#THIS WAS MEANT TO BE A PROMPT BUT IT GOT OUT OF HAND

[moonstruckme]

First time request! I'd love a poly Jily fic based on the prompt "blood swirling down a shower drain." Maybe the reader just got back from a mission that went wrong and is kinda out of it, trying to wash everything off. James and Lily find them and refuse to let them deal with it alone, just soft, quiet comfort, lots of gentle touches, and reassuring words.🥹 Thanks!!

Thank you for requesting! This turned out so much angstier than I intended. I really don't know what happened but...I'm sorry? Or for the people who are always asking for angst I don't deliver, you're welcome I think? I don't know it just happened I wasn't on the decision-making panel

cw: blood (lots of blood), reader is a bit in shock, nonsexual nudity, death (of a minor canon character, not someone we really know and love), set in canon so there's death eaters/the order/etc., quite angsty (for me at least) but there is comfort I promise

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

James and Lily are cuddling when you come home. Well, they’re sort of just holding each other and trying to pass it off as cuddling. Any one of you going out on an assignment for the Order always makes nervous wrecks of the two left behind, but Lily and James doing their best to distract themselves, a film on the television and each trying not to look like they’re glancing out the window every minute. 

The crack of apparition outside puts an abrupt end to the facade. 

They’re both up in an instant, but Lily puts a hand to James’ chest when he goes for the door. “Wait,” she says. She leaves a spot of blood on his shirt from where she’s picked the skin by her nail down to nothing. 

James’ heart revolts, but he listens. They both listen, until they hear the two-three-two knock that means it’s you. 

Lily manages to move faster than him. She has both the muggle and magical locking mechanisms undone in an instant, opening the door to you. 

To you, absolutely drenched in red. 

It’s in your hair; it stains your clothes; it cakes your face and your neck and your hands. There’s hardly an inch of you left clean. James can’t comprehend it. Was there…was there an explosion of some sort? Did you get splattered by something? He feels sick. 

“Is that blood?” Lily’s voice is admirably steady. 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

James really feels sick. 

“Are you hurt?” She reaches for you, bringing you inside. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds. 

“No, I’m—it’s old. I’m fine. Remus fixed it.” 

“Good old Moony,” James croaks. It’s meant to be a joke, but truly, he’d love to fly to Remus and Sirius’ flat right now to give his friend the hug of his life. If only there weren’t things for James to take care of here first. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” Lily asks, running a gentle hand up your arm. Blood flakes under her touch. 

“They were waiting for us.” Your voice is low, like it’s the sort of truth that becomes worse once said aloud. Your eyes look bigger and brighter in the midst of all the mess. James wants desperately to hug you, and yet—shamefully—he’s afraid of touching you; like despite what you say, he might find you less whole than you were when you left a few hours ago. “It was just supposed to be Dolohov there, but there were a lot of them. They knew we were coming.” 

“They did this to you?” 

“It…I…” Your gaze moves from Lily, to James, back to Lily again. You look exhausted, haunted, but worried beneath that. A moment later, James understands why. “It was Severus.” 

Lily reacts as though you’ve hit her. Her expression looks like a heart cracked open, but she doesn’t let go of your arm. 

“He used this spell,” you tell her, seeming sorry to do it, “that opens cuts all over the other person’s body. Remus was able to figure a counter-curse before I bled out. I don’t think Severus was aiming for me…” 

Even looking at your face, James is unsure of whether you mean that. The odds that Snape would try to hurt you seem equally as likely to him as those that he wouldn’t. You may only be trying to protect Lily. She looks so devastated, James wants to wrap you both up and never let you go again. 

Something Lily and James have always had in common is how they love. They may not always show it in the same ways, but once they’ve chosen someone, that’s it; they’ll live and die for them. They give away their whole hearts. James has just been luckier in who he’s chosen to give his to. His first love—outside of his family, of course—was Sirius. Lily’s was Snape. 

But, as much as James loves Lily, if Snape showed up on your doorstep right now James thinks he would kill him. 

“I’m sorry,” Lily says to you, her eyes shining. 

“It’s okay.” You extricate yourself gently from her grasp. “I’m going to shower.” 

“Sweetheart…” James reaches for you, but you ghost past his hands, only mumbling again, “It’s okay.” 

Nothing’s okay. Lily’s looking after you like her heart’s been cracked open. From the sound of it, you actually were cracked open for a while. There’s a fracture between the three of you that James doesn’t know how to fix. But certainly he’s going to try. 

“Come on.” He takes Lily’s hand, encouraging her down the hall with him. When she comes, he wraps an arm around her shoulders to kiss her hair. “It’s alright. Come on, lovely.” 

The shower is already running when they open the bathroom door. James shuts it behind them before starting to strip, and Lily’s questioning look only lasts a moment before she’s doing the same. He sets his glasses on the counter. 

“Hi,” he says, pulling the shower curtain open enough to pop his head in. You look surprised, which is a surprise in itself; you must really be lost in your own head not to have heard them enter. “Room for two more in here?” 

There is, of course, room—as if James would ever let you get a place without a shower big enough for three—but still he’s relieved when you nod. He steps the rest of the way in, making room for Lily to squeeze in behind him. You seem to have scrubbed your face clean and now are letting the water do the work on the rest of you. Blood swirls down the shower drain. 

James steps closer, giving you long seconds to back away, to let your face reveal hesitation or denial, before he kisses you. Slowly. Warmly. You soften like butter in the sun, arms coming around him as his do you. 

“Didn’t get to do that properly when you got home,” James murmurs after your lips part. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

He fights to keep his lips from twitching at the now-familiar dazed quality to your tone. It is taking every ounce of his concentration to not think too hard about the two stunning women he’s sharing a shower with right now. 

Since Lily is no longer up to being the asker of questions, James gives it a whirl. “Do you want to tell us any more about what happened tonight?” 

Your eyes go weary and somber. He sees your throat bob as if around something painful. “We, um. We lost Edgar.” 

Lily makes a wounded sound. “Bones?” 

James has already drawn you into a hug. You nod against his chest, choking out a weak, “Yeah.” 

“Was it…”

“It was Lestrange,” you answer before Lily has to finish asking. Not Snape. She breathes out. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, joining your hug. Water runs in rivulets down the three of you, transferring from one body to the other, off James’ nose and Lily’s hair and your chin, pooling in all the places you’re pressed together. James fights an ache in his own throat. You’d all known Edgar, but only you watched him die. This is a grief he and Lily can only share in parts of. 

There’s lots more kisses and murmuring before you get to the business of washing. James runs you over with a soapy cloth while Lily shampoos your hair, the both of them making sure no inch of you goes unseen to. Remus has done a good job; there are no scars where Snape’s curse tore you open. As the blood clears away, James can’t tell where it originated from at all. 

He tells you how happy they are to have you home. You smile at his exaggerated jokes about separation anxiety and squeeze his hand when he presses a thumb into the corner of it, chuffed with himself. Lily apologizes again for Snape, and you both promise her she’s not responsible for him until it seems almost like she believes it. James is kicked out of the shower in disgrace after mistaking your body wash for conditioner. He warms towels in the dryer while Lily works the tangles out of your hair with her fingers. 

When you go to bed, you’re still as exhausted as you were when you came home. You move like your body weighs a thousand pounds, and there’s a haunted look about your eyes, and you don’t seem up to saying much. But you curl up with James’ chest to your back and Lily’s leg draped across your own, and you’re loved, and that counts for something.

[kelltonic]

Defences ★彡

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Reader

Description: While at the hard deck with the other daggers, Mickey - your boyfriend - get’s heavily flirted on by a stranger when you’re not around, and he is never more committed to shut someone down.

Warnings: Alcohol/Drunkenness, very light sexual harassment (fem on man). Canon-typical asshole Hangman. I love Reuben. Fanboy is a sweetheart. Other than that it’s just an established relationship and fluff. No use of y/n.

WC: 1,500

A/N: Guys if you want more Mickey (or any top gun) PLEASE request - I have been struggling for ideas lol - even if it’s just another version of an already made fanfiction with a different character, or a headcanons prompt!! - ALSO for anyone who read my prev a/n on my other fanboy ff, I GOT 100% ON MY ENGLISH EXAM!!! I actually started tweaking out (it was creative writing). We don't talk about my other exams though.

“Oh come on!” Mickey groaned while throwing his arms in the air, physically complaining over the miss he just hit in pool. “The tables gotta be uneven or something.” He said, mostly jokingly.

"Don't be bitter that I'm just better." Reuben shrugged, flashing a cocky smile to tease his best friend with.

After a long day of flying, most of the squadron retired to the most familiar place on base, the Hard Deck. A comforting yet bustling bar that welcomed naval aviators with open arms.

"Now that's funny-" Fanboy was about to start, but was quickly cut off by that oh so familiar southern drawl.

"Boys, boys, let me show you how a real man shoots." Hangman mocked, condescendingly snatching the pool cue out of Fanboy's hands while simultaneously shooting a wink to one of the many attractive women scattered around the bar. Payback's face formed a frustrated expression as he leaned back to watch what Hangman would do. Hangman did this more than anyone would like. Preferably, he'd never interrupt the games for some silly flirting exercise, but something about Jake couldn't live without the thrill of the tease.

Fanboy was about the opposite, despite what his callsign may allude. Sure, before he met you, he would throw around a few pick up lines and enjoy the spotlight whenever a pretty girl noticed him. But now? He is duller than a rock if someone tries to get a piece of him. You're his favourite person in the entire world, and he makes sure you know it - as long as you promise not to tell Reuben. He can't have another passive-aggressive flight because Reuben decided to teach him how significant of a role he plays in Mickey's life. He would rather jump out of his plane mid flight than let you think you meant anything less to him.

So when the girl Hangman had been flirting with had finally approached him with her friends who had been giggling like hyenas at the squadron the entire night, he just went to get another round.

He looked back from the bar to see the girls clinging to various daggers while waiting for the drinks, chuckling at the sight of Reuben getting surrounded. He didn't think anything of it until one of them separated and began approaching him.

But he didn't want to assume anything, she may just be coming to do the same thing as him.

"Hey handsome." She giggled, leaning against the bar next to Fanboy. Welp, there goes the lack of assumption.

"Hi." He responded bluntly, giving a brief polite yet not hinting smile. All that warranted was a giggly and flirtatious response.

"Come here often?" She said, clearly a little tipsy if not anything further. She scooted closer to him, practically brushing him. As much as he wanted to make space between him, the bar was particularly crowded and he honestly didn't want to bother the aviator directly behind him.

"Yeah a bit, most of us frequent this bar the most." He said with a dry sigh, averting eye contact. He couldn't help but wish Penny sped up with the drinks, but he would never in any lifetime say that to her and face her (and Maverick's) wrath.

"Come on pretty boy, loosen up." She giggled while gripping his arm, trying to push their bodies flush together.

"Okay no thank you." He quickly spoke, lightly pushing her away. He was uncomfortable, and couldn't help but feel guilty despite the fact he had done nothing wrong. "I have a girlfriend." He stated, easily plying her hand off his arm.

"Is she here?" She said while staring into his eyes playfully, unbothered by the physical signs he was presenting.

"No?" He said, puzzled by her persistence.

"Then she doesn't have to know." She responded while trying to close the distance again.

"Here ya go." Penny interrupted with a small smile, placing a tray of various alcoholic beverages in front of them before dashing off to another patron. all Mickey could think was 'oh thank goodness' as Penny saved him from this uncomfortable and awkward encounter.

He grabbed the drink tray and flashed the girl a small, awkward smile as he sped walk to the full group again.

"Ayy!!" Reuben and various others bellowed, grateful to see another wave of drinks. "Our saviour." He joked, taking a beer.

"On land and sky." Mickey responded, placing the tray down while grabbing himself a beer. It only took a few awkward shuffles from Mickey for Reuben to detect something was off, despite his current state.

"You good?" He asked with a smile, tilting his head as he carefully watched Mickey's reaction.

"Yeah, yeah, I just feel... dirty." Mickey murmured, the guilt of another woman's attraction to him weighing on him like an elephant.

"Dirty? Or like.. dirty." Reuben repeated, shifting from a playful to serious tone.

"Dirty." Mickey echoed, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. "...One of the girls was flirting with me. Hard." He elaborated.

"Since when was that a bad thing?" Reuben scoffed, before a wave of realisation hit him. "Ohhh... right, okay." A neutral tone flowing through his voice. It only took a second for a puzzled expression to take over his face. Mickey had to admit one thing, Reuben was one of the most expressive people he's ever met.

"So... why do you feel bad?" He mocked, a slight laugh leaving his mouth. "You didn't flirt back.. right?" Reuben questioned. He knew how utterly enamoured Mickey was with you, he had to get his callsign from somewhere. But he couldn't help but seek clarification.

"No!" Mickey swiftly reacted after taking a gulp of his beer, a frankly offended expression covering his face.

"...." Reuben just stared, a little dumbfounded at Mickey's loyalty policies. Despite a hint of respect also developing, he couldn't help but laugh at Mickey's commitment to you. And his standards for what counts as something he should feel guilty for or not. However, Reuben was also observant. Even if he wasn't, it would still be easy to tell how sad the thought of someone else flirting with Mickey made him. Someone other than you. But his trance was interrupted by an exaggerated sigh.

"Okay, look. I'm only ever going to say this once, so listen up." Reuben began, placing his beer down as he forced eye contact with Mickey. Landing a hand on his shoulder, he groaned as he realised what he was about to say and the possibility of Mickey never letting him live it down. "You're attractive. Really damn hot, man. Both physically and personality wise. You have good energy and people are naturally drawn to your confidence and kindness. So you're gonna have to get used to the idea of people, women included, approaching you and flirting." Reuben stated, more teaching than hyping.

Mickey was conflicted between smiling and teasing Reuben. "Come on man, that's the nicest thing you've said to me." He said with a chuckle as his shoulders dropped and his gave Reuben a quick hug before he potentially got bitch slapped by him.

"Okay off." Reuben scolded, pushing Mickey off of him with a forced groan.

"...I'm still gonna call her though." Mickey quickly ushered while typing in your contact on his phone, which just elicited a 'why do I even try' motion from Reuben as he walked away.

Your phone rang a couple times before you got the chance to pick it up, busy with an email.

"Hello?" you spoke seriously, forgetting to check the caller ID.

"Babe!!" Mickey spoke, excited to hear your voice. He always sounded ecstatic whenever you two spoke.

"Hey baby, what's up?" You spoke warmly, a complete shift from your initial greeting.

"I just wanted to tell you I love you more than anything in the entire world. Even flying." Mickey spoke quickly, not for a lack of authenticity.

"I love you too... why are you calling to tell me this?" You said with a small chuckle, it wasn't uncommon for Mickey to randomly declare his love, especially over the phone due to distance. It was however rare for him to do it at this late hour.

"Some girl was flirting with me. BUT! I didn't at all entertain it for a second." Mickey emphasised, he was only slightly tipsy but the honesty made you giggle. You would never in a million years have to worry about his loyalty, and this is one of the reasons.

"Well I appreciate that." You responded softly, the yearning for his presence briefly satiated by his voice. All you could hear on the other end of the line was a low giggle, as far as you could tell he could very well be twirling his (non-existent) hair and kicking his feet.

"I miss you sweetie." You whispered with a gentle desire from the heart.

"I do too, but you'll never guess what Reuben said to me." Mickey said with a chuckle, you could practically hear his smile, and his longing.

A/N: Bit of a corny ending but I didn't know what else to do lmao.

Started: 12:00am Sunday 22nd of June Ended: 8:00pm Thursday 26th of June

[alotofpockets]

Everything I've ever dreamed of | Beth Mead x Reader

5k celebration prompt: “Our life together is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.8k

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“Good morning Sunshine.” Beth says as she kisses the back of your shoulder and cuddles further into you. You let out a content hum and take her hand to wrap around you. “Morning baby.” Your voice still a little groggy from just waking up. 

Beth continues pressing kisses onto your shoulder. You turn around with an amused smile, “What has gotten you all excited?” Your girlfriend’s smile grew, “Well, since we’ve got the weekend off, I’ve planned a little date for us. Surprise!” 

You were immediately excited about what she had planned and wouldn’t stop asking her what you were going to do, but the answer kept being “It’s a surprise.” Each time she didn’t tell you, you jokingly rolled your eyes at her. In reality, it didn’t matter what she had planned, you were just happy to be spending time with her.

After she made you breakfast, yes made you, you weren’t allowed to help, you went to get ready together. “What am I supposed to wear to this mystery date?” You ask while browning your closet. “Just something comfy, I’m gonna go for jeans and a shirt.” She picks out her outfit, and you decide to match her with a pair of jeans and a shirt as well. “Gotcha, comfy not fancy.” Beth smiled, “Do with that what you will, Sunshine.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with Myle in the back, and Beth driving you out of the driveway. You figured the first part of the drive would be familiar, so you didn’t think much of it, but when she turned into Steph’s street, you started to get a little sceptical. “Our date is at Steph’s?”

Beth sends you a look, “I love Steph dearly, but we are not having our date at her place, who do you think I am?.” She says with a chuckle. “We’re just here to pick up Calvin, he’s joining us today.”

Beth parks the car, and as soon as she is about to get out of the car you jump out and say, “I’ll get him!” You rush up the stairs of her apartment building and head up to her floor. Once Steph opens the door, you step in right away. “If Calvin is coming, you must know where we are going.” 

“Well, hello to you too, my dear friend.” Steph says from the doorway, still with the handle of the open door in her hand. You quickly walk back to where she is standing, in the hopes that being extra nice to her would make her tell you. “Hi Steffy, you’re a great friend, and I love you soooo much.” You say as you hug her. 

She chuckles at your change of behaviour. “You’re right, I know exactly what she has planned, but I am under strict orders to not tell you anything about it.” She laughs when you let out a frustrated groan, “She’s really not telling you anything, is she?” With a shake of your head, you say, “Nope.” and lean down to pet Calvin. “Did they tell you, bud? Yeah, I’m sure they did. Lucky you, they won’t tell me a thing.”

You give Steph another hug, after she puts on Calvin’s leash and hands him over to you. “Have fun today!” You smile and thank her. 

When you get to the car, you open the door to the backseat so Calvin can join Myle. After you close the door you share a look with Beth, “You told her not to tell me anything?” Beth’s smile grows, “Steph knows that a surprise is meant to stay a surprise, unlike someone else.” She teases. 

Beth started driving again, and at first you still recognised the roads, but quickly you started to leave the city, and you lost track of all the turns you took. So, finally you gave up trying to figure out where you were going, and started to just enjoy the music. 

The both of you were singing along to your playlist on full volume, when you realised that Beth took a turn into an offroad, signalling that you had to be close to your destination. “Are we here?” Beth looked over and saw the excitement on your face grow the closer that you got.

“Tulleys,” You read off the sign, “that name sounds familiar.” After a short moment it comes to you, “Don’t they do a pumpkin farm in the fall?” Beth nods, “They do.” 

“But it’s spring, there are no pumpkins in spring.” You say with a frown. “We’re not going to an empty pumpkin patch, I promise. Do you trust me?” Beth asks as she gives your hand, that laid on her leg, a soft squeeze. “Yes, I got into your car without knowing where we were going. I think it’s safe to say that I do.” Beth jokingly rolled her eyes at your comment, and turned the next corner.

Your face lit up as you saw how Tulleys was decorated, bright colours were all around you. The entrance to the lot had a big banner topping it ‘Welcome to Tulleys Tulip Fest’. “Oh Beth, this looks so cool!”

You started your date off on the tulip fields, brightly coloured tulips filled rows and rows of land. The vibrant colours alone made you absolutely love the place. On top of that there were musicians walking around, giving you live background music. 

Beth took you to one of the little restaurants for lunch, where you excitedly told her all about how much you had been enjoying your date so far. She had really outdone herself with this one. 

Together you explored the whole fest, the Tulip Trail, Spring Awakening, Tulipa Lake, the Whispering Windmill, Spring Dreams, and the Secret Garden. Grabbing all the yummy goods along the way, gelato, poffertjes, donuts, tries, and coffee.

To finish the day, you were now waiting in line to go on the Observation Wheel. Both the dogs at the little doggy waiting area. You were super excited to see the whole place, so excited that you hadn’t even noticed that Beth’s mind was somewhere else.

She was fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, the nerves finally settling in after today. She had moved the ring from her bag into her pocket a few minutes ago while you weren’t looking, and suddenly it all got even more real.

You had often talked about the topic of marriage in your three years of dating, and especially the past few months. Beth had tested the waters by striking up a conversation on the topic again. She felt ready to take the next step, but she wanted to make sure that you were as well.

It was crazy how she still got so nervous about asking you to marry her, while she knew you were ready and knew that you wanted to get married to her. The moment you turned your head back to Beth, she hid her nerves behind a smile. “Ready to go on?” She asked after kissing your cheek. “So, ready. I am so excited to see this place from above!”

The view was absolutely stunning, you could see the countless rows of tulips, all the ponds, and the little building scattered throughout the location. “Beth, this is absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much for taking me here. It’s perfect here.”

When you were almost at the top when Beth fully turned to you and placed her hand on your leg to get your attention. You tore your eyes away from the view and focussed on your girlfriend, who seemed really serious all of a sudden. “Beth?” 

“I’m good, there is just something I want to say.” You placed your hand on hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Beth smiled brightly when you locked eyes again. “I love you. Our life together is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I would give a whole speech if I had enough time, but we’re only at the top for a little bit, so I will leave it short for now and tell you all the ways you are the love of my life later.” She paused for a moment and took her hand away from your leg.

She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a ring box, only then you realised what was happening. Tears immediately spring into your eyes, and your mouth opens in shock. “Y/n, will you marry me?” 

“Yes! Yes! I will marry you!” You say as you fall into her arms. Tears of joy are streaming down your face as you pull away and kiss her. Beth takes the ring out of the small box, and puts it on your finger. 

The moment you have the ring on your finger, the wheel starts moving again. “Wait, we need a picture at the top!” Beth smiles, she knows you so well. “Don’t worry, I slipped them a note with my plan and asked if we could go a second round.” You smile even wider, if that was even possible, “Gosh, you really are perfect. This date has been incredible, and you just made it a million times more special.”

After getting some tulip plants, flowers and memorabilia, you headed back home. You were super happy and so was Beth. The playlist you chose for the way back was full of love songs, and you were blasting it through the car while singing along at the top of your lungs.

When you got back to Steph’s place, you quickly asked if you were allowed to tell Steph about your engagement. “Yes, you can. I’m pretty sure she will immediately look for a ring though, since I told her my plan. I just didn’t text her your answer yet to keep her waiting.” She says chuckling at the last part. “Come on, let’s take the dogs up.”

“Both?” You ask, thinking Myle would come back with you. “Yeah, Steph is dog sitting so we can have the evening to ourselves.” 

You head up to Steph’s apartment with both dogs, and purposely hide your hands in your pocket. Sure enough Steph opened the door immediately searching for your hand without being too obvious about it in case her best friend didn’t ask you.

“Looking for this?” You ask as you pull your hand out of your pocket and show off the ring. “Oh my god, it looks so good on you! Ah, congratulations! My best friend’s getting married, this is so amazing! Tell me everything!”

Beth kissed your cheek before taking care of the dogs, so you could start telling Steph about the date and engagement. When they were all taken care of she joined you and cuddled up on the couch next to you.

-----

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[camficdiner]

[1.3] [2.9] [3.6] [4.3] andddd maybe it’s at the lake house and Luke can’t handle seeing you in tiny bikinis alll day!!

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 027

🍒 thank you for ordering, babe! here’s your lake house fic with tattoos, tension, and one Hughes brother trying not to combust all day long 💦

💬 “Warm Waters, Warmer Nights”

✨ description and prompts:

character: Luke Hughes

prompt: You meet his brothers for the first time at the lake house in Michigan. Luke can’t handle seeing your perfect, tattooed body in a bikini all day.

word count: ~1.k

type: mixed fluff & smut

🛼🍒✨🧁

You wore the black bikini on purpose.

Not because you were trying to make a scene. But because it was hot out, Michigan summer kind of hot — where the sun sat high and smug, and the lake practically begged you to jump in the moment you arrived.

And maybe — just maybe — you liked the way Luke stared at you when you wore it.

He brought you here to meet his brothers. Officially. That word had weight behind it now. “I want you to see the lake house,” he’d said, casual. But you could tell he was nervous. His fingers had fidgeted the whole drive. His leg bounced every time you looked at him. And when he parked the car? He exhaled like he’d held his breath for two states.

You stepped out barefoot onto the gravel driveway, sunscreen already making your skin shine. Your bikini top hugged your chest perfectly, straps slightly askew from the drive. The hem of your towel sat high on your thigh. Tattoos out. Hair undone.

Luke looked at you like you were going to ruin him.

“Okay,” he muttered, jaw tight, “maybe we go inside first—”

Too late.

Jack opened the door, saw you, and immediately smirked. “So this is what you’ve been hiding in Jersey?”

Luke groaned. “Jack, don’t—”

“Relax, man. I’m just saying. Good taste.”

Quinn followed, quieter. He gave you a once-over — not rude, just observant — and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

He didn’t say more. But you caught him glancing down at your ink as you stepped inside.

The house smelled like pinewood and beer. There were flip-flops by the door, half a sandwich left on the counter, and someone’s wet shirt hanging off the back of a chair.

You felt their eyes on you the whole time. Not in a mean way. Just… assessing. This was the girl Luke was officially introducing. That meant something.

You smiled through it all. You were good at smiling. Even when Luke kept hovering behind you, touching the small of your back, tugging at your towel like he wanted to cover you up and keep showing you off at the same time.

He introduced you. Jack made three sarcastic comments in under five minutes. Quinn asked if you wanted something to drink. You ended up on the back deck, lake glistening in front of you, hot air wrapping around your body like a second bikini.

And Luke? Luke couldn’t stop looking.

—

The tension built all day.

From the dock, while you stretched your arms over your head to dive in — and Luke choked on his water.

From the boat, when you laid back sunbathing and Jack said, “If you don’t make it official with her soon, I will.”

From lunch, when you walked past in dripping lakewater, and Luke fumbled his fork.

Every time you bent over to grab a drink, adjusted your towel, or even just breathed — Luke looked like he was going to combust.

He kept his hands to himself. Barely.

You caught him more than once gripping the edge of a table, knuckles white.

He didn’t sit next to you at lunch. Too risky.

Didn’t help you re-tie your bikini. Too obvious.

Didn’t say a word when Jack asked, “So, when are you two getting freaky in the hot tub?”

Just blushed. Deeply. Silently.

Until the sun dipped low, and the others retreated inside.

And you?

You got into the hot tub.

—

The water steamed under the night sky. Lights from inside the house glowed softly behind you. The jets bubbled around your thighs as you sank in, letting your head fall back, moonlight catching on your skin.

You didn’t say a word when you heard the sliding door open.

Luke walked out shirtless — still in swim trunks, but barefoot, lips parted like he’d run out of self-control the minute Jack and Quinn shut their bedroom doors.

“You good?” you asked, already smirking.

He stepped into the water like he was in a trance. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me all day.”

“I think I do.”

“You wore that bikini on purpose.”

“And?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

You moved across the bubbling surface and straddled his lap in one fluid motion, warm water curling between your bodies.

“I’ve been so good all day,” he said, gripping your waist. “I didn’t touch you. Didn’t say a thing.”

You leaned in, teeth brushing his ear. “Want a reward?”

His hands gripped your ass under the water. “No. I want to ruin you.”

And then his mouth was on yours — hot, desperate, claiming.

You moaned when he bit your bottom lip, hands slipping beneath the water to tug at your bikini bottoms. Your hips rolled instinctively against his, the only sound around you the slap of water, low grunts, and the steady ripple of desire finally snapping.

“Luke—” you gasped.

“I’m done playing nice.”

He pulled the fabric aside and thrust into you in one smooth motion. The water splashed against the edges of the tub. You cried out — loud — only to have him cover your mouth with his palm.

“Shh,” he breathed against your throat. “Wanna get us caught?”

You licked his hand. “Maybe.”

“Fucking tease.”

He fucked you slow at first. Teasing. Letting you feel every inch of it. The water kept moving, sloshing, rocking you both like a boat about to capsize.

You clutched his shoulders, panting, whimpering, feeling him grip you harder each time your body clenched.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, “and they’re gonna know it.”

“Then make me scream.”

“I plan to.”

Somewhere behind you, inside the house, a light flicked on.

Neither of you noticed.

But Jack did.

He paused in the hallway. Blinked. Then turned the light off.

—

The next morning.

You sat at the breakfast bar, hoodie on, but still glowing. Luke nursed a coffee beside you, both of you trying very hard to act normal.

Jack walked in, paused, and said, “So. The hot tub works. Loudly.”

You froze mid-sip. Luke groaned.

Quinn entered behind him, deadpan. “At least you waited until we were inside. Sort of.”

Jack raised his mug. “Next time, close the damn curtains. And maybe don’t let her ride you where I eat my dinner.”

Luke turned red. You buried your face in your sleeve.

Jack winked. “Warm waters, huh?”

You coughed a laugh. Luke muttered, “I hate everything.”

You didn’t.

Not even close.

[solaris-amethyst]

💫Meteor Shower💫

✨Pairing: pokémontrainer!Mingi x pokémontrainer!gn!reader ✨Prompt: Mingi decides to take you to see the meteor shower and ask you some very important questions. He just have to manage to ask you to go watch the meteor shower first. That shouldn't be too hard now should it? ✨Genre: pokemon au, fluff, romance (Mingi is doing his best to confess), ✨Rating: pg-13 ✨Word count: 7.4k ☀️Authors note: Mingis oneshot is here! Did I have lots of fun writing this one as well? Yes I did! Had to fight autocorrect on how to spell Bagon because it wanted to change it into Bacon all the time... And yes Yunho's and Mingis oneshot is loosely connected to each other😅 let's pretend I didn't post this one day later than I said I would. 🌟Tag list: @hongjoongspoetry @tournesol155

This was so frustrating. You, Mingi and Yunho were supposed to start your journey together through Hoenn after graduating from college. The three of you had even decided on who would pick which starter before you'd visit Professor Birch's lab in Littleroot town.

And now all of that planning had gone to waste.

Yunhos parents had decided that all of them would move to a far away region named Alola after you three had graduated and there was nothing none of you could do or say to put a stop to it. Yunho barely got any time to say goodbye to you two before he was whisked away on a plane.

Therefore the carefully crafted plan the three of you had made for how you'd travel and what you'd finally do on your journey had been ripped apart.

You and Mingi had still gone to get your very first pokémon's together. Yunho had specifically told the both of you to start your journey together and to make sure to do all you both wanted to do. He had then also whisked Mingi away from you and the two of them had whispered to each other looking very serious as they were bent trying to hide behind a plant as they spoke. Only problem was the plant may have been tall but they were significantly taller than said plant.

You had ended up laughing so much at their silliness you'd almost tripped over your own feet when making your way over to ask them what on earth they were doing. To which both had fumbled and almost knocked the plant over as they both denied even talking to each other.

And now here you and Mingi were, partners next to each other as you wandered into a new little town called Misty Village which is located in-between Slateport city and Mauville city. Mingi was holding his partner torchic in his hands, the tiny little chick pokémon could not keep up with her trainers long legs and would constantly make a fuss if she had to walk on the ground next to Mingi, resulting in your friend carrying her most of the time to please "her royal highness" as he had lovingly dubbed her. Your partner on the other hand was happily trotting next to you, finding joy in just walking with you. You glanced down at your mudkip who was easily one of the happiest pokémons you'd ever come across. There never seemed to be a dull moment with him around and was there one thing he loved doing then it was sightseeing.

Sometimes when you two sat up camp he'd find the most scenic place to just sit and take it all in, often your whismur would join him in sightseeing while your third and currently final pokémon shroomish would scoff and follow you instead like a little shadow.

It was funny really how both you and Mingi had three pokémon each, the two of you hadn't meant to have the same amount of friends but it just happened so naturally that neither of you questioned it. You're brought out of your daydreaming when you hear Mingi chuckle for himself causing you to look at your friend curiously.

"What are you giggling about?" You ask, taking in his smile and how his eyes are shining with such happiness.

I wonder if he'd ever look at me with such shining eyes. You muse to yourself before focusing back on what Mingi is about to say.

"I just realized I got two pokémon's who refuse to walk next to me because I walk too fast for their little legs and that both want to be carried all the time. Imagine if all of my friends ends up like Torchic and Bellossom?" He asks and torchic looks up at him with curious eyes letting out a little "Torchic?" as Mingi smiles and give her little head a kiss.

"Hmmmm it's either that or they turn out like Bagon who likes headbutting you from time to time." You mention and with that he giggles again.

"Then if I can choose I'll take a few more passenger princesses rather than more friends who will headbutt me or perhaps bite me." He says, thinking back to the most recent time bagon had headbutted him in the stomach.

He knows the little dragon pokémon means well and that that's how he shows affection. Mingi just wishes from time to time that he would show affection in a less brutal way. But the last time, Mingi had made a little cardigan for his friend with a pair of wings. It hadn't looked good at all and he had worked weeks upon weeks to sew the cardigan but bagon had been so happy he'd shed tears upon seeing the wings on the cardigan and then he had promptly headbutted Mingi in affection.

It was to the point where he never took it off and if Mingi tried just so he could wash it his friend would run and hide behind your leg, peeking out and scolding him from afar.

"Awww but he's just showing his affection for you Mingi! Plus you literally gave him wings, the one thing he wishes he could have so he could fly. That probably meant more to him than you know." You muse, nudging Mingis arm with your elbow.

"You're right, I know. Bellossom have now started to ask for a little bracelet... she often points at mine and then show her own little arms." He confesses and you feel your heart slowly melting at the affection he has for his friends.

"I think that would be cute, I could teach you how to bead a bracelet if you'd like? I just need to buy some material first." You tell him.

"You'd do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you."

"I'd do anything for you as well Y/n." He says sincerely and he's reminded of the two tickets tucked away securely in one of the many pockets in his backpack.

Two tickets to the meteor shower in Mossdeep City at their Space Center. He wished to ask you if you wanted to go with him there and watch the meteor shower. It would be the perfect place to confess and ask if you wanted to be his partner. Yunho had encouraged him before he had to leave for the plane that he should take this time to actually confess to you. Claiming that it was easy to see you also had feelings for him, something Mingi had denied and said that couldn't possibly be true. Then Yunho had the audacity to say alright bet! So now if Yunho was correct he'd owe him lunch, drinks and dessert next time they see each other.

What Mingi doesn't know is that you also have feelings for him, it's just that you don't know how to bring it up and tell him about it. You had once confessed to Yunho about how you had tried once when you and Mingi worked on a project together in college only to chicken out in the last minute to which Yunho had tried to urge you to confess with a beaming smile and an attitude that said just do it you won't regret it.

"Hey Y/n, I was just wondering... Do you think you'd like t-" Mingi starts but is interrupted by your mudkip.

"Mudkip! Mud!" Your partner screeches in joy as you see him rush forward in happiness.

"Mudkip! Wait don't run too far!" You call after the little blue creature, sprinting after him in worry that you'd loose him in the crowd at this new place. Mingi sprints after you as well trying to keep his eyes on both you and your partner. He doesn't want to loose sight of either of you.

Your partner just calls back to you in happiness as he jumps into a fountain in the middle of the square you have entered where he swims around in happiness and splashes about.

"Mudkip! You can't just run away like that! What if I lost sight of you or you got lost!" You scolded your friend whose only response is to splash some water in your face and jump around laughing adorably.

"God you're impossible to stay mad at." You sigh as you bring out a towel to dry your face.

"Mudkip next time just tell us where you wanna go instead of running away and giving us both a heart attack thinking we might loose you." Mingi joins in on the scolding and the two of you can hear an older woman who's sitting at the fountain chuckle about how the two of you look like two parents scolding their child.

Does it cause Mingis face to turn beet red and yours to heat up to the point you think your face is on fire? Yes, yes it does and the two of you are quick to splutter out apologies to her for the commotion you four caused.

"Oh don't worry dearies, it's nice seeing trainers really care for their pokémons, it warms my heart. And this sweetheart just seemed to want to have some fun." She pets your mudkip who had swam up to her in curiosity as she spoke.

"I hope he didn't splash you with any water when he jumped in?" You ask worriedly, ready to offer up your towel in case she'd say yes.

"Oh no he didn't. I'm completely dry."

"That's good, Mudkip you and I will have to have a talk about running away after this." You grumble and he just nods happily as he swims up to the two of you and jumps up on the stones so you can pick him up with your towel to dry him.

"Well... At least we know people here are nice." Mingi mumbles as he looks around, he's slightly bummed he didn't manage to ask you about the tickets but the day isn't over, he will just try again soon he tells himself.

"We have a festival going on here in Misty Village if you two would be interested? There's all kinds of things to do, eat food, learning how to do pokéblocks, vendors selling things and more." The old lady kindly tells the two of you before she stands up and bids the two of you goodbye.

"Pokéblocks? I wonder what that is." You ask as you hold mudkip, still wrapped in your towel.

"Perhaps we should go and find out? It must be something for our pokémons and I wouldn't mind learning something new if It could benefit her royal highness." He says as torchic chirps out in happiness at her nickname.

"Let's go and see what they have to offer!" You grab his hand and wander into the crowd and towards all the different stalls.

Mingi has to fight the blush on his cheeks from you holding his hand and he can see how torchic laughs at his blushing face, she's clearly enjoying him being flustered over you taking action and holding his hand.

"Don't you laugh at me." He grumbles towards her quietly.

"Hey look! That stall is teaching about berries and their benefits! Let's go there! I wanna know more so we know what to pluck next time we see them!" You gasp as a young man is standing at a stall, berries lying neatly on his table with small notes next to each one.

"Hello! Care to learn a bit about berries and their benefits? You'll get some berries at the end of it if you'd like?" He asks when he spots the two of you walking closer.

"Yes please! We wanna know more!" You say happily and Mingi looks at you from behind with a fond look.

"Mudkip!" Your partner agrees with you.

"Of course I'll tell you everything you need to know!" The young man smiles happily as the four of you stand looking at what he's got displayed.

"Are all of these all of the berries you can find in the wild?" Mingi asks as he eyes the wide array of colorful berries on the table.

"Oh no these are only a handful of them! There are about 43 different kinds of berries in the wild here in Hoenn." The vendor tells him and both you and Mingi stare at him with wide eyes.

"43?!" The both of you exclaim at the same time and the vendor laughs heartily at your reaction.

"I know I reacted the same way when I first learned how many there were and they all do different things you know!" He picks some up and showcases them for you.

"I think I recognize some of these." You murmur as you point towards what you think is an oran berry and a pecha berry. "That one is an oran berry right? It helps heal your pokémon when they need energy and the pink one is a pecha berry which helps heal your pokémon if it's been poisoned right?"

"You would be correct! This one over here is commonly mistaken for a pecha berry but it's actually a magost berry and is more commonly used in either cooking or when making pokéblocks!" You and Mingi look closer at the two pink berries he's holding up, you note that the pecha berry has more of a heart shape and is a darker pink closer to the stem and down at the bottom is a lighter pink while the magost berry is just one solid pink and round instead of heart-shaped.

"Hey what kind of berry is this one?" Mingi asks as he picks up an orangy red berry that is round with what looks like spikes coming out of it.

"That is a tamato berry, it's very very very spicy. I would not recommend eating it or giving it to any of your pokémons. It will only lower their speed, if you wanna spice up your cooking it could be good to use in small quantities unless you can tolerate spice of course."

You look at Mingi as the vendor speaks and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head thinking that it cannot be that spicy and you just know he wants to try it despite being warned not to.

"Mingi... don't do it..." You try and take the berry away from him but that causes him to only turn his body away holding the berry as high as he can.

"No! I wanna try it."

"Mingi please last time you ate something super spicy you couldn't taste anything for three weeks."

"It can't be that spicy!" He argues as he looks at you with those big round eyes and you groan knowing you cannot say no or change his mind.

"Fine but don't come to me whining that you can't taste anything or that it's too hot for you!" You grumble, knowing that if he came to you whining that it's way too hot and spicy you'd try and help him in a heartbeat.

"Are you sure you wanna try it?" The vendor asks and Mingi just nod before taking the largest bite he could out of the darn berry. You stare at him as he chew slowly but surely and then he swallows it and at first you'd think there was nothing wrong at all until you notice the small beads of sweat traveling down his forehead and then you notice the red starting to creep up from his neck.

"T-torchic?" His partner looks at him concerned before wiggling out of his grip and jumping onto the table and runs over to you with worried eyes.

"Torchic?" She leans into you and you pet her little head as you watch Mingi go bright red in the face as he tries to pretend everything is fine.

"Mingi... you okay?" You ask, fearing he might pass out from how red he is.

"I'm... I'm fine." He says and he manages to uphold that facade for about three seconds before he starts gasping trying to cool his mouth down.

"It's hot! Y/n it feels like my mouth is on fire!! What do I do what do I do what do I do?!" He waves his hands around as he takes deep gulps of air and you panic looking around for something to cool him down.

"Umm water... we need water!" You start searching your bag but can't find anything. "Argh! Okay uhhh.. Oh! Mudkip!" You turn to your partner and point towards Mingi.

"Use water gun on Mingis face to help cool him down!!" You say and you can barely hear Mingis little "wait what" before mudkip blasts him with a stream of water in his face.

"Do you feel better now?" You ask hesitantly as he shakes his head trying to get rid of the water from his face.

"Yeah... Thanks to the both of you, I genuinely thought I was gonna explode from how hot it was."

Torchich runs back up to her trainer and look at him with worried eyes, is there another thing she absolutely hates then it's when one of you gets hurt. She's always very sweet and right now she's doing her best to check up on Mingi as tears forms seemingly as if she thinks he was hurt very badly.

"Hey, hey your royal highness, don't be upset. I promise I'm okay, I was just dumb trying to impress Y/n but I made a fool out of myself. I won't do it again okay?" He says with a gentle smile as he crouches down to her eye level. She looks at him with teary eyes before running up to him to nuzzle his face chirping.

Mingi picks her up and kisses her little head before turning to mudkip and crouching down to him.

"Hey buddy, thanks for blasting me with the water, it really helped." He smiles and mudkip jumps forward into his arms with happiness.

"I think we should abandon any thoughts of eating things people say are super, super, super spicy for the rest of the day." You mutter as you place your hand on your hip and he looks up at you and chuckles.

"Were you worried about me?" He teases with a smirk and you roll your eyes.

"Nooo..."

"You sure?"

"Okay maybe a little worried, you looked like you'd explode with how red you were." You confess trying to act nonchalant even though you had felt panic for a split second before remembering that mudkip was a water type and could therefore help out in the situation.

The two of you apologized to the vendor for the scene Mingi caused by going against what he had recommended and the young man only laughed and said that it was nice seeing two young adults actually interested in berries to the point where he gifted the two of you a book on berries in the wild and other herbs you can eat or use to help heal your pokémons. The two of you had tried to deny it but he insisted, saying it might be for Mingis best if you two had one so he don't go around eating other berries he shouldn't and end up in trouble again.

That had made Mingis face burn in embarrassment.

The two of you then wander down the street after bidding the man goodbye. The street is filled with people, old and young and their pokémons. It's surprisingly cozy and the atmosphere is great and it's a nice break from always being out on the road and sleeping in sleeping bags under the stars.

Which is great until it starts raining and the two of you have to try and set up a tent in panic. Leading to both of you sitting in said tent absolutely drenched.

"Hey Mingi." You start trying to muster up the courage to tell him you like him more than a friend since Yunho had encouraged you to do so a few months back.

"Yeah?"

"You know I-" You start but when you make eye contact with him it's like the words get lodged in your throat and you can't get it out. "You know what never mind, I forgot what I was gonna say." You say laughing awkwardly.

"Mudkip! Mud Mudkip!" Your partner points one of its stubby little legs at you with an accusatory tone as if scolding you for not telling him.

Mudkip did after all know about your feelings for your friend. You had told him plenty of times during restless nights when Mingi snored away in his sleeping bag. Your other friends knew as well as they sometimes refused to go to sleep if you were awake, shroomish would plop himself in your lap and just sit there, sometimes staring at you, sometimes chatting with you and one time he had even put you to sleep by using sleep powder on you. Something you had berated him for the next day and then promptly after that thanked him for the good nights sleep.

"Hey buddy I'm sure whatever Y/n wanted to tell me will come back soon. It happens to the best of us that we forget sometimes. Plus you know you can tell me anything, I'll always listen." He says in that lower voice he gets when he's being very sincere and mudkip looks at him and then huffs looking away to the side.

"Speaking of that ummm I was wondering if you want-" Some kids rush in between the two of you laughing as they chase a balloon and it stunts Mingi who once again feels like his moment to ask you about the meteor shower has been lost.

"What did you want to say Mingi?" You look at him, mentally making sure him and your partners are okay.

"Oh nothing we can take it a bit later I promise." He says before he barely have time to process the fact that he failed yet again.

You nod and look around seeing a place you wanna go to, it’s a stand where you can learn a bit more about taking care of your pokémons and they seem to be giving out bags with things inside for people visiting.

“Oohhh I wanna go over there! They seem to be helping with pokémon care and I’d like to ask them for some tips on taking care of Whismur, do you wanna come with me?” You turn to face Mingi who looks thoughtful for a moment before noticing another place.

“I think I’m gonna go over there to the flower stand, Bellossom would probably enjoy all the flowers.” He says as he thinks of his little grass friend and you smile fondly at him.

“Mudkip wanna come with me?” You ask your partner who is still in Mingis arms.

“Mud!” He wiggles out of Mingis grip and then jumps down onto the ground before trotting up to you happily.

“Shall we meet over at the gigantic flower pot in twenty minutes?” You ask thinking that that would be an appropriate time for the both of you to explore the two places you’d like to visit.

“Sure! See you soon?”

After that the two of you split up and as you walk over to the stand you’re greeted by a kind lady who asks what she can help you with and you tell her you’d want some tips on taking care of your whismur, letting her know that she often cries and doesn’t like when her fur gets wet leading to you finding it hard to clean her if she’s gotten extra dirty.

“Ah I see, it could just be that she has a very gentle nature, sometimes if they do they can feel a lot of things be very overwhelming all of the time. For cleaning her I’d suggest you try using a damp cloth instead of water, that way it might not feel as unpleasant as she thinks it is.” The lady explains and you nod thinking that what she has said might actually be true.

“Would it be okay if I brought her out so you could just perhaps do a little check?” You ask wanting to make sure her tips would actually work on her and not make it all worse.

“Of course, I’ll gladly have a look at her.” She says and you’re quick to bring whismur out of her pokeball.

“Hi Whismur.” You say happily as she looks around before spotting you and she perks up giving you the cutest little smile as she runs up to you.

“Whismur!” She greets you happily and the lady smiles at your interaction as you let her hold your hand in her little paws.

“Just from this interaction alone I can tell you care a lot for her and that she’s well taken cared of. She is probably the happiest Whismur I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a lot of them. None have been this happy as yours.”

“Wait really?!” You look at her in surprise before looking down again, happiness spreading in your chest at the thought of getting such nice praise for how you’re raising your pokémon.

“Yes really, Whismurs can be notoriously hard to take care of since they have such sensitive hearing and a lot of people dub them as cry babies so seeing yours calm, happy and generally content is a sight to behold. Good job!” Her praise makes you grin, it’s not often you get praise and getting this good praise from someone who knows what they’re talking about is something else.

She then brings over a damp towel and hands it to you so you can see if whismur will prefer it over just water. You take your time at the stall, asking her lots of questions regarding pokémon care and getting more tips for how to continue to take care of them in the best way possible.

In the other stall Mingi is sitting on the ground with his torchic on his left side as bellossom dances around in happiness at being surrounded by flowers everywhere. The vendors had told him he could make his own bouquet if he wanted to and hand it to someone he cared about and his first thought had been to create something for you. You had once during college mentioned offhandedly how you’d love to be gifted a bouquet of flowers some day and now he had his chance to gift you a bouquet he had made all on his own.

“Okay Torchic, Bellossom you two will have to help me here.” He leans down and gathers them closely as he lowers his voice to tell them what’s going on. ”I want to make a bouquet for Y/n but I need your help in picking which flowers goes nicely together. Think you two can help with that?”

Torchic jumps up and down before nodding happily while bellossom does some little twirls around as she puts her little paws up to her face looking absolutely delighted at the request.

”Bell, bellossom!” She’s quick to point out some baby’s breath together with some sunflowers as she looks at Mingi with intensity.

”Okay yeah we can go with those two.” He nods as he plucks some and starts building the bouquet together.

”Do you two think I should add some carnations?” He adds as he holds up some darker red ones together with a few white ones as well and torchic nods seemingly approving of his choice to add the two pretty flowers.

The three of them sit for a while building the bouquet together, torchic demands he add some thistles as she spots them to which he does because who is he to deny her anything? He soon sits in silence, tongue sticking out lightly as he concentrates on making the bouquet pretty and after what felt like an eternity he thinks he’s done. He had added som greenery to give it variation and made sure to show both his little friends for approval before he went and asked for a ribbon to tie it all together.

”Think Y/n will like this?” He asks and to his surprise his third and final pokémon decides to come out of his pokéball just at that moment.

”Bagon?”

Mingi is surprised, usually this little fella stays in his pokeball unless Mingi calls for him. Bagon ignores him as he studies the bouquet intensely, his little arms crossed making it look like he’s thinking really hard of it’s okay or not.

“Torchic tor?”

“Bell bellossom!”

“Bagon Bagon!” The dragon nods after he and the little ladies seemingly discuss it back and forth before all three giving Mingi their approval.

“Thanks you three.” He chuckles finding their actions funny. All three of them looked at him encouragingly as if saying you got this go ask them about it now! Bagon was even holding out its little paw as if he were doing a fist bump upwards to show that he was supportive.

“Oh what a lovely bouquet you’ve made! So full of beautiful meanings.” One of the older ladies holding a bucket of flowers says as she passes Mingi.

“Oh thank you! And meaning? What do you mean by that?” He asks curiously to which she responds by telling him that every flower has a hidden meaning and then explains what the flowers he’s picked means. By the end of her explanation after she’s walked off his cheeks are tinted a rosy color before looking at his partners.

“Did you two know about this when you helped me pick out the flowers?” He asks suspiciously and torchic just giggles before hiding behind bagon and his little cardigan while bellossom just gives him an innocent smile pretending like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

He clears his throat as he tries to will away the blush that's crept up his cheeks after knowing the meaning behind his bouquet and stands up.

"I think the time is up now, let's go and see Y/n and hopefully I can ask about the tickets this time."

The four of them wander out and towards the big flower pot you two had agreed to meet at. It seems he's the first one there so they stay there and wait for a while before spotting you, mudkip and whismur making your way over there. When you spot him you wave excitedly before holding up a big bag as if to show off the presents you got from the stall you had visited in excitement.

"Look at all the things I got for us Mingi!" You say as you open the bag for him to peer inside and see the large amount of things you had been gifted.

"Woah that's a lot of things."

"It is and I learnt so much so now I will be even better at taking care of our pokémons! I can teach you as well if you'd like."

"I'd like that." He smiles before looking down at the flowers and then he holds them out quickly towards you.

"I made these for you."

"For me?" He can hear the surprise in your voice and when you take them from his hands he dares glance at you and nod. "You said you wanted a bouquet of flowers once in college remember?"

"You remember that?" You asks not believing he'd actually remember your offhanded remark about being gifted flowers.

"I remember everything you tell me." He mumbles as bagon nudges his leg trying to make him remember what they wanted him to do.

"Hey Y/n do you think you'd like to go with me to umm."

"Yes? Go with you where?" You ask looking at him, part of you feel hopeful that perhaps he'd ask you to go with him somewhere special and when Mingi makes eye contact with you the words get stuck once again in his throat and he doesn't really know what to say.

"Go with me to the stand over there? They're teaching you to make pokéblocks." He can hear bagon groan down near his leg and he opts to ignore him knowing that if he looks down the little dragon type will 100% scold him from backing down once again.

"Oh sure!" You say, trying to hide the disappointment since you had thought that Mingi would ask you something else entirely after gifting you flowers.

Your little gang ends up sitting on the ground with two pots in front of you as the instructor goes over how to make pokéblocks for your pokémons, describing them as a kind of snack a lot of them will prefer and going over the different colors which co-respond to a different flavor and how certain pokémons will prefer one flavor over the other.

You and Mingi sit and concentrate as you put in the berries you've chosen and the other ingredients, stirring around as you make sure nothing will burn. Mudkip looks at what you're doing with concerned eyes, he trusts you a lot but right now he's not so sure he trusts what you're doing with how much steam is coming out from the pot.

"Hey look! I managed to make some blocks!" Mingi shows off his blocks proudly from the little dispenser you'd pour the batter into to then plop one block out at a time. They are a bit wonky looking and you weren't sure they were supposed to look like that at all.

"You sure those are edible?" You ask and he gasp at you looking offended.

"You don't think my pokéblocks are edible?! I put in blood sweat and tears into these." He says dramatically before plopping three of them out.

"Here guys don't you wanna try some? I made them for you!" He beams and his pokémons eye the pokéblocks with suspicion. Torchic is the brave one and tries one and she makes the strangest face, looking similar to how you feel when eating a lemon, before running around in circles and crying out seemingly how bad it was.

"Don't think she approved of it." You muse forgetting to momentarily stir your pot.

"Whismur! Whis!" Whismur is quick to remind you in fear of yours turning out worse than what she had just witnessed.

"It can't be that bad Torchic!" Mingi looks at her surprised before looking at his other friends, bellossom is pretending to be asleep while bagon just stares at him with a don't you even dare type of face.

"Here I'll try one and prove they're not bad!" He says before plopping one in his mouth and he chews a bit trying to pretend it tastes good but his facial expressions betray him.

"That bad huh?"

"Yeah ummm this needs some more practice I think, eugh don't worry guys I won't feed you any more until I'm better at this." He makes sure to throw his away.

"This is why you leave the cooking to me." You boast proudly and Mingi gives you a massive side eye.

"I don't think they should be a burnt color like yours are." He hits back and you look down at your blocks.

"They're not that bad! Here Whismur! Try one!" You hold one out and she just pretends she couldn't hear you, looking around hoping someone would save her. "Mudkip? You wanna try one?" You try again and he trots up and sniffs at one of them before taking the tiniest bite with a polite smile.

"See!"

"He is not enjoying that at all!"

"It can't be that bad!"

You quickly eat one as well only to start coughing at how bad the taste was.

"Yeah no no ew that wasn't good at all... I think I need more practice at this as well." You mutter before apologizing to mudkip for having to eat that.

"I guess making pokéblocks isn't our forte at all."

The two of you start snickering and giggling after making eye contact finding this whole scenario funny. You both agree that if you are to create any for your friends that the two of you will work together and always taste before giving any to your friends to make sure they actually taste well.

"Oh yes you wanted to ask me something earlier Mingi? When those kids ran between us and right before we split up?" You ask curiously, it's been on your mind the entire day the fact that he's tried to ask you something but every time something has come up which has made him unable to properly ask what he wants to.

"Oh hehe." He laugh as the two of you stands up ready to walk out from this place and bagon stares at Mingi with so much intent ready to do something drastic in case Mingi doesn't ask you this time.

His patience is running thin.

"Oh it's nothing don't worry about iitt!" Mingi barely has any time to finish his sentence before bagon headbutts him in the back causing him to fly forward and land onto of you with an oof.

"Ah! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for that to happen! Bagon! You can't knock into me like that." He berates the pokemon before checking up on you.

"Ar you okay? Did I hurt you?? I'm so sorry..." He sits up and makes sure you're okay.

"I'm fine my butt hurts a bit but otherwise i'm fine.. Are you okay?" You ask.

"I am. Okay here goes nothing I guess." He says taking a deep breath before continuing. "Y/n, do you want to go and watch the meteor shower in Mossdeep city with me at their space center? I got two tickets and I would like to go with you if you want to? I know we weren't suppose to head to Mossdeep next but I'd really want to do this with you." He blurts out before he lets the opportunity go again.

"Meteor shower?" You say before your eyes light up. "Of course I wanna go! Oh Mingi that would be so much fun!" You say as you also think about how it would be pretty romantic to watch the stars fall together with him.

"Yeah?" His gummy smile is making an appearance again and you giggle at bagons proud look behind the two of you before nodding.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

It takes a few days to get to Mossdeep city but the two of you manages to hitch a ride with constable Jenny to the closest port to take a boat over so you'd get there quicker than you would walking. You still have the flowers Mingi had gifted you sticking out of your bag and every time you looked at him your heart warmed at the sight. Getting these tickets to the space center wasn't an easy task meaning Mingi had gone out of his way to get them behind your back just so he could ask you to go with him.

A part of you wondered if this was a date or not. Perhaps you should take Yunhos advice and confess to him when the two of you are watching the meteors. What could go wrong? Yunho had insisted that Mingi wouldn't reject you and that you'd get the outcome you were hoping for so perhaps it would be a good idea to tell him today?

Those were the thoughts running through your head as the two of you got off the boat and steered your way towards the space center. It was almost time for the meteor shower to start since the boat had taken up most of the day when traveling.

"Hello and welcome to Mossdeeps space center, are you here for the meteor shower?" The receptionist asks kindly as you two enters, hand in hand.

"Hello! We are! I got two tickets right here." Mingi tells her before handing over the tickets. Once they were scanned the lady let you both inside and told you to go up the stairs to gain access to the top floor to be able to sit outside and enjoy the beautiful show.

"I'm so excited to see the beautiful show, especially now that I'm here with you." You confess, cheeks heating up slightly at the confession.

"I'm just glad you said yes." He admits, cheeks turning a slight rosy color as well.

Mingi guides you to a spot in the middle of the open balcony where a little bench is sitting and the two of you sit down together. Your hands still linked together as if it will help the both of you to gain courage to say what you want to say.

In Mingis head Yunhos words from right before he left for the plane echos. "You should confess Mingi, I know they'll say yes I promise they feel the same about you. Go for it." Should he go for it? He thinks he should, it's the perfect place to confess and if he doesn't do it now he might regret it for the rest of his life.

In your head unknowingly to Mingi, Yunhos words are also echoing in your head. You think back to that conversation and wonder if Yunho knows something you don't, you haven't been able to figure it out if he's telling the truth about Mingi liking you back or if he's just being a nice friend who's encouraging you to speak your truth. And in this moment you decide it's best to do so. No matter what the consequences might be.

"Hey Mingi I need to tell you something."

"Hey Y/n I need to tell you something."

The two of you look at each other in surprise before chuckling at the fact that you both said the same thing at the same time.

"Sorry you go first Mingi."

"But you spoke first." He says and you shake your head insisting he should talk first thinking he just wants to tell you something normal.

"Okay then... Here goes nothing. I really like you Y/n, not like like you only as a friend, I like you more than a friend." He starts before looking you in the eyes and holding your hands in his tightly. "I love you like a lot. More than I think I realize myself and I just had to tell you before I explode from keeping it inside for much longer." He confesses sincerely and you gape at him in surprise, never would you have thought that he'd confess to you.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same I just had to tell you."

"I love you too!" You blurt out to stop his ramblings.

"Wait really?"

"Yes! For a long time now actually, ever since college when we first met, that's when my crush started which then developed into something more. I was actually gonna confess to you as well but you beat me too it." You smile and the smile Mingi gives you could rival a thousand suns before he dives in for a hug.

"Would you want to be my partner?" He asks quietly as if he's scared you'd say no right after confessing you have feelings for him.

"I'd love nothing more than that Mingi." You tell him before lightly holding his chin after breaking the hug. "May I give you a kiss?"

"You may." He giggles and you lean in giving him a quick little kiss on his lips before settling in next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as he leans his head on yours.

The two of you continue to cuddle as the meteor shower starts up in the sky, everything is just perfect in this moment in time and you couldn't be happier. Perhaps you need to thank bagon later on for giving Mingi the push he needed to ask you to come here with him.

Speaking of said pokémon, he and the others bursts out of their pokéballs to join you in watching the sky. Some cuddle in your laps while others sit on the ground in front of you enjoying the scenery.

"You know what I just realized?" Mingi muses and you tilt your head up to look at him. "I owe Yunho a drink, lunch and dessert now the next time we see him."

Yeah you think, perhaps neither of you would have had the courage to confess had he not urged the both of you to say something.

But for now you'd enjoy the perfect evening with your friends and boyfriend.

[zombiecowboy65]

1 or 15 !!

You get both because I like to yap :) prompts from this ask game

1.) “Don’t leave”

Falling asleep had not been Jeremy’s intention.

When he followed Jean into his room, he’d only meant to keep him company, to help him with his paper and English words he might need supplied. And then somehow, he’d sunk lower and lower on the bed, until he was fully horizontal, and waking up to Jean’s weight shifting the mattress.

God, what time is it? Jeremy blinks around, notes the blanket tossed over him, Jean putting his laptop away in the corner, and shifts to get up, to bid Jean good night and head back to his space on the couch.

Jean has other plans.

“Don’t leave,” he says, and with the light on like this, Jeremy can see the color that rises to his cheeks. But Jean doesn’t retract the statement, even when Jeremy blinks at him, and feels heat rise to his own face.

Instead, he clears his throat, and tries again. “I am not kicking you out,” Jean tells him. “I was just— turning off the light. This bed is big enough for the two of us, and that couch is not meant to be slept on.”

Jeremy laughs a little at the annoyance in his voice. He imagines Jean falling asleep on the couch, waking up to complain about it, and feels a swell in his chest he can’t explain.

“Yeah,” he says, “you got me there. But this is a little different than sleeping on two separate twins. Are you—?”

The look Jean gives him is answer enough.

“Okay,” Jeremy says. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Jean nods, and then flicks off the light, and climbs under the covers. “Good night, captain,” he says.

“Good night, Jean,” he returns, but knows he won’t be getting back to sleep for some time yet.

15.) “trembling hands” / TW for violence / abuse!

Jeremy’s mouth tastes like blood.

It is the only thing he thinks about as he heads for his keys, the door, the only thing he thinks about for the entire drive to the Lofts.

He should’ve known better—showing up to Warren’s office empty handed was one thing, showing up to Warren’s office with a loose tongue and an uncontrolled temper was another.

He couldn’t even remember how the fight started. One thing after the next, and then Jeremy was going for blood, and Warren was swinging for it, the back of his hand smacking hard across Jeremy’s mouth.

Jeremy remembers the shock, remembers the feel of his teeth cutting into the back of his lips. He doesn’t Remember the decision to go. Doesn’t remember the drive. Just knows his mouth tastes like blood. Just knows he’s at the lofts.

Inside, the lobby is quiet. Jeremy expects nothing less for the middle of the night, and tries not to think about the way his ears ring in the silence. The way his mouth is throbbing. He just climbs the stairs, and once he reaches his friends’ door, flips through his keys with trembling hands.

And it’s only after he gets through them twice that he realizes—he doesn’t have one.

Jeremy’s heart sinks. He stares at the door for a good two minutes, debates just driving back to his house so he doesn’t have to bother anyone, and then takes out his phone, and calls Jean.

The most likely of the three to be awake. But if he isn’t…then Jeremy will just drive back. He’s decided.

The phone rings once, twice. On the third ring, Jeremy’s just pivoting to leave, to hang up, when Jean answers with a sleep ridden, “Jeremy?”

The sound of his voice nearly takes Jeremy to his knees. “Hi,” he says, tries to swallow down the crack. “Sorry, I’m—outside. Can you let me in?”

[lewismcqueen]

and they were roommates!

roommate!yt22 x reader

summary: tired after work? a handsome roommate will do the trick! wc: 1.3k a/n: req'd by anon!

The train ride home from the office left you so winded that you hardly have the energy to kick your trainers off. You fall onto the couch like a rag doll, kicking one leg up over the arm of it. The air conditioner had made the room cool and crisp, and you let it blow cold over your toes, your legs, and up your skirt.

With the apartment empty, you let your head tilt back and your lips fall open with a deep, loud sigh. Your chest rises and comes up against the fabric of your tightly-buttoned shirt, prompting you to unbutton it hastily and throw it over the back of the couch. Suddenly you become aware of the stiff fabric of your skirt and move to unbutton and toss those aside too. You're left in nothing but your sports bra and boy shorts, staring up at the ceiling.

There's light shuffling in the hallway—socks on hardwood floor—and you realize that the apartment is not empty. You'd forgotten that your roommate, an exchange student from Tokyo named Yuki, tended to get home earlier than you did. The man played sports, and cursed like a sailor with an accent that was a combination of Japanese and the British accents of his teammates. He said 'shite' a lot, and it made you laugh. Once Yuki asked what was so funny over dinner. You didn't specify and just told him he was cute. He almost got upset with you until you clarified that you meant 'cute' to mean handsome.

You sit up sluggishly, turning to look at him. He's wearing blue sweatpants with no shirt on, muscular bare chest on full display. You suspect he doesn't deem it necessary anymore. As for your own state of undress, he doesn't comment. Yuki just silently enters the living room and comes up to the end of the couch where your head was. He sets hands on the arm of the couch and leans forward to meet your eyes, pretty mono-lidded eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You took my spot," he remarks.

You give him a half-smile. "You snooze you lose, buddy."

He smiles, revealing a charming gap in his front teeth. "So I have nowhere to sit?"

"You could always get your lazy ass up and buy more chairs, you know," You swing your legs over so that you're facing forward, and grab your shirt and pants to fold them haphazardly over the side. "There. Now you have a spot, see?"

Yuki climbs into the couch and occupies the empty space, one knee coming up to his chin. He watches you rest your head against the back of the couch, follows your neckline down to your collarbone, then even lower to your chest as it rises and falls with each breath. His eyes flicker back up when he notices you turning your body towards him. There's a knowing grin spreading across your lips.

"Staring is rude."

Yuki tilts his head, a dimple appearing in his right cheek when he smiles. "Throwing your clothes around the living room is also rude."

You shrug. "I folded them, didn't I?"

He chuckles, but there's a focused sort of glint in his eyes now that tells you that all pretenses have been dropped. You reach out and run your fingers through inky-black hair, still damp and fragrant from showering. His lips capture yours the moment after. You adjust yourself to lay down across the couch as the kiss increases in ferocity, and he presses his body into yours. He moans into your mouth, and the sounds makes something warm and sticky gather in your core.

Yuki pulls away, lips slightly swollen and flushed pink as he catches his breath. His eyes are hungry when they fall to your neck. He gives into the urge, sinks his teeth into tender skin - not enough to injure, but surely enough to bruise. You let out a cry that is halfway pain and pleasure, tightening your grip on his roots while he alternates between nipping and licking. He's made it all the way down to your chest, right above where your breasts swell. The kisses and small bites are more gentle here, but his lips still press into the skin like he's trying to burrow into your ribcage.

You catch your breath enough to speak again. "Get up."

Yuki stops immediately to look up at you like a scolded child. "Why?"

A chuckle leaves your lips. He's delightful when he gets like this.

"I can't stand the feeling of the couch when we fuck on it. Get up, will you?"

Yuki sighs, then hops to his feet. Languidly, you swing one leg over the couch, then the other, resting in a sitting position for a moment. You stretch your arms out like a cat, in no particular rush to get what you want. He is already halfway to your room (always your room, because you've deemed his too messy to conscionably have sex in), his sweatpants hanging low enough on his hips to show the dip in his lower back.

You make it to the bedroom just after he does, and settle onto the mattress with your thighs parted. Like usual, it all goes very fast.

Yuki sinks down to his knees in front of you, and strong hands come up behind your calf to spread your thighs further so that he can press his lips to the soft skin on the inner part. You lean back and relax onto your palms, watching him devour the flesh in ways that will leave marks later. Your breath is picking up with anticipation when, just as he's about to reach the wet spot in your underwear, he pauses.

You nearly huff in annoyance. "What? What's wrong?"

Yuki looks up at you smugly. "So impatient. I was gonna ask you to sit on my face."

"…Oh."

He gets up and dusts off his pants, holding back a laugh. "Oh? Do you not want to?"

You roll your eyes, rising up off of the mattress yourself. "Only because you asked so nicely."

Yuki holds your hips to keep them from rolling into his mouth, meaning you have to sit still and take what he gives you with your teeth sunken painfully into your bottom lip. He rolled his tongue around to tease you before drawing out a whimper by sucking on the bundle of nerves. He made a satisfied sound against you whenever a sound managed to leave your throat; he loves when you forget yourself enough to make noise.

With his fingers digging into your hips, the feeling has nowhere else to go. Pressure builds between your thighs and your blood runs hot. Soon, the world has shrunk into that one single point of white hot pleasure, and the feeling of Yuki's soft lips and rough tongue. You can't hear whatever sounds you're making over the sound of rushing in your ear.

He's no longer holding your hips as tightly, letting them buck violently beneath his palms as you shudder through orgasm. You feel something warm and liquid expelling from you along with the pleasure, something that Yuki's tongue laps up. Your head feels fuzzy afterwards, and you realize you've just squirted in his mouth.

You feel Yuki gently pushing you and take that as a signal to get off his face. You lower yourself, and end up with half your body slung over his, skin sticking to sweaty skin. His skin looks predictably glossy, hair stuck to his forehead with more than just water now. His lips are the same, slightly parted as he takes heaving breaths like he's just been underwater. You watch his chest rise and fall before he breaks the silence.

"Your room is nice."

"I haven't changed anything about it."

Yuki laughs. "It's still nice. You should decorate the rest of the flat."

"Only if you promise to buy those chairs I've been talking about."

You can feel him shaking his head. "You and those bloody chairs."

[whumpwillow]

give me a vain whumpee. make him arrogant. make him conceited. So sure of himself, so proud of his own abilities that he looks down on everybody as lesser. He’s got a pretty face and plenty of wealth, perhaps a nobleman’s title, and he lives in complete luxury and splendor.

Now take away what makes him so proud of his abilities, or make it hard for him to do what he once did with ease, so now he struggles with even the slightest task. Take away his wealth and his reputation and his carefree life. Make him suffer endlessly, tormented without reprieve. Make him work for himself. Throw him in the dirt. Scar his face and body until he’s nearly unrecognizable, steal away his beautiful good looks until he thinks of himself as nothing but a monster.

He’s scarred and dirty and bedraggled. His hair is matted with knots and snarls and he just can’t bring himself to care. He lets all thoughts of his past go because they don’t serve him anymore when all he can do is merely try to survive, scrabbling fruitlessly at a bleak future against the torment that still plagues him.

He was once great. He was once respected. Now he wears the same stained clothes every day because he doesn’t have much else and doesn’t care what happens to him other than hoping what hurts him will hurt just a little less.

And then someone comes into his life. A someone who knows him, or at least who he used to be. Perhaps someone who knew him personally, perhaps not, and only heard rumors of the snooty nobleman with the vile temperament. This someone expects the whumpee to look down on them for being lesser, somehow, for being a commoner, or for being less skilled at whatever the whumpee used to pride themselves in accomplishing.

But he isnt. He doesnt have right to it anymore, not when he’s been reduced to this state. he’s little more than looking like a beggar or a drunkard or a madman with his messy hair and dirty clothes and scarred face and body. He hasn’t thought about his past vanity in years. He’s long since given up caring. He’s just wondering when the person will run from him, too offended by his hideous looks to stand being around him.

And then the someone, a caretaker, doesn’t run. Doesn’t cringe away at the sight of him, or at the sight of his face and body so riddled with scars and wounds that were never given the proper chance to heal.

The caretaker accepts this, and just makes sure to draw a bath for the whumpee. Caretaker helps whumpee with his hair, washing it in warm water and gently working out the knots. Whumpee doesnt know when the last time anybody had done this for them. Whumpee doesn’t remember how long its been since somebody touched them without violence.

Caretaker helps whumpee wash his face and get rid of all the dirt. They brush whumpee’s hair and whumpee is thrown back to images of their past self, when they would spend so long perfecting their appearance. Already, they feel more like themselves and yet less so, like a stranger, at the same time.

Whumpee breaks down. He hasn’t taken care of himself in so long because at first he was solely focused on survival, and later because he felt that he didn’t deserve to, that he didn’t deserve anything nice or anything from his old life, even something as simple as being clean.

Caretaker takes whumpee’s face in their hands, cupping his cheeks and looking into his eyes.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore.”

[starry-bi-sky]

mmm throwaway conversation between Dan and Danny that popped into my head that I had to write out:

"You spent ten years being a one-man mass extinction event, then went back in time and fought me, and lost." Danny snarls, arms crossed and throat tight. His mouth pulls back to bare dagger-sharp teeth, and his eyes burn with the familiar thrum of ectoplasm heating up behind his eyes. "If I didn't believe you were half of Vlad before, I do now."

His other self -- and really, can he even call him that? He's half of Vlad too. Two halves severed from each other and welded together to make a new whole, -- snaps his head over to him. Wild-eyed and furious, he looks unlike the man Danny fought before, the one unruffled and untouched, unbothered by the world around him. It's familiar, but not like the way a reflection is.

"What's that supposed to mean." The Other hisses, matching Danny's scowl one-for-one with fangs much bigger and sharper than his.

But there's a reason lions fear hyenas. Danny matches the rumble in The Other's chest with one of his own, and shoves his face close to his. "I don't lose."

[pretty-face-breaker]

oh my goodness... if youre ever so inclined i think a drugged hayko drabble would cure all my ills

c.w. drugged sex, dubious consent

He didn't remember getting back, where his clothes had gone, or how Nick had slithered behind him on the bed.

All he knew was that every time Nick fucked into him, holding him down by his neck and right shoulder, Hayko arched without meaning to. His body kept answering questions his brain hadn't had time to hear. He was being split in two—and his mind seemed to hover above him, hearing each punched out moan synchronizing with the squeaks of the mattress.

“Something’s—Fuck.” Hayko gasped on a particularly brutal thrust. Watched his fingers twitch uselessly still on the motel comforter as he tried to shape the words. Each blink dragged too long. "Wha’s happening to me?"

The room pulsed like one of his bruises. Yellow light spilled from a crooked lamp bolted to the wall, bleaching the linoleum in streaks. The air smelled like mildew, only faintly overpowered by the burn of Nick’s cologne and his own too-loud noises.

Everything felt wrong. Blunted, thickened. Like his body was a second behind his brain and his brain was a full ten seconds behind everything else.

Nick’s voice broke through, syrup-slow. Pouring it over his consciousness.

“Alright, sweetheart?”

"What." What did you do, Hayko meant to say. But he couldn't hold a thought for more than a breath before it slipped through his mind like sand. Before he could try again, Nick gripped him rough at his base and pumped his fist back and forth—dry—

Then, "You're high. You're safe."

Hayko groaned as pleasure bloomed in his stomach. Slow motion flowering outward under his skin. He couldn't hold himself up anymore and felt himself sway helplessly sideways, before Nick caught his hips in a bruising grip. Grabbed him near his scalp. Pulled him upright, until Hayko heard himself exhale and sink back against Nick's chest.

"You drugged me," Hayko murmured without any real heat. It felt too good to bite. Every time Nick sunk into him with that glacial, grinding pace, he felt his whole body shudder. "Fuckin' bastard. Told you not to—"

Nick leaned in and Hayko felt his puffs of laughter, sticky on his neck. “Just some THC. And look how pretty you are when you’re not fighting.”

His hand dragged up the length of Hayko’s arm, gentle but proprietary. Hayko flinched—too slow to do anything about it. Nick's hand looked unreal in the low light, like someone had taken a palette knife and smeared the edges. He knew he should stop this. This wasn't right. But his limbs felt underwater, abstract.

“How'd the deal go,” he said, thickly.

Because they were in McAllen, Texas to oversee a handoff, after all, between a domestic distribution group and a Los Santos faction. Because someone had been skimming product and Hayko was there as a logistics consultant during the exchange. Because Nick didn't trust the buyers and needed Hayko there for insurance.

Hayko laughed, dreamy and detached. Insurance, in the form of reliable stress relief. Like a portable fucktoy.

Nick snorted and kept his hand on Hayko’s arm, tracing the tendons beneath his skin with maddening slowness. “It went fine. You did well. Now, shut up and relax so I can make you feel good.”

@doveotions @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp @redwingedwhump @nicolepascaline @ifbtnna  @whumperfully​​ ​@brittaunfiltered09

if you like my stuff, consider supporting me on ko-fi! :D

[sentientsky]

a tiny little ficlet based on this lovely comment from @queer4cryptids on this post! (i accidentally made it angsty, i’m so sorry!! but there’s comfort and gay yearning in there, i swear!) when the night falls low and settles against the side of the Earth; when the the dark begins to carry a certain weight, he shifts his stance. he lets himself breathe air he doesn't really need into lungs that exist simply by virtue of his inclination to breath. it's the same pattern Crowley's watched unfold a hundred million times times over—the stretching of a thread until it frays, three women, a set of blades; a wicked inevitability carried in the lines of time-weathered hands.

and still it never changes, never lessens the welling of grief that builds and breaks in his chest, that stagnates and stratifies like layers of sand upon gravel upon so many eons since he first fell from the sky and lost the right to mourn a woman hungry only for bread and a little kindness.

he leans back against a headstone, swallowing down a familiar hollowness. the sparrows have all taken root in the knots of tree trunks. the moon blinks back at him, clouds swaying like an eyelid closing to sleep.

he turns his face away from the light, sucks in breath for which he still has no need. the rough-hewn granite is going to scuff his coat; he knows this with the certainty of having lived in a world full of serrated edges for so many years. and yet he doesn't care. Crowley can't find it in him to give a damn because finally, finally he's there. he's there and he's real and tangible and it's been eleven months, two weeks, and four days since he's last felt the warmth of angelic skin so close to his own. not that he's been keeping count, of course. and Aziraphale's got that faraway look again. the one pressed into the lines of his face in the aftermath of a flood that tilted against the sky; the same one Crowley saw in the stark daylight of a death warrant unfurled and stamped with the name of the holy Mother herself. it's the same, hollow, teeth-gritted look Crowley himself wore as he stood on a hillside reeking of freshly-cut wood, bearing witness to yet another child of the Almighty thrown to the wolves. Aziraphale turns, then, and blue eyes meet black lenses meet amber-gold. "Crowley—" Aziraphale manages, choking it out in a half-whisper, like it hurts—like it scrapes his throat with bits of barbed wire. and, just like that, something in him is breaking and the oak trees are all whispering dangerous things and still, still he can't find a version of this story in which he doesn't lean closer, doesn't press himself forward into air that smells of earl grey tea and old books and something celestial and hallowed and holy underneath it all. and as though he's drowning—as though the moon doesn't watch them with a flickering gaze and the trees can't hear the brush of skin meeting skin—Aziraphale presses his fingertips to the side of Crowley's wrist. he moves no further. the air holds still, time seeming to freeze around them. it's intentional, he realizes; it's fire and it's heat and it's utterly fucking terrifying. even now, so far above ground, Crowley can nearly feel the weight of hellish eyes on his back. a shudder runs the length of his body. and yet. in the atomic space of that hungry, desperate, throat-baring yet, he turns his hand, trembling, to the side. he finds the angel's touch like a bird bearing North—like a compass forever calibrated to a single, fixed point.

"I know—" he rasps. “Angel, I know.” he twines his fingers with Aziraphale's, and it's positively electric. every cell in his tragically, wonderfully human body has turned pure gold, conducted and galvanized and sparking. a sharp, stilted inhale; a quiet anticipation carved out in the space between their pressed hands (and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss...). the graveyard is still. the grief is there, still. the grief might always be there. but the sharp edges dull, the welling in his chest grows steady and slow and gentle. and the world becomes a little less difficult to bear with the two of them holding it up.

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Ghoulette Appreciation Week 1

Week 1: Start of something new & Girls night in/out

"Sunshine battled her curls back from her face, put on her most obliging smile, and thanked Lucifer below that human noses couldn’t smell fear." Sunshine is staying back at the Abbey while the others leave on tour. Anxieties about her new job, goodbye kisses, and a final Girls Night in.

Sunshine x Cirrus x Cumulus x Aurora Content: Light angst, hurt/comfort (pre-tour goodbyes) Rating: general Words: 2274

A huge thank you to @jesusbutbetterrr et al. for organising the ghoulette appreciation weeks!

Read below or on AO3!

Sunshine battled her curls back from her face, put on her most obliging smile, and thanked Lucifer below that human noses couldn’t smell fear.

Lifetime job security Imperator had said (although who’s lifetime was anyone’s guess) if she and Aether stayed at the Abbey while the band was on tour. A guaranteed spot topside for the whole pack, for as long as they wanted it, in exchange for several months separation while they trained the influx of new clergy members at the Abbey. Ahead of her first day, Sunshine couldn’t help but wonder how unpleasant this job was going to be.

She was in charge of administration training, which mostly meant teaching young new clergy how to fill out tax forms and change typewriter ribbons, while Aether was training medics in both human and ghoul ailments for the infirmary. What Sunshine suspected this meant however was doing five times the paperwork she normally did, as well as acting as Sister Imperator’s personal dogsbody and scapegoat.

Sunshine forced a smile in the mirror, trying to project an air of confidence beyond her small stature, and smoothed down the front of her uniform shirt. This is all for the pack she told herself, begging the butterflies in her stomach to settle down at the thought of her first day ahead.

She ran a fingertip along the golden barrette in her hair, a farewell gift from the ghoulettes, then pressed it to her lips. That was the best she was going to manage for a good luck kiss today.

She thought back to the last kisses she had shared with the ghoulettes in the early hours of the previous morning. She and Aether had waved the band off on the bus, and used every shred of their collective willpower not to sprint down the driveway after them. The girls had stayed up all night before leaving, declaring such little sleep pointless, and having their final Girls Night in what would be an achingly long time.

They’d pulled out all the stops to try and compensate for the coming months of separation. Sunny knew they could call and see each others’ faces, but their solid presence and smell would be irreplaceable once apart. They’d sat around on Cumulus’ plush bed in pyjamas, drinking monstrously large hot chocolates and watching their collective favourite movie, all curled into each other in a tangle of legs and tails. They tried hard to distract themselves from the impending alarm on Cirrus’ phone which would pull the three touring ghoulettes away from Sunshine.

When the phone began chiming, it sounded like a death knell to Sunshine. Around her, the three ghoulettes began grumbling and stumbling towards their bus loungewear neatly laid out on the desk, Aurora’s idea to maximise their time together before leaving. Their suitcases were packed and lined up in the hallway outside for the same reason.

Sunshine looked up at them from the bed with a stricken look on her face and tears pre-emptively filling her eyes. Now the time for them to leave was here, it seemed impossible that she would survive their absence. Cirrus noticed the second her head popped back out of her hoodie, and she rushed back to Sunny with hands outstretched. She grasped the smaller ghoulette’s in hers, calloused fingers stroking over her knuckles, and pulled her to her feet and into her embrace.

“I changed my mind Riri, I don’t think I can do this anymore!” Sunshine hiccupped, failing at keeping her voice steady.

“My precious Sunbeam, you’re being so brave. You’ll manage splendidly without us, those new Siblings are going to be eating out of your pretty hand within a week!” Cirrus rubbed her back soothingly. “And besides, you’ll have Aether for company, I’ve got to wrangle the five boys without him!” she joked weakly, trying her best to make Sunny smile. She had a little success.

“I’m gonna miss you so much…” she sniffed, trying not to make a mess of Cirrus’ sweater. “Promise you’ll call?”

“Of course I will Sweetheart, every chance we get.”

The pair stayed swaying together for as long as they could spare while Sunshine tried her best to steady her breathing, before pulling back slightly to look into Cirrus’ slate grey eyes.

“Can I give you your goodbye kiss here? I don’t think I’ll let you leave otherwise.”

“Oh my sweet girl, I’ll miss you every second I’m away from you” Cirrus’ normally composed demeanour seemed on the verge of shattering too, as she leaned down to capture Sunny’s lips with her own. Eventually they had to separate, Cirrus running a finger along Sunshine’s jaw as though to memorise the shape.

As Cirrus reluctantly moved to finish dressing, Aurora approached with a small wrapped gift.

“We got you this, Sunny. So whenever you miss us you can remember how much we love you.”

Sunshine unwrapped the small parcel, revealing a shining gold hair clip. A sun, moon, star and cloud decorated the metal, one symbol for each of the ghoulettes.

“It’s beautiful, Starlight, thank you!” Sunny clipped it into her fringe, before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the tiny multi ghoulette’s lips. She tasted like the strawberry chapstick she used so often, that Sunshine definitely hadn’t also bought for herself while they were away. Despite Aurora only being topside for a short time, she and Sunshine had become fast friends, and quickly more, so it felt like a cruel injustice that they were being separated so soon into their relationship.

Finally, Sunshine turned to Cumulus, who was faring the worst of all at holding in her tears. She always got anxious before tours, and not having the cheery ghoulette next to her on stage to ground her was a change she was apprehensive about.

“Please don’t cry Lulu!” Sunshine wiped Cumulus’ cheek gently with her sleeve. “You’ll be back before you know it!”

“Everything’s going to be different though Sunny, what if the congregation don’t like the changes? What if they don’t like Rory and Tommy?”

“They’re going to love them, and they’re going to love you. Papa won’t let anyone say anything bad, you know how protective he is about his ghouls.”

Cumulus sniffled in acknowledgement, her froth of lavender-scented hair tickling Sunshine’s nose.

“Cheer up, my little stormcloud! You’ll be back before you know it. Take lots of photos for me okay?”

Cumulus nodded sadly, and gave Sunny a wan smile. “Can I have my goodbye kiss now?”

“Of course you can darling.” Sunshine kissed Cumulus sweetly, savouring the softness of her lips.

When they eventually pulled apart, Cirrus was waiting with Cumulus’s shoes to put on.

“Time to go I’m afraid girls, bus call is in ten minutes.”

The mood sombre, the four ghoulettes slumped along the corridor out of the ghoul wing and to the main entrance of the Abbey, Cumulus never letting go of Sunshine’s hand. Swiss and Phantom were already there, the latter almost vibrating in their excitement.

“Mornin’ all. You good to get going? Driver’s already got the side of the bus open for luggage if you want.”

“Thanks Swiss.” said Cirrus, “Any sign of the others yet?”

“Dew and Aether are making out like the world’s ending, Mountain’s making a giant flask of coffee for the road, and Rain’s still packing.”

“So no rush to get going after all then.” Cirrus rolled her eyes, before grabbing her and Cumulus’ suitcases and heading out to the bus with Aurora.

“How’re you holding up, Sunny? Ready for some peace and quiet?” Swiss flashed a toothy grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes, revealing the poorly-masked concern in them.

“Been better.” she shrugged, “I’ve got Aeth to keep me company at least.”

Swiss nodded comfortingly, and held his arms out for a hug. Cumulus finally let go of her hand so Sunshine could be swept into his warm embrace, inhaling the comforting incense and black pepper scent of her first friend topside.

When he finally released her, they could now see Mountain lumbering down the hall, an oversized thermos in one hand and his suitcase in the other. He grunted a greeting to the assembled ghouls, and slouched out to the bus to drop off his bag.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” Aurora joked as she passed him coming back into the relative warmth of the Abbey. She soon struck up a conversation with Phantom about what they were looking forward to on their first tour, and where they were looking forward to visiting.

Shortly before Copia’s designated meeting time, the man himself arrived, clutching an even more comically large flask.

“Good morning my ghouls, glad to see you made it at this ungodly hour!” He took a swig of his coffee, shuddering at the taste. Good morning Papa chorused the assembled ghouls. “It seems we are not all here yet though, hmm?”

As he spoke, Rain came trotting down the corridor, suitcase clearly bulging at the seams.

“Good morning!” He chirped, “I’m not late am I?”

“Not the latest.” Swiss rolled his eyes. “Who’s volunteering to go and requisition our blond beauty from The Beast’s chambers?”

Several pairs of eyes shifted to look at Mountain. He huffed out a sound that was bordering on a growl, and slouched off back down the corridor. Not even a minute later, an angry roar echoed back towards the assembled pack, making Copia wince and Swiss and Cirrus chuckle.

Mountain returned dragging a squirming Dew, hissing and spitting furiously like a feral cat, with one arm and an equally mad Aether whose anger was emanating from him in dark wafts with the other. He pulled Dew’s suitcase along behind them with his tail.

“Uh, good morning Dewdrop, Aether. R-right then, everyone onto the bus?” suggested Copia nervously, the ghouls’ infernal anger affecting even the dark Pope himself. Cumulus patted his arm reassuringly and tried to ignore how he flinched at her inhuman touch.

After a final heated kiss, Dewdrop was eventually coerced out of Aether’s arms and onto the bus by Rain and Swiss, closely followed by Mountain and Phantom after saying their own goodbyes to the ghouls remaining behind. That left just the ghoulettes and Aether stood in the entryway.

After each giving Aether – who was still emitting a distressed void-like smoke – a brief hug, the ghoulettes said their final goodbyes to Sunshine.

“I promise to try and live up to your reputation Sunny.” said Aurora. “Gonna make sure the congregation appreciate us ghoulettes just as much as those silly boys and their bickering up front!”

“If anyone can do that, it’s you Rory.” Sunshine smiled. Aurora could command a stage like no ghoul she’d ever seen before. “I can’t wait to see videos!” She hugged the smaller ghoulette tightly, and placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Take care Sunny, we’re so proud of all you’re doing for us and the pack!” Cirrus gave Sunshine a final hug and brief kiss on her cheek, and she immediately felt the tears from earlier pricking at her eyes again. She wouldn’t let them fall this time, she was determined that the ghoulettes not leave for the tour with her tearstained face as the last thing they saw.

Finally Cumulus stepped forward, her tears already falling silently, shining like diamonds on her cheeks. Sunshine kissed them away as they fell.

“Be brave for me little cloud, and I’ll be brave for you”

Cumulus nodded in response, saying all she needed to with her eyes alone. She knew if she tried to speak it would only result in more tears. She pressed one last kiss of her own to Sunshine’s cheek, and pulled away, Cirrus and Aurora each taking one of her hands in theirs.

The trio made their way onto the bus, and Sunshine reached out for Aether’s hand as the doors hissed shut behind them. In the early morning twilight, the faces of their beloved pack were clear as they looked back at them through illuminated windows.

In a chorus of Love You and Good Luck and a flurry of frantic waving, the bus accelerated down the driveway, leaving Sunshine and Aether alone on the front step in the chilly air of the early morning. As it turned a final corner and the last glimmer of headlights vanished from view, Sunshine allowed the tears to fall. Turning into Aether’s arms, she saw he was equally affected.

The pair sobbed in each others arms in the doorway to the Abbey, until the cold forced them back inside. Sunshine couldn’t differentiate the shivers from the sobs at this point. They ended up curled around each other in front of the fire in the common room under one of Cumulus’ crocheted blankets, eventually falling back to sleep and waking up when the embers burned low around midday. They had been granted the day off from all duties ahead of their new roles tomorrow, Sunshine suspected this was Copia’s doing.

They spent the day in a daze, orbiting each other like lost planets. When they eventually decided to settle for the night it was separately; each wanting the solace to absorb the scents of their mates’ nests before it faded completely.

Sunshine slept fitfully, her face buried in a pillow that smelled of Cumulus’ shampoo, the taste of Aurora’s chapstick on her lips and the feel of Cirrus’ silky pyjamas against her body. The hair clip they had gifted her sat on the bedside table, her uniform hung on the wardrobe door. Tomorrow she would start her new job and the pack would have their first Ritual. This was the start of something new, for all of them.

[spikedfearn]

Across the Threshold

one-shot

remmick x fem!reader

summary: you've never let him in. Not once. And still, every night without fail, he comes crawling back to your doorstep. Thirteen centuries old and rotting with want, Remmick worships you from the porch, drooling thick onto the floorboards, begging for permission to taste. And you? You watch. You love the power. Love the ache in him. Love the way he weeps when you deny him again and again.

But the night you finally say come in—he breaks.

Now that he’s inside, he’s never leaving. Not quietly. Not gently. And not until he crawls all the way inside you and makes a cathedral of your skin.

wc: 5.4k

a/n: based off this prompt that blew up!! It's been exactly one month since I released my first Remmick fic Mercy Made Flesh so it felt fitting to release something today, as a thank you for the tidal wave of love and support I've received since!! Seriously it's insane!! So, as a further thank you, I'm hosting a giveaway for followers here if you're interested, as a way to give back to all of you <333 thanks to @ddlydevotion for finding the photo refs for the banner!! and thanks to Liz @fuckoffbard for once again beta reading for me!! credit to Diana @hyoscyxmine for the photo of Remmick she initially edited <333

warnings: vampirism, blood kink, obsessive behavior, feral begging, oral (f! receiving), sub!remmick, somno-adjacent sleepiness, religious undertones, predator/prey dynamics, begging kink, worship kink, voice kink, monsterfucking, marking, blood drinking during sex, degradation, dark romance, possessive partner, crawling kink, aftercare, bite kink, creampie, power imbalance, bodily fluids (drool, blood, etc), control kink, manipulation by omission, mildly blasphemous themes

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, please enjoy!!

Masterlist

You've never let him in. Not once.

And still, every night without fail, he shows up like clockwork—barefoot and bloodstained, wife beater stained and torn, revealing a sliver of lean muscle beneath, reeking of smoke and obsession.

Slouched on your porch like a dying dog, scratching at the threshold with dirt-caked nails, mouth open and drooling thick, almost foamy, like hunger’s rotted him from the inside out. His voice is raw from begging. But tonight? Tonight he’s feral.

You've got one leg draped over the door frame, robe hitched up just enough to taunt, a cool glass of iced tea sweating in your hand while he writhes just inches from your feet.

“You cruel little thing,” he rasps, drawl dragging slow and syrupy, his tongue catching on the words like they hurt.

“Y’gon’ make me crawl again, huh? ‘Cause I will. I’ll fuckin’—I’ll get on my belly like a damn animal, just for a taste. Just for a breath of you, sugar.”

His jaw’s slack, saliva roping down his chin, staining the porch dark beneath him as he grips the floorboards hard enough they creak.

“Let me in,” he whimpers, voice cracked and desperate, eyes blown wide.

“Please, I—I cain’t stand it no more. I cain’t fuckin’ breathe without you. Let me in. I’ll behave. I’ll worship you. I’ll—I’ll starve if you don’t.”

Your just watch him, tilt your glass.

“You've lived thirteen centuries, and you're on your knees for a girl in a nightgown?”

He nods, drooling harder, trembling.

“Yes ma’am. I’d beg for thirteen more if it meant you’d finally say the word.”

You don’t answer him at first.

Just lift your drink—slow, lazy, like the heat has made you sun-warmed and lethargic—and watch the ice swirl against the cylindrical sides. Your lips part only enough for a sip, sharp and cold on your tongue, as his voice frays at the threshold like an unraveling thread.

The porch groans under his weight when he shifts, mouth still hanging open, chin wet with the thick rope of saliva that’s already puddled beneath him. He doesn’t even wipe it away anymore. Doesn’t flinch at the indignity. If anything, he leans into it. As if the sloppier he gets, the more beastly and broken, the closer he’ll be to what you want.

Not human. Not civilized. Just yours.

Your bare toes flex against the doorframe—propped up, exposed, painted peach—and his breath stutters when he sees them. His jaw works open wider like he might sink his teeth into the wood instead, like he’s fighting the animal thing in him that wants to bite something until it bleeds.

“You gone quiet, sugar,” he drawls, voice like gravel scraped against wood. “You plannin’ to kill me out here?”

You hum. Just a little. Low in your throat.

Then finally, finally, you lean forward just a bit, letting the hem of your robe fall loose from your thigh, letting him see the curve of it where the porchlight catches golden on your skin. You know what you’re doing. You always know.

“You look like shit, Remmick.”

He moans—moans—like the insult made him hard.

“I—I know, baby. I know,” he gasps, crawling an inch closer on his knees, voice choked with some terrible, trembling reverence. “I’d tear out my fuckin’ ribs if it meant you’d give me one more breath. Just one. I’m—I’m so close to bein’ bones out here.”

His hands drag slow across the floorboards, smearing blood and spit as he chases your shadow like it might feed him. His claws are cracked and dirty, black at the edges, clacking like dull knives as he reaches for you.

But he won’t cross the threshold. Can’t.

Not unless you say the word.

You drag one foot down, let it press lightly against his chest, the ball of it nestling into the place where his heart doesn’t beat. You feel the way he flinches at the touch like it hurts him, like your skin is too holy for his body to bear. He makes a sound deep in his chest—part growl, part sob—and his head drops forward.

He presses his forehead to your ankle. Worships it.

“You’re a goddamn sickness,” you whisper, soft and cruel.

“I am, baby,” he breathes. “You made me sick. Ruined me good, didn’t you?”

And oh, how he sounds ruined.

You tilt your glass again, watch the last ice cube swirl and crack, watch his tongue dart out as if he could taste it from the air. His pupils are blown, wide and dark and endless, and his mouth keeps trying to form the word please like it’s the only one he remembers anymore.

A breeze rolls over the porch, stirring the trees, carrying the scent of you—hibiscus lotion, clean skin, cool linen and blood beneath it all—and Remmick shudders like a dying thing. His hips roll into the floor like he’s fucking the air, like scent alone could push him to the edge.

“Let me in,” he begs again, softer now. “Let me in before I do somethin’ wicked.”

You lean closer, dragging your foot up his chest and under his chin, tilting his face up toward you like a command.

“You already are wicked.”

He smiles, wild and ruined.

“Yes ma’am. And I’d be worse for you.”

You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch.

Then you pull your foot away and stand, letting the robe slip an inch lower on your hips as you do. He tracks the movement like an animal locked on prey, hands gripping the wood, teeth bared like he might bite the air between you.

But you say nothing.

You turn, walk back into the house, and the door swings shut with a slow, echoing click.

And Remmick?

He stays there on the porch, slack-jawed, drooling, whispering your name like a prayer he wasn’t meant to know, his muscles flexing as his arms come up over his head in desperation, thick and defined, his face pinched in pain, fractals of dying light dancing off the worn gold of his chain, off the sweaty creases highlighting his biceps.

| six months ago |

You didn’t move here expecting silence.

You expected a little mold, sure. Some creaky floorboards, maybe a wasp’s nest under the porch or a possum in the crawlspace. You expected the gnats. You expected the heat. You expected the isolation.

But not the silence.

Not this bone-deep, split-the-world-open kind of silence. The kind that settles between your ribs and listens to your heartbeat like it’s trying to time its own.

The house—your house now, left to you by some long-dead aunt you don’t remember—is old and sagging at the edges. It leans a little to the right. The paint is peeled and sun-faded, the porch boards bow like a tired back, and the front screen door barely stays shut unless you wedge a rock into it.

But the bones are good. The land is wild and wide and humming with secrets.

And the silence? You’ve started to like it.

Until one night, it breaks.

It’s not thunder. Not a tree branch. Not the slam of a car door or the high bark of a neighbor’s dog. It’s slower than that. Heavier. Like footsteps made of velvet and grave dirt, deliberate and soft, but too certain to be harmless.

You hear it just past dusk, when the sky is soaked in pinks and bruised purples, and the porch light buzzes weakly behind you. You’re sitting on the front step, knees up, the sweat from your lemonade collecting in droplets between your thighs. Your robe’s open at the chest. The heat has stuck it to the small of your back. You haven’t seen a soul all week.

And then—

“Evenin’, darlin’.”

You look up.

There’s a man standing just past the gate. Barefoot. Broad-shouldered. Dressed like a memory from somewhere you’ve never lived—boots slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a face that looks like it’s been carved from heartbreak.

You can smell weathered leather. Wet pennies. Something faintly intoxicating.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

He’s handsome, you think, in a way that feels off. Like he walked out of a photograph too old to be yours. His hair is a mess, dark and sweat-matted at the temples. There’s a thin scar along his throat. He looks...starved. But not in the way that makes you pity him.

In the way that makes you want to keep your distance.

Still, you don’t get up. You don’t speak. The air between you thickens, trembles.

He tips his head slightly, a crooked smile cutting across his face.

“You look like you could use some company.”

You don’t invite him in.

You don’t say much at all.

Just glance toward the horizon, murmur something about supper, and let the screen door slam behind you before he can take a step forward. You watch through the curtains as he lingers at the gate, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying to look harmless.

But you saw the way his eyes followed your legs. You saw how he noticed the sweat beading at your neck. How he inhaled when you passed him.

You lock the door that night. And the next. But he keeps coming.

First, it’s flowers.

Not from a store. Not anything wrapped in plastic or tied with ribbon. Just a bundle of wildflowers laid gently on your porch, still dusted with dew. You find them in the morning, no note, no explanation.

Then it’s peaches. Sun-warm and soft, their fuzz still clinging with bits of leaf and dirt. You bite into one and taste sweet nectar.

Then it’s a knife. Clean. Sharp. Ornate.

Then a book of poetry. Tattered, spine cracked, pages dog-eared with a name you don’t recognize scribbled inside the cover.

Then the sound of humming—just past the treeline. Low. Gentle. Almost...worshipful.

You don’t see him again for a week.

And when he returns, he stands on the bottom step like he’s been summoned.

You sit in the doorway this time, robe slipping off one shoulder. You’re not afraid. Not curious, either. Just...ready.

Ripe.

He keeps his eyes low. His voice is softer.

“You ain’t said my name yet.”

“I don’t know it,” you say.

He smiles like that hurts him.

“You don’t need it,” he says. “You already own me without it.”

It’s hot enough to peel the paint from the porch railing.

The air hums with crickets, thick as syrup, the kind of Southern heat that presses down on you like hands. Nothing moves. Not the trees. Not the wind. Not even the birds. The silence is alive—dense and waiting, like the breath before a confession.

And there he is. Again.

You hear him before you see him: the soft scrape of skin on wood, the faintest creak of a loose board under bare feet, the hitch in his breath when your scent hits him like perfume and punishment all at once. You left the door open tonight—not all the way, just ajar—and the porch light off. A single candle burns on the windowsill.

He doesn’t knock.

He never does anymore.

Just leans his weight into the frame, like even that much closeness is enough to tide him over for another day. But it’s not. You know it’s not. You can feel it in the way his fingers twitch. In the way he shifts his hips. In the way the wood creaks beneath his knees when he starts to lower himself.

You don’t speak.

You just watch.

The hem of your robe rides high on your thighs, your legs bare and smooth against the old floorboards, one knee bent, one foot outstretched. You could shut the door. You don’t. You could invite him in—but that’s not the game.

You’ve seen how he suffers.

And you love the way he suffers.

He’s filthy tonight. Shirtless and sweaty, streaked with soot and dry blood that canaled in the defined avenues of his abs, a bruise blooming along one side of his ribcage. His hair’s a mess. His eyes look hollow. His lips are parted, pink and trembling, like he’s been mouthing your name into the dirt all night long.

When he drops to his knees, it’s not a performance. Not anymore. There’s no seduction in it. Just ache. Just need.

He whispers something you don’t quite catch—your name, maybe, or the shape of a prayer that lost its way. You hear him drag his nails against the porch, slow and rhythmic, like he’s trying to carve your initials into the floor.

“I dreamed of you again,” he rasps.

His voice is shredded. Used up.

“You were wearin’ that white thing. The one with the lace at the top. You smelled like vanilla and thunder. You called me darlin’ and I almost cried.”

You breathe through your nose, slow and even, but your thighs shift. You don’t think he notices, but he does.

His eyes flick to the motion and he moans—soft and low, broken at the edges. He presses his forehead to the floor like it’s consecrated ground. Like maybe if he can just touch it long enough, you’ll take pity.

“Please.”

The word is wet in his mouth. He says it again.

“Please, I—I don’t care what you do to me. Don’t even have to let me in. Just talk to me, sugar. Just say somethin’. Let me hear your voice. Let me see you.”

You shift in the doorway.

Then you speak—finally—voice quiet and even, your glass catching the candlelight as you raise it to your lips.

“Why do you keep coming here?”

He whimpers.

“‘Cause I cain’t not. ‘Cause you’ve got me chained up in here—” He presses a palm to his chest, hard enough you can hear the bones creak. “—and I like it. I fuckin’ like it, baby. Ain’t that sick?”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you lean forward just enough to let your fingers curl over the frame of the door, letting your robe fall slightly open at the neck. His mouth opens wider. His pupils blow black like a hungry shark.

“You want to come in?” you murmur.

His breath catches.

Then he nods. Frantic. Wild.

“Yes. Yes ma’am. Please.”

You tilt your head.

“Why?”

He blinks. He’s confused by the question. Then hurt. Then desperate.

“Because I—I need you. Need what’s inside. I cain’t smell nothin’ else but you. You’re in my fuckin’ blood, sweetheart, and I ain’t never tasted you but it’s killin’ me just knowin’ you’re behind that door.”

He leans forward, mouth brushing the frame. His tongue darts out—not quite licking it, but close—and you see the briefest flick of the forked tip, glistening and trembling with restraint. He pulls it back like he’s ashamed of it, like he wasn’t supposed to let you see that part of him.

Your stomach flips.

You almost say it. Almost.

But then you pull back.

And he breaks.

He wasn’t always like this.

You remember that. You remind yourself of it often—because it makes this part better. Sweeter. Sicker.

Because once upon a time, he tried to play it cool. Casual. Almost charming. Leaned against your gate with that low, lopsided smile, said things like ma’am and pleasure to meet you and you sure keep to yourself, don’t you, sugar?

Now?

He’s a wreck.

On all fours.

Spit roping from his lips in long, trembling strands as he drags himself toward your feet like a dog that’s been kicked too many times but still comes running. His pupils bleed red, eclipsing the black. His shirt is gone. His nails are cracked and black at the edges, scrabbling over the porch boards in slow, shivering motions that match the tremble in his voice.

His mouth hangs open. Tongue wet. Forked.

You can see the way it splits when he pants—like he can’t decide whether to speak or taste or crawl inside you and live there forever.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and it’s not seductive.

It’s pleading.

Pathetic.

Eyes wide and glossy, like something half-feral and half-forgotten, a kicked-puppy expression clinging to him even as he drools down his chin. He’s shaking. His knees have long since gone raw from dragging over your porch, and he presses his forehead to the step just beneath you.

You tilt your glass. Take a sip.

He moans. Loud. Unfiltered. Buckling at the sound.

“God, please,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and slurred like he’s drunk on the smell of you. “Please, I can’t—I can’t take it no more, baby. You’re killin’ me. Killin’ me soft and slow and I fuckin’ love it.”

You shift, just enough for your robe to slide up one thigh.

His hands curl into fists. He bites down on a sob.

“I’ll be so good to you,” he whimpers, dragging himself another inch forward. “You don’t—you don’t know what I could give you. What I wanna give you. What I think about every night with my hand on my cock, prayin’ for a dream of your fuckin’ voice.”

You raise an eyebrow. But you don’t stop him. And that’s all the permission he needs.

“I’d eat it for hours,” he blurts, voice breaking. “I’d keep my tongue on you till you forgot your own name. I’d fuckin’ cry for the chance, darlin’. You don’t know what I’d do just to smell you on my face. Let me clean you up with my mouth. Let me keep you sweet.”

He pants like a sinner, sweating through the knees of his jeans, forked tongue slipping past his lips as he mouths at the space near your ankle. Never quite touching. Never daring.

“I’d make it good for you,” he groans. “Better than anyone. I’d hold you down or let you ride. Whatever you wanted. However you wanted. I’d tear my fuckin’ throat out if it made you wet.”

You stay silent.

Let him spiral.

Let him beg.

Let him drown in everything you’ll never give him.

His jaw hangs slack again, saliva pouring freely now, staining the porch with slick, twitching need. He doesn’t even seem to notice. His hips rock forward once—pathetically—like he’s rutting against the air just from being this close.

Then—

“Say it,” he croaks, wrecked and delirious. “Say the word. Just the once. Just once and I’ll die happy. I’ll let you ruin me every night. Let you bleed me dry, fuck me dumb, use me up ‘til I’m nothing but bones and thank you for it. I’ll be your thing. Your pet. Your meal. Just say it. Say it and let me in.”

You watch him twitch.

You don’t speak.

And that silence?

It undoes him.

He presses his face into the porch and sobs—one sharp, cracked sound that makes your thighs clench—and you think, maybe next time.

Maybe.

But not tonight.

It’s late.

Later than you usually sit up for him.

The air outside smells like wet bark and heat lightning. You’ve just bathed—skin still damp, robe clean, lips glossy with something sweet and sticky you let melt over your tongue before you opened the door.

The floorboards are still slick from the storm earlier, and the moon’s a thin thing, half-ash and half-bone. Somewhere in the trees, something howls.

But he’s louder.

He’s already there when you pull the door open, sprawled out like roadkill—on his side, one cheek pressed against the porch wood, arms limp at his sides, knees bent in. Like he dragged himself here and died at the edge of your mercy.

But when he hears the door creak, he moves.

Head jerks. Eyes flash. His nostrils flare, and he moans—low and open-mouthed, like he’s just caught your scent for the first time all over again.

“Sweetheart,” he gasps, trying to sit up and immediately wobbling, weak from hunger or lust or both. “Sweetheart, I—I dreamed you were gonna open it tonight.”

You say nothing.

He drags himself upright, kneeling again, hands in his lap like a penitent priest waiting for permission to sin. His thighs are slick with drool and sweat and something darker—something old. You don’t ask. He’s trembling.

You step forward.

And he growls.

Low. Feral. Possessive. His shoulders hunch, his nails dig into the wood, his tongue flashes out—forked, twitching—and he presses his forehead to the threshold like it burns him.

“You smell like soap,” he whimpers. “Like you’re clean and warm and wantin’. You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You always do.”

You kneel in front of him, robe gaping where the sash has gone loose.

He chokes.

You brush a knuckle down his cheek. He shudders so violently you think he might break apart at the seams.

And then you whisper it.

Soft. Small.

The word.

“Come in.”

He doesn’t believe you at first.

His body goes very still. Breath caught. Eyes searching your face for the trick. His mouth parts around a sob so sharp it cuts his throat on the way out.

“Wh-what?” he croaks.

“You heard me,” you say, voice low. “You can come in.”

And that’s all it takes.

He lunges.

Not with violence. Not with fury. But with such pure, starved need it knocks the breath out of your lungs. He collapses forward into the doorway like a beast finally slipping its leash, dragging himself across the threshold like it hurts—but in a way he wants.

He weeps.

On his knees again. Hands clutching your thighs. Mouth open and dripping against your bare skin as he repeats your name over and over, shaking, whispering thanks like a dying man kissing dirt.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, fuck—thank you—”

His tongue presses to your thigh.

You twitch.

And he wails—the sound muffled against your flesh, trembling like a man who’s tasted Heaven and is terrified he’ll be dragged back to Hell. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you down with him, until your knees hit the floor and you’re seated right there in the doorway with him cradled between your legs like a body in prayer.

“I’ll be so gentle,” he babbles, licking a stripe up your inner thigh. “I’ll be good. I’ll be sweet, sugar, I swear it—I won’t bite unless you ask. I’ll eat and eat ‘til you shake and sob and soak my chin and then I’ll fuckin’ beg for seconds.”

You let your head fall back, lips parted, robe slipping.

He sees it.

And loses what’s left of his composure.

He goes slow at first—painfully, reverently slow.

Tongue pressed flat to your cunt, hands gripping your thighs like lifelines, the tip of that sinful, split tongue tracing soft, teasing figure-eights just to feel you tremble.

And you do.

Every flick, every moan, every whimper he pulls from your throat drives him deeper into madness. He cries as he eats you. Cries. Big, open-mouthed sobs against your pussy as he whispers nonsense:

“So sweet—so sweet, fuck—never tasted anything like you—please, let me die here—let me drown—let me be your floorboard, your shadow, your fuckin’ leash, baby, I’ll be anything—”

You come on his tongue once, and he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even pause.

Just whimpers like your pleasure is sustenance, like your slick is water and he’s been crawling the desert for years.

You tangle your fingers in his hair. Tug. He moans into you. Grinds his hips to the floor.

“Can I fuck you?” he begs against your cunt. “Please, can I? I’ll go slow. I’ll go soft. I’ll make you feel worshipped. You want it rough? I’ll give you rough. Want it sweet? I’ll make you sob. I’ll bite your throat open and make you scream my name ‘til the walls crack.”

He looks up at you, face wet, chin slick, forked tongue flicking out like a serpent sensing the heat of your body. His eyes are glassy. Wild.

“Tell me I can fuck you.”

You nod.

He breaks again.

And then—

He crawls forward, palms flat on the floor, reverent and quiet. His cock is hard, flushed and weeping, twitching against his stomach. You see the way his hands shake as he guides himself to you. The way he groans—choked and low and obscene—when the head of it brushes against your entrance.

He looks up at you, panting. Lips parted.

“You sure?” he whispers. Like he’s asking permission to live.

You nod again.

“Then hold on to me, sugar,” he says, voice raw and trembling. “I ain't never comin’ back from this.”

And he pushes in—

Slow. So slow. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish beneath him. Like your heat is swallowing him whole. Like the walls of your body were carved centuries ago to hold only him.

He moans into your neck, hips stilling halfway through.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, voice shattered. “You feel like—like you were made for me. I’m—I’m not gonna last. I ain’t—please don’t let go of me.”

You clutch his shoulders.

He bottoms out with a sob, every inch of him buried in you, shaking like a man who’s finally come home. His forehead presses to yours. His hips roll once, reverent, like worship.

He doesn’t move at first.

Just stays buried to the hilt, mouth slack against your throat, breathing like a dying animal in your ear. You feel him twitch inside you—thick, hot, leaking—and for a moment you think he might cry again.

Then he growls.

Low. Deep. Possessive.

And moves.

One slow pull out—almost all the way—followed by a brutal thrust that slams your back against the floorboards hard enough to rattle the doorframe. You gasp. He moans. Loud. Open-mouthed. Obscene.

“Fuck,” he chokes, already shaking. “Oh, sugar. Oh, baby, you—you don’t know what you’ve done. What you let loose.”

He doesn’t wait for permission anymore. Doesn’t need it. You gave it the second you said come in.

Now he’s fucking like it’s all he knows how to do.

His hips snap forward over and over, wet slaps echoing through the open doorway, sweat dripping from his brow, tongue lolling out as he pants like a rabid thing. He braces one hand beside your head and the other beneath your thigh, holding you open, dragging you into every thrust like he wants to feel himself hit the back of you.

You’re soaked. Wrecked. Clawing at his back and gasping his name over and over like it’s the only prayer you’ve got.

“You wanted me like this, didn’t you?” he snarls, his drawl thick and guttural now. “Wanted to see me come undone. Wanted to see the monster in me. Well, here he is, sugar. Here I fuckin’ am.”

He grinds down. Deep. You cry out.

He smirks, wild and broken and high off the sound.

“You feel that?” he whispers against your mouth. “That’s me in you. Deep as I can go. You’ll feel me for days. I’ll make sure of it.”

And he does.

He fucks you until your legs tremble, until your voice is raw, until the only sounds are slick, messy, filthy. He presses his chest to yours, forehead to your jaw, panting through clenched teeth as he drives into you like he can’t stop. Like if he slows down, he’ll die.

You feel the sharp tips of his fangs graze your throat. His voice is wrecked.

“Let me taste you,” he begs. “Let me drink while I’m inside you. Let me be full, sugar. Let me be whole.”

You nod.

He doesn’t even hesitate.

His mouth opens wide and you feel the bite—sharp, electric, perfect—right where your neck meets your shoulder, and suddenly his hips are slamming into you harder, messier, feral, rutting through your orgasm as he drinks, drinks, drinks.

It hits you all at once. Heat. Pain. Pleasure so sharp it blinds you.

You come hard, clenching around him, and he sobs into your throat like it’s sacred, like he’s breaking apart inside your body.

You feel him twitch. His breath goes ragged.

“Gonna come,” he warns, voice slurred, tongue lapping at your skin between frantic, messy thrusts. “Gonna—fuck, sugar, I’m gonna fill you—gonna mark you—make you mine—mine—mine—”

And he does.

Hot and thick and endless.

He spills inside you with a guttural cry, hips stuttering, teeth still buried in your skin. You feel it pulse into you—claiming you, over and over, like his body doesn’t know how to stop. Like his need has no end.

He finally stills, trembling.

Still buried inside you. Still panting. Still moaning your name into the crook of your neck like he’s worshipping it.

And then—

He kisses the bite.

Soft.

Gentle.

His hands cradle your face like you’re glass, and for the first time all night, his voice goes quiet.

“You saved me,” he breathes.

And for once, you don’t correct him.

You don’t know how long you lie there.

Could be minutes. Could be hours. The air has gone still, heavy with sweat and sex and iron and him. The storm’s long gone, but you can still smell the rain—sweet and earthy, mixing with the blood drying at your throat.

You feel it when he finally starts to move.

Just a shift.

The slow drag of his hand up your thigh, fingertips curling into the dip of your waist like he’s reminding himself you’re real. His body is still flush against yours, cock soft now but still inside you, holding you open. Keeping you full. Like he’s afraid pulling out will make the whole night unravel.

You reach up, bury a hand in his tangled hair.

He makes a sound—small, shattered—and curls tighter against you.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of something too heavy to name. “Don’t make me leave. Not after that. I’ll—I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to.

Your fingers stay in his hair, stroking gently. His body softens against yours.

There’s blood smeared across your neck, your chest, down your ribs. His bite still stings, the skin pulsing, raw—but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. It burns. Like a seal. Like a signature.

You glance down.

He’s watching you.

Eyes half-lidded. Glazed. Glowing, almost—faint and strange, like he’s lit from within. There’s a little blood on his mouth. More on his chin. But he doesn’t wipe it away.

You wonder if he’s ever looked more peaceful.

“You taste like sunlight,” he murmurs, dream-drunk. “Like nectar. Like the end of the world.”

You huff a laugh, quiet and breathless.

“Don’t get poetic on me now.”

“I ain’t,” he slurs, eyes fluttering. “Just honest.”

He nuzzles into your collarbone, forked tongue flicking lazily against your skin like he’s still trying to memorize it. His hands roam—slow, aimless, like he doesn’t know how to stop touching. One settles on your hip. The other slides beneath your spine and pulls you closer.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go,” he mumbles. “Not after this. You said it. You let me in.”

You nod. You did.

And you meant it.

He presses his nose to your pulse point, breath fogging across your skin. His lips ghost over the bite. He presses a kiss there, reverent.

“I’ll be good,” he repeats, softer now. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. You want a house? I’ll build it. You want blood? I’ll bring you the whole fuckin’ town. You want me to rot on the floor again? I will. Long as I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper.

And he moans.

Like the words filled him with something he’s never had in thirteen centuries.

You feel him soften completely then, sinking into your body like sleep. One leg slung over yours, one arm anchoring you to his chest, his cock slipping free with a wet noise that makes him groan as you shudder. Your body aches, raw and sore and claimed, but you don’t move.

Neither does he.

Eventually, he sleeps.

You know because the grip he has on you loosens—but only a little. He still breathes you in. Still holds you like something holy and fragile and violently his.

And you?

You stay awake a while longer, staring at the door still cracked open, the threshold now crossed, the air inside heavy with what you both became tonight.

The blood on your neck has dried.

The slick between your thighs has cooled.

But his body stays warm against you.

And outside, the sky hasn’t yet begun to lighten.

No birds. No blue.

Just that inky pre-dawn blackness pressing soft against the windows, holding the night still around you like a secret.

Because he can’t survive the sun.

And tonight, for once, you don’t want the morning to come either.

[camficdiner]

[𝟷.2] [𝟸.𝟷] [𝟹.2] [𝟺.3]

Love your writing!

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 030

🍒 thank you for ordering, babe! this one’s for the tension that simmers in silence, the hallway that sees too much, and the player who finally breaks the rule for you. hope it leaves you breathless and smiling like it wasn’t just kissing 💋

💌 tips keep the hallway quiet: ko-fi.com/camsficdiner

💬 “Not Just Kissing”

✨ description and prompts:

character: Quinn Hughes

 prompt: caught kissing in the hallway during a weather delay; things escalate into semi-public sex

 word count: ~2k

 type: romantic smut + forbidden aftermath

🛼🍒✨🧁

Working for the Canucks meant learning how to disappear.

You were on the media side — digital coverage, post-game interviews, a hundred tasks that kept you close to the players without ever being with them. Professional. Uninvolved. Invisible, when it mattered.

Quinn Hughes made that easy.

He was polite, of course. Always nodded when you passed in the hall, always looked directly into the camera when you stood behind it. But he never gave you more than that. No banter, no flirtation, no false friendliness. You spoke only when work required it.

He was quiet. Focused. Reserved.

So were you.

And yet, more than once, you caught him looking.

In press rooms. In buses. Across hotel lobbies. Never for long — never with a smirk or a nod — but with a stillness that made your stomach flip. Like he wasn’t supposed to be watching, but couldn’t stop.

You told yourself it was nothing.

That he kept his distance because he was disciplined. That you were just another staff badge.

That you imagined the tension.

Until the storm.

—

A late-season road trip. Delayed flight. Blizzard warning. No outgoing connections.

Everyone — team, coaches, media — grounded overnight at a hotel outside Chicago. Half the rooms were booked for the players. The rest of you were left to pair up, double up, wait it out.

You got lucky — a single room, if you could call a double bed and a flickering heater “lucky.”

The halls were quiet after midnight. You couldn’t sleep. Everything smelled like bad coffee and hotel carpet. So you slipped out barefoot, hoodie zipped, hair a mess. Just for a walk. Just to breathe.

And there he was.

Quinn Hughes. Hoodie on, sweatpants low, water bottle in hand, walking toward you down the empty hallway.

He stopped when he saw you.

You stopped too.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then: “Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, keeping it casual.

He shook his head. “Nah. Room’s hot. And loud.”

You nodded. “Same.”

He took a step closer. Then another.

Your pulse picked up.

You’d never been alone with him before. Not without a camera. Not without someone else in the room. And definitely not like this.

He stopped a foot away from you. Looked down. Licked his lips.

“This is stupid,” he muttered.

“What is?”

“This. Us. Pretending like it hasn’t been there.”

You stared at him.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t joking. Just standing there, eyes dark, jaw tight.

“You’ve never even spoken to me off-camera,” you whispered.

“Because I didn’t trust myself.”

Silence.

Then:

“Can I kiss you?”

Your throat went dry. “Quinn—”

“I know we’re not supposed to.” He stepped closer. “But I swear, if I go one more night without knowing what your mouth feels like—”

You kissed him.

And everything unraveled.

—

His hand found your waist first — careful, then desperate. He backed you against the wall, not hard, just firm, like he needed to feel you there. Your fingers slid into his hoodie, dragging him closer, your lips parting to let him in.

Quinn groaned low in his throat when your tongue met his. Like he’d been starving.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth. “Been thinking about this for months.”

You clung to him.

He kissed like someone who meant it. Like it hurt to hold back.

“I tried to stay away,” he said, breath hot. “You’re media. You’re staff. It’s against every rule.”

“Then stop.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Can’t.”

Then his hand was sliding under your hoodie. Up your bare side. And your thighs were parting on instinct, your back hitting the wall as he rutted softly against your hip.

“Quinn—”

“I know. I know.” He kissed your neck, your collarbone. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

You gasped when his hand slipped into your shorts — fingers quick, practiced, already finding you slick.

“Shit,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

You buried your face in his shoulder. “You’re the one groping me in a hallway.”

“You think I planned this?”

“I think you’ve been waiting for it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you — really look.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have.”

Then he slid his fingers inside you.

You bit your lip to stay quiet, clutching the front of his hoodie as he fucked you slow with two fingers, his mouth on your neck, your hoodie bunched at your ribs.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Right here. Just like this.”

It didn’t take long.

You came hard — trembling, teeth in his shoulder, breath ragged.

Quinn pulled his fingers out, kissed your mouth, then sucked them clean.

You were still shaking when he nudged your legs open wider, fumbled his waistband down, and pressed the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me.”

You nodded once.

He pushed in slow — both of you gasping — and stilled.

Then he started moving.

—

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t rushed.

It was real.

Quinn held you while he fucked you — forehead to forehead, hips grinding, soft curses in your ear.

“You feel so good,” he moaned. “I’ve dreamed about this. Every fucking day.”

You clawed at his back. “We’re gonna get caught.”

“Then be quiet.”

“You first.”

He laughed — breathless — and kissed you again. This time slower. This time like he wasn’t afraid of what it meant.

You came again — muffled against his throat.

He followed with a groan, spilling into you, chest shaking, whole body still.

Then silence.

Just your breath.

Just his heartbeat.

Just the two of you, breaking every rule in the book.

—

He set you down gently. Pulled your hoodie back into place. Pressed a kiss to your temple.

“We can’t tell anyone,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“Seriously. I could get fined. You could lose your job.”

“I know, Quinn.”

He stared at you. Touched your cheek. Said your name like a promise.

Then walked away.

You stood there for a long time.

Then smiled.

Because that?

That was not just kissing.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Good evening to you. I thought about writing you many times but never had the courage to do so 😅 I saw a TikTok Trend some time ago and thought about the Reaction from our beloved task Force 141. How would they react when you "accidentally" sent them the message "He just left our house, you can come now. He'll be gone for some time". Basically pranking them by implying something shady. You can ignore this if it's weird of course. Thank you for your time and amazing writing 🙏😊

I'm so glad you finally got the courage to send in a request because I had so much fun with this one! Many many thanks because I pretty much cackled and giggled the whole time I wrote this. I'm not exaggerating. I adored this prompt. It not only gave me room for a little humor, but it also gave me the opportunity to be a little naughty!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): established relationship, pranks & shenanigans, suggestive themes, mild sexual content, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, swearing, possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Five minutes and you're already causing problems.

John isn't surprised. Not in the least. Sometimes, you enjoy being on your worst behavior just because it stirs him into a frenzy.

John is sitting at a stoplight, staring down at his phone screen. A car honks but he ignores it.

He's gone. Come over.

There isn't anyone else. John knows this explicitly. Not because he completely trusts you—which he does—but because he knows your exact location at all times. He knows what you search on your phone and what things you look at on the internet. And because he knows that, he knows you're just trying to take the piss.

Locking his phone screen, John turns on his blinker. A few turns later and he's back home, marching through the door. He's not mad. Far from it. You just need a good lesson—a good spanking. Over his knee with a bare ass. That way he can watch it bounce, watch as you wiggle and squirm, hear you whimper, and watch as your arousal grows with each strike.

Then, and only then, will he keep you under him. Which is what you want anyway.

John walks silently and with purpose, approaching you as you casually lounge on the couch.

"You're home early."

John ignores the jab. "You're on one today, cabbage."

"Whatever do you mean?"

John holds up his phone. "Think I'm going to believe this?"

Your eyes widen but John can see the bluff. "I meant to send that to—"

"To me," interrupts John. “You meant to send it to me.”

"To a friend,” you correct, but John notices the smile you attempt to hide. “I meant to send it to a friend.”

No. You wanted John to come home—to be a bit neurotic, even a little possessive.

"Fine," growls John. "I'll bite."

He places one hand on the top of the back cushion while the other rests above your head. He leans in, lowering his voice.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Show me you mean it."

You tuck your knees in, drawing back your top and removing your lounge pants. When they're gone, you spread wide, revealing your glistening pussy. Your arousal is clear, and John cannot wait to sink inside.

"That's my good girl."

John "Soap" MacTavish

You sent the texts not long after Johnny left for work.

He’s gone. Won’t be home for hours. Come over.

At first, you believed that Johnny would get those texts and immediately turn around, to head home and bust down the door. He did no such thing. He didn’t even respond. Not a peep from him. You spent the rest of the day in limbo, unsure if Johnny received the texts at all.

So, when he does come home, you expect him to say something.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Good,” he replies, heading down the hall to the bedroom. “Had a briefing. We’ll be heading out for a mission next week.”

“Do you know when exactly?” you ask.

“Tuesday!” he calls back.

Nothing. This man is completely glossing over the fact that you sent those texts to him. When he reappears in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you nearly swoon at his bare chest and stomach.

“What did you get up to today?” he asks, sauntering over to grasp your hips and pull you close.

“Nothing much,” you reply, and Johnny hums in reply, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know,” he says after a beat, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “You did send me a few odd texts earlier.” He taps away at the screen at turns it around to show you.

The texts you sent are right there, glowing brightly.

“Oh, those—”

“I checked the cameras.”

“Cameras?” you choke. “What cameras?”

Johnny grins and then he’s tapping away at his phone again. When he shifts the screen around, you see yourself and him in real time. You turn to the corner of the room from where the feed is coming from.

“I never saw anyone come over. But I did see this.”

Tapping again, he changes to an earlier time during the day. It’s a feed of the bedroom, and you’re masturbating. Johnny ups the volume and you hear yourself moan.

“There’s this, too,” he says, switching to the night before when he had you on all fours, ass in the air.

“Johnny!”

He tightens his hand on your hip, keeping you close. Lowering his voice, Johnny grins. “Try again, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You watch from the window as Simon’s car pulls out of the drive. You wait until he turns the corner before unlocking your phone and selecting his name.

He’s just left. Come over.

With a wicked grin, you hit send, knowing that the texts will reach Simon any second. Leaning against the window, you wait, and then smile wider as Simon’s car sharply turns the corner and speeds down the street back to the house.

He’s hardly parked the car before he’s exiting the vehicle, storming toward the house, malicious intent clear with every step. With a triumphant giggle, you rush to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, pretending that you’re up to nothing at all.

You hear the front door slam, then Simon’s thunderous footsteps followed by doors opening and closing. Sprawling out across the bed, you tap away at your phone, acting like you're not bothered at all.

When he appears in the doorway, you deliberately ignore him for five long seconds before you casually turn your head and smile.

"You're home early," you observe.

Simon looms in the doorway. "What the bloody hell was that text about?"

"What text?" you shrug, all innocence.

Simon, deadpan, replies "He's just left. Come over."

"Oh. That was for a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A friend."

Simon slowly walks up to the side of the bed. "You're fucking with me."

"Don't know what you're on about, Simon."

The murderous demeanor you saw earlier melts away, leaving behind a mischievous glint that you know all too well. With a viper-like quickness, Simon grasps your ankle and yanks you to the end of the bed.

"Simon!" you shriek, but he's already flipping you over onto your stomach.

He plants both knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped beneath him, his large hands coming down on your wrists to pin them above your head.

"Was last night not enough?" he asks, voice a gruff whisper. "Or do you need another lesson?"

You lift your head as Simon transfers both wrists beneath one hand. He has his phone, tapping away at the screen.

'What are you doing?"

"Telling Price I'm not coming in."

"But you're scheduled."

Simon locks the phone and then tosses it to the side. "He'll understand." Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice drops to a breathy whisper. "I have a woman to breed."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It's cruel, perhaps. Even mean. But getting Kyle worked up is so goddamn sweet.

He’s protective, sometimes even a bit possessive, and nothing is hotter to you than watching him stake his claim.

Which is why you sent those texts in the first place—a way to make his heartrate spike.

He just left. He'll be gone for hours.

Kyle bursts through the bedroom door, his chest heaving as if he just ran several miles.

“Where are they?” he asks, voice a growl.

Kyle heads for the bathroom. Throwing open the door, he storms inside, but finding nothing, retreats back into the bedroom.

"Where's who?" you ask in mock innocence as Kyle opens the closet, pushing aside clothes as if he’ll find someone hiding there.

Kyle exits the closet, hands on his hips. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” You casually retrieve your phone, already knowing what you’ll find there. Opening up the messaging app, you click on Kyle’s name, and laugh.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “I meant to send that to a friend.”

Kyle’s eyes shut, and the sigh he makes is so loud you laugh harder. Clutching his own phone in his hand, Kyle shakes it in his fist.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says.

"No," you giggle. "Just a mistake."

That thin line becomes a smirk. Kyle tosses his phone onto the bed and you immediately know you’re done for.

“I know you, love. Think you’re clever, yeah?”

He saunters forward, and you push up onto your hands, sliding back along the bed.

“Kyle,” you warn.

“Tricking me just to get me home. For what? Think I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I think.

You scoot away, sinking into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Kyle matches your movements until he’s nearly horizontal over you.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I will.” His gaze roams over your body and then returns to your face. “But first, I’m going to train you into never making a silly mistake like that ever again.”

[vunblr]

Terms of Attraction

Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Some fluff. Slight Angst. Mutual Pinning. Mention of sexual activities.

Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.

Word Count: 13.2k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "CEO AU".

Also, this piece is to participate in Grem's 20 Characters with 20 Questions for 20 Tropes Challenge by @gremlin-girly Using Bucky Barnes' character, "When were you going to tell me about this?" question, and mutual pining trope.

Bucky Barnes never wanted to be here.

He never wanted to be in this office, suit, or life. But fate had a funny way of forcing people into the things they swore they’d never become.

The room was dim since the heavy curtains were drawn shut to block out the midday sun. The only light came from the glow of his monitor, casting long shadows over the polished surface of his desk. He sat hunched over it, resting his forehead against his crossed arms.

A soft sigh broke the silence.

“Again?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He already knew who it was.

“This is the fourth migraine this week,” she continued, with an edge of exasperation. “I’m making you an appointment with a neurologist. You like it or not.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, mixing a scoff and a tired chuckle. “You’re overstepping.”

“Oh, it is not in your best interest to start talking about overstepping,” she shot back, arching a brow. “Want me to make a list? Ten years under you, since you were a manager, mind you. It will take a couple of pages.”

Bucky grunted in response, looking for the right words, but she was already moving, pushing the coffee table aside and clearing a space on the plush carpet.

“Come on,” she said, glancing at the clock. “You have the meeting with Schwarz in forty minutes. You know, the one I had to postpone twice already?”

Yeah. He knew. He just didn’t care.

He stayed put for a second longer, staring at the dark wood of his desk. His head throbbed, and the pressure behind his eyes seemed to crush everything. He could still hear his father’s voice in the back of his head “Headaches? You think I got to where I am by whining about a fucking headache?” but right now, George Barnes could go to hell.

With a slow, resigned sigh, Bucky pushed himself to his feet. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to the open space she’d cleared. Lowering himself onto the rug, he sprawled out on his back, letting his arms rest loosely at his sides. As the exhaustion dragged him down like quicksand, he closed his heavy-lidded eyes for a moment.

She knelt behind him, pressing her cool fingers into the pressure points at the base of his skull. He tensed on instinct, prepared to anticipate pain, even from something meant to help.

“Jesus,” she muttered, working her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his neck. “You’re tense as concrete again.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, letting her hands do their work. The pain sharpened for a moment before it started to dull, releasing the pressure just enough to make his migraine a little more bearable.

“Speaking of overstepping,” she continued, “you should really hire a professional masseuse, Bucky. Have them come in three times a week and-”

“I don’t want a stranger rubbing me up and down while I’m ass-up and vulnerable on a pansy cot.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t bother correcting her. If she was talking, it meant she wasn’t hovering with that worried look in her eyes.

She worked his knots, kneading the tension from his neck and shoulders before her fingers traveled upward. With a gentler touch, she started rubbing slow circles into his temples, easing the pressure that had settled deep in his skull.

“Rebecca called, again.” She said casually, but he could hear the warning under her words. “Says you had her bloc-”

“Not now,” he groaned.

She sighed but didn’t stop. “I know you don’t want to, but just meet with the guy for ten minutes, and you’ll get her off your back.”

“I won’t waste even five minutes listening to her new fucktoy ramble about some ‘revolutionary’ idea for industrial inputs,” Bucky muttered. “I know it’s going to be some half-baked high school powerpoint with stock photos and shit. That’s the kind of man she likes to have around.”

She scoffed, still working her fingers against his scalp. “He is cute, though.”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t move or say anything right away, but his gaze was locked on her now, sharp, unreadable, and just a little too intense. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way she said it.

“Is he, now?” His voice came out pretty even, but there was something underneath it. Something edged.

She smirked, unbothered. “Not my type, but I can see why she’s… fond of him.”

His jaw ticked, and he exhaled slowly through his nose before letting his eyes fall shut again, but the tension in his body didn’t relent in the way it had before.

Yeah. The headache wasn’t going anywhere.

Just as he was starting to relax again, the door creaked open without so much as a knock, and a head popped inside: the new intern. The kid was his father’s friend’s grandson or something, which meant he had about three functioning brain cells and the audacity to use them in the worst ways.

“Sorry to interrupt your… erm-”

“Get out,” Bucky muttered, not even opening his eyes.

“But I just wanted to know-”

Bucky sat up so fast that the guy flinched. “Get the fuck out and close that door before I send you to count staple hooks in a basement, kid.”

The intern squeaked, stumbling back before the door shut behind him in a not-very-subtle way.

"Moody, aren’t we?” she sighed, shifting her weight as she sat back on her heels. “You’re still a Sarge at heart, it seems. Poor kid almost pissed his pants.”

His jaw worked slightly at the title, but he ignored it.

“The door is there for a reason. Besides…” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, shifting his gaze away.

He didn’t say what else he was thinking, but didn’t have to. She already knew. The way the intern had found them -he sprawled out on the floor, and she knelt behind him, hands on his body- it was enough to set off the office rumor mill.

“Don’t worry. Even if you don’t get out of your dungeon very often,” she mused, stretching her arms over her head, “you do know there’ve been rumors for a couple of years now, don’t you?”

Bucky turned fully toward her, narrowing his gaze. “What?”

“Come on, like the one where I was sucking your cock on that video call with that Japanese exec from the thermoplastics deal? With the guy watching it all because the camera was badly angled?”

His face twisted, and he waved his hands. “You weren’t even there that-”

“Or, my personal favorite” she continued, “that a window cleaner saw us on full display as you rammed my ass against the glass one afternoon?”

Bucky’s expression darkened into something truly menacing. “Bullshit. The cleaning crew comes on fucking weekends-”

She snorted. “People who gossip don’t care much about facts, Bucky. That’s just how things are.”

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” he asked with irritation.

She smirked, unfazed. “What for? It’s not like it was going to change anything. And you firing people left and right over some rumor no one even knows where it started… Not a good look.”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek, ready to argue with her, but before he could, she glanced at the clock.

“Ten more minutes, and Schwarz will be here.” Her tone was all business now, but then her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and assessing. “How’s your arm?”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line.

She sighed. “That bad, huh? Lemme see.”

“You don’t-”

“I do,” she cut him off, already shifting. “It’s probably one of the things that’s got you so moody lately. And the reason I’ll probably have to send the Germans a very nice basket of goodies after you mistreat their guy.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, but when she just stood there on her knees, arms crossed, waiting, he reluctantly popped open a few buttons of his expensive shirt. As he slid it off his shoulders, the scent of his cologne -warm, woodsy, with an edge of spice- assaulted her senses.

Beneath, he wore a pristine white tank top. And, his bad arm.

Irregular scars marred the skin in a twisted canvas that sprawled up to his shoulder, a reminder of the Syrian shrapnel that had nearly cost him the limb entirely. Inside, a lattice of titanium plates and screws that held together shattered bones and torn muscle.

Bucky exhaled sharply as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the familiar grind of metal and bone, and the fucking pain. Most days, he could push past it. Ignore it. But some days, like today, it devoured him, made everything sharper, his patience thinner, and his temper shorter.

She reached out. He could see the way her gaze softened slightly as she took in the limb, hovering her fingers just above the scars. She was softer, yes, but never pitied him.

He let his head tip back against the edge of the couch, closing his eyes as her hands worked their magic over the worst knots of his upper arm, easing some of the strain. He hated how easy it was for her to do this, to get him. To handle him. It should piss him off. Maybe it did.

But he didn’t tell her to stop.

As she gently rubbed on the offending limb, his mind drifted to the hospital bed, to his suspended arm buried in a mix of cast, pipes, and pulleys.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. The sharp sting of antiseptic, the cold bite of metal restraining his ruined arm, the dull pain buried beneath layers of medication. His mother crumpled at the foot of his hospital bed, clasping her hands in silent prayer. And his father… standing rigid, arms crossed, and a voice edged with finality.

"Well, now that you’ve had your share of independence and adventure, I assume you understand that you are meant to be with us. To serve the family the way we prepared you to."

Not a “You’ll be ok”. Not a “We’re glad you made it home alive”. Just “You’ve learned your lesson.” A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched as he stared at the ceiling, willing the memory away.

Her fingers pressed into a tight knot near his bicep, bringing him back to the present. He exhaled through his nose.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, softly.

His lips parted, with the instinctive lie ready on them -Nowhere-. But when he turned his head to look at her, he caught the way she was watching him, with that usual awareness, so he let out a breath and closed his eyes again. “Nowhere important.”

She hummed and started pulling his shirt back into place, her touch lingering a second too long on him as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.

“Well, master,” she teased, the title laced with mockery, “it’s almost time to see the Germans.”

Bucky huffed, dragging his hands down his face before starting to button his shirt. She moved to stand, but before she could, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Firm, warm, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She swallowed, willing her face to stay neutral, to ignore the way warmth curled in her stomach at the roughness in his tone.

“You know there’s no need,” she said, carefully measured, as if saying anything more might give too much away.

His grip loosened, and she pulled back, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. If he noticed the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers, he didn’t say a word. Once she finished straightening her clothes, she turned on her heel and strode toward the office door.

“I’ll let them in in ten, okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulder once more before nodding. “Yeah.”

----

She had suspected it wouldn’t go smoothly, but even so, when the heavy wooden door finally clicked open, the Germans’ expressions were unreadable, stern and tense.

She cursed inwardly.

Even if the meeting had been rocky, she hoped they’d at least reached an agreement. Otherwise, in ten minutes, her phone would be ringing with George Barnes on the other end, barking at her because Bucky refused to pick up. And, as always, she’d have to endure his tirade until he inevitably demanded she put his son on the line.

With a sigh, she pulled open a drawer, curling her fingers around a blister pack of Tylenol.

Then, smoothing her expression, she knocked gently on his office door.

A low, muffled groan was the only response she got before she stepped inside.

The sight wasn’t unfamiliar. Bucky sprawled on the couch with his shoes off, covering his face with a cushion like it could somehow block out the world. She knew how this went. If the headache was bad enough, it wouldn’t be long before he was hunched over the bathroom sink, pale and nauseous, cursing under his breath. And, as she suspected, he hadn’t brought anything to help.

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Should I expect a call from Barnes Senior in the next few minutes, or can I focus on other chores?”

Another groan. “I think he won’t call, but who the fuck knows? Nothing’s ever enough for him. Maybe he has a few things to say about the deal, things even a fresh graduate should know.” His voice was thick with irritation, but there was something else underneath. Resignation.

She tsked. “Good thing you don’t listen to him. Much.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped forward, holding up the blister pack between two fingers. “Here. I bring an offering that might change your mood.”

“Whatever it is, leave it on the desk. And don’t give me any calls.”

“Are you really rejecting Tylenol?”

A single half-lidded eye peeked out from behind the cushion, scrutinizing her like she’d just asked him to sign over the company. Then, he muttered, “Fuck, what would I do without you?”

She smirked. “Probably chomp the heads off the few people who still have the balls to speak to you.” She leaned against his desk, watching him sprawl across the couch, with the cushion still covering his face. “Speaking of your stellar social skills,” she said, The signing for the Research & Development Collaboration deal with Prescott got moved from Tuesday to Friday. You still haven’t told me which day you want your plane ticket booked.”

Silence.

She frowned. “Bucky?”

He exhaled sharply against the cushion before finally shifting it just enough to mutter, “About that.”

That tone set off a flicker of suspicion in her chest.

“I know a couple of the board members are going just to play court jesters,” he continued, voice still thick with exhaustion. “But…I want you there.”

Her brows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

He let the cushion fall away just enough to glance at her. “I want you there.” A beat. “I need you there.”

Something in her stomach twisted. Not at his words -no, she was used to being indispensable- but at the tone he used.

“I need to see-”

“You handle logistics, and you filter out unnecessary conversations. I'd rather not waste my time listening to a bunch of suits trying to kiss my ass. You keep people in check.” He sighed, tilting his head back onto the couch.

She raised a brow. “So you need me as a buffer?”

He shot her a dry look. "I need you to make sure I don’t tell the wrong person to go fuck themselves."

A flicker of something -something warm- stirred in her chest before she pushed it aside.

“Fine. I’ll book my ticket too.” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “But I want juicy compensation for being away from home in non-working hours. And, I won't babysit you the whole trip".

Bucky huffed a laugh, still sprawled on the couch, with the cushion resting against his temple instead of covering his face. “You’ll do it anyway, even when it’s not part of your job.” He gestured vaguely toward the blister of Tylenol still sitting in her hand. “You’re like a mother hen.”

And fuck, how did he like that? How much did he like her, always two steps ahead of him, anticipating his worst moods and dealing with them before they could ruin his day completely? It should drive him insane, how easily she handled him, read him, but instead, he was perfectly fine with it. He craved it.

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Well, this time mama is getting a compensation, James,” she shot back, drawing out his name like a warning. “Because I had plans for Friday night.”

He schooled his expression, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah? With who?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant.”

Just like that, something in his chest twisted, sharp and possessive.

“Must I remind you that you signed an availability clause two years ago?” His voice was measured, but there was an edge beneath it. “You agreed to be available if the firm needed you.”

If I need you. His eyes seemed to say it, even if he didn’t.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. This is the first time you’ve ever thrown that in my face. But don’t worry, I don’t need the reminder.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m pretty sure availability doesn’t mean ownership, Bucky. But it’s fine, I’ll see my godson another day.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the cushion.

Her godson.

He exhaled through his nose, and his voice came out controlled. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know, you could’ve just asked nicely instead of throwing corporate fine print at me.”

He pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the dull ache still throbbing behind his eyes. “I know.” A pause. His fingers dragged over his temple. “Sorry, I… this is killing me.”

She hesitated for a beat, caught off guard by the unusual admission.

“I’ll approve the extra compensation,” he muttered, reaching for the Tylenol she still hadn’t handed over.

“Nah,” she waved him off. “As you said, it’s already covered in the clause. That’s why my salary was increased in the first place. I was just messing with you.”

Bucky quirked a brow. “Not many people can get away with that, you know.”

“Oh, but this mother hen knows she can.” She smirked. “Just a little.”

He huffed, watching as she poured a glass of water and handed him the blister pack.

“None of that scotch after taking these, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, amused despite himself.

She squeezed his good shoulder before heading for the door, and the warmth of her touch persisted where her fingers had pressed against him.

----

The lobby was a mess of tired travelers and frazzled staff, as the storm outside cast long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The wind howled, rattling the glass as Bucky ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “A place with this many stars and a price tag that could feed a small country, and they can’t even keep track of reservations?”

She sighed, rubbing at her temple. “It’s just one night, Bucky.”

He shot her a look. “That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is that we’re exhausted, it’s almost midnight, and I’d rather not spend the next hour arguing with the poor guy at the front desk when we both know they’re fully booked because of the storm.” She gestured toward the rain hammering against the glass. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the lobby, in which case, be my guest.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the key card off the counter with a glare, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the elevator.

She sighed again, following. This was going to be a long night.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching as she took in the room with wide eyes. The Renaissance-style decor, the heavy carved furniture, the ridiculous four-poster bed with actual curtains… it was over the top, even for a place like this.

“Well, this is… something,” she murmured, slowly turning in place before making a beeline for the bathroom.

He heard her sharp inhale, then -God help him- a pleased little hum that was dangerously close to a moan.

His bad mood tempered just a little.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stepped further inside, glancing at the coffee table stacked with neatly packaged luxury treats. He had no doubt they came with a price tag steep enough to make even him scoff.

She poked her head out from the bathroom, grinning. “You think they’d notice if I just sat in the tub and refused to leave?”

For the first time since the airport delays, he almost smiled. Almost. Then he sat in an oversized armchair. The long flight, the delays, and the cold air outside had worsened the stiffness in his arm.

She eyed him knowingly, arms crossing. “Speaking of the tub, why don’t you take a shower? Or an immersive bath? Heat those bones a little. You’re tensing the arm a lot, you know.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, rolling his shoulder slightly. But then he shook his head. “After you. You’re cold too. Ladies first.”

She arched a brow. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you need it more-”

“All I hear right now is a hen clucking.” He cut her off, smirking as he kicked off his shoes and sank deeper into the chair.

Her eyes narrowed. “Endearing.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, since you offered,” she huffed, “I’m going to test the tub. And don’t expect me to be out in less than thirty minutes because I won’t. If you need the bathroom, I don’t know, use a vase or something.” She said as she started to rummage on her suitcase, looking for her nightgown.

Bucky snorted, “So regal, just what this place needs.”

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, she let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped as she finally dropped the facade. Out there, she had to keep up the usual push and pull, the teasing deflections, the confidence that made it seem like sharing a room with him -sharing space with him- was just another minor inconvenience.

But alone in here, she could let herself feel the weight of the situation.

She set her nightgown on the counter, running her hands over the silky fabric before reaching for the faucet. The deep tub groaned as steaming water rushed in, the sound filling the room as she braced herself against the edge of the sink.

This shouldn’t be affecting her so much. It wasn’t the first time they’d traveled together, and it wasn’t even the first time she’d seen him this exhausted, this raw from the day. But something about tonight, about his request for her to be here, about the way his voice softened when he said he needed her there -it’s killing me- stirred something deep and restless inside her.

She swallowed hard and reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly. He didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. He never did.

She reminded herself of that fact as she slipped the blouse from her shoulders, shivering slightly at the rush of cooler air against her skin. Bucky was… Bucky. Intense. Guarded. Possessive, sometimes, in ways he didn’t even realize.

But never hers.

She sighed, pushing down the stupid, persisting ache in her chest as she reached for the zipper of her skirt. This wasn’t new. She’d spent years training herself not to hope for something that wasn’t there. And yet, every now and then, he’d let something slip -a look, a word, a need- and it would take everything in her not to lean into it.

The tub was nearly full now, and the steam curled in soft ribbons toward the mirror. She inhaled deeply, letting the warmth settle over her body, soothing and distracting all at once.

Bucky wasn’t doing any better.

He sat in the oversized armchair, socked feet planted firmly on the carpet,  drumming his fingers idly against his knee. The tension in his shoulder hadn’t eased, not even a little. He rolled it again, flinching at the dull throb radiating from his arm.

Maybe he should’ve taken the damn bath first. Maybe the heat would’ve helped more than sitting here, stewing, staring at the closed bathroom door like some lovesick idiot.

Not that it mattered. She wasn’t into him.

He knew that much.

Women who wanted something more -who wanted him- they left hints, like breadcrumbs leading straight to their intentions. He’d seen it a thousand times in the circles he frequented. The way they gravitated toward him, playing coy with soft laughs and lingering looks. Subtle touches under the table, fingers tracing patterns on his thigh. The way they’d beam at the expensive gifts, their smiles slipping the second he showed more interest in his bed than in whatever designer bag they were parading around.

And then there was her.

She didn’t play coy. She didn’t bat her lashes or leave accidental touches to test the waters. Instead, she petted him. Nursed him. Brought him Tylenol like it was her goddamn job -which, technically, it was-. And he liked it. At first, it had been enough, her dependable presence that kept him from losing his mind when everything else was chaos.

But eventually, it wasn’t.

Eventually, he started watching for the crumbs, the hints, waiting for something, anything, that told him she saw him as more than just her boss or her friend.

And he found nothing.

Because a woman who wanted something more wouldn’t massage the knots from his arm like it was second nature, without hesitating, without blinking. Wouldn’t press her fingers into the scarred muscles like she wasn’t touching the part of him that made most people flinch.

He huffed, rubbing his palm over his face.

She was comfortable with him. Too comfortable.

And fuck, it was funny, in a twisted way, how every other woman he’d been with tried not to look at his arm -careful not to let their revulsion show- but she touched it like it was just another part of him.

Because that’s all he was to her. Just another favor.

Nothing more.

----

After exiting the bathroom in her red silk nightgown -a gift from her friends- she thanked her past self for not just throwing in an old cotton camisole.

“Well, I emptied the tub and started filling it again,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Maybe you should go check the temperature. It’s one of the last things I don’t know about you.” She tried to keep it light, casual.

Bucky stared at her longer than necessary. He had seen her in professional clothes, casual clothes, even bundled up in thick sweaters during late nights at the office, but never in something like this. It wasn’t even that revealing, but the way the silk fell against her body, catching the dim light, made his thoughts go places they shouldn’t.

He forced his gaze away, scoffing.

“Bucky, don’t tell me you didn’t even unpack pajamas.”

“Don’t use ’em,” he said, watching her expression shift.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

His smirk deepened. “Nope. I’m more of a… natural type of guy.”

She pressed her lips together, visibly trying to suppress a reaction. Interesting.

“Well, I hope you at least brought sweatpants or-”

“Wasn’t supposed to be sharing a room, remember?” He shrugged, stretching out in his chair. “Didn’t think about it. But don’t worry, I still have underwear. Are boxers still scandalous to you?”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I can manage a slutty pair of boxers, thank you very much”

Bucky huffed a chuckle, turning to his suitcase. He rifled through his things, pulling out the garment in question. “Relax. I was planning on wearing a robe -there are always robes in these places- to protect your maidenhood.” He smirked, but his fingers tightened around the fabric.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.

“Take the bed. You’ll probably be dead asleep by the time I get out.” He suggested.

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand in a dismissive tome. “That couch is too damn small for you. You take the bed.”

Bucky frowned, standing up straight. “How the fuck could I send you to the couch? It’s irritating that you could even consider me capable of that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t be stubborn, your body-”

His expression darkened, and his voice cut in sharp. “I’m not crippled, doll. I let you play mama all you want, but at the end of the day, I’m a grown man who can sleep on a damn couch without whining like a bitch.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He saw her expression shift. Surprise, hurt, and something more guarded sliding into place. He had sounded exactly like his father just now, and the realization made his stomach churn. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Just… don’t be stubborn, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

And as soon as he was alone, he cursed himself.

----

As she slipped under the covers, feeling the crisp hotel sheets' cool against her skin, her mind replayed the moment over and over.

The sharpness in his tone. The way his eyes darkened, his jaw set tight like he was bracing for a fight that wasn’t even there. She had only meant to be practical; his body did take more strain, whether he liked it or not. And yet, the way he snapped felt like she had crossed some invisible line she hadn’t even known existed.

She stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. I’m not crippled, doll. Had she made him feel like that? She had never pitied him, and he knew it. Bucky was the strongest person she knew, even when he was constantly grumpy and in pain.

Maybe that was why she did it. The taking care of him. Because no one else did. No one else noticed the stiffness in his shoulder after long days hunched on his desk or the way he rubbed at his temple when a migraine was creeping in. People either feared him, admired him, or wanted something from him. But who was actually in his corner, making sure he was okay without expecting anything in return?

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe, to him, she was just another person putting him in a box he didn’t want to be in. She had assumed he liked it, the way she doted him, the way she noticed him. But what if, in his mind, it only confirmed that she didn’t see him the way he wanted to be seen?

----

The water lapped at his collarbones as he sank deeper into the tub, letting the heat work through the persistent tension in his muscles. His head tipped back against the cool porcelain, and he closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have snapped at her. She hadn’t meant anything by it; she never did. She was just looking out for him, the way she always did, and he’d thrown it back in her face like an ungrateful asshole.

With a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, water dripping from his fingertips and wetting his scruffed face. He wasn’t mad at her, had never been mad at her. He was mad at himself. Mad at the way the frustration curled in his gut over things that weren’t her fault. She didn’t deserve that. He’d make it up to her in the morning. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would.

----

At 3 a.m., she stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. Her gaze landed on his silhouette, sitting rigid on the couch, outlined by the streetlights below.

She frowned, pushing the covers aside and padding toward him. “Hey.”

He startled slightly as if he hadn’t heard her coming, too lost in his thoughts. “Hey.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Rough night?” she asked, quirking a brow, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glanced at her, then quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah.” A beat passed before he exhaled heavily. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Normally, she would’ve brushed it off, waved away his apology like she always did. But this time, she stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my tantrums,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “Seems like it’s becoming a habit lately, having to apologize for them. But really, doll, I’m sorry.”

Something in her chest softened. It was unfair how easily those simple words soothed the discomfort that had been eating her since their argument. She wanted to reach for him, reassure him. “I know you’re nervou-”

“No.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “I’m nervous and frustrated by this deal, yeah, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole. At least not with you.” He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face. “So don’t do that. Don’t… justify me the way my mother did with my father when he beat her up on a weekly basis.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, you were kind of an asshole, if that’s what you want to hear.”

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head, but she wasn’t done.

“But you also know we have the kind of relationship where I call you out when that happens. How many times have I told you to fuck off?”

His lips twitched. “Never.”

“Okay, not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. Don’t be a smartass now.”

Bucky bit his lip, letting her continue.

“I know you’ve been working on this deal for over a year. I also know your father’s been breathing down your neck about it, just waiting for you to slip up so he can shove his twisted version of ‘tough love’ down your throat. And on top of that, I know this damn weather is making your arm and shoulder miserable. So, I’m letting it pass. You already apologized; why wouldn’t I accept it?”

His face was unreadable now, all traces of amusement gone as he nursed his glass of scotch.

She quirked a brow, aiming for levity. “Or what? You got some kind of kink? Want to be punished for being a bad boy?”

Bucky choked mid-sip, coughing as the liquor went straight up his nose.

“Oh my God, you do!” she gasped, grinning like she’d just uncovered some deep, dark secret.

“No!” Bucky spluttered, still coughing, his face red as a beet. He barely managed to set his glass down without spilling it.

She knew he was probably telling the truth, but she also knew how easily he embarrassed over certain things, and there was no way she was letting this pass.

“You couldn’t sleep because you were craving a spanking? A little pinching, maybe?” she cooed.

His head snapped toward her, eyes wide with horror. “My God, woman, stop it.”

She smirked. “Tell you what: I’ll stop if you take the bed.”

“I told you I-”

“I’m still taking it too.”

That shut him up. He blinked at her, clearly thrown back.

“It’s so big my whole damn living room could fit on it,” she pointed out. “We can share, so you don’t have to hurt your masculine pride, and mother hen here gets to be happy knowing you’re not miserable on that fancy couch.”

Bucky exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know…”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Tell me one good reason why this is a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and there’s enough space on that mattress to fit two more people between us.” She raised a brow. “I promise I won’t steal your virtue.” She winked, and he nearly groaned.

Oh, but he wanted her to take it, not his damn virtue, but something else. And that was the problem.

He couldn’t even use the excuse of propriety, he was already sitting there in just his boxers, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before. Hell, she’d been massaging his arm and back for years without batting an eye.

So, really, what was he holding onto?

“Will you shut it if I say yes?” he muttered.

“Just for tonight.” She grinned.

----

She climbed into bed, doing her best to act casual, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like she wasn’t hyperaware of the fact that Bucky was standing just a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, no robe in sight.

“We have to be there at nine,” she said, adjusting the blankets around her. “So we’ve got, what… maybe four hours of sleep?”

The mattress dipped as he sat down, and she felt the shift beneath her. She told herself not to look. But when he moved to lie down, she turned her head, catching his gaze, and ended up on her side.

He hesitated for a moment before mirroring her, rolling onto his side so they were facing each other in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Even with the shadows softening his features, she could still see it, the stress in his brow, the weight pressing down on him. The doubt.

So she leaped.

Hesitating, she reached across the space between them, palm up. “You’ve got this, Bucky,” she said, in a soft but firm tone. “You’re going to do great.”

His eyes flicked to her hand, and surprise flashed across his face, but it only lasted a second. Without hesitation, he reached out with his scarred hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, and gave a small squeeze. “Thanks.”

----

The deal with Prescott went just as expected, some rough patches here and there, but overall, both sides walked away satisfied.

As requested, she had sorted through the attendees beforehand, making sure Bucky knew exactly who he could afford to ignore and who required his attention. Not that he always followed her lead, but to her surprise, he was in a much better mood than the night before.

Maybe it was the decent night’s sleep. Maybe it was the fact that, despite his nerves, he had handled the negotiations flawlessly. Or maybe it was just that he finally let himself lean on someone for just a little.

Bucky stepped out of the conference room, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension from the negotiations. His gaze landed on her instantly, curled up in one of the lounge chairs, with a coffee cup in her hands, looking perfectly calm. She raised a brow when she noticed him watching her.

“We have a cocktail party tonight,” he announced, coming to stand beside her chair.

She took a sip before answering. “We?”

“Me. The board jesters. A bunch of industrial guys.”

“Right. So, you,” she corrected, setting her cup down.

He huffed. “I want you to come.”

She frowned, caught off guard. “Are you sure it’s not just for you and the board members?”

“I’m sure.”

She leaned back, studying him. “Bucky, I don’t exactly have cocktail-party-appropriate clothes lying around.”

He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

That made her snort. “Yeah, somehow, I doubt that.”

“No, really,” he said. “I didn’t pack for this, which means I gotta go get something to impress a bunch of snobs. You might as well come with me.” He caught the hesitation in her body language instantly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “That’s your only reason for doubting, right?”

She exhaled, knowing there was no way to wiggle out of it. “Yeah, that’s the only reason. But…” She opened her mouth, then hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that their budgets were galaxies apart? That the tie he’d pick out probably would cost as much as her monthly groceries?

“But what?” he pressed.

Fuck it.

“But, we are almost at month’s end, and I still have to pay the-”

“Wait. No, no,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I’m not expecting you to buy a fucking dress, doll. The company will.”

She frowned. “Bucky, I don’t think that’s appropriate-”

“I, the director, am the one making you attend this shitty event,” he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously, it’s a company expense that my secretary looks good there, because if she doesn’t, the company image looks bad too.”

She gave him a flat look. “Did you just say I dress poorly in a roundabout way?”

His jaw dropped. “That is not what I said.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Mmhmm.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you just let me do something nice without fighting me on it?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Great,” he said, already dialing a number. “We leave in an hour.”

----

The last thing she expected when he said they were going shopping was to find herself standing inside a Prada store. She had anticipated something fancy, sure, but Prada? This was a whole different level. She was almost afraid to breathe too hard, worried she’d somehow stain or break something just by existing.

A perfectly dressed clerk approached them, and the moment the woman’s eyes landed on Bucky, her posture shifted: poised, interested, appreciative. She on the other hand, might as well have been invisible.

“What can I do for you?” the clerk asked, with a voice all smooth with professionalism and something more.

Bucky barely glanced at her. “We need a cocktail dress for her and a suit for me.”

Immediately, the woman waved over a co-worker, passing her off while keeping Bucky’s attention firmly on herself.

“Were you looking for something specific?” the second clerk asked her while signaling her to follow.

“Uh, yeah. I was thinking an empire dress with a V neckline.”

“Let me show you what we have.”

----

After trying on two options that didn’t feel quite right, she slipped into the third dress. The fabric hugged her in all the right places, elegant but not over-the-top, and when she pulled the curtain open, she froze.

Bucky was standing there, dressed in a black suit so well-fitted it might as well have been tailored for him on the spot. His ivory dress shirt contrasted against his sharp features, and there was something about the way he wore the suit -confident and powerful- that made her stare.

What she didn’t realize was that he was staring right back, caught off guard as he discreetly bit at his bottom lip.

“Guess that’s the dress,” he said, his voice just a little rough.

“You think so?” She did a slow spin, letting the fabric swirl around her.

“Definitely.” He managed to say.

She grinned. “Guess that’s the suit?”

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a pleased half-smile that sent warmth curling into her chest.

After purchasing the medium heels and the purse that she tried hard not to think about the cost of, they had lunch at an upscale restaurant.

----

By the time they reached the hotel, she was still reeling a little from the whole shopping trip. The Prada bags felt almost radioactive in her hands, she could barely process the fact that she now owned something so expensive, let alone the fact that Bucky had made the entire thing seem as casual as buying a cup of coffee.

As they approached the front desk, the receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. We have the second room available now if the lady would like to move in.”

Before Bucky could respond, she beat him to it. “Good. Can I take it now?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the receptionist said, eyes flickering to Bucky for a moment, then back to her. “I’ll send someone up to move your belongings.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” she replied quickly, trying to play it off with a small smile. “It’s just a small suitcase and is already upstairs.”

“Very well, ma’am. Please enjoy your stay,” the woman said, giving her the magnetic card.

As the elevator ascended, Bucky crossed his arms and shot her a dry look. "That was fast."

"Huh?" she blinked, shifting the shopping bags in her grip.

"You practically threw yourself over the door card." He chuckled, but there was something almost edgy beneath it.

"Well," she shrugged, "I was supposed to be there from the start, Bucky. Now you won’t have to miss my… how do you call it? Clucking?" She winked.

Bucky scoffed, but his jaw worked like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. And maybe he was. Because the truth was, he would miss it.

He had no business getting used to her presence, to the way she looked after him. But those few hours they’d shared in the same bed? Dreamless. The first time in a long time his mind had given him peace. And now, standing here, the thought of losing that -even just the simple comfort of her being near- felt… wrong.

He glanced at her and found her watching him with an amused tilt of her head. He swallowed down whatever mess of thoughts he was having and shrugged instead. "I’ll survive."

----

The message came through: "Ready?"

She took a breath, smoothing her hands down the dress that still didn’t feel entirely real. "Yeah, coming out now."

Stepping into the hallway, she turned and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky stood there, waiting, a few doors down. The same suit from earlier, yes, but now fully put together. His hair was neatly combed back, his scruff freshly trimmed, and the addition of a sleek watch and cufflinks only added to the devastating effect. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a high-end catalog, the kind of man people turned to look at the moment he entered a room.

Her pulse stuttered.

He caught her staring, but he didn’t call her out for it, probably because he was doing the exact same thing.

She looked stunning. That dress had already been perfect in the store, but now, with her makeup done, her hair styled just so, and the soft glow of the hotel lighting catching on her skin? He was fucking dying to close the space between them, to inhale and find out which perfume she’d chosen tonight. Would it be the one he liked the most?

His eyes briefly dipped to her neckline before he could stop himself, and his traitorous cock twitched in interest. Damn it. He forced his gaze back up, schooling his face into something composed just as she started toward him.

"You look good, sweetheart," he managed to say.

She smirked, sliding her hand into the arm he offered. "You cleaned up good yourself, boss."

----

The ride in the limo was... interesting.

The board members who had come along were in high spirits, congratulating themselves and Bucky on the deal, clinking their glasses of expensive whiskey as they rehashed key moments from the negotiation.

And yet, somehow, she was left out of the conversation entirely.

Not just the business talk, that she understood. She wasn’t part of the board. But even the petty, circumstantial chatter, the kind of polite small talk that people filled silence with, never once included her. It was as if she were just there, a piece of decoration beside Bucky, an accessory rather than a person.

Of course, to them, that’s exactly what she was.

Just his secretary. The one everybody knew he was fucking.

Now, he’d simply taken it a step further and brought her to the cocktail party, dressed up in Prada and heels, just like a good mistress should be.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He was fully engaged in conversation with the others, discussing projections, potential expansions, and other things that weren’t meant for her ears.

She knew this would happen. The moment he asked her to come, she’d known she’d feel out of place. And yet, some naïve part of her had thought -hoped- it wouldn’t be this bad.

She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way the man across from her kept glancing up from his phone, barely acknowledging her except for those quick, assessing looks, made her stomach turn. His fingers moved smoothly over the screen, typing something, then pausing -another glance, another smirk- before resuming.

She forced herself to sit still, to smooth her dress over her lap, to ignore the creeping feeling at the back of her mind that something about this moment would come back to haunt her.

----

As they stepped into the reception, they blended seamlessly into the elegant crowd. The board members exchanged greetings with familiar faces, shaking hands and making small talk. A few acquaintances took notice of her, flickering their gazes between her and Bucky before curiosity got the better of them.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” one of them asked with a polite smile.

Bucky barely hesitated. “My dutiful secretary.”

There was always a beat after that -just a split second of realization- before the inevitable, knowing oh followed.

If he noticed the shift in people’s expressions, he didn’t show it. Either he was oblivious to it or, more likely, he just didn’t care. He was too used to these circles, to their assumptions, to their judgments. But she felt it. Every curious glance, every subtle flick of the eyes that said, so, he finally brought her along.

At some point, he made a passing joke “Ten years dealing with me, just for that, someone should give her an award,” which earned a few chuckles from the men around him. She mustered a polite smile, but inside, she could already feel the exhaustion creeping in.

She needed a drink. Or a few.

Slipping away, she made her way toward the bar and ordered a Gancia cocktail, sitting in one of the fancy stools.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still deep in conversation when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. His brows furrowed immediately -he wasn’t fond of being touched- but as he turned, his irritation sharpened into something heavier.

His father.

George Barnes stood there, exuding effortless charm as always, but he knew better. He braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Good job, son.”

For a moment, it almost sounded… honest, proud. But then, just as predictably as the sun rising, he leaned in ever so slightly, voice lowering so only Bucky could hear the next part. “You managed not to ruin it.”

Bucky's jaw ticked. But he exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his expression neutral.

George straightened, turning back to the small group with a practiced smile. “Gentlemen, if you don’t oppose, I’d like to steal my son for a moment.” The group murmured their good-natured agreements, stepping aside as the older man clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder again, making his muscles coil with irritation.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked, words laced with aggression but softened enough to avoid drawing attention.

His father’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a corporate party. Why wouldn’t I be here?"

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and his tone grew colder. "Because it's three states away, and you have no business here."

George chuckled lightly, as if this conversation was little more than a minor inconvenience. "Oh, but you are wrong, I do have business here. I have shares in Prescot & Co. Surprised?"

"In the bare minimum," Bucky replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took a flute of champagne from a passing waitress, keeping his expression carefully neutral, tightening his grip around the delicate glass as his eyes remained fixed on his father.

George’s lips quirked into something like a smirk, clearly unfazed by the tension. "I know I gave you the industrial input branch to play with, James. And you’ve been doing a decent job. But it’s never bad to be aware of what’s going on there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered momentarily to the crowd around them, trying to gauge how much of this was being overheard. He wasn’t sure if his father’s presence here was meant to make some kind of point or just another round of his usual subtle power moves. Either way, he hated the feeling that his every step was being watched and scrutinized.

"Well, I’m doing just fine without your input," Bucky said, taking a sip of his champagne, trying to sound controlled.

His father’s eyes never left him, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "Hm, and speaking of knowing what’s going on the firm..." George drawled, glancing toward the bar where she sat. "When were you going to tell me about this?" he asked, with a casual tone but loaded with implication.

Bucky’s body went rigid at the mention of her. His eyes shot toward her, but he quickly masked the tension creeping through his body. "What is it to tell?" he shot back, trying to downplay the situation.

George sighed, like he was explaining something to a child. "Some little birds keep me informed about your affairs on the firm, son. And they’ve been signing songs about you two for years now." His gaze flickered over to her, still perched at the bar, before he looked back at his son with a smug expression.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He could feel the familiar sting of being patronized, and it fueled his growing irritation. He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice calm but laced with the growing sharpness of his frustration. "It’s all bullshit, Dad. Maybe you’ll need to pick better your little spies." He hated the insinuations, the familiar condescension that George always slipped into conversations like these. The man always had a way of making his son feel small, of making everything seem like some petty game.

George didn’t flinch. His smirk only deepened. “Oh, I know about your escapades, James. Those bimbos you dated, the ones you dared to bring home. That last one, Mandy, or Marney...” he waved a hand. “But always, always, the songs about you and that ‘secretary’ of yours remained.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he fought to keep his composure. “Jesus, Dad. It’s my fucking secretary. At this level, it’s like having a work-wife. We never asked or told you anything about Esther in what, forty years working with her?” his voice was tight, defensive.

The old man quirked a brow, looking almost amused. “Exactly.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ve been fucking Esther on my desk for the last thirty of those forty years, and no one had said a word or suspected anything. Why? Because I have brains, son.” His expression hardened. “It seems I keep overestimating you, thinking you could mask an office affair as it should be.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted.

“You don’t know shit about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

His father smiled. “I know more than you think.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Then you’d know that if we were a thing, I wouldn’t hide her,” he stated in a low but firm tone. “I’d parade her at every opportunity, make damn sure everyone knew she was mine.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, more like a warning. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you one day.”

George scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be the talk-”

Bucky cut him off with a sharp smile. “Your last name would be the talk. And that’s what concerns you, isn’t it, Father?” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “But since you know me so well, you already know that I couldn’t care less about the tabloids, your social circle, and, lastly, your opinion on this matter.”

His father’s expression flickered, and something dark flashed in his eyes, but Bucky didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he drew on that well-practiced smile, the kind that could fool any onlooker into thinking this was just a polite conversation between father and son. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the crowd, leaving George standing alone in the wake of his words.

----

As she nursed her drink at the bar, she became aware of someone approaching. A tall man with a confident, almost cocky stance settled beside her.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, flagging down the bartender without even glancing at her.

She turned slightly, taking in the sharp suit, the perfectly styled blond hair, the smug air about him. John Walker. She recognized him from a few previous company functions, one of George Barnes’s people. He wasn’t part of Bucky’s branch of the company, but he had enough pull to be a nuisance when he wanted to be.

“Well, here I am,” she replied coolly, lifting her glass to her lips.

John smirked. “Must be nice. Traveling in style, all expenses paid…” His gaze flicked briefly to her dress, then the Prada bag she’d set down by her feet. “Guess it pays to be the boss’s favorite.”

Before she could respond, another voice cut in.

“There you are.”

Bucky.

His presence was commanding. He stepped between them, close enough that John had to shift back, barely masking his irritation. Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes were only on her.

“I need you to reschedule the Montgomery call for next week, now.” he said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue easily. A perfect excuse, a simple reason to pull her away.

She blinked, catching on quickly. “Of course, boss.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, Barnes. You really don’t let her out of your sight, huh?” He took a slow sip of his drink, then added, “You should loosen the leash a little.”

Bucky went still.

It was subtle, the tic on his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides but she could feel the shift in the air.

John had no idea how close he was to getting his teeth knocked in.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking about tightening yours.” His voice was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it.

John’s smirk faltered, but before he could respond, Bucky turned to her and offered his elbow. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t hesitate.

He barely spared Walker another glance as he guided her toward one of the balcony doors. The noise of the party dulled as they stepped outside, and the cool night air contrasted with the heat simmering beneath his skin.

"What did he tell you?" His voice was low and measured, but she knew better. He was seething.

She let out a small sigh. "Ah, just some silly banter we usually have," she tried to deflect, stepping closer to the railing.

Bucky stayed near, and his gaze flicked to hers. “Which consists of…?” he pressed, his voice quieter now but no less sharp.

She sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to let it go. “God, Bucky, it’s just stupid.”

“If it’s stupid, you can tell me.” He pushed.

She hesitated, but under the weight of his stare, she relented. “Some stupid thing about being the boss’s favorite.”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair, and the muscle in his jaw ticked again. "That fucking bastard," he muttered. He started to turn back toward the party, and she recognized the intent in his posture. He was going to find Walker and probably, without subtlety, give him a piece of his mind.

She reached out instinctively, wrapping her fingers around his inner elbow. "Don’t you dare cause a scene over some juvenile taunt."

"He disrespected you," Bucky bit out with restrained anger.

She exhaled, trying for humor. "Did he lie? Am I not your favorite employee?"

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “You know what he meant by that.”

She smiled a little. "I do. But I just don’t care, Bucky." Her fingers lightly curled against his arm. "I know who I am and the place I occupy. John Walker’s opinions are not relevant to me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The place you occupy?"

“Yes. As your secretary, as a friend.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest truth. “You and I both know there’s nothing between us. It’s just so stupid. He’s seen the women you associate with; how could he even presume-”

Bucky’s chest did something stupid. He wasn’t sure what, only that it felt tight and hot and made him irrationally irritated. “What kind of women?”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, come on, Bucky. The Vogue cover type.”

Bucky stared at her. “The Vogue cover type?” he echoed, like he was tasting the words and finding them bitter.

She let out a small laugh. “You know what I mean. The ones with the perfect hair, the designer wardrobes, the endless legs-” She gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. “The ones people expect a man like you to be with.”

Bucky scoffed. “A man like me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re rich, successful, powerful, and on top of that, handsome. It’s not exactly shocking that you’d go for-”

Bucky let out a sharp breath. “For what?” he interrupted, voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. “A goddamn mannequin?”

She blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Bucky, that’s the only kind of woman I’ve ever seen enter or exit your office in ten years. The only kind you arrange dates with. The only kind you send flowers to,” she pointed out, her tone laced with incredulity. “Did you never notice a pattern in your partners?”

He said nothing. Because she wasn’t wrong.

He couldn't deny it. Couldn’t, because that was the kind of woman that always approached him. The kind of woman that fit neatly into the world he operated in. The kind of woman he was expected to have perched on his arm. The kind of woman who made sense.

And the kind of woman who was so different from her.

Because he couldn’t dare to be with someone who even resembled her. To be what? A cheap replacement for the luscious body and sharp tongue he really wanted in his bed? No. That would’ve been pathetic. Even for him.

And maybe he was delusional, but he could’ve sworn there was something there, an edge in her voice when she spoke about his so-called type, as if she had already decided for the both of them that they could never be a thing.

And God, he was tired.

So tired of this stupid dance that had lasted years of what-ifs, blurred lines, untold truths, and all the office gossip that never seemed to die.

His patience snapped.

“What, do you think it’s so impossible for us to be something more?”

She froze, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Well, I never perceived anything resembling -um- interest from you,” she stammered.

Bucky let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you think I would let anyone touch me the way you do if I didn’t feel something?”

She went speechless for a second, parting her lips, scrambling for an answer. “Well, maybe-”

“No,” he cut her off, low and heated. “And you know it. Tell me one person you’ve seen me with who has that level of intimacy with me. One person who can approach me, who can touch me, who can nurse me like a fucking child and I let them.” His chest rose and fell with the force of his words, the frustration thick in every syllable. “You won’t find anyone.”

Because there was no one else. Only her.

Bucky moved in, crowding her against the cool balcony railing, his body was a wall of heat and tension. His hands weren’t on her -yet- but he was close enough that she could feel his breath, the scent of his cologne mixed with champagne, wrapping around her like a slow burn.

His voice was low, almost rough. “The question here is… do you feel anything else besides ‘friendly’ empathy when you touch me?” His blue eyes were searching, desperate for something he wasn’t sure she could give. “Have you ever wanted this to be something more?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “Am I the only one who thinks that- fuck.” His head dipped for half a second, as if frustrated with himself, before he looked at her again, with a dark, unreadable gaze. “The only one of us that feels like us could be a thing?”

His words were a shock to her system, leaving the air thick, charged between them. His hands found the railing on either side of her body, bracketing her in without touching her.

And she was also tired, so goddamn tired.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of thinking about what was proper.

Tired of believing she could be nothing more to him than his dutiful secretary.

Tired of swimming through dates and relationships that, even with effort, never felt fulfilling.

She looked up at him, the man she had spent endless hours working for, hours that seemed to pass in a blink. The man marked by scars, both physical and psychological. The ruthless wolf who ruled a company he never truly wanted, yet refused to let go of. The man who, in the deepest corner of his mind -even if he never admitted it- wanted to be seen by his father.

The man she had learned to read so many years ago, whose moods, silences, and tells she knew by heart.

The man she couldn’t stop caring for because no one else did. Not even himself.

The man she was in love with.

And she couldn’t deny him.

"You are not the only one who feels all of those things," she heard herself say, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She averted her gaze quickly, suddenly aware of the distant noise of voices and clinking glasses behind them. But before she could step away, he leaned in, still caging her against the balcony railing.

Bucky turned his head slightly, scanning their surroundings. There was no one. And fuck if he cared if there was.

His intense gaze snapped back to hers. "Do you mean it?" His voice was low, almost rough. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply and took a fraction of a step back, and his hands ghosted over her arms as if forcing himself to give her space. "Aren’t you feeling pressured right now? By my position? By our… dynamic?"

She scoffed, shaking her head, "You know me well enough to know I don’t let myself be pressured. I think my first week under you made that clear."

A dry chuckle left his lips. "God. You dared to lecture me about not being a servant just for asking for a coffee."

Her lips parted in disbelief. "Oh, don’t you dare play the victim here," she shot back, jabbing a finger lightly against his chest. "You barked at me to walk eight blocks in those fucking heels just because you wanted that petroleum filth they called gourmet espresso. You had five excellent coffee shops between here and there, but no, you had to have that one, which charged you double for dirty water."

Bucky let out a low, amused hum, catching her hand before she could retreat. His grip was firm but soft, and his thumb glided absentmindedly over her knuckles. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

"I thought of firing you on the spot," he admitted, almost reflectively.

Her brows lifted. "Oh, how gracious of you not to."

His smirk deepened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his other hand, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb.

"But then I realized," he murmured, tilting his head, "I got so fucking turned on when you didn’t cower and spoke your mind."

Her breath caught as his fingers slid back, cupping lightly the base of her neck.

"It’s so goddamn rare," he continued, dipping his voice into something huskier, "to find someone in these circles who actually says what they mean. Who doesn’t just… bend."

His grip tightened at the back of her head, and his fingers fisted in her hair, undoing part of her hairstyle as he tugged just enough to tilt her face up toward his. His pupils were blown wide, dark and consuming, the pale blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the heat behind them.

"But I'd be lying," he murmured, as his breath brushed against her lips, "if I said I haven’t thought about bending you in other… more pleasurable ways."

A tingle ran down her spine, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The heat rushed to her face, completely unaccustomed to this side of him, this raw, unveiled hunger. The daily life they shared, the comfort they had built over years of working side by side, had nothing to do with the way he looked at her now.

Like a predator.

A handsome, fucked-up predator, ready to consume her whole.

And she was going to let him.

Far in the back of her mind, the worries of what this would mean, of the implications of crossing this line, of the scandal and gossip if anyone found them like this, all of it faded into irrelevance. The only thing that mattered was the way his fingers tightened in her hair, the way his body crowded hers against the railing, and the way his gaze locked her in place like she was something he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers.

She tried to feign a little nonchalance. "Is this your pickup line for fancy cocktail parties? Telling a lady you want to bend her?"

His low chuckle rumbled against her, his amusement laced with something far more dangerous. He didn’t pull away when she tried to call him out. No, he attacked.

"Oh, I think this lady enjoyed it very much," he murmured, brushing the shell of her ear with his lips, his voice thick with satisfaction. "The way she squirms under my gaze tells me everything I need to know."

The warmth of his breath made her shiver as his manicured stubble grazed her cheek, rough against the softness of her skin. Strands of his loosened hair tickled under her chin as he slowly turned his face, skimming his lips over hers, just the ghost of a touch, but it set her entire body on fire. Without thinking, she pressed the softest peck to the corner of his mouth.

And that was all it took.

He let go.

To hell with the party. To hell with his father, the endless charade of appearances, and whoever might walk through those balcony doors.

His other hand fisted the fabric at her lower back, yanking her against him as his lips crashed onto hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, deep, possessive, and unrelenting. His expensive suit wrinkled under her desperate grasp as her fingers clawed at his lapels.

Her purse tumbled from her shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when Bucky was pressing her against the railing, caging her in, one large hand tightening its grip on her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted.

He kissed her like he was trying to ruin her for anyone else. Like he was sealing something between them, something untold but inevitable. His tongue parted her lips and swallowed the soft gasp that escaped her own.

Her knees weakened, but he was there, securing his grip as if daring gravity to try and take her from him. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated against her mouth as she arched into him, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Without even thinking, he pressed a thick thigh between hers, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips.

Bucky felt it, her body’s reaction, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers tightened their hold on him. His grip on her waist grew firmer, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to make sure she felt him everywhere.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, his lips barely leaving hers as he spoke. "I can feel how much you want this."

His thigh flexed, pressing up against her just right, and she bit down a whimper, tilting back her head against the railing. Bucky took advantage, latching his mouth onto her exposed throat, scraping over the delicate skin with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

Her hands fisted his suit, wrinkling the pristine fabric even further, but he couldn’t care less. Not when she was trembling against him, not when she was letting him take control, letting him push, pull, and claim in ways neither of them had dared to acknowledge before tonight.

His breath was uneven when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide, hunger and something far more dangerous swirling in that stormy blue. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he growled, his grip constricting on her waist as if he might just drag her away.

For a moment, she teetered on the edge of saying yes, of letting him whisk her away and finish what they started. But then reality seeped in: the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation just beyond the balcony doors, the weight of eyes that could turn at any moment.

She swallowed hard, forcing her hands to press against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. “We… we can’t.”

“Like hell we don’t,” he countered, as he dragged his thigh between hers again. The friction made her bite her lip, shifting her hips instinctively toward him, betraying her resolve.

“Don’t be a brat,” she murmured. “You’re here to make connections, to pretend you give a damn about these people. Not to mention your father’s just waiting for you to slip.”

“I don’t give a fuck-”

“Bucky.” She exhaled, calming herself. “This is good for you. A couple of hours, and then we can go.”

His exhalation was sharp, and his grip faltered for just a second before his forehead came to rest against hers. He felt dejected. She let her fingers trail down his lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles she had put there.

“Honey,” she murmured, softer now, “I want this as much as you do.”

His lips parted, ready to argue, but she pressed a finger to them, shaking her head. “No. You told me you wanted me on this trip as a buffer, to help figure out who you can be a dick to and who you can’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Maybe I just wanted you close.”

Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. Instead, she dragged her hands down his arms, squeezing his wrists before stepping back just enough to force some distance. “Shush. I’m doing what I’m supposed to.” She smirked, playful now, tilting her head. “Don’t be stubborn. Be a good boy and talk to those people. We have plenty of time for ourselves once this ends.”

His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought he might argue. But then, with one last lingering touch along her waist, he huffed a quiet curse and pulled away.

She was right. He knew she was right. But seeing her all disheveled against the railing, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in uneven little gasps, none of it helped his restraint.

Which was exactly why, instead of stepping back into the party like a man with self-control, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward a darker corner of the balcony.

“Bucky! What-”

She barely had time to protest before her back met the cool stone wall, and his body caged hers in, shielding her from view.

“I’m being a good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You failed to perceive how you -and probably I- look right now.” His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, tilting her chin up, and his eyes swept over her face and down her neck, to where her dress was slightly askew from his hands. “We can’t walk back in there looking like two horny teenagers who made out while the adults were talking,” he said, ghosting his lips over her temple, in a teasing but firm tone.

She swallowed, barely suppressing a shiver as his hands roamed her body, smoothing over the wrinkles in her dress and fixing his own tie with a frustrated sigh.

“And whose fault is that?” she muttered, smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket before reaching lower to straighten the part of his shirt that had somehow come untucked during their little ordeal.

Bucky chuckled, watching her fuss over him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare throw this on me when we both know you were pretty damn excited a minute ago,” he teased.

Her hands stilled, lips parting in protest, only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as one of his hands abandoned its pretense of decorum and slid down to cup her ass, squeezing with deliberate firmness.

She yelped, smacking his chest, but his smirk only widened.

“Now stop being so bossy and help us look mildly demure,” he murmured, all mock innocence, though the way his hand rubbed slowly at her rear said otherwise.

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she batted his hand away, not that it did much, considering he was still crowding her against the wall like he had every intention of misbehaving again, and his scent clung to her like a second skin.

“Demure? After what you just pulled?” she scoffed, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles on her dress. “The nerve you have,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair, trying futilely to regain some composure.

Bucky chuckled, slow and smug, brushing a thumb across his lower lip as he watched her. “And yet, you let me and enjoyed it. And… you’re still here,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

She exhaled, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “For now.”

His eyes darkened, and his amusement flickered into something deeper as he leaned in, fanning his warm breath against her temple. “For good.”

Taglist: @civilbucky

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune