be. jeongin’s malleable like that, letting you grind your pussy up into his mouth while he presses his tongue flat against the sensitive bud. “fuck. fuck, jeonginnie, innie, please, baby-“

“jesus, man. that was a ballache. y’know, would’ve been easier if maybe there were two of us like there’s meant to be, or-” your head snaps to your window. jeongin’s mouth stops moving, but he kisses your clit as an apology. 

sure, you would normally jump at the sight of someone standing in your bedroom dressed in a full halloween costume, ghostface mask and all. however, you’ve already received one of your male visitors tonight and you know that voice all too well - especially when it’s paired with a short stature and fumbling hands gripping at his mask. you see jisung’s appalled expression once the mask is gone, dropped to the floor to join jeongin’s, round eyes staring at his boyfriend’s position between your legs. “you seriously started without me?! c’mon man, don’t piss me off!”

jeongin only shrugs and nuzzles his nose against your mound to get your attention. you turn back to the boy, running your fingers through his hair comfortingly. he resumes the fat licks he’s giving your core, broad and messy and too fucking good. “iyennie’s being nice and eating my- ah- pussy, baby,” jisung’s staring at you, bouncing from one foot to the other. “you could’ve too, if you weren’t late.”

“wha-“ jisung splutters. he’s already toeing his boots off, yanking the costume over his head to reveal the baggy jeans and black tank he’s got on underneath. the sight of his honey-toned arms against the dark fabric is enough to make your mouth water, but then he drops his jeans and you can see his erection pressing against the front of his boxers. jeongin ignores him, sucking your pussy hard with a soothing hum. your labia stretches with it, and then he flicks his tongue over your clit so fast that your legs kick out. jisung catches them. “not my fault. jeonginnie made me do all the cleanup and the fucking theatrics and shit. this guy bled like a pig too, baby, so-“

“hyung,” jeongin chastises, eyes flitting over to him. when he pulls his head back, his chin is covered in drool and your arousal. you want to lick it clean. you’re barely even paying attention to what your boys are bickering about. “don’t get into the gory details.”

jisung stops in his tracks, trousers wrapped around his ankles. he looks at you. you shiver. he looks at jeongin, and jeongin raises an eyebrow, challenging again. “don’t you know?” jisung’s grin is wide, mischievous. “she likes hearing the gory details. go on, tell her.”

jeongin’s lips part in surprise. he looks at you, scrutinising. “is that so? you wanna hear how i gutted that guy and jisungie hung him from a tree?”

you can’t help it. with his words, jeongin slides two fingers inside of you, curling them so harshly it makes your eyes water. you let out a keen, trying to reach out to pull jisung onto the bed, but he’s too far. he seems to get it, knee-walking onto the mattress until he’s positioned next to you. his hand doesn’t stay out of his boxers for long, sliding beneath the tight fabric. you watch him grip his shaft and pump slowly at the sight in front of him. 

“do you wanna know who it was?” jeongin continues. his thumb slides to rub over your clit, and your thighs tremble. you’re moaning, nodding, babbling pleadings and little ‘yes’s that fall from your mouth urgently. jeongin chuckles. “your little friend from your math class. see, i wasn’t too mad about it, but jisung said he was trying to fuck you.”

“god, fuckin- he pissed me off, baby, ‘m sorry,” jisung whines, and your head is spinning. you’re reeling. jeongin thrusts his fingers a little harder, a little faster, and you’re struggling to concentrate. jisung’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip once, twice, eyes flitting between you and jeongin as if he’s not quite sure who to look at. “he was t-too nice to you, he- he wanted you. you’re ours.”

you’ve barely spoken to the guy from your math class - in all honesty, you’re not quite sure of his name, but now that you think about it… yeah. he was a little touchy, a little flirty, maybe too kind and considerate in letting you copy his work. it all adds up, but he’s taken care of now. you don’t have to worry about it. you never have to worry about anything with your boys around.

jisung pushes his boxers down, and his shaft slaps up against the base of his tummy, not too long but girthy enough to make your mouth water. he catches your gaze and uses his grip to slap it against his skin a little more, precum forming a thin trail attaching the cockhead to his tank top. “fuck. s-suck it, baby, won’t you?” 

“cum first,” jeongin insists. jisung grumbles in protest, but jeongin’s thumb presses harder on your clit, and he reels backwards to spit down against your pussy. the slap of his hand against your core is debauched, messy, and your eyes flutter shut. it’s too good. you’re gonna cum. “cum for me. fucking give it to me. my little fucked up baby, huh? that turned you on, didn’t it?”

“y-yeah! yes, yes, of course, y-you two are- fuck, too much, too much, i’m gonna cum,” you’re babbling again, and when your hand shoots out to grip onto something jisung catches it with his own spare hand. he links your fingers together, and jeongin dips down, finally, finally pressing his lips against yours. it’s all just enough and you feel like you’re dying, shots of electricity running through you, core gushing your release over jeongin’s wrist while he slides his tongue into your mouth. 

you’re given barely any time to come down. jeongin’s hand reels back and slaps your pussy. “hands and knees f’me. head between hyung’s legs.”

you scramble against your bedsheets, limbs kicking out and positioning your body face down in the sheets below jisung’s cock. jeongin moves behind you, yanking your sleep shorts down with a wet, still gloved hand. 

“you liked hearing what we d-did, baby, yeah?” jisung questions, and you whine, nodding. you did. secretly, in a dark place you try not to go into, you want their knives pressed against you and making you bleed while they fuck you. the thought makes your pussy clench down around nothing. 

jisung’s fingers move to your hair, yanking you forward until you’re nosing at his cock. you slide your tongue over his shaft just briefly, nuzzling your nose into the hair at his base, but it’s not long before he’s slapping his cock against your cheek impatiently. “shiiiit, jeonginnie, get inside already. i need her mouth so fucking bad, i’m so fucking hard.”

“just take it,” jeongin fumbles with his belt behind you. you hear the tell-tale clanging of metal, and then the rustling of fabric. his cockhead presses against your hole unceremoniously, blunt and thick, and you try to rut backwards onto it. jisung’s grip prohibits you, and he drags you upwards above his cock to finally press his tip between your lips. 

they both slide in together. jeongin’s thick shaft stretches you beyond belief, making you moan hard around jisung’s cock. you’re glad your parents aren’t home. jisung squirms from the vibrations, and before jeongin can start moving, he’s bouncing your head on his shaft. 

you can see his eyes roll back into his head, lips parting with a sharp whine. you feel like a ragdoll. it has you getting even wetter. “t-that’s it. fuckin’ beautiful mouth, my baby, so dirty, lemme- jus’ lemme fuckin’ take it, god, please.”

jeongin thrusts into you once, twice, testing movements that have your pussy all creamy and easy around him. he sighs, positions his large palms on your ass, and then he starts thrusting at a breakneck speed that has you bouncing between their cocks. you feel used. your clit aches for touch, hard and sensitive above where your hole is getting decimated. 

jisung pulls your head up to give you air, his hand polishing his cockhead. you’re immediately babbling. “fuck, you- jeongin, j-jeonginnie, the knife. will you- will you use it? o-on me? please?”

jisung moans. his hand moves between his legs, pumping his cock quickly in front of your face. it leaks against your lips. jeongin’s hips halt, pressing deep inside you. “the knife? baby, i don’t know.”

“get it, iyennie,” jisung nudges jeongin with his toes. you don’t miss the way jeongin’s cock twitches inside of you. “get mine. it still has blood on it.”

“oh my god,” you moan, wiggling backwards onto jeongin. you can tell his face must be a picture right now because jisung laughs, loud albeit shaky, and he reaches down onto the floor into the pocket of jisung’s jeans to reveal the offending object. he throws it to jisung, who brands it to you, showing that yeah, really, it’s still got someone else’s blood on it. it should be disgusting, moreso terrifying, but when the blade presses against your neck you wriggle just enough to get jisung’s cock back into your mouth. 

“see? f-fucking look at her,” jisung says, voice pitched higher. the angle is awkward, but he manages to fuck his cock into your mouth in tiny, shallow thrusts while the blunt edge of the blade is against your skin. he wouldn’t turn it the other way, not seriously when he knows he might lose control and hurt you. the idea has you keening. “she fucking loves it.”

“yeah? is that true?” jeongin sounds gravelly, throat hoarse, and he starts to fuck into you again. the slide is smooth with how wet you’ve gotten, and your pussy clings to him on every outwards thrust, dragging him back inside of you. jisung pushes harder and the knife presses harder. “hannie. hyung, be- be careful.”

“don’t need to be,” jisung responds, quick, and yanks your head upwards so you’re just suckling on his cockhead. you’ve been drooling all over it, and the feeling of your wet mouth around the most sensitive part of him makes his thighs tremble. he’s close. he never lasts long in your mouth, and you reach one hand up from your position, running a thumb over the creased skin of his ballsack. his foot shoots out so sharply it kicks jeongin in the thigh. “fuck! sorry, sorry aegi, i’m- i’m close, i-“

“already?” jeongin chuckles, but his thrusts are beginning to stagger too. he’s just as close as his boyfriend is, and the blood smearing on your throat has you clenching so hard you think you might be, too. jeongin’s pace quickens, and despite it being messy and uncalculated you let your head fall to jisung’s hip with a moan. he’s fine to strip his cock in your face, body curled over you to hold the knife to your neck, and you nuzzle downwards to suck his balls into your mouth.

“yes! yesyesyes, baby, oh, yeah! just like that, my baby, gonna- i’ll cum, fuck, on your face, you want it?”

“fuck. fuck, daddy, please,” you keen, and you watch in real time how it affects your boyfriend. jisung’s eyebrows scrunch together, pouty lips forming the perfect o as his cock spurts ropes of cum onto your head. it’s imprecise, landing mostly on your forehead and in your hair, and you squeal when jeongin yanks you back by the same messy strands. 

“daddy? fuckin’ really?” he pulls you into him, almost fully sat in his lap, and uses a hand he slides up your shirt to bounce you on top of him. you’re out of it. the blood has smeared all over your neck and stained the neck of your shirt, but you don’t care, whinging and gripping onto jeongin’s lithe thighs. his balls slap against your clit like this, and you can see jisung’s cock perking in interest already.

“this is fuckin’ hot! aegi, make her cum. wan’ see it.”

“you already saw it, i need to- i gotta cum now,” jeongin gasps, teeth biting into your shoulder. it’s too much. 

“no, jeonginnie, please! make me- please make me cum!”

he gives in. jisung will tease him about this later. his fingers move to your clit despite his words, and with only a few precisely formed circles onto the bud you’re creaming on his cock with another pathetic squeal. the sensitivity rises quickly, and it has tears biting at your eyes, but jeongin continues to fuck into you like you’re nothing more than a warm hole. maybe that’s all you are. the thought has your pussy clenching down again, and he thrusts deep before he fills you up with a shout, thick and warm inside of you.

jisung stretches his limbs with a sigh, thumb and index finger rubbing over his cockhead. it’s all too wet, and jeongin slides his softening cock out of your hole with a groan. the knife clatters unceremoniously to the floor. before you can whine and make a fuss over the cum still on your face, jeongin grabs hold of your hair and presses his tongue against your skin.

“when do i get a kiss?” jisung protests, cock still soft against his tank top. “no kisses for hannie even after all that hard work. this is unjust. unfair. it’s wrong, i would say.”

you watch jeongin surge across the bed and feed jisung his own cum from his lips. it’s dirty, and jisung’s shaft twitches valiantly against his tummy when he kisses back, tongues intertwining amidst the high pitched noise he makes. you let them kiss for a bit, and then you wriggle yourself up to your boys. the elder welcomes you with open arms, and jeongin pulls away from his lips with a wet sound, collapsing onto jisung’s shoulder.

“welcome home,” you chirp, and jeongin chuckles sleepily. jisung only pulls you into his chest further, fingers tracing patterns on the bare skin of your arm. “will i be expecting any more late nights this week?”

“tomorrow,” jeongin yawns. his head rests on jisung’s shoulder. you’re pretty sure he’s drooling already. jisung’s eyes flutter shut, at peace. “it’s the build up to halloween, baby. we’re busy these days, but we’ll always make time for you.”

[revelboo]

Revel I cannot express enough how much your writing sparks a giddy feeling in my heart and stomach! You have such a way with words!

May I humbly ask for some mechs reacting to their little human crafting something as a gift for them? Your choice of bots/cons! I just think they would be fascinated at how our tiny fragile hands worked so hard to make something just for them :)

Thank you so much!

Making a Gift For Them Headcanons

Wheeljack

• Vocal indicators blinking when you triumphantly hold up the tray, he can’t help but smile behind his mask. You’ve got energon smudged on your cheek and staining your fingers. And sure, there wasn’t really a reason for you to take a cookie cutter as you’d called it to perfectly good semi-solid energon goodies, but he appreciates the effort. That you’d wanted to make him something special. Expression hopeful and uncertain, he takes the tray from you and sets it down, before pulling you into his arms. “Thank you,” he says, smiling at your puzzled ‘Don’t you want to try them first?’ Couldn’t care less about how they taste, all that matters is that you’d made them for him. Thought of him.

Starscream

• “You made this? For me?” Hooking an arm around your waist, he drags you into him. Doesn’t even care what it is, only that you’d thought of him and made a gift that’s only his. Not Soundwave’s. Not Megatron’s. His. “I knew you loved me best. Were loyal to me,” he growls, pressing his face against your neck.

• Face flushing as he wraps himself around you, there’s no point in bursting his bubble and explaining that you’d made new polishing cloths for all of them, painstakingly stitching their names on each one. He’s happy and that’s all that matters.

TFP Ratchet

• Venting tiredly as you bend over his hand, you’d insisted he mass shift and give you his hand. Has so many things he needs to get done, but hadn’t been able to say no to you. So his hand is in your lap, your back to him so he can’t tell what you’re doing, but he can feel you messing with his servo. “Okay, doc,” you say, grinning as you hold up your hand and he frowns at you. You wrote his name around one of your fingers? Lifting his own hand, he finds your name around his servo. “I figured your hands were too big for a wedding ring and if I did find one big enough, you’d just break it mass shifting.” Shrugging at him, it’s the wedding part he’s latched on to. Knows from talking to June that it’s a human bonding ceremony. And you’d laid your claim on him, marked him as yours, his spark warming. “Don’t worry, it’s not permanent. It’ll wash off eventually,” you add when he’s silent, shoulders hunching. ‘If I wanted it to be permanent?’ He asks, voice a gruff rumble and your face heats.

Tarantulas

• Lowering himself to his peds and bending when you imperiously wave him down, his extra limbs cage you as you attach the thing you’ve made to his chassis. Flowers? Knows you’ve been ranging away from his lair hunting some and that you’d given him an absolutely scandalized look when he’d suggested that there were plenty of fake flowers right outside. Apparently, you’d considered taking those grave robbing. “It’s lovely?” Doesn’t know what to make of this, but you’d thought of him. Made something with those soft hands for him when not that long ago you were frightened of him. And you lean up and brush your mouth against his mandibles. Freezing aside from one extra leg that hooks and taps against your thigh.

Constructicons

• “Oh for Primus’s sake,” Scrapper growls as Bonecrusher shoves him aside, hands cupped. And you smile up at him, leaning to lay the tiny, paper swan you’d folded in his palm. You’d made the thing for him, but it’s not like he has any use for it. But it’s the principle of the thing. You made it for him, not Bonecrusher. That’s his and he’s going to have it or die trying to take it. Seizing his much bigger brother by the wrist, Bonecrusher head butts him when he tries to take the swan. “It’s mine!” Barely aware of you retreating into your tiny habsuite with a disgruntled ‘I made you all one.’

Earthspark Soundwave

• Growling as he vents, his servos flex when you lower your hands and your little offering. And for some reason your disappointment bothers him. Can’t even figure out why you’d make him something to begin with. Hasn’t he made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want you here? That you’re only an intruder and a nuisance? “Yeah. Nevermind,” you mumble, turning away and now his cassettes are staring at him. “It was silly anyway.” He might as well have kicked you with the way Frenzy is frowning at him. Even Ravage looks unhappy with him. Snarling, he leans and pinches the back of your shirt between two servos and tugs you back. ‘Give it here,’ he demands as you shoot him a surly look. Apparently not wanting him to have his gift anymore. ‘Now.’ What is he even going to do with this? And maybe it is sweet that you’d thought of him and wanted to make him something, but he’s not admitting that to anyone. Let alone you.

[lazysoulwriter]

something like hope. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending. // requests are open!

---

You weren’t supposed to cry today.

It was just a rough morning. One of those where your chest felt heavy for no reason you could name, and even the smallest things made your throat tighten. You had hoped that seeing Pedro — his smile, his laugh, that way he always made you feel like the most important person in the room — would pull you out of it.

But it didn’t. Not right away, anyway.

“You okay?” Pedro’s voice was soft as he leaned against your doorframe, brows drawn together in gentle concern.

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He didn’t believe you. He never did when you lied like that.

Pedro stepped in without waiting for an invitation, walking straight into your little cocoon of blankets and throw pillows. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed beside you on the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you weren’t falling apart inside. Like he hadn’t just walked into a storm you couldn’t explain.

“You want me to leave?” he asked, voice quiet.

You shook your head immediately.

He nodded, like he’d already known the answer. “Okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a while. You just sat there, your knees drawn to your chest, and Pedro next to you with one arm resting behind your head on the couch. His presence was solid. Warm. Grounding. He didn’t try to make you talk. He just let you breathe.

Eventually, when you let out a small sigh, he looked at you again.

“You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?” he said. “If you’re not okay, that’s fine. I’ll still be here.”

Your throat tightened again, but for a different reason. The kind that made your chest ache, not from sadness, but from something softer. Something scarier.

“I just feel… off,” you admitted. “Like everything’s too loud and too quiet at the same time. And I’m tired. Not sleep-tired, just… soul-tired.”

Pedro’s eyes softened in that way they only ever did with you. He shifted, reaching out — not to pull you in, but to gently tug the sleeve of your hoodie. Just that small gesture made your eyes sting again.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured. “I wish I could make it better.”

“You do,” you whispered, finally looking at him. “You always do.”

Something flickered in his eyes then. A flash of something unspoken. You felt it like a jolt in your chest — the weight of everything the two of you never said.

He reached up slowly, brushing a thumb under your eye. “You’ve been crying.”

You nodded, barely.

Pedro didn’t speak. He just pulled you toward him, slow and careful like he thought you might break. And you let him. You leaned into his chest, letting his arms wrap around you, letting your body melt against his like it had always belonged there.

“Can I stay?” he asked, his voice close to your ear now, low and gentle.

“Please.”

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but your fingers curled into his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear. Pedro held you tighter, resting his chin against your head.

“I don’t care what time it is, or where I’m supposed to be,” he whispered. “If you need me, I’m here. Always.”

You pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him. And that’s when it happened — the shift. That stillness in the air, heavy with things unspoken.

Your faces were so close. Too close.

His eyes searched yours, and you knew — he was thinking about kissing you. You were thinking about it too. You both hovered in that space, breathless, not moving, but feeling everything.

Then the moment passed.

Pedro cleared his throat softly, blinking as he pulled back just enough to let the tension dissolve. But the air was different now. Warmer. Charged.

Neither of you said anything about it.

But when you leaned against him again, you felt his hand settle over yours. He didn’t let go for the rest of the afternoon.

And you didn’t stop thinking about that almost-kiss for the rest of the week.

Something had changed.

And deep down, you both knew — there was no going back.

---