#I'm trying to get better and take my time...

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

── Made for this

Pairings: Joel x fem!reader x Tommy

Summary: Joel's been using you all day. Slow, deep, possessive. Until your body's trembling and your voice raw from begging. But when tommy walks in fresh off patrol and finds you wrecked and open, Joel decides to let him have a taste. Just once. Just to show him what he's been keeping to himself.

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+). Threesome, power dynamics, voyeurism/exhibitionism, oral sex (fem!receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, possessiveness, slight degration, use of pet names ('good girl', 'sweet girl'), pussy pronouns, multiple orgasms, creampiesss, pervy!Joel, soft!tommy

Word count: 800

Your legs are still trembling.

Joel's been on you all day, dragging you to bed after breakfast, bending you over the counter after lunch, fucking you slow and deep until you were babbling his name like a prayer.

Now the sun's low, your thighs are sticky, your lips swollen and your whole body's boneless against the mattress.

"Can't take anymore," you whimper, breathing hard, legs slightly parted as Joel runs a heavy hand over your thigh. He hums, leaning back in the chair beside the bed, fully dressed expect for his belt undone and cock out, already thick in His hand.

"That ain't not true, baby. I know that pussy. She'll take more."

You whine softly, flushed and soaked, your whole body twitching when his thumb brhshes your inner thigh.

Then the front door opens and slams shut.

Boots. Footsteps. And then-

"Joel? You home?"

Tommy.

You try to close your legs but Joel grips your knee and spreads them wider. "Let him see," he drawls. "He's earned it." Your heart pounds as tommy appears in the bedroom doorway, face streaked with dirt and sweat from patrol.

He freezes when he sees you. Spread, open, flushed, slick and aching, while Joel strokes his cock slow beside you.

"Jesus Christ..." Tommy mutters, eyes wide.

Joel just chuckles, looking between you and his younger brother. "Shes been a mess all day," he says casually. "Cried on my cock twice already. Thought maybe you'd like a taste." Your breath catches, the hungry in Tommy's eyes is obvious.

You shiver as he steps closer, the heat of his body making your thighs twitch. "You sure?" Tommy asks, voice rough. "You want me to-"

"Shes alrwsy soaked," Joel cuts in, not even looking at you as he fists himself slowly. "Can't stop drippin'. Go on. Take your time with her." You meet Tommy's gaze, chest rising and falling.

Tommy kneels at the edge of the bed, his big hands curling under your thighs as he pulls you gently toward him. "Sweet girl," he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. "Look at you.." he noses along your folds, inhaling deeply before dropping his tongue up your slit.

You cry out, legs jerking, already too sensitive but tommy groans like he's starved, like you're the only thing he's ever wanted.

He takes his time. Tongue slow and wide. Lips gentle. Hands stroking your hips like you're something precious. Bjs mouth is soft, worshipful. Nothing like Joel's rough, greedy rhythm. And get, it makes you shake.

"Shes already twitchin'," Joel says low, his voice heavy with arousal as he watches from the chair. "You ain't even gotten started yet."

Tommy groans against you, lapping deeper. "She tastes so fuckin' sweet," he says, mouth shining. "Can't believe you been keepin' this to yourself." Joel chuckles, lazily stroking his cock as he leans back. "You think I'm gonna share often?" He mutters. "You better enjoy it while it lasts." Tommy does. He feasts on you, slow at first, gentle flicks of his tongue then deeper, firmer strokes as you writhe beneath him. Your hands curl in the sheets. Your body arches. You moan until your throat's raw.

Joel jerks himself slowly, eyes never leaving your soaked pussy and Tommy's mouth working between your legs.

"Fuckin' hell,' he rasps. "Look at you. One little tongue and you're already losin' it. Can barely speak."

"Joel," you cry, breathless. "I- I can't-"

"Yes, you can," he growls. "You'll come fo him, and then you'll come again for me."

Tommy hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling you deeper against his mouth and moans low as your back arches and your hips buck.

His tongue dosent stop, not even when you start sobbing, not even when your thighs clamp around his head.

He holds you don't gently and keeps eating you. Joel watches with a darkz hungry gaze, his cock twitching in his hand. "That's it," he groans. "That's my good girl."

You shatter, again and again, the pleasure rolling through it. He dosent come up until your hips are shaking and you're whimpering from the intensity. "Could stay here all night," tommy pants, resting his cheek against your thigh.

Joel grins. "Go ahead."

And Tommy does,

Over and over.

You lose track of how many times you come, three? Four? More? Your voice is gone. Your thighs ache. Your pussy's sore and soaked and glistening under the low light. Joel stands finally, fjsting his cock as he comes closer. "Move over," he growls to tommy. "I wanna come on that pretty little pussy."

Tommy pulls back, lips swollen, face wet, watching with hooded eyes as Joel strokes himself fast, staring straight at your wrecked body. He grips your thigh, moaning loud as he spills himself across your slit, thick white streaks painting your skin.

"Fuck, fuck- look at her," he growls, his body shaking. "So fuckin' good. Made for this."

You're trembling, lips parted, eyes dazed.

Tommy leans over toy and brushes your hair back gently. "You okay, baby?" You nod faintly, still whimpering as Joel lets go of her leg.

"Think she had enough for now, get some sleep," he said as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead before covering her under the covers.

[pedge-page]

Purpose

Neighbor!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: joel teaches you about your purpose.

Warnings: young!reader (20 something). Naive. Joel is creepy/perverted. Slight coercion. Breeding kink. Lots of talks of pregnancy and body parts. Creampie. Groping/ touching.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You didn't have a mom growing up. Your dad took care of you but never answered any of your pressing questions. By the time you were 20, you were too embarrassed to ask anyone else about the why's.

Why do you have boobs and men dont. Why a vagina when he has a dick. You weren't stupid: you knew what all the differences were. Explained in anatomical terms about how it works. But nobody told you "why".

You're very glad to have a good neighbor like Joel. He didnt laugh at you despite your clear embarrassment. Instead he invited you in. Let you sit on his couch. And he talked you through it all:

He holds your hand gently while strumming your arm with his other knuckle. "Well its all related to one thing actually: making babies."

"I thought it takes two to make a baby."

"It does. Let me rephrase. To have a baby, you got all these special parts."

You frown, not sure why so many differences were needed.

He explained further, "See, ya get these beautiful hips when you mature: That's for help carrying that little guy in there when he starts to get heavy." He lifts your shirt ever slightly, gently tapping your belly button.

"And if ya sit up for me--" he places his warm hand at the arch of your lower back, feeling your curve. "Helps ya push better. When its time to come out."

His finger trails up your stomach to your chest. You listen with curious eyes, not caring at the way he squeezes your tit ever slightly. "N ya gotta feed them when they come out. Can't just be eating hot dogs with no teeth. So they need to drink from here. They droop and get bigger to help the baby when ya swaddle him."

He leans further down, wrapping his lips around your tit through your shirt, peering up at you. "See?"

He wipes his mouth, noticing the wet ring he left around your shir. Licking his lips as he eyes you over. "Ya see? Everythin' designed with purpose."

"Purpose being..."

He chuckles. "To carry babies. Thats what ya here for."

You think about it for a moment. Yeah, you knew women could have babies, but you never realizes all the little differences were solely JUST to carry a baby. There were no other reasons. Just all the same one.

The loss of his touch suddenly makes you shiver.

"So why... why does it... feel good. When they get touched? Theres no baby here."

"Oh." He presses himself more closely to you. "This feel good?" He asks as his finger flicks your erect nipple through your shirt. His other hand strokes along your inner thigh.

Your body feels hot, heart racing. Its like his touch is suddenly all you can thikk about. You nod.

"That's also with purpose. See, makin' babies is supposed to feel good. Ya supposed to enjoy it. Thats why ya get all tingly when yoyre touched. Its ya body's way of sayin' it wants a baby in her."

"Does that ... mean its time?"

Joel shrugs innocently. "Do you feel it?"

"It just... feels really good when you touch me. I feel... warm."

"Yeah? Like this?" He presses a wet kiss to your neck. At the same time, his thick palms spread over your chest and down to cup both breasts. "S feel good?"

You let out a whimper.

"Um...and ..." you dont want to say it. But Joel watches as your eyes glance down to your lap. Your legs shifting together uncomfortably, trying to alleviate the pressure in your core.

"Feelin' bothered here too?" He nudges your legs open. The scent of your arousal fill his lungs almost immediately. His eyes flutter for a moment, squeezing your thighs hard. You're already wet for him. "Thats good, baby. All the signs are there."

"Would you... can i...?"

"You want my babies?"

You nod eagerly. "You said it was time."

Joel swallows, unbuttoning your shorts. "If that's what you want. I'm in no position to deny your needs." He let's out a a slight gasp when your shorts and panties are pulled off: your pussy glistening, clit twitching. "Besides... i can teach ya little bit about my parts too." He rubs his hardened length through his jeans. "But first--" Joel gets to his knees, pulling your hips so you slide down the couch with a yelp. "M gonna need to make sure this pussy is up for the tast. Not an easy thing, makin babies."

"Its not?" You say softly, a hint of worry in your voice.

"Not at first. But somethin' tell me--" he prods at your entrance with his thick fingers. Your hips are already moving up to his lips desperately.

He smirks. "Somethin' tells me you're a natural."

-

After a generous load buried deep into your cunt, you lay back on the couch and sigh contently. Joel was right. Your body feels so much better. All the aches and needs dissipated as soon as he fucked you through and through.

He's already standing up and buckling his belt. "Bet ya need to be gettin home now."

You feel cold shock run through you. "Wait! How do I know if im pregnant? Am i...?"

"Fraid we wont know any time soon. You'll need to keep comin' back every day so we can keep trying."

"Every day?"

"I ain't know when ya ovulating. And sometimes it dont stick. Gotta hit it closer to your fertile window--"

Your confused stare back at him makes him shake his head.

"Forget it. Thats a little too much for ya right now. Still a beginner." He sees you to the door.

"Every day?" You ask.

"Yup."

"Until?"

"Until ya got a baby in there," he teases , poking your belly button with a grin. "Till then. Gotta just keep tryin. Means more feelin' good."

Your face gets warm as you cant hide your smile. "I like making babies," you admit.

He kisses your forehead. "'Supposed to. Its ya purpose. Feels good to achieve your purpose."

You nod and leave, feeling Joel's warm cum already pooling into your underwear.

You can't wait for tomorrow to come.

- - - -

Perhaps.... a part 2?

Taglist:

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[seitmai]

Many thoughts

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

Instant bonding 🤝🏻

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky. 

Well what a great reason to be distracted 🤭

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.��  “How do you know that?” Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.”

Thank God he encourages her to eat

 You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down.

Truly a sight for sore eyes 😌

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.” You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears. 

That truly sounds horrible and I'm on Bucky’s side, the jokes don't make it any better

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?”  Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.” 

🥹🥹🥹

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone.

 You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are 

Not saying also says a lot

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window. “What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today. “I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?” 

I respect a side hustle 🤭

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.” 

Alpine spotting!!

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.” 

Haha I wonder what encounters he had with parking enforcement to earn that reputation 🤔🤭

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear. 

I can truly feel the chaos of getting into the car with all the stuff, been there before, many times 😅

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.”  Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.” “I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke.

Those jokes are definitely not landing with Bucky again

 “I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.”  “Of course it stands.”  You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel. 

🥰🥰🥰

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it. Both answers left the other person less than satisfied. 

Well, at least they have that in common 🥴

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.” “I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.”

Facts!

 You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was.  It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant. 

Fuck that!

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased.  “Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?” 

I like them joking like that together 🥰

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you.

That's great if you ask me 😅

 It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult.

Gorl, just let it happen and enjoy!

 Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head. You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought. 

Brown is truly the worst, I get why Bucky has a hard time holding back

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.”  “If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness. But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—” “Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.” “Right now, maybe.” 

I have Avery bad feeling about this, I think Bucky’s old instincts or something might kick in when he specifically mentions "right now" 😬

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest. You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way. 

Ahhh 🥰

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.” “Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.” 

Valid

“Hey, I have other friends.” “I haven’t seen ‘em.” “Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.” 

I would definitely need proof with his track record 🤭

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers. 

This is crazy, really unreasonable

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on. 

That's so fucked up! I feel so bad for her

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more. You greatly regretted setting that up for him. 

Ah fuck

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you. 

Understandable

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening. 

Wtf that guy is a threat and holds a public office 😡

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?” Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips. 

I really would love the old Bucky to make an appearance rn

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?”  You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest. 

He is so protective 🥺

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.”  “Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.” 

Nooo 💔

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably. You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so. 

At this rate Brown will kill her in one way or another for sure!

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed. 

Understandable!!

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things.

Oh he so deserves it!

You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt. He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough. 

🥺🥺🥺

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage.  You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours. Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you. 

He is so worried for her, understandably so with Brown being around!

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay. Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that.

He didn’t understand 🥺

 “Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?” 

Uhh rough topic 😬

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.” “Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.” 

He's not wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.” “And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed. 

I'm glad he has Sam to share this with

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked. He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

🥹🥹🥹

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.” “What, you mean like blackmail?”  “Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.” 

Good thinking, Sam! Sometimes an outside perspective is everything ☝🏻

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend. 

Mood

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician.

That sounds kinda fun...

 That was not the case for this gala. 

...but that really doesn't 😬

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it.  Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that. 

If I thought Brown couldn't get any worse 🥲

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.” 

🤢🤢🤢

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

For real

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.” “You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?” The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

Damn what a way to connect again 😬

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away.  “I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.”  “Fine. What do you want?” Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest."

Fair haha

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed. 

🥹🥹🥹

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.” “Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes.  “I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.”

God he cares so deeply about her 🥺

 “He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.” Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?”  “I’d be blacklisted.” “He can’t do that.” “He can.” 

Urgh Bucky really is naive in this and that breaks my heart, because in that moment he realizes he might really not able to help her 💔

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it.

Maybe she should move, fake her death pin it on Brown 🤔 thinking about it I like that plan and I might know someone else who likes it and would be really helpful from experience with this lol

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you. Was D.C. even worth it? 

Absolutely not! Someone steals my dessert? The last straw, I would be OUT!

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty. 

Ew why are the men cheering 🤢

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears. 

He 100% did

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!” “How should I know?” 

And once again he gets worse!

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything. 

Oh god this must be horrible

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief. 

🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy. “You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.” Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind. “I got you, okay?” 

He's so gentle and all she needs in thats situation 🥺 (also is there no ambulance on stand by? This feels like a place lots of old politicians that could drop dead any second lol)

“F-f-feels—” “I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register.

People like that are essentially in emergency situations like that👏🏻

And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

He truly should know by now🤦🏻‍♀️

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?” “B-bucky—” “Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?” Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now. 

🥺🥺🥺

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.” Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone. 

Yes 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 and I hope she dumps his ass!

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head. He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest. 

He is just so sweet 🥹

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?” 

It wasn't even an option to not wait

Finally!🥳👏🏻🥰

It only took you a moment to make a decision. You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation.  It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected. 

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman. 

🤭🤭🤭

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway. 

I couldn't be happier about this 🥳👏🏻

Checks and Balances

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your boss was an ass—you knew it, the office knew it, the entire country knew it. Working for Senator Brown was never easy, but you had managed it for the better part of three years and didn’t want to see your career go up in flames. Unfortunately for you, Bucky was slowly falling in love with you, and Congressman Barnes didn’t think managing it was enough. 

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Injury (kinda), hospitals, angst, an abusive boss, protective Bucky!!

a/n: Ahh a Bucky fic that's not an AU (that's also one million words)! Idk how the government works tbh so sorry if things are a little inaccurate there lol. This takes place right before Thunderbolts! Thank you for reading, I love you!! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Congressman Barnes,” you greeted, a slight nod of your head the only acknowledgement you could afford. Senator Brown was only a moment away from screaming at you again, and you could only take so much screaming in one day.  

Bucky, unfortunately, did not care about being screamed at by Senator Brown. He took your upper arm in a light grip and shot you a confused smile. “What, you avoiding me? Can’t be seen in the halls talking to me?” 

A fairer assessment of Bucky’s interruption was that he didn’t know of the wrath Senator Brown could incite upon you. Sure, Bucky knew that Brown was a hardass, and by association, his executive assistant would have to put up with it, but he had no way of knowing just how terrible the man was. 

When you met Bucky a few weeks ago, you had been alone in a hotel lobby. The heels accompanying your freshly pressed pantsuit had been killing you, and you needed a moment for your feet to breathe. Bucky, apparently, also needed a moment away from the conference, and you had gotten to talking when he plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside you. 

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

In the weeks that followed, you had texted with him, met for coffee twice because he was “in the area”, and had maybe even considered the fact that you were friends with Congressman Barnes. Friends were invaluable to have in D.C., but they were also something to be wary of. Bucky didn’t feel the type to be wary of. 

As you stood halfway frozen in the hallway, his comment began to make sense. He was calling back to your initial hotel conversation, making a joke about biases and stuck-up politicians, but this was not the time. Not that he could have known. 

Senator Brown barked out your name when he noticed you were no longer beside him, surely trying to get you to jot down some thought banging around in his head. You whipped your head to the side, almost missing the affronted expression on Bucky’s face as he registered the tone that your name was spoken in, and shook your arm from his hold. 

“Sorry, Congressman,” you murmured, turning on your heel and making quick strides in Brown’s direction. “I apologize. What can I do for you, Senator?” 

Your boss barely hid a scoff. “You can start by being where I need you to be. And write this down—I do not believe that the House takes the proper—” 

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky. 

Your heels hurriedly clicking against polished marble, you took a fleeting glance over your shoulder. Bucky remained there, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest, metal from his hand glinting against the gentle fluorescence of the hall. 

Three days later, he brought it up. 

You thought you’d found a private spot to scarf down your lunch in your allotted fifteen-minute break, but with a sandwich only half finished and your mouth full, the call of your name reminded you that there is never any privacy for you at this job. The sound of Bucky’s voice softened the blow a bit. 

“He always treat you like that?” Bucky asked, swinging his leg over the bench on the other side of the table. He watched as you tried to chew quickly, some of the hardness he’d sat down with melting from his expression. 

You covered your mouth with your hand and swallowed hard. “What?” you finally got out, reaching for your water bottle. 

Bucky raised a brow. “Brown. Does he always yell at you?” 

After a few sips and swallows, you gave up on being able to finish your lunch. You had to plan out your meals very meticulously to finish, and Bucky had already taken up 30 precious seconds. 

“Oh,” you began. You swiped a hand through the air. “It’s fine. He just gets a little intense sometimes. It’s just his personality.” 

“You’ve been working for him for three years.” 

“Right.” 

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.” 

You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” you said, reaching for the fruit in your bag. “I meant to. I’ve just been working late since the meeting on Monday.” 

“It’s alright.” A pause as you continued to eat your food. You had maybe four minutes left. “How late?” 

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.” 

You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears. 

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?” 

Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.” 

“To check on me?” 

“After Monday, I wanted to make sure—” 

Your phone started going off, the “Senator Brown” contact making your blood run cold. You brought your watch up and let out a gasp that made Bucky jump. 

“What?” he rushed, standing from the table as you started to pack your things in a panic. He went to help you, but after two brushes of his hands, he realized he was only in the way. 

“My break was over two minutes ago. I have to go right now.” 

“Two minutes? What—y/n, that isn’t—” 

He was here to check on you. Right. That was really sweet. 

Your brain tried to catch up with your panic as you reached over and squeezed his arm gratefully. “I’m really fine, Bucky. It was nice to see you. We should get coffee again.” You were sliding through the double doors and back into the building as you called, “I’ll text you. I promise this time.” 

And you did. In the seven minutes of free time you got around 9 pm, you sent him a quick follow-up text. The bubble went right below his text from two days ago, and you felt a small pinch of guilt for not answering him until now.

You: Free Saturday morning?

He answered you almost instantly.

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone. 

You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are 

You: …maybe 

And then, your seven minutes of silence were up. When Brown’s footsteps could be heard by the door, you tucked your phone into your desk and went to work on the stack of papers he assigned you. He so graciously let you know that he was going home now, and you could leave once you were finished. 

That was perfect. 

It took you an hour and a half, but when you sorted the final paper and checked his schedule for tomorrow for the last time, a sense of relief flooded you. You didn’t even care that it would take another 30 minutes for an Uber to arrive. All you could think about was your shower and your bed and taking these shoes off your feet. 

You gathered your belongings and swiped your phone from the desk, clicking to the rideshare app and somewhat dreading the small talk to come. It would be extremely convenient to have a car, but that wasn’t something in the cards for you. Your tiny apartment had barely any parking, and everything else was within walking distance. 

As you continued to ponder the pros and cons of taking the bus home, a honk from the curb made you jump. You lowered your phone and squinted into the distance of the now barren road. 

“Someone order an Uber?” 

Disbelief was your first emotion, and then shock and then confusion. “Buck—Congressman Barnes?” you asked, correcting yourself when the memory of the building at your back resurfaced. 

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today.

“I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?” 

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. You shook your phone by your face and leaned down towards the window. “Haven’t even ordered it yet. I’m not supposed to get in the car unless they can put in the code verifying my identity.” 

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.” 

Your next laugh was more of a scoff as he reached through the window to take it back. “Seriously, what are you doing here?” 

Bucky paused, looking you up and down for a moment before his jaw ticked to the side in a smile. “I’m taking you home. You live close, it won’t take very long.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.” 

You went to argue again, but Bucky only raised a brow and unlocked the doors. 

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear. 

You turned to look at him instantly, but the man only gave you a closed-lip smile and shifted the gear of his car, pulling away from the building of your nightmares. You blinked back towards the dashboard, needing a few more seconds to settle yourself. 

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.” 

Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.” 

“I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke. 

Not the best joke, it seemed, with Bucky’s fist clutching the steering wheel a hair tighter, the sound of leather meeting your ears. He shook his head. “Where’s Brown? He doesn’t let you take work home?” 

“Oh, he does sometimes,” you chipperly replied, trying to sound awake and get Bucky un-pissed off. “He just checks my timesheets when we work overtime, so I have to make sure I stay late enough so that he won’t say anything. I still have this to take care of once I get home.”

You tapped the manila file in your lap and looked over to Bucky as he drove. He was wearing jeans and a pullover crewneck, his hair tied back and casual, and even though you’d seen him outside of work before, he looked different this way. Something about the night and him driving you home made him look different. 

Bucky didn’t make a comment about your work or the system you had to avoid criticism from the Senator. Silence lapsed in the car, you lightly drumming your fingers on your thigh as the D.C. night swept past along the car windows. 

“I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.” 

“Of course it stands.” 

You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel. 

~~

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it. 

Both answers left the other person less than satisfied. 

“What about you?” Bucky asked, tilting his cup up. “Why have you been an executive assistant for so long?” 

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.” 

“I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.” 

You shot him a mock glare. “Trying to get rid of me, Congressman?” 

Bucky leaned forward, placing a hand on the small table that only separated you a few inches. He answered you earnestly, but a small amount of humor lightened his eyes, made him look less serious. “Now, why would I want to do that?” 

Your lips parted to quip something back, but then he was raising his hand again, the heat of his skin lingering at the corner of your mouth. He swiped his thumb there, and you were frozen, a replica of when he brushed your hair back a few nights ago, but the car had been a distraction then. You had been flustered and trying to sort out your belongings, so you didn’t think about it for longer than a few seconds. 

“Whipped cream,” he explained, holding you in his gaze for a moment longer than you should have been. Even as the barista from behind the counter was now standing at your table and speaking. 

“Hi! Would the two of you like to try our new coffee cake? Free samples since it’s new.” 

Bucky was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from yours to smile politely at the barista. You shook from your stupor and quickly reached for a napkin, brushing it against your lips even though nothing remained. 

You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was. 

It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant. 

“What about you, ma’am?” You blinked several times and looked up to read the small ‘coffee cake’ sign lying next to the treats, the barista’s blinding smile expecting and very retail. 

“I’m allergic to cinnamon, but thank you.” 

“Allergic to cinnamon?” Bucky asked as the barista left.

“Yeah, anaphylaxis and everything. I carry an epipen with me, but I’ve only had to use it once when I was 10. Did you know that some bakeries add cinnamon to buttercream birthday cakes?” you chuckled, reorienting yourself to the present. “Are you allergic to anything? Or, I guess you probably aren’t. Isn’t that a serum thing?” 

“Not allergic to anything, but if I had been, it would’ve been wiped out by the serum. We didn’t really have a lot of food variety in the 30s. Could have been allergic to shellfish—didn’t try that until after.” 

You had to pause the cup at your lips. “Oh my god, I forgot you’re like 100 years old.” 

Bucky’s expression morphed into an offended wince. “Alright, I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t exactly lived 100 years.” 

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?” 

You knocked your head back in a laugh, holding your stomach with your forearm. “How did I forget this?” 

“You know what? I’m not driving you home anymore.” 

With lingering giggles, you righted yourself in your chair, a smile still clear in your voice. Contrasting his words, Bucky’s smile was just as wide as yours, a slight redness to his cheeks making him look softer. You brought a hand to cover his arm on the table. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Bucky. You aren’t old. I take it back.” 

“Yeah, you better,” he taunted, though his arm flipped over and he gave your wrist a soft squeeze as he said it. 

~~

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you. 

You didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or if this was something he commonly did with his friends, but he was going to get you in trouble. 

Outside of work, it was fine—distracting and disorienting, but fine. A brush of his hand helping you into the car, fixing your bag on your shoulder, a hand on your back when you left the coffee shop; over the past few weeks, it had all begun to feel commonplace. 

It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult. 

Because, again, Congressman Barnes could not be dating an assistant. His credibility among the rest of Congress was already being questioned almost daily, and he did not need the court of public opinion breathing down his neck on top of that. It was a fortunate truth that while the internal part of his job was tricky, most of the public favored him. 

So, as much as your chest hurt and your stomach flipped whenever you were around him, you settled for friendship. A touchy friendship. 

At work, things felt heightened in the worst way possible. 

You couldn’t even understand why he was coming to the top floor so often, seemingly lingering there so he could scare the crap out of you when you’d turn a corner. And then it would be a smile and another hand at your back when he was passing you—a hand that was not necessary. Or he would find you at the tail-end of your lunch break and move your hair away from your eyes, distracting you to the point of no return. 

It was the worst because you were getting distracted, and when you were distracted, you got yelled at. 

Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head. 

You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought. 

“You should go to human resources,” Bucky commented one Sunday, the two of you sitting along a lake by the Capitol building. 

You almost snorted. “Right. And what do you think old Mrs. Martha is going to be able to do for me? Brown has been in office for over a decade. If anything, that would just get me fired.” 

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.” 

“If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness. 

But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—” 

“Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.”

“Right now, maybe.” 

You sighed, searching his eyes and trying to discern when this became such an intense conversation. Trying to figure out when the two of you had discussions like this and not just lax coffee hangouts. Against your better judgment, you placed a hand over his thigh and relented. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll work on it, but I’ll be the one working on it, okay? It definitely can’t be you—he would freak out if a representative started ordering him around. Even if you could totally knock him out.” 

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, a smile begrudgingly sneaking onto his face. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.” 

“You can definitely believe that.” 

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest.

You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way. 

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.” 

“Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.” 

You pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why? Afraid your only friend will bite it?” 

“Hey, I have other friends.” 

“I haven’t seen ‘em.” 

“Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.” 

“Okay, sure, Bucky,” you sang out, tapping his chest. “But if we need to reschedule this meeting with your 'friends,’ I would understand.” 

As Bucky went on to refute your insinuations in a grumpy tone, you tried to pretend that this felt like that—just a friendship. 

~~

Approximately four days later, everything went to shit. 

Senator Brown was on a tirade, screaming at everyone and everything in his path. When he got like this, the admin staff usually locked the doors to his office and the entire floor if they could, but today, they weren’t ready for how angry he was. 

It was a bill, or a speech, or maybe even the press catching wind that he was cheating on his wife—it didn’t matter. He was pissed and you were going to have to answer for it. 

You stood in his office with a clear view of the glass wall connecting to the hallway, hands behind your back and fighting off a wince with every curse and insult the Senator threw at you. 

“I hired you to take care of this bullshit! Why the hell am I dealing with this when I’m supposed to have an entire staff? This is fucked!” 

“You’re too worried about going home early, you can’t even assemble a reply to an email correctly! A fucking email!”

“I should’ve fired you weeks ago. When you started fucking off to wherever you take too long for your lunch break and stopped doing your job. I swear to god, this country has—” 

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers. 

Affairs and divorce were always messy for politicians. 

“Of course, Senator. I will do better. I apologize,” you offered, unsure what you were apologizing for at the present. It wouldn’t matter; he would just start up again about another topic. 

“Damn right you will or I’ll send you out on the streets. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in D.C when a Senator blacklists you?” 

Did you ever. 

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on. 

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more.

You greatly regretted setting that up for him. 

You braced yourself for further yelling as his face began to turn red, but were alarmed as the Senator reached for the wooden pencil case on his desk and threw it. Pens flew, and you knew he wasn’t aiming for you, but the cup hit a vase on a high bookshelf to your right, which then toppled over and shook loose the framed art hanging above your head. 

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you. 

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening. 

The glass door to the office swung open. 

“What the hell?” A hand was on your elbow. A colder one felt around the top of your head. It was Bucky, obviously it was Bucky, but you were too afraid to look, keeping your gaze locked on Senator Brown. “Hey, you okay?” 

The hand on your head moved down to your jaw, forcing your gaze to Bucky. He searched every inch of your face as you blinked at him, mind blank. “Um, I’m fine.” 

Your brows furrowed, trying to connect the chain of events that led to this. You brought your hand up to replace where Bucky had placed his, the action seemingly spurring him into action. 

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?” 

Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Congressman. It was a simple accident. You weren’t even in the room to see it happen.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need to be. You’re screaming at her when you’re not throwing. What kinda grown man does that?” 

“Bucky—” you cautioned, glued to the floor still. 

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?” 

You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest. 

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.” 

“Wait, I—” 

“Maybe if you spent time picking on someone your own size instead of acting like a coward—” 

“Bucky, don’t—” 

“A coward? A coward? Who’s the one who cannot speak for himself on the board? Tell me, Barnes, is that part of some unresolved trauma from some nondescript decade?” 

“You shut your mouth before I—” 

“Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.” 

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably. 

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. 

Bucky looked at the wall behind your head and then tracked his gaze to the forming lump on your crown. “But—” 

“I am fine,” you repeated slowly. Having risen from the floor before calling his name, you walked to the door and held it open. “We’re very busy. Please excuse us.” 

Bucky licked his lips as he looked to the floor, shaking his head in abject disbelief and following your direction. When he met the entryway, he tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking against it. His hand twitched at his side, and then he left, taking long, purposeful strides away from the office. 

You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so. 

~~

Bucky’s POV

Bucky was losing his mind. 

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed. 

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things. You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt. 

He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough. 

Bucky swiped a hand over his mouth. 

When had you started to matter to him so much? That was a stupid question, and apparently, he was full of stupidity today.

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage. 

“Shit,” he breathed out, knocking his head back and falling back into his office chair.

He’d messed up. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew you were not happy with him. What did “taking care of it” even mean? And why were you so dead set on keeping that awful job? Bucky could think of at least a dozen other jobs in D.C. that would not involve you being verbally and physically abused. 

Fuck, he wished he had more pull, but as a Congressman of only a few months, there was little he could do against a Senator. And he had a meeting in five minutes. 

Bucky pulled his phone out and sent you a quick text about talking after work, let out the longest sigh of his life, and then readjusted his tie. 

That had been three days ago. 

You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours. 

Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you. 

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay. 

Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that. 

Bucky brought his turmoil to the barbecue Sam was holding that weekend. The one you were supposed to be at. 

Nursing his fifth beer that wouldn’t do anything, Bucky leaned back against the fence of Sam’s yard and sulked. He’d talked to a few people when he got there, but sulking was on his agenda for the afternoon. 

“What’s up with the stank face?” Sam asked, entering Bucky’s orbit of solitude and despair. “It’s gonna get stuck like that if you keep it up.” 

“I don’t have a stank face,” Bucky argued. 

“Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?” 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“Oh, you don’t? Then it’s that.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking back more of his beer as the sizzle of burgers juxtaposed with his somberness. “Alright, fine. It’s that. But it’s stupid. We weren’t even…”

“Dating?” 

“Yeah. That.” 

“You told me you went out for coffee and all that. That you would go on long walks at the lake and canoodle at work.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared out at the merriment of the barbecue, remembering the scene more vividly than he would have liked. He tried to find an exact moment that would have led to you avoiding him, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was the entire thing? 

“I think she’s mad at me. I kinda went off on her boss and she told me she wanted to take care of it.” 

“What do you mean ‘went off’? And isn’t she working under a Senator?”

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.” 

“And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed. 

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked. 

He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.” 

“What, you mean like blackmail?” 

“Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.” 

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before wading back into the party in the yard. Bucky, feeling somewhat lighter but also still at peril, kicked off the fence and made his own attempts at being sociable. 

“As soon as I can actually find her,” he grumbled to himself. 

~~

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend. 

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician. 

That was not the case for this gala. 

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had apologized profusely, swore up and down that you didn’t know Congressman Barnes, and practically pledged your life to Brown in every way you knew how. You never left the office, never took a lunch break—you were pretty sure your eyes were permanently dry from how long you stared at a screen all day. 

Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that. 

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.” 

You offered him a tight smile and felt the ache in your shoulders begin to fester. You were more uptight this week than ever, but that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. Nothing. 

It was just this job and your future in D.C. hanging in the balance. 

Obviously. 

You meandered over to the coat check, taking longer than you needed to and dragging your feet along the way. Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your bag—most likely some PR fire you’d need to put out before more people realized Brown was cheating on his wife—and you had absolutely no inclination to drag it out. 

“Just these two,” you offered, pressing the coats into the attendant's hands and taking the ticket in return. 

“Actually, can you add this one to that ticket?” 

As if this night couldn’t get any more uncomfortable. 

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in repressed… something and spun on your heel. 

He was just as close as you were expecting and also far too close for comfort. You knocked your head back to catch his gaze, trying to appear unamused and angry. 

“Why would you do that?” you asked. 

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.” 

“You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. You clutched the coat check number in your hand and began to storm off, not in the headspace to have this conversation at this gala. Bucky, however, did not seem to mind. 

The hand on your arm was soft but firm as you were tugged into a closet and subsequently shoved into a rack of hanging coats. It was too dim to see beyond your hands out in front of you, but Bucky solved that predicament as he entered your space. 

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away. 

“I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.” 

“I was not stomping off,” you scoffed. 

“You were.” 

“Was not!” 

“I could hear your heels. You were stomping.” 

You groaned, pushing into his chest to try and create distance that wasn’t available. Your back only hit the wall. 

“Fine. What do you want?” 

Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest. 

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed. 

Your phone vibrated in your bag, and that warmth turned to ice. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you determined, wiggling your way towards the door. 

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.” 

“Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes. 

“I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.” 

All you could get out was, “Why?” 

Bucky’s next words were spoken as he stared down at your lips. “I think you know why.” 

Breaths began to fail you, each exhale more ragged than the last. You had been expecting this, in a way, and that was why you always made excuses. He couldn’t be with you because he was a Congressman. You were only an assistant. You couldn’t date him because you were too busy. He wouldn’t want to date you, anyway. Senator Brown would never be okay with it. 

All of those excuses evaporated within the shared space of the closet, and then you got scared. So, you blurted out what he wanted. 

“He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.” 

Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?” 

“I’d be blacklisted.” 

“He can’t do that.” 

“He can.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to speak again as the air in the closet became breathable and light peeked in from the cracking door. You sprang back from the Congressman, pushing his hand away from your cheek and slamming your back into the wall. It didn’t help much; the fifteen-year-old with the shawl in her hand was already making her own assumptions as you rushed past her and left Bucky to his own devices in the closet. 

Amazing. 

Just amazing. 

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it. You prayed that Brown was already drinking and wouldn’t catch on. 

Thankfully, your prayers were answered. 

While he was not happy to see you, his raised brow and side-eye deadly as you sat down, he didn’t say anything. And that was how dinner went—quiet and uncomfortable for you, but otherwise par for the course for Senator Brown. 

Bucky was staring at you from across the table. The room was backlit by dull candles and expensive chandeliers, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face like an unprecedented heat. He often flickered that gaze to Brown, but it would harden, become angry.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. 

You either stuck it out with Brown or tossed your political science degree in the trash can on your way out.

When dinner passed and dessert was served, you eyed the lemon tart mocking you from your plate. Dessert, when your life felt so out of control and confusing, couldn’t hurt, you figured, so you picked up your fork and ignored the knots taking up space in your stomach. 

“Yours looks better.” Senator Brown picked up the lip of your plate and slid his in its place. “Here.” 

“But—” 

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you. 

Was D.C. even worth it? 

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty. 

You took three bites before it started to sink in. 

You vaguely registered that Bucky had pushed out from the table, a clink of silverware preceding the motion. It was too late for him, however, because as your own fork clattered down, you could no longer breathe. 

Your tongue felt ten times too big in your mouth and your throat was glued shut, air tunneling through any openings it could find. You pushed out from the table and stood. The extra space didn’t do anything. You clawed at your throat until your legs became unsteady and failed from the lack of oxygen. 

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears. 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!” 

“Brown, what is she allergic to?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Well, do something!” 

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything. 

“Move.” 

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief. 

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy. 

“You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind. 

“I got you, okay?” 

“F-f-feels—” 

“I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register. And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

The chaos of the room went silent. Within your shaking hands clutched in Bucky’s suit jacket, your fingers spasmed out of fear. 

“Excuse me?” Brown scoffed. You were honestly surprised he was still in the room.

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?” 

“B-bucky—” 

“Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?” 

“I have no idea,” Brown spat out. He jutted his hand out towards you on the floor. “He never knows what he’s talking about. We’ve established that.” 

“Right,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling you closer to his chest as you gasped for breath. “So what do you call this?” 

“An accident, obviously.” 

Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now. 

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.” 

Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone. 

“What? No,” Brown refuted, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, either. She’s barely even a secretary. She’s—” 

The eyes around the room made his words trail off. “Barely even a secretary” was certainly a degrading title for his mistress, and everyone in the room knew it. If you were to look at your phone, you’d have seen that the newest story of their relationship had been blowing up all night. You guessed she was fed up with him denying it. 

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head. 

~~

After being monitored in the emergency room for approximately six hours, the night shift staff sent you off with a horde of medication to take for the next month and, of course, a new epipen. You trudged out past the waiting room, prepared to wait in the parking lot for an Uber, when a certain man sitting in a chair far too small for him caught your eye. 

He was half asleep, his face held in his metal hand as he nodded off and woke up just as quickly. His suit looked stiff and uncomfortable as he twisted his wrists, dragging the sleeves up to his elbows. He’d discarded the jacket somewhere, probably lost to the world now. And then he spotted you, your dress awkwardly draped over your body in your haphazard attempt to re-dress, your hair completely out of place, and your hands filled with paper bags of medication.

He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest. 

“Scared the shit out of me,” he murmured into your hair. He pressed another kiss there, reminding you that the first one hadn’t been your imagination. 

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, clutching his button-up in your hands. 

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?” 

It only took you a moment to make a decision. 

You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation. 

It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected. 

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman. 

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway. 

[kissandtellus]

I personally headcanon Sylus as such a soft and gentle dom that every attempt from MC to act all bratty to rile him up always ends in failure. Every time MC acts like a brat, Sylus simply gives her the most gentle and heart-melting smile ever before saying something like "Now now, I know you didn't mean to do that. I know you can do better because you're my good girl", and MC just shortcircuits and immediately apologizes all flustered. Would you please write something like that as a request? I just love how patient he is in game (feel free to make it smutty if you want to)

Error of your Ways

Synopsis: After getting injured during a mission, your bratty behavior rears its head. But Sylus is quick to put you in your place:

Warning: Light choking, spit, choking, slapping, soft!Dom behavior.

Sylus sighed as he finished bandaging you up, his expression a mixture of concern and irritation. "You seriously need to be more careful," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with affection. "You're going to get yourself killed if you keep charging into situations without a second thought."

He gently touched your cheek, his touch soft but his gaze intense. "I worry about you, you know. You're important to me, so stop being such a stubborn little bird and listen to me once in a while."

You scoff and jerk your head away. “I can take care of myself you know.”

Sylus let out another exasperated sigh, running his fingers through his silver grey hair. "I never said you couldn't," he replied, his tone edged with irritation. "But just because you can handle yourself doesn't mean you have to go off half-cocked all the time. We work together, remember? We're a team."

He reached for your chin, gently turning your face towards him, his gaze locking onto yours. "Sometimes, letting someone else take care of you every now and then isn't a sign of weakness, you know. It's called being human."

You pull your arm away just as Sylus finished patching you up. “Just…stop trying to parent me.”

Oh. Now you’ve done it. Sylus quirks an eyebrow at your bratty attitude.

Sylus's gaze darkened, his irritation quickly rising at your words. He took a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. "Parent you? Is that what you think I'm doing? I'm trying to keep you safe, little bird. There's a difference."

He reached out and firmly grabbed your chin, his grip tight, making sure you couldn't look away from his intense gaze. "You're as stubborn as a mule, aren't you? You think you know everything, that you can handle everything on your own.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear before he speak. “That’s not how my good girl speak to me. Apologize.” He orders in that cool, even voice.

The tone of Sylus's voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you suddenly remember who you're dealing with. Your defiance quickly melts into submission, and you swallow hard before mumbling a soft apology.

"I'm sorry..." you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze averted from his intense one.

Sylus smirked, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he noticed the change in your demeanor. "That's more like it," he murmured, his tone softer now. "A little obedience won't kill you, little bird."

Sylus's grip on your chin loosened, his touch becoming more gentle as he traced your jawline with his thumb. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, his tone still carrying the hint of authority.

He took a step closer, his body now only inches away from yours. "You know I just want to keep you safe, right? I care about you, even if you're a pain in the ass sometimes."

His hand moved from your chin to your hair, gently carding through the strands as he looked at you with a mixture of irritation and affection. "But you just have to keep pushing boundaries, don't you? You're like a wild animal, always itching for trouble."

He let out a low sigh, his gaze hardening again as he continued. "Sometimes I wish I could just put a leash on you and keep you locked up at this base, where I can keep you safe and in check."

You avoid his eyes, hands clenching in the fabric of your pants. “You’d like that wouldn’t you…to keep me in your trophy room like a-a pet.”

Sylus's gaze darkened once more at your words, his irritation returning full force. He moved even closer to you, his body practically flush against yours. "Watch your mouth, little bird," he warned, his voice a low growl. "You're playing with fire."

He grabbed your chin again, forcing your gaze back to meet his. "Is that what you think I'd do? Keep you locked away like some sort of prize? You really think I view you as nothing more than a possession, a toy to be played with and displayed?"

Sylus chuckles and stands from his seat, rounding the kitchen bar. He pulls his finest bourbon from the shelf along with two glasses. He never needed to raise his voice to get you to behave

You watch as he pours the amber liquid into the glasses, his movements smooth and precise. Despite your defiance earlier, there was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself.

Sylus set the bottle down and picked up one of the glasses, swirling the contents before taking a sip. "Come here," he said, gesturing with two fingers for you to approach.

You hesitated for a moment, still bristling with defiance, but finally, reluctantly, you made your way over to him. He held out the glass, an unspoken command for you to take it.

You take the glass from his hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment, sending a shiver down your spine.

Sylus leans back against the counter, eyes flickering over your form, taking in every detail. He smirks as he notices the slight tremble in your hand, the defiance in your eyes not quite as fierce as before.

"Drink," he orders, his gaze never leaving yours. "It will help numb the pain, little bird."

You stare into the glass, the liquor's rich amber color almost mesmerizing. With a sigh of resignation, you bring the glass to your lips and take a sip. The smooth, fiery liquid burns its way down your throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

Sylus watches you closely, eyes still studying every move you make. "Feeling a little more cooperative now?" he quips, his tone still carrying that hint of authority.

Despite your earlier defiance, you couldn't deny the soothing effect the alcohol was having on your frayed nerves. With a small huff, you take another sip, the burn less intense this time.

Sylus's smirk widens as he takes another swig from his own glass, clearly amused by your reluctant obedience. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends another shiver down your spine

You aren’t above playing dirty tricks to get what you want. When Sylus reaches to tuck in the string of the bad age, you give an over dramatic gasp. “O-ow!”

Sylus's eyes narrow, his concern quickly turning to curiosity at your exaggerated reaction. "Ow? Really, little bird?" he asks, his tone dripping with skepticism.

He moves closer, hand reaching out to check the area you just fake wince at, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his rough demeanor. "Let me see."

You jerk your head to the side. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just take care of it myself.”

You try to hold your ground, but the closeness of his body, the heat radiating off him, it's making it increasingly difficult to maintain your defiant facade. His gaze is intense, and you can feel the tension crackling between you.

With a huff, you finally give in, tilting your head so he can assess the area you just faked pain in. "Fine," you grumble, "you win. Take a look."

But Sylus is soft spoke . He doesn’t need to force your arm. You willingly let him look over his patch work. “How do you do that?” You question.

Sylus chuckles softly, his touch surprisingly gentle as he continues to inspect the bandages he applied. "Do what, little bird?" he queries, his eyes still trained on the wound as his fingers brush over the gauze.

"Make you obey? Make you submit?" He looks up then, his gaze locking with yours, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes. "I just know how to handle you, sweetheart."

And handle you, he does.

He kisses away any bratty complain your lips. Guiding you with a gentle hand to the couch. When your thighs meet the leather, he gives you a soft shove. Sylus has always been skilled with his hands, from firing weapons to the way his fingers wrap around your throat.

“Sy…-“

“Hush,” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “Open your mouth. Aren’t you still thirsty?”

He chuckles at your slight hesitance. But when your lips part and your tongue lolls out, he’s gather the saliva in his mouth. He tilts your head up and lets a long string of spit drip down onto your awaiting tastebuds. He pushes the spit that dribbled down your chin back into your mouth.

“Oh?” He hums when your lips wrap around his digits. You are giving him the most insane puppy eyes he’s ever seen. His deep and rich chuckle sends a shiver up your spine. “Does it taste good, Kitten?”

Your response is a soft hum. You pout when he pushes his long fingers deeper into your mouth to the point he’s pressing them to the back of your throat. “Easy, easy, just swallow around them. Just like I taught you.”

It’s easier said than done when his calloused fingers are touching your uvula. Your eyes water but Sylus is still wearing a mask of unenthusiastic calmness. When he can feel your throat relax, he waste no time in pushing them down your throat.

A punishment.

Nothing severe, Sylus never gave you any true pain.

When your eyes water and the tone of your eyes change color, he pulls his fingers free. He doesn’t give you a moment to recover, before his fingertips come down across your flushed cheek.

“Don’t you see now? I have the power to protect you and make you see the error of your ways.” You sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes. Sylus pulls the silk red handkerchief from his back pocket, dapping away the drool and spilled tears from your face. “My poor little bird, come. let’s get you in your pajamas.”

[yunyuu]

. . . DADDY'S GIRL – L.S.K ࣪ ✿◌ ۪

⧣₊˚﹒SYNOPSIS ✿゙ you always knew Leon would be a good father. but you didn’t expect this. not the way his entire soul would fold around a tiny heartbeat. not the way he would look at your child like she hung the goddamn moon.

✿゙. PAIRING … Leon S. Kennedy x Fem Reader pt 1

✿゙. GENRE … soft, emotional, a little angsty, domestic life with Leon.

✿゙. WORD COUNT … +4k

✿゙. A/N … sorry y'all I just love girl dad leon sm (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾

He’s quiet, at first.

When she’s born, Leon holds her like she’s made of glass. The world has broken too many things he cared about, and he refuses—refuses—to let her be one of them.

You see him pacing the nursery at night, bare-chested, cradling her against his shoulder. He's tired, always tired, but there's a strange sort of peace in his eyes when she falls asleep to the beat of his heart.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs to her. “You’ll never see what I’ve seen.”

Protective doesn’t even cover it.

Leon triple-checks every lock on the house. Security system, cameras, motion sensors—you name it, he’s installed it. You swear he’s got a backup plan for the backup plan.

The first time she gets a fever, you have to physically stop him from calling a med-evac.

“She’s just teething, Leon.”

“She’s sweating. She’s shaking.”

“She’s a baby.”

He sits up all night anyway, holding her upright against his chest so she can breathe easier. He doesn’t blink. You find him at dawn, still rocking her, muttering about pathogens and emergency routes to the hospital.

He’s scared of messing up.

That’s the part he doesn’t say. Not out loud. But it shows.

It’s in the way he watches you change diapers like it’s a combat maneuver.

The way he double-sterilizes her bottles.

The way he checks on her three, four, five times a night.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” he admits once, sitting on the edge of the bed with your daughter curled up between you both.

“You’re doing fine,” you whisper, hand brushing through his hair.

“She deserves better than me.”

“No,” you say. “She deserves you.”

You’re not sure if he believes you, but you catch him smiling into her hair after she burps against his shirt.

And the little girl adores him.

When she starts walking, it’s to wobble toward him.

She clutches his pants leg, yells when he tries to leave for a supply run, climbs up his legs like he’s a jungle gym.

She likes to sleep with her head on his chest. It’s the only way she’ll stay down through the night. She even pulls at his dog tags when she’s sleepy, fingers curling around the cold metal until she dozes off.

“Already got her trained,” he jokes softly, but there’s something glassy in his voice.

He tells her stories.

Never the real ones. Not yet.

But he makes up fairy tales in that deep, slow voice of his. He gives her imaginary castles, dragon-fighting princesses, heroes with big hearts and messy hair who always win in the end.

You lie in bed some nights and listen from the door.

“And then the knight kissed his daughter on the forehead and told her there’s nothing in this world that could ever take him away.”

Leon never thought he’d live this long.

But now he’s here.

With you. With her. With the quiet.

And for once, the nightmares stay away.

Because when your daughter climbs into bed in the middle of the night, curls between you both, and sighs out his name like it’s a lullaby—

“Daddy…”

He holds her close, lets his eyes fall shut, and believes—maybe for the first time—

That he’s finally safe, too.

Your daughter’s name is Lily.

Short for nothing. Just Lily.

Because it’s soft. Because Leon said it reminded him of something gentle—something he didn’t want the world to ruin.

She’s five now. And she’s got his eyes.

Blue like a storm that’s trying to behave.

You see it every time she narrows them in suspicion—tilts her little chin up just like him when she thinks someone’s lying.

“You sure the tooth fairy really took my tooth and not just you?”

Leon raises a brow. “What are you implying?”

“You look like a thief.”

You try not to laugh. He tries not to cry.

Leon ages like a photograph kept in a wallet.

Worn at the corners. A little faded.

Still beautiful. Still there.

His hair is touched with gray now, at the temples and behind his ears. You catch him staring into the mirror sometimes, tracing the lines around his eyes like he’s trying to count the things that made them.

She climbs onto his lap while he’s sitting on the porch one evening, beer untouched beside him.

“You’re gonna die before mommy,” she says suddenly, matter-of-fact, as kids do.

He stills.

You freeze at the door, watching from the shadows.

Leon exhales through his nose, then pulls her close.

“Yeah, maybe. But I'm not die for a long time.”

“How long?”

He kisses the top of her head. “Long enough to scare away your boyfriends.”

“Ew, boys are gross.”

He smiles.

But the nightmares still come.

Some nights he wakes up gasping.

Sweat-soaked. Shoulders trembling.

You hold him until the shaking stops, rub circles into his back, whisper you’re here.

He doesn’t talk about it.

But you’ve learned his silences by now.

When he’s quiet too long. When he stares too hard at nothing.

When he doesn’t kiss Lily goodnight because he’s afraid he’ll bring something dark into the room with him.

You find her curled up outside your bedroom door once.

A little blanket. A stuffed lion. A frown on her face.

“Daddy’s sad,” she says.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “He’s trying.”

He never lets his guard down in public.

Lily never notices, but you do.

Leon always sits with his back to the wall.

Always knows the exits.

Always checks the people walking in and out.

Even at the ice cream shop.

He’s holding a triple scoop of strawberry for Lily and still tracking a man in a black coat by the window.

“She’s got sprinkles in her hair, honey,” you murmur, nudging his arm.

He glances down. She’s smiling up at him, pink all over her lips and chin.

He breathes out and kisses the top of her head. “Let’s get you a napkin, baby.”

Then one day, something happens.

A car.

A scream.

A man trying to snatch a child near the park.

It’s not your daughter, but she’s close—too close.

Leon moves like instinct.

Gun drawn, voice sharp, posture coiled like a soldier.

He subdues the man before you even realize what’s happening.

The cops thank him. People whisper.

Lily just tugs on your hand and whispers, “Daddy’s mad.”

When you get home, she draws him a picture.

It’s him with a cape. And glowing eyes. Holding her hand.

“You’re a superhero,” she tells him, pushing the crayon paper into his lap.

Leon stares at it like it hurts.

Like she’s giving him something he doesn’t know how to deserve.

Then he folds her into his arms and whispers, “Only for you.”

Sometimes you wonder if she understands.

That he’s not normal. That most dads don’t clean their guns with surgical precision at 2 a.m.

That most dads don’t flinch when a balloon pops.

But then you see her tuck a tiny toy gun into her backpack.

“Just in case, like Daddy.”

And Leon kneels in front of her, adjusting the straps, voice soft:

“Remember what I taught you. You don’t run toward danger. You get safe, then you tell someone.”

“Like you?”

He smiles. “Like me.”

And then—there’s the quiet moments.

When she’s asleep between you both, limbs everywhere.

When Leon’s hand is tangled in her hair and yours is wrapped around his chest.

When the TV glows in the background and your living room smells like popcorn and baby shampoo.

He turns to you sometimes, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You gave me a life,” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “What?”

“This. You. Her. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have.”

And maybe he’s not whole. Maybe he never will be.

But he’s yours.

And he’s hers.

And for once in a long, long time—

Leon is alive.

Not just surviving.

Living.

꒷꒦ © yunyuu. do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on any platforms.

[killishin]

inconveniences are a common instance in your line of work, it springs up in the most unimaginable ways in the most horrid times but you— you handle them. you can.

that's what you always told yourself.

you had found yourself involved with jason regarding a certain undercover mission, it required both of you to stay close to the target.

at this moment, you and jason are standing in the hotel room he booked which, coincidentally, has only one damn bed. he is someone you're deeply annoyed of, maybe even dare to say hate, but you're a nice person, you don't hold such extreme feelings. he isn't that bad, sure he's got a mouth on him but he is tolerable—

"well isn't this interesting."

"i will actually hit you."

you hate him.

you throw the bag on the bed, which had two towels beautifully rolled into swans, joined to form a heart. butchered it, just like you might have to the entirety of this nonsensical establishment. who even makes those stupid heart swans anymore?!

"what the hell did you do jason?" you took a huge inhale, sharp, while rubbing your face as if to somehow magically erase this situation from existence. you were trying to keep your cool, after all, you're the calmer, more sane vigilante of the two.

"right. real mature of you to shove all the blame on me." he scoffed as he practically sauntered off to the chair by the window, sitting on it comfortably before putting his legs on the small round table. his confidence, like he owned the damn room, which he did technically since he paid for it, was itching your soul.

your brows furrowed as your lips parted in confusion, "im not shoving any blame, i am putting it at its rightful place." clearly your composure was long gone, like a poof in the air.

his lips tugged up lazily in a knowing manner, he did this a lot, as if he knew you better than you did yourself. "i had texted you about the shortage of rooms. you said, its fine. go on, sweetheart, check." he goaded you, tilting his head back as that self assured smile remained plastered on his face.

you didn't had to check, you remembered it well but you still couldn't stomach this. "you didn't tell me they gave us only one room— did you even tell them that we needed two, separate rooms?"

"like I'd wanna be stuck in a room with you."

"well did you?" you pressed on annoyingly, teeth almost gritting and he simply raised his brow, giving you a pointed look.

your stomach twisted and churned while your cheeks, having a mind of their own, started growing warm. with a groan you rubbed your face again before pushing your hair back and marching to the landline.

"i'm calling room service. they— they have to fix this—" you muttered firmly while squinting your eyes to find the number.

"you do that, watch them tell you this is the last room."

"how do you know that?"

"i've read books."

you turn your head over your shoulder to give him a deadpanned look, "this isn't a rom com."

cut to two minutes later and you're sat on the edge of the bed with a half mortified, half dumbed out look, staring into the space. he was right, they said it was the last room.

"oh my god," he laughed, eyes crinkling into cresents as he couldn't keep it in.

"what?"

"we are in a rom-com."

"is the romance in the room with us?" you deadpanned and his cackled even more.

shaking his head, he took his legs off the table before getting up and taking his jacket off. his amused eyes linger on you, lips threatening to spill more to add to your irritation.

your eyes find his and you huff quietly in irritation before getting up and heading to your duffel bag. as you fetch a change of clothes and head to the bathroom, you pause. you turn on your heels, an arm resting on the wall as your brows furrow, like you just had a very serious thought.

"jason."

"hm?"

"how against sleeping in the hallway are you?"

"i will throw you off the window. scram." he replied without missing a beat.

the shower wasn't as pleasing, how could it be? the impending doom of sharing a bed with him— jason, of all people. its not like you had a secret, unrequited love for him. no, it was something more persistent, annoying, a headache.

there was this lingering tension between you. it was more than lust, yet not something you could put a name on. neither of you could, you didn't know what it was. but it was evident in the lingering gaze, the brush of the other's touch, insults that turned to flirting, caring in ways you think is indirect but seems obvious to others— there was this connection. a bond that had formed over years of working together, arguing and making up with quiet, reluctant apologies. and as much as you hated it, you were scared of those very bonds, like him. you were scared of its fragility.

which is why, maybe, you kept that line between you, even it was long blurred.

you stepped out of the bathroom, bravado again going poof as you stand awkwardly for a moment. jason was beside the bed, checking his phone with that little frown on his face, lower lips slightly jutted out. you averted your eyes just as the world 'adorable' entered your mind.

'get a grip, dumbass' you reminded yourself before shaking your head and clearing your throat before heading towards the bed.

"well i hope you like the floor." you said nonchalantly, your eyes averted and fixed on the bed that you're straightening and fluffing... which is already made.

his eyes glanced up from the screen, a brow raised slightly, "..why?"

you pull the blanket off before getting under them, still averting your eyes, hands still fluffing the blanket. "cus you're gonna sleep there."

he scoffed, loud. keeping his phone back on the table he crossed his arms, staring right at you with narrowed eyes. he seemingly couldn't comprehend why it's such a big issue. or maybe he just doesn't like the fact that you're that against sharing a bed with him.

"what is your deal? it's just one night." he said, unbothered and so casual that for a moment it did make you feel conscious about your actions. why were you the only one affected by this?

"you're my deal—"

"oooh." he grinned mischievously and your eyes widened with a glare before you threw a pillow at him, which he caught with ease.

"i meant you're the problem. i cannot share a room with you, much less a bed!" you hissed, but with each word your voice died down to an angry whisper because you're pretty sure the walls are paper thin.

"and why is that?" he questioned, the delight and tease in his voice increasing ten fold. he was enjoying your misery, more so the way you're getting flustered, be it anger or something else.

for a moment you sputtered, dumbfounded that he even had to ask that, but then he hummed at you questioningly, deep and amused, and that sound did not help at all.

your nose scrunched into a frown as you snatched his pillow and put it on your side, "you're fucking huge, alright. you big ass pole. i just don't want you hogging the whole bed and the blanket."

"ah." he nodded to himself, his lips twitching as he made his way to the bathroom. he then paused at the entrance, looking over his shoulder, "you're scared you won't be able to resist me."

with that, he closed the door, humming some stupid song, leaving you fuming while your heart begging for mercy.

"resist my ass. what's there to resist? killing him in his sleep?" you muttered to yourself before switching off the lights and laying down, pulling the covers over your head.

you tried to put yourself to sleep before he came, you tried counting to hundred, breathing tactics— everything. but your silly little mind was busy freaking out. its a wonder how you lasted this long in the vigilante field.

just as you heard the opening of the door to the bathroom, you went still, made sure to keep your breathing quiet and even. you heard some ruffling around, some sighs before you felt the bed dip beside you and you swore your heart's never jumped this bad.

you stayed still, very, very still. eyes open under the covers but body limp as dead.

"you're not sleeping."

"nope."

"why not?"

"don't want you to stab me the second i close my eyes."

"i won't."

since there was no point in keeping up the obvious act, you pulled the covers off your face and shifted to get comfortable.

"if your foot even touches me for a second tonight i will cut it off." you murmured and he sighed with a roll of his eyes, shifting to get comfortable and, of course, his foot touched yours.

"jason!" you angrily whispered, and basically snatched your foot away from him, "it wasn't intentional!" he chuckled.

"wai— stop hogging the blanket you fucking hulk!"

"you're the one hogging it all!"

"well i run cold!"

"that's a you problem."

you finally opened your eyes and turned to glare at him. big mistake. that's when you realised how little the space was between you both. maybe it was because he was built big and broad, or maybe the bed was unbearably tiny.

your breath got caught in your throat as your eyes stared— admired him up close. harsh lines, blemishes, scars old and new running from his face to the sliver of his chest that was visible. and still, despite everything that usually views him as rough and untouchable, the dim light from the window makes him almost gentle. maybe this was the jason that hides from the world, tucked in the most sacred corner of his heart.

"done staring you pervert?" he murmured, his eyes still closed and you rolled your eyes before looking away.

"i hate you."

"as long as you don't hog the covers, i don't care." but he does.

underneath that cool, sarcastic and teasing exterior, his heart's a chaotic mess. he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, smell the vanilla off your skin and it makes his ears go red. he was just as shocked as you when he found out there was only one bed. the mere thought of sharing a bed with you made his heart shut down.

and he hated that. he hated the way his soul finds you even when he shouldn't.

there's nothing between him and you, even if some part of him wanted otherwise.

maybe an hour passed or two, but neither of you could sleep. you were worse than him, with all the turning and sighs.

"jesus can you stop?" he lazily murmured in irritation and you frowned. "I can't sleep."

"well then sleep on the goddamn chair and let me sleep."

silence.

"fine." you sighed but he recognised that stubborn firmness that meant he messed up.

"ugh wait—"

"zip it." you got off the bed and rounded the bed before plopping down on the chair, pulling your knees up to your chest and laying your head back.

now, normally jason wouldn't give a flying fuck, he'd instead hog the whole bed, laying like a starfish. but this is different, you're different. you have weaseled your way in his life and he can't pretend it doesn't matter.

"alright sleep in that tiny chair. let's see how long you last there." he muttered as he crossed his hands behind his head.

maybe a minute passed.

and then ten...

another ten...

"alright get your ass in the bed." he grunted as he got up, sighing while rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

"piss off."

"real mature, ha ha ha. now come on, grow up and get in the damn bed!"

"why do you want me in bed so badly, huh?"

"cus i can hear your shitty brain cursing at me—"

"oh yeah? suddenly you're a telepath? huh?"

"fuckin' hell—"

"nah its something else."

"get–"

"you're being sooo weirdly clingy–"

"i swear—"

"what, you in love with me or something?"

dead silence.

"alright."

you didn't mean to say that, it slipped. the heat of the moment got into your head and mixed the wires, resulting in one huge mess. while jason on the other hand, it really was radio silence in his mind. whatever he was doing, about to do, it was all on autopilot. his reasoning, he had enough. consequences be damned.

your eyes shot open just in time to see him throw the covers off before getting off the bed. his face was unreadable, stoic— even more blank in the dim light from the window. he came to a stop just infront of you, making you jerk back and crane your neck to stare at him warily.

"....what are you—"

"im gonna say one last time." he said before leaning down, keeping both his hands on the arms of the chair, caging you in.

"get. your ass. in the goddamn bed." his voice had dropped down to a rough murmur, yet the warning was firm enough to send shivers down your spine.

you stared back at him, even in the darkness his blue eyes gleamed green, such beautiful hues they could be another set of weapons for the red hood. bless the helmet.

"......no— WHAT THE FUCK?!" you screeched as, in a second, you were hauled into his arms bridal style, effortlessly. your face grew impossibly warm, eyes widened, lips agape. "WHAT are you DOING ?! oh my god— get off me—"

he sighed, like you were nothing but a mild inconvenience and then extending the hand beneath your back, he captured both your hands in his hold.

"stop scratching me, you fucking canine."

if it was possible your jaw would fall to the floor. it was all too much, the audacity, the disrespect, the sheer warmth of his chest and how cosy it was in his arms, the way his face was so close to you— close enough to feel his breath fall on you.

your senses were overwhelmed.

and so was his.

he was the picture of calmness, yet on the inside he was panicking like a teen confessing to his first love. what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

he laid you down, pulling the covers over you and then rounded the bed before getting in. and you thought that'd be it.

and then you felt his arm snake around your waist, splayed flat against your stomach, before pulling you back to his chest. his warmth enveloped you while his breath brushed your neck, and you knew what restraint was. he was close to making this a full blown cuddling session, but the little logic that remained in his mind was holding him back.

you thought it was your heart racing like a train, but no, no it was his. his was much faster, much louder than yours, his hands were maybe even trembling.

oh.

oh.

"jason."

"shut up."

"...."

"you do know how awkward—"

"i know."

" we have to talk. tomorrow. about...whatever you did."

"and what you said."

"hey yours is way more embarrassing—"

he slipped another arm beneath your head and gently wrapped it around your head, closing your eyes. "sleep before i kick you out."

nothing could have stopped the smile that threatened on your lips. your tense body gradually relaxed into his, growing heavier against his. the you that was screaming in your head was now merely a whisper, for despite the uncertain questions the future now has, a lot has been answered and known.

also, your pride might have just inflated a bit knowing he's more affected than you.

"you're such a loser, jason."

his body stilled for a moment, your laugh ringing in his mind till it got saved as something precious. his lips tugged upwards as he pulled you closer, his lips kissed the air above your head. he was much too afraid to touch you anymore than he already has.

"i know."

yeah he's a loser. how could he ever win against you?

dividers by @enchanthings

NOTE: if it isn't obvious i love this trope, its a little silly AND I LOVE IT. prompts taken from this post by @celestialwrites, her prompts are sooo awesome.

reblogs are appreciated! :)

[heartzfromlizzy]

answering these fun questions! tw: mentions of mental health and serious stuff! don't read if you don't like it when people get serious! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

1. i don't hate them, but sunsets sometimes make me sad. maybe because the idea of a fun day ending just hurts me a little bit. (sometimes my brain is negative and stupid and likes to think of everything good in my life ending so.. that's fun.) when my brain is NOT torturing me, sunsets are very pretty to watch. i love just being out and about and seeing the sky slowly go dimmer. its so pretty, although i do like sunrises more!

2. oh gosh.. when i was younger, i had a huge lying problem, but at the same time, i was also delusional due to my mental health disorder, schizophrenia. so sadly, yes. i started many rumors mainly about myself to feel better about my life and to pretend things weren't the way they were. i am now mentally doing so much better, and i know what's real and what's not and i'm okay with it!

3. caseoh. literally caseoh. for those who don't know, caseoh is a twitch streamer, and he is hilarious. he just has a certain ability to just light up everybody in chat and make them all smile and laugh. i watch him SO MUCH. i encourage watching his re-uploads on youtube rather than watching them on twitch because twitch is annoying and not very safe.

4. HAA. i'm broke and i have not been to concerts.

5. right now, id want to be a dolphin!

6. what? im sorry im dumb and don't understand this question.

7. a black and grey shirt with the words "let me sleep" in white on it. there's also a pair of sleepy eyes. its kinda messed up, and the words are coming off but its still cozy.

8. ngl food.

9. i love these gold and white sandals. they look fancy and have flowers on them, but i do not wear them all day due to it being uncomfty.

10. taking me out to a restaurant of my choice. 😭

11. trying, caring, Christian!

12. one time i was at this outside festival and there were these booths and stands of people, y'know selling stuff and advertising things. well, one of them had these pretzels and stuff out, and i literally, for some reason, without asking, just grabbed a pretzel because i thought they were samples and everyone was basically staring at me and i was very embarrassed. my parents were prob embarrassed the most. also, no, the pretzel wasn't good, obvi it was stale. (;_;)

13. lol, no, i don't happen to drink!

14. dialysis boxes in my room for storage as a teen. :,)

15. well, i do happen to believe in God, and i practice Christianity! i don't know if that's exactly the same as a superstition? i could be wrong, lolz!

16. listening to asmrs. :,))

17. talk to myself, reenact/movie scenes/show scenes/youtube videos, dance randomly.

18. wasabi. does that count as a food or more of a dip? IT'S DISGUSTING.

19. HA.. ha.. i love so many fictional characters, so idk. maybe baymax from big hero 6? he's sweet and he's a doctor, also he's huggable!

20. to work at this local restaurant in my area called, "juniors!"

21. God, music, my loved ones, food, thinking of fun stuff to do!

22. rambley review by uniqueness! (its a song from a game!)

23. AT the top of my head, im not sure, but ik me and one of my closest friends have so many inside jokes.

24. probably one of my bracelets! i have so many..

25. doctor who!! depending on where i am or what app im using its not very talked about!

26. so many.. wow. here, i'll list a few! indigo park, fnaf, doctor who, rwby, attack on titan, demon slayer, disney, pixar, kung fu panda, marble hornets, marvel, undertale, omori!

27. ahh id rather just sit this one out but here's a lil joke controversial take, RORY FROM DOCTOR WHO DESERVED BETTER CHANGE MY MIND.

28. ive been watching rwby a lot lately so I'll list some of my favorite ships from the show! blacksun, arkos, renora, emery!

29. i do have ear piercings! i do not have any tattoos!

30. worst is probably that i struggle with self-control. the best is probably that i strive to be good, kind, and loving.

Deep/Fun Questions to Ask!

Do you like watching sunsets?

Have you ever started a rumor?

What makes you laugh hard?

What's the last concert you went to?

If you believed in it, what would you be reincarnated to?

What's your current vocal stim?

What shirt are you wearing?

Who or what is on your mind?

What are your favorite pair of shoes?

What would easily win you over if someone gave you it?

What three words describe you?

What's a funny memory you have?

Do you have any drunk stories?

What's one thing you own that you're sure no one else has?

Do you have any superstitions?

What is your guilty pleasure?

What weird thing do you do when you're alone?

What is the worst food you've ever had?

What fictional character would you bring to life if you could?

If you could join a career immediately, what would it be?

What keeps you going during the day?

Current song on repeat?

Funniest inside joke?

What's your favorite piece of jewelry you own?

Favorite niche topic?

What fandom are you currently in?

Most controversial take?

Favorite ship and why?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos, and what are they?

What is your worst & best quality?

[askoverkill]

you should probably get yourself some water too while you're at it. you and lupus both need to stay hydrated!

transcription below:

(...You head into the kitchen to get water.) (While you're there, you pour yourself a glass too.)

(Hm.) (You don't drink much outside of dinner.) (It's nice to take a sip and just...) (Not do anything.)

(Sigh...) (You're bad at this.)

Frin, you're bad at this.

...Hey Bonbon. Sorry for earlier. Lupus isn't normally like this.

Hrmmmmm.

Are you trying to blow me up with your mind again?

Hrmmmmmmmm. I did not succeed.

You'll get me next time, I'm sure of it.

I won't give up. But you do need to get better with Lupus.

That was a lot. And I mean, a loooot. My sister would say that was a level 20 tantrum.

Yeah, it was bad... but they've been through a lot. I think they're justified.

Okay, I'll take your word. But what are you going to do about it?

I don't know... Mirabelle seemed to figure it out. I didn't know she was this good with kids. Well, aside from you.

She's good with LITTLE BABIES. Why'd you have one anyway?

Uh, things just happened.

Uh huh. Maybe you'll be better with the next one.

I'm... not planning to have another.

Oh, okay. Good. You had me worried. I don't need two sirens going off...

...

[queersyourgender]

Congrats on the milestone! 💜 I’m not sure if you are okay with writing for Abbot from the Pitt…if you are, could you write something about a nurse reader who gets hurt by a patient or something but tries to hide? It’s okay if you don’t want to ��� congratulations again!!

Hiding Your Pain — Jack Abbot x GN!Reader

Notes: Eee thank you!! Ofc I'm okay writing for Jack, he's high on my list of favorites! I hope this is to your liking, and thank you so much again <3

———

It happens all the time, you remind yourself. Don't make a big deal out of it. That's your motto for whenever you get assaulted on the job. It definitely doesn't apply to your colleagues, you remember raising hell and high water when Mateo's tooth got knocked out right in front of you, but that's how you roll for yourself.

That's why when you get a knee from a patient directly into your ribs, so violently it knocks you on your ass, you already know this is an incident you won't tell anyone about. All you do is quickly get to your feet and shout for security to catch the man before he escapes, hunched over and clutching your side in pain.

Dr. Abbot's the first to run over to you rather than the runner, his eyes critical and serious. “Shit, what happened in there? You hurt?” He asks you curtly, his tone short and no-nonsense and his hands hovering over you but not quite touching as he looks you up and down, trying to assess for any injuries.

Quickly, you straighten up and wave a dismissive hand in the air, silencing your pained whines and shallow pants as you try to play it off. “No, no, it's okay, he just scared me,” you lie to your attending, giving him a strained smile and shaking your head. “I'm fine, Dr. Abbot, thank you for asking.”

Your boss narrows his eyes at you, clearly unconvinced but unable to ask any further questions without reason. Which is great, because you're already embarrassed enough as it is that you wasted his time and made him worry over you like that.

Security tackles the dude and takes him away, and the shift carries on as normal. Night shift was always hectic, but after playing both sides, you found that you preferred it over the morning. The team just felt closer, more like family. It had nothing to do with your hot boss, by the way.

With a sigh, you wrap up another patient, much less rowdy patient and head back to the nurse's station, dropping down into one of the chairs and wincing at the pressure that mere action puts on your no doubt bruised by now ribs. Charge nurse Birdget must hear some kind of noise from you, because she immediately drops everything she's doing and whips around to look at you.

“You okay?” She asks, and there's a warning around her question, like she's saying you better not have pulled that stupid shit again without actually saying it, and you try to give her a thumbs up only to move too fast and pull your hurting side. Bridget's eyes widen, and she turns around and calls: “Jack!”

You look up at her in betrayal and alarm, because she could've called literally anybody else, could've even checked you up herself, but no, she has to call the man you're secretly gone on. Dr. Abbot must hear the urgency in Bridget's voice because he springs out of a trauma room, looking directly at her with sharp eyes.

When he notices you beside her, his eyes immediately narrow as he connects the dots before Bridget even says anything. She still snitches on you anyway, and you have no choice but to get up and follow after your unhappy attending as he motions for you to get behind the empty curtain number three.

“It's really not that bad,” you still try to say, blushing something fierce as you look everywhere but at him while lifting your scrubs and undershirt up and above your ribs where you got kneed. At Jack's sharp intake of breath, you look down at yourself, and your eyes go wide at the violent discoloration. “Okay, maybe it is that bad. Damn.”

“Goddamnit, I fucking asked you,” Jack hisses, shaking his head angrily, and your eyes immediately look to the floor in shame. You hadn't wanted to bother him, but even worse than that is to disappoint him.

Suddenly, though, a hand settles underneath your chin, thumb gripping it gently and lifting your head up so that your gazes can meet. “Sorry,” the older man murmurs, his cheeks glowing a faint pink-ish shade as he deeply looks back into your eyes. “I'm not mad. Just worried.”

Your eyes widen despite yourself. “Worried?” You ask, and Jack gives you a strange look, something along the lines of exasperated and knowing at the same time.

“Yeah, worried,” he repeats, reaffirming the idea with an almost playful lilt to his voice. “You know, a state of concern? It happens sometimes, when something bad happens to someone you care about.”

“You care about me?” You stammer, your voice high-pitched and disbelieving, and Jack clearly can't help the way he chuckles at that. “And people said I was the clueless one,” he murmurs, shaking his head fondly as he examines you, content on letting you flounder for answers as a punishment for trying to hide your pain from him.

[arminthada]

[HIGHLIGHT] 8 minutes of Pond Ponlawit defending Armin's reaction in EP 5

Notable points/quotes from this live

How do I feel about Armin? He's like a roller coaster and maybe you can add a little haunted house to him because he's so unpredictable. Like you've seen in episode 5. So it was all going good. Great, great, great, great. And then boom, he just exploded. But it doesn't mean that he- It's not unreasonable like reaction from him. It is reasonable. I'm protecting him. So, yeah. I got to stand up for my man.

What did you learn from your character? I think like what I understand more is to be loved. Armin is so loved by Thada. Yeah, I think the feeling of being loved is amazing and I kind of understand how you guys feel and how I don't know to say this but it's just kind of like this emotional roller coaster that kind of make me so emotional, every time being loved.

Is it hard doing the emotional scenes? I think once I'm in it, I wouldn't say it's difficult. Well, let me rephrase that. It isn't hard for me to get emotional as myself, but it is a challenge to to be inside Armin's shoe and be emotional from his personal story because Armin is like this artistic 40+ years old who's back in his 20+ body with those hormones and those like instinctive feelings, emotions. So that's one of the reasons why he kind of burst out at Thada in episode 5. But it is his thinking, his thoughts as this mature- Is he mature? I'm not even sure. I think like he's been through a lot of relationships. He's been through a lot of failures, a lot of fightings. And it kind of shaped him to be this protective self because he's done everything on his own. That's what he thought. Well, Thada has always been helping. But yeah. So, back to the question. I think it is difficult.

I think he has his reasons to be like this. Right! I think so. I'm trying to justify him. Well, he's not this vulgar, this 'couldn't control himself' kind of guy. I mean, sometime he is. And well, he definitely is. But no. Well, I mean when when I played him like for this especially in this scene because a lot of people talked about it like why did Armin do that? Like when I played him in this scene, Armin actually feels bad for bursting out at him like that. Even when Thada was walking away from Armin. I feel so wrong. This kind of grief inside of Armin because what he said wasn't what he really wanted. It's just this instantaneous reaction from him [which is] this protective barrier, this wall that he built up for himself to protect himself from other people who can hurt him. But like after that outburst you've seen in episode 5, he realized that Thada is this long companion on his journey in his previous life and it all makes sense to him so there's this passion inside of him. So sometimes his reason has to catch up with his passion because his passion is so intense, so strong. I don't know how to describe his passion but sometimes his reason has to catch up with his passion. So that's what happened.

Do we go off script most of the time? I think the original script is just the a very broad um structure to the series because the director and us the actors we kind of improvised as as the series goes on. Yeah, we didn't we didn't actually change it beforehand but we acted it. We think there is some improvement to be made, some adjustment and the next take we just adjust it accordingly. So yeah. So mostly it's all I would say improvise but it was but we didn't do it in one take.

What do I think about episode 6? I think it's going to be the most- I shouldn't say much. I'm going to spoil for you guys. I don't think I should. So yeah, I think you guys should wait for it. It's better. I think the scenes in episode 6 is, well for me personally when we shoot it, I think it's our best- I wanna say best scene but- the most romantic episode ever. I hope so. I hope so. I'm not sure. I don't even know because I haven't watched 7, 8, 9, 10.

Reset is a masterpiece. Thank you. I'm so delighted and honored. Wait until you see episode 6 because I think it's like- I think it's the best- No, I'm not going to say it. I promise myself to not say but I kind of liked it the most of all the episodes.

Pond also answered a bunch of questions about 180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us which I also compiled here. Out of all the characters he's played, Wang is the character that impacted his life spiritually and taught him a lot about the world and relationships in general.

I hope you don't get too stressed. Noooooo. I'm stressful because I love doing what I do right? Isn't that right? If I don't love what I do, if I don't pay attention to it, if I don't give it time and love, why would I be stressful? It's because we have to care about our work. That's why it's stressful. But it's fun because we love it. <- (peak nadao-ism right there y'all ಥ_ಥ)

[Full 250702 Pond Ponlawit from Reset The Series TikTok Live]

[kwnnies]

late night talks - 이지훈

(0.9k words)

warnings: none really, mentions of reader's coworkers being mean

a/n: something a bit shorter while i'm on a trip and can't write anything longer but yeah i think i actually like this one :33 let me know what you think!!

jihoon didn’t expect to see you today.

especially not at 1am, standing at his doorstep with mascara smudged on your cheeks, quiet sobs breaking the silence of his solo apartment as you stood right in front of him, eyes glued to the floor.

‘what are you- did something happen?’ jihoon muttered, voice a bit uncertain as he took a step back inside, an awkward gesture for you to come inside.

you didn’t answer at first - taking your shoes off at the entrance and walking inside like it’s your own place, plopping on the couch with a small thump as a worried jihoon walked right behind you, brows furrowed and face puzzled, still awaiting an explanation to your sudden appearance.

but he didn’t push; he just sat beside you and let you take your time.

‘i had dinner with my coworkers today.’ you sniffled after you’ve managed to slightly calm yourself down, a tiger-shaped pillow (courtesy of soonyoung, you’re still surprised jihoon kept it) keeping you company and giving you comfort. ‘i thought it was going well- i thought they all liked me.’

jihoon listened attentively, worried eyes scanning your face.

‘i excused myself to the bathroom for a second.’ you continued recalling the evening, voice shaky as your grip on the pillow tightened just the slightest bit. ‘they started talking the moment i left the table. they’ve been openly making fun of me for months on end, they even have a stupid groupchat for it. i- i feel so stupid for not noticing.’

you felt yourself tear up once more but were too tired to try and stop the tears from escaping your eyes.

‘wait.’

you looked up to see jihoon leave the room for a minute or two, coming back carrying a few different things in his hands. he put some of them down on the coffee table, leaving only a pack of wipes in his hands.

jihoon crouched down in front of you, reaching out towards your face.

‘may i?’

you blinked a few times then nodded slowly. jihoon’s hand went up to tuck your hair behind your ear before cupping your face with one hand ever so slightly, the other gently wiping the smudged makeup off of your face.

the next five minutes went by in complete silence as you closed your eyes, letting your friend help you out. you’ve managed to calm down - aligning your breathing with jihoon’s as you listened to him inhale and exhale calmly, almost as if this situation was completely normal for him.

‘they don't deserve you, you know.’ he mumbled as he put the used wipes away, making his way back onto the couch as he sat down. ‘it’s difficult to hear those untrue things about yourself, but it’s better to be aware of someone’s true feelings towards you than live in a lie. there’s multiple people out there who cherish you deeply.’

‘really?’ you mumbled, head turning towards the man. jihoon smiled softly.

‘of course.’ he said, and you noticed the tips of his ears getting slightly red. ‘your friends, soonyoung… me. we all care about you a lot. you don’t need everyone in this world to like you. the important thing is that you like yourself.’

jihoon let out a breath of relief once he saw the small smile appearing on your lips.

‘you’re surprisingly good with words.’ your quiet voice filled the room. ‘maybe i should go to you with stuff like that more often.’

anytime, he thought.

you can come to me anytime, no matter the reason.

‘i try.’ jihoon chuckled awkwardly at your statement. ‘do you think late night takeout would boost your mood?’

‘are any places even open this late?’

‘i know a few.’

your smile widened upon hearing those words.

‘will you let me pick a movie to watch while we eat?’

‘sure.’

‘of course you will.’ you said, taking the blanket jihoon brought to the room earlier and wrapping it around yourself. ‘you’ve always been amazing like that.’

jihoon just smiled, his focus on the phone in his hand as he ordered the food for the two of you.

not even an hour later and you were sound asleep on his couch, wrapped in a blanket and with that stupid tiger pillow still in your hands.

oh, and with your head resting on jihoon’s thigh - which definitely did not affect him at all.

his cheeks definitely weren’t burning red.

he didn’t dare move - not when you looked so peaceful when asleep. you deserved to rest well after all the negative emotions and he knew that, so he didn’t even try to wake you up or carry you elsewhere.

empty boxes of takeout laid on the small table as the movie played in the background quietly; it was one of those scenes that were crucial to the plot and understanding the movie’s premise. and yet in all of this, jihoon’s eyes were only on you.

jihoon smiled.

he paused the movie, not wanting to risk the tv waking you up. he exhaled deeply, lips curved up in a soft smile - one soonyoung would’ve definitely called the ‘you’re so whipped’ smile.

‘goodnight.’ his words were barely a whisper. ‘i love you.’

and maybe if jihoon had been brave enough, if he hadn’t been a coward, he would’ve said it to you earlier - before you fell asleep, before you couldn’t hear his words anymore. he wasn’t there yet.

maybe one day, jihoon will confess. but for now, he’ll have to settle for this.

[plaidcowboy]

work wife

( synopsis ) — emily questions a married!reader, not knowing the very man standing behind the two of you was your husband.

( warning ) — none! a lot of people liked this on my old writing acc so i thought i’d repost it here, 3k is the most interactions ive ever had on something other than my rafe fics lol

( bot link ) — here

"You're married?" Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.

She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like she's afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.

"How have I never noticed this before?" she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.

You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. "It's not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashy, unless you're actively staring at my hands."

Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.

Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setup. Neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse she's only now just discovered.

"No picture of your husband anywhere?" she asks, clearly surprised.

You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. "Nope. I see him every single day. I don't exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while I'm working."

Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. "Wow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like." She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.

Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to go cup next to your keyboard.

"Did you know she’s married?" Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.

Hotch doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah," he says plainly. "I proposed a couple of years ago."

He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, "They were out of hazelnut creamer, so l got you caramel."

Emily blinks and there's a pause one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.

"Okay, very funny," she scoffs. "Good one, Hotch."

"I'm not joking," he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.

Emily's laughter dies immediately. "Wait. What?"

"There's no way in hell she would marry you," she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.

Hotch glances down at you with a look that's equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.

"Oh, you poor thing," you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. "That was so mean!"

Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.

Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. "Oh my God," she breathes, shooting to her feet. "I am so sorry, Hotch. I didn't know- I thought you were kidding.. You're not the kind of person who jokes like that!"

Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesn't bother responding— he's far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.

"Poor baby," you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips.

"Don't listen to her. I'm very happy to be married to you."

Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emily's wide eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like she's trying to physically take the words back.

He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk that's rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Put a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow," he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. "Please?"

You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. "Promise," you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once more, quick and sweet, before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.

[r66dusthewriter]

Hello! This is my first ever request! I was wondering if you could do a Drew starkey x actress(reader) who have been together for a while now but the public doesn’t know. And they’re spotted together in the set OBX 5 being all cute

I loved you here

Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: Extra fic this week! this is my favorite trope so ask for more, i begggggg. Actually i'm already plotting for a fic hehehe, might've already written it even 👹

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 0,8k

It was the last first day back on set and as bittersweet as that was, you couldn’t help the flicker of joy curling in your chest. For the first time in months, you and Drew would be in the same city, your schedules finally aligning like stars that had kept missing each other in orbit. It sounded like an insane way to maintain a healthy relationship, seeing each other between shoots, flights, time zones and premieres, but it worked and had worked for five years now, soon to be six. 

Quiet, solid and steady amidst the chaos.

Everyone was already out in wardrobe, gathering in groups on set to take promo pictures when you finally stepped out of the makeup trailer. Your stylist adjusted a hair strand behind you as the makeup artists trailed out, checking your face under the light one last time.

You picked up your pace slightly, not wanting to keep anyone waiting and then you saw Drew standing near the edge of the uneven ground where the trail met the set’s main path, a little higher up than the rest. His gaze lifted, caught yours and as always, softened instantly.

You smiled. “Hi baby.”

“Hi,” he said back, just as warm. “You didn’t have to rush.”

You reached the edge of the drop and before you could think of climbing down, Drew stepped forward, gripped your waist and lifted you gently off the ledge, placing you down right in front of him like it was second nature. You steadied yourself with a hand on his chest. “You didn’t have to wait.”

“I wanted to,” he simply said, his voice low and easy. “You look beautiful.”

You brushed his hand as you fell into step beside him, pinkies barely brushing until they caught and looped together for just a second between you and around, castmates and crew chatted as they walked, heading toward the first shoot location.

“Last first day,” he said quietly.

You glanced around, the familiarity of it all sinking in. “I’m definitely crying on the last day.”

“I’ll start tonight,” he laughed.

You chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “Have you thought about what you’re gonna ask to keep?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost too quickly.

You gave him a look. “Oh really? That confident?”

“Mhm. I’m not asking though and I already stole it.”

You blinked, curious. “It better not be more of the gold, because if you’re stockpiling, I’ve got to return mine before we get in trouble.”

Drew grinned, turning his head just enough to catch your expression. “It’s you, baby. Found you here first and I’m not giving you back.”

You bumped into him with a laugh and slid an arm around his waist as you walked. He squeezed your side gently in return.

“That was smooth,” you said, impressed.

“I try.”

You reached up and plucked the sunglasses off his face, sliding them onto your own. “You nailed it, baby. Don’t doubt yourself.”

It had been obvious from the start that you were each other’s best thing. The quarantine FaceTime calls, all the red carpets, night shoots, line rehearsals and late-night takeout meals in cramped trailers, were all part of the story. Growing up in this industry with Drew had changed your life in more ways than you could count but most of all, it had made everything feel a little less heavy and a whole lot more worth it.

For the next few hours, as you moved between locations for the photos, you and Drew created a game. One of you would point at a spot on set and the other would tell the memory tied to it. That bench where you both fell asleep during a night shoot in season two, that path you’d ran off to, to kiss hiding from prying eyes and the dock behind the crew tent where you’d whispered “I think I’m in love with you,” when you hadn’t meant to.

As always, unsurprisingly so, you forgot people could see that sort of connection, much less film it, which was what happened.

You and Drew had always been quiet about it and as discreet as you could, or at least, you thought you were. But that moment had been captured, as many others by the always-watchful lenses of fans across the field. The videos were posted within the hour and then they were everywhere.

obsessedfilmupdates  are they friends?

outerbnxfiles  Sooo much worse

rafeanatics  Last year hoping they’ll fall in love 😪

sunkissedstarkey  I need them to realise they’re perfect for each other like FAST

outerbanksfeed   Stand down, soldier. I think we did it

The comments poured in like waves, relentless, warm and achingly observant. Fans had always seen it, what had always lived quietly between the takes and under the surface. The comfort, the soft familiarity and the way you looked at each other like home. Even without confirmation, it was a fantasy millions had collectively chosen to internalise. It maybe wasn’t yet real to them but clearly it wasn’t a performance either and that was more than enough.

If this was the beginning of the end, this last season, this last stretch of long nights and early mornings, you were okay with it—because he had been there at the start and you knew, no matter where the story ended on screen, he’d be there long after the credits rolled.

[angstyentropy]

Dick Grayson is a character most people have a hard time understanding well, I even second guess myself all the time. I think this might be because he seems to not follow any pattern and I think there's four main reasons for that!

1. Lack of Archetypes.

Most characters fit into one or more archetypes. When you see a character who talks a lot you tend to assume they get easily excited, don't have a good social awareness and are a bit too optimistic. That's because you've become familiar with that archetype and it's easier to understand these characters and how they act because you've seen very similar characters all over the place.

Dick doesn't really fit any of them. When you hear he likes to move around a lot and does flips you expect he'll have a more positive outlook on life but when you learn he doesn't that might confuse you.

None of your character blueprints work so now you have to start from scratch. I think this is partially why a lot of people tend to reduce him to a goofball or a flirt and similar such things, some people don't want to go through the work to understand a character so they make the character fit what they already understand.

2. He acts differently in different environments.

Dick changes how he acts depending on what his environment calls for, this does not mean he changes his personality or becomes a completely different character at all though.

This is most noticeable when he's a leader, he becomes more stubborn, stern and he's way more harsh on people, think of a hardass (word provided by one of my friends lol). He acts this way because his friends are relying on him, civilians are relying on him and if he messes up that could be detrimental.

The thing is he's not really a hardass, he still cares about these people, he still makes sure they're okay all the time. These things are just more obvious when he's hanging out with the Titans as friends. He's more relaxed, gives all of them his attention. Once again the seriousness doesn't go away though, it's still there even if it's less prominent.

The same thing applies when he's with the Bats, on his own or with a different group of people. When he's alone he still has to worry about civilians but he can control his own actions and he knows his own skills (even he doesn't always think they're enough) so he's able to relax a bit more, be a bit more cheerful.

His behaviour may change but he still has the same personality. I really hope you all get what I'm saying.

3. He's complex

This one should be an obvious reason but I still want to say it. Dick has a lot of different parts to his personality. He has many complicated relationships. He doesn't always show he cares like everyone else. Many of the things he is are often perceived as contradictory but aren't in actuality too.

This nor anything else I have said make him a worse character or even a better one. I like to view it as a challenge, to dissect him and learn about what makes him interesting. I don't like when people try to make him simpler or make him fit a mold. Just please don't try to ignore what makes him complex, there is absolutely nothing wrong with admitting you don't fully understand a character.

4. Inconsistent writing

Some writers ignore what was established beforehand, many writers just don't understand a character, this is just a side effect of the comic industry and it was bound to happen to a character that's been around since 1940.

Inconsistent writing means that people are likely to base their understanding of a character that isn't in character or doesn't match others understanding. I think this reason is pretty self explanatory so I'll just name an example.

Chuck Dixon, a writer who's notorious for not reading previous comics, has written Dick in a way that directly contradicts previous comics in numerous ways, such as taking away basic skills Dick was shown doing frequently in many other comics or making him a cop, something Dick had explicitly stated not wanting to be in other comics.

Overall I think all of these have contributed to a lack of understanding of Dick and thus his constant mischaracterization by both his fans and writers.

[airedelalmena]

Stuff like this is so frustrating. Because people can take the same action for multiple reasons.

Whenever I've done something like this, i.e. with a younger sibling or friend, it's to encourage them to use THEIR smarts. Because I know they're smarter than that, but aren't using it.

The idea that ego could be involved is foreign to me, and I'm truly pushing those I love to self-improve for their own sake. And in a situation like this, though I wouldn't have harped on the same word, might have been nearly as blunt for the sake of their health and safety. I've seen friends with lifelong eating disorders, tried gently to say a kind word here or there, and been looked at as if I ran over someone's dog by the enablers who'd rather sit in silence.

The willful misinterpretation of intents like these feels really unkind because they ascribe automatic bad faith.

I try my best to be kind, but IMO sometimes kind messages for someone's betterment can't and shouldn't be sugarcoated, but made clear. For me, to show respect for someone's good traits (i.e. intelligence) is to expect it of them at all times, and point out when they're not living up to the person I know they are, etc. As a friend. Coddling existing problems feels like feeding the problem, keeping it alive. It's what I would want from my friends and family - extreme directness to help me to grow, not fearful silence that actually keeps me from hearing needed comments that might support my growth.

I guess I just don't understand people who feel uncomfortable with directness or disapprove of it as a problem-solver.

Example: If someone's half-unconscious, injured on the side of the road, and I know first aid, and also know an ambulance is coming but it's 30+ minutes away, the answer is...

to call them and politely ask permission to go ahead first, uwu! Um, no.

to go straight into the first aid without any ado.

Like IDC "how that ~*~sounds/looks~*~" YK?

This is why I do this: We only live one life, and time is short. You could die tomorrow. I wish people had saved me wasted years of not being on the right paths by putting it bluntly into my system.

I experienced this firsthand about ten years ago and it forced me to choose to stop the social behavior of "being polite" and beating around the bush, and to realize the beautiful value of bluntness in saving a person's life instead. Because I almost lost mine to the toxicness of a "being polite" environment that HATED the truth, hated real words spoken to solve real problems. Would rather watch their friends and relatives suffer eating disorders, domestic abuse, severe health problems, near-homelessness in 100% silence as long as the "politeness" of the environment was maintained. No one cared enough about those hurting to speak of the elephants in the room.

Because I lack an interfering ego, I wouldn't be offended by someone doing what OP did in the above. I would consider where they were coming from and let my bubble be burst if it needed to be. I've seen these egos kill people, more committed to the pain than the healing. Because unfortunately trauma bonding happens, and "the comfort zone" of it feels artificially "good".

How many people say "I'll make (XYZ happier choice) for my New Year's resolution" and then never do it? A false friend pats them on the back and says "that's wonderful!" A REAL friend pushes them to make concrete plans, break them down into itemized lists of the steps needed to make it happen. Because I've seen entire lives go to waste saying "maybe one day..." or entire relationships break thanks to easily-solved but unsolved problems. So, as a friend, when I see something, I DO something or I SAY something, as most people were "too polite" to do for me (so-called politeness was actually unintended sabotage).

Being ultra-practical and no-nonsense tends to piss people off mightily, though. Trying to help gets misinterpreted as the wrong, "taboo" thing and shunned. The offended pushback from them starts fights, which I then have to fend off; after which, either my original help, or the fending-off of their fight is then re-interpreted as "my starting a fight". Scapegoating. Etc. I'm so tired and burnt out from years of having to go through this with people over and over again. People I care for and am trying to burst the comfort zone of, to help to heal.

Ultimately the OP's choice was the wrong one in this situation, here. But it seems like their intent was to bust up some of the myth's in their friend's eating-disordered thinking, to get them to wake up a little from the disease that is harming them. Was it perfectly done? No. But did the mother have proof that it was coming from an egotistical place? No, she jumped straight to the accusation. All I see is someone choosing a specific word as an opportunity to cut through some learned BS and point out why it might be BS. A young person doing it in a clumsy way. But so different from a surface-level attack on vocabulary and intelligence that it's being criticized as.........like, come on.......

Hi there, I love your writing and saw one of your recent answered asks. If you feel like it, could you tell or point us to a story about how you were taught kindness? I worry I have not learned enough kindness.

I actually got out of bed to write this. I saw the ask, and I knew the story, and I knew what I wanted it to be. It's a little fire and brimstone, compared to my other stories, but I think that's an important part. 

My mom was a young woman's leader for our ward and she cared a lot about her charges. One of the girls in her group had parents that were in the middle of a messy divorce, and with the mom reentering the workforce after 15 years, schedules were hectic. So my mom picked up their daughter from school for a while. The daughter only lived a block away from us, so it was a small thing to do for a family going through a very painful change.

Said daughter was fat. She'd been fat since we were all kids and she was deeply ashamed of it. Always trying to fix it. Always reading about and talking about diets. And one day, I was sitting in the back seat, and she was talking with my mom about some documentary she'd seen about the corn industry, and how corn syrup was in everything, and I remember her saying "It's literally poison."

And I just didn't leave it be.  

I said something about if she was sure it was literal, and she said yeah, totally, and I asked her if she knew what literal went, and my mom shot daggers at me through the rear view mirror before changing the topic. They chatted, and my mom told her some stuff about worrying less about food, and I don't remember the details but I know my mom was trying to steer her away from disordered eating. Then we arrived at her house, and she got out, and after that it was just me and my mom in the car. 

And it was awkward. We drove for maybe a half block before my mom said, Babs, what the hell was that, and I said something about how that's not what literally means, and she took me to task for it. 

Who cares what literally means, she said. Her parents are getting divorced. She feels terrible about her body. She feels terrible about everything. And instead of listening to her, you felt the need to point out that you're smarter than her. That you know a word she doesn't. You feel big, putting her down like that? 

I didn't have an answer. We sat there a few moments, silent, before she spoke again. I will never forget how tired she sounded. 

I know she isn't as smart as you, she said. But she's doing the best she can. And you could be doing so much more than this.

There was nothing I could say to that. I saw her face in the rearview a few times on the short ride home, and she wasn't sobbing but there were tears going down her face. I think she sat in the car twenty minutes after pulling in, just trying to get her composure back. I checked on her from the living room window like ten times. I can't remember the last time I felt like that huge of a piece of shit.

My mom is a gentle woman. She cried over worms with me. She hardly ever yelled, and she apologized after she did. That conversation caved my skull in like a cinder block dropped from a skyscraper. And I deserved it. 

I know it's probably not the tumblr way to encourage shame. But I have found it useful anyway. I think it is useful for me, to have a specific moment of knowing what failure looks like and feels like.  Missing the person to pick out the part that would make me look good, missing the big view of their life, missing the idea that what they need is not necessarily to be right. Too may misses.

There are a lot of stupid things that have crawled to the tip of my tongue, only to get stopped by the memory of my mom saying you could be doing so much more than this. 

I will not make her say that a second time.

[lsunstreakerl]

I've got some more thoughts about this one that may or may not get posted, and it's a bit sporadic and all over the place, but here's 1.2k of. I'm not actually sure how to describe them.

if you actually work or volunteer on any of the following: alpine rescue, SAR teams, cave diving rescue, firefighter, helicopter pilot, or mountaineering and/or rescue work in general, (thank you for everything you do) I'm going to need you to look the other way on the numerous and egregious inaccuracies in this work and any others following it <3

no warnings here, relationships are confusing even to me as the author, and they're v fluid, so. more than one thing going on here. max POV.

Max is a light sleeper— it's a perk of the job. Unfortunately, it also means he wakes up at the press of lips to his forehead and warm fingers resting against his jaw, blinking a few times in the dark.

He makes a soft noise, tilting his head up to catch Nico's gaze. He can see the watch on the other man's wrist, illuminated faintly in the dark— it's early, only three. Nico brushes his thumb across his cheek, eyes gentle.

"My team has a call."

Max makes another noise, still sleepy, and rolls his face back into the pillow. There's a volunteer group staying in the bunkhouse this month, so they've all had to double up, and being team leads comes with the perk of getting a private room, but it still only has one bed.

He wrinkles his nose, brain booting up unwillingly. Three in the morning is a fine line between being the night crew or not— but it's Sebastian who's calling the shots this rotation, and Max trusts him.

He slides a hand out from the warmth of the covers, finding Nico's fingers and squeezing them.

"Be safe. Do not be stupid."

Nico laughs, and then his fingers are ruffling through Max's hair before he tugs the duvet and blankets back up across Max's shoulders.

He can hear the sound of Nico pulling on his base layers in the dark, and then the creak of the door. Just like that, he's gone. Max rolls back into the middle of the bed, taking a deep inhale and trying to settle back down. It smells like both of their shampoo and Nico's aftershave.

It's not a terrible smell.

------

Max is toweling off his hair from the shower when Lewis calls him. It's an annoying new development, ever since the other man learned that while Nico might not always pick up, Max does.

"Verstappen speaking."

"Hey man, sorry to interrupt. Nico isn't taking my calls at the moment, you know anything about that?"

Max is glad it's just a phone call, because the face he makes speaks louder than any words could.

"He is obviously on the mountain, Hamilton."

"Oh, I didn't— huh. We didn't get any call down here?"

To his credit, Lewis sounds genuinely confused. It's fair, since he'd come from a SAR unit in America where the ground teams and the mountain teams tend to work together, but he's been around here long enough to know better. He's just trying to get information out of Max.

"They are using the heli to get out, if the weather is willing."

Lewis is quiet for a moment over the line.

"And if it's not?"

Max shrugs before remembering Lewis can't see him.

"Then it will be a shitshow, of course."

------

He keeps himself busy during the day. Gym, pool, observing the rappelling class the volunteers are working through. Three hour power nap.

How Nico's team does is none of his business. They're experienced, and if he spent every day worrying about the other teams, he'd never have a moments worth of rest.

He lights a candle for them in the chapel anyway.

------

He's playing FIFA when the overhead announces a helipad landing. It's starting to get late, and he's deeply relieved that Nico's team had gotten back before the sun had truly dipped behind the mountains— they're not experts in the dark.

That's what Max's team is for.

He leaves the controller abandoned in the lounge as he makes his way upstairs, hands tucked deep into his pockets. The chill air from the open bay doors whips against his face as he steps inside— EMS is already getting ready to leave, rescued climbers triaged and loaded into the waiting ambulances.

Nico is still in all of his gear, neon green jacket with a reflective ROSBERG stamped across his back. There's snow built up on his coat, climbing harness stiff with ice. His boots are going to have to get hosed down in the mudroom— Max can't even see the original bright blue he knows they are.

Max steps forward to help undo the straps of his helmet, because Nico's fingers are stiff where they're tucked into a warm heat pack. All of his gear is freezing. He blinks at Max slowly, snow frozen across his lashes, and Max quirks his head to the side as he hooks Nico's helmet over his fingers, working next at freeing the beanie underneath.

He keeps his voice soft enough that the others won't overhear him.

"Will you be able to shower on your own?"

Nico simply blinks again, and Max rolls his eyes, starting next on the multitude of zippers that put together Nico's outer layers of jackets and snow pants.

"That is fine. I will go with you."

Part of being team lead means being strong— stronger than humanly possible. It means that when things feel impossible, their team needs to be able to look at them and trust.

Earning that trust was the easy part. The real difficult lies in maintaining that image, which often requires them to lean on each other, instead of their teams. Showing weakness is only human— but getting off the mountains is more often than not an experience that is, at its core, beyond human.

He sees Mick out of the corner of his eye checking in with Kimi, cracking a heat pack for the larger man. The rest of Nico's team is in good hands, which just leaves Nico.

"Come on then."

He tugs Nico carefully into a hallway, leading them into the mudroom as he helps strip a few more layers off, all branded with ROSBERG until he gets to the final few base layers. He'll save them for the shower.

Nico's clothes get hung out on a rack to thaw before they can be cleaned, and he's still staring blankly as Max pulls off his socks, helping him into his slides.

The mind consuming numbness of the cold... it's something they all understand well. He guides them down past the bunks and communal showers, nudging them back into the private bedroom they've been sharing. He catches a glimpse of Nico's base layers, the worn and faded HAMILTON-ROSBERG stretched thin across his shoulders.

Nico wakes up slightly while Max turns the shower on, letting warm water flow over his fingers as he checks the temperature. Not too hot, but warm enough to help him ease the chill. Nico's stripping completely down, albeit slowly.

Max takes the opportunity to slip into the closet and grab them both warm, dry clothes. He'll probably have to call Lewis later, as annoyed as he is at the thought. If the two of them could communicate like normal adults, his life would be easier.

------

There's nothing sexual about showering with Nico. Mostly, Max is checking for hypothermia. He lets Nico stand under the bulk of the spray, carefully carding shampoo through his hair. The other man is starting to drop, wobbling on his feet as he finally comes down from the high. They'd been out on the mountain for eighteen hours— it's no wonder Nico's out of steam.

Max barely gets him out of the shower and into dry clothes before he's dragging them both into the bed. He clings around Max sleepily, fingers slipping under his shirt, nose tucked into his neck. Max lets him.