#he’s just realizing: ‘’oh. i made this. i MADE this’’

[lovebugism]

✶ — DON'T WORRY, BABY !

summary: you and johnny are tasked with babysitting franklin for the evening, and it comes with a lot more revelations than either of you expected. (6.8k words)

pairing: johnny storm / f!reader

contents: established relationship, domestic bliss, lots of fluff, cw for swearing, mentions of having children, smut 18+ ft. fem receiving oral, dirty talk, slightly dom!johnny but also sub!johnny because obviously, breeding kink, unprotected sex, mdni!!

Johnny Storm best describes himself in tenses: previous most eligible bachelor on earth, current protector of the universe, future father to your children. He makes the stubborn argument that it can’t be arrogant if it’s a statement of fact, which he’d made abundantly clear the day you met.

“Future husband, huh?” you echoed beneath the pulsing bass of the discotheque. The Doors blared overhead, making it virtually impossible to hear anything that wasn’t shouted directly into your ear. You used that as an excuse to stay close to the pretty stranger, who’d only just introduced himself to you — “Hi, I’m Johnny Storm,” he grinned and shook your hand. “I’m the man you’re gonna marry.”

Smoke billowed from your mouth as you smiled up at the blonde boy, bathed in flickering neon hues. “And what makes you so sure, Johnny Storm?”

“I can see the future,” he quipped and plucked the cigarette from your fingertips.

“Oh, yeah?” you lilted. The boy nodded wordlessly in response, cheeks hollow around the stick as he took a brief hit from it. He fought back a cough, and your smokey eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Alright, then, Johnny Storm… What happens next?”

“I follow you into that crowd,” he answered, pink mouth curled into a shy, lopsided smile. “And I actually start to believe in love at first sight.”

Your fingers brushed when he passed back the cigarette. His hands were made of softer stuff than most men his age, smoother than silk and warmer than velvet. A primal part of your brain instinctively concocted a plan to touch him again.

“And what about me?” you asked and took a lengthy drag.

“You let me take a taxi with you back to your place at the end of the night… You don’t let me in, but you do tell me to meet you for coffee the next morning.”

“Did future me happen to mention Dolly’s Diner?”

“She did, actually,” Johnny nodded with wide ocean eyes, rainbow lights shining in his flaxen locks like a neon halo. He crossed his strong arms over his chest, and his biceps strained against the jacket sleeves. “She specifically mentioned Dolly’s Diner at 8 a.m.—”

“Nine,” you corrected with a knowing half-smile.

“Nine.”

“Well, then, Johnny Storm… I guess we’ll see.”

You handed the stranger the dwindling cig as you walked past him. He didn’t try to stop you when you headed towards the light-up dance floor, where all your friends waited for you on the other side. You made it to the very edge of the flashing neon squares before you turned to look at him over your shoulder. He lingered in place with the half-gone cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, pretty features twisted in a puppy-like pout.

“Well, future-boy?” you called to him. “You comin’ or what?”

Johnny Storm, you soon realized, was a lot of things. Confident, chaotic, and occasionally hotheaded — but a liar wasn’t one of them. His brazen introduction as your future husband wasn’t just a clumsy way of flirting with you, but a promise. And, somewhere down the line, you became Mrs. Storm; and Johnny was the smug sonofabitch who accidentally told the future.

Sometimes, he worries that he may possess certain powers beyond the pyrogenesis kind. That something deep in his brain can actually predict the future, and did somehow manipulate you into falling in love with him that night. As far as he’s concerned, it’s the only plausible reason for your being here.

How else could he have gotten you to wear his ring on your finger? Or sleep in the noisy headquarters of Manhattan that he also shares with the rest of his superpowered family? Or be excited about spending the night babysitting his nephew, over the billion other (arguably more interesting) things you could be doing?

Johnny met you as a party girl in a small dress and go-go boots, full of smiles and wit and cunning. You’re all of those things still, but also his wife. So, yeah, either he is far more powerful than he realizes, or he’s just too lucky for his own damn good.

As Sue and Reed exit their shared bedroom, having finally traded their baggy, milk-stained sweats for fancier dinnerwear, Johnny looks down and realizes you’re wearing those same boots from that night. The white vinyl of them zips up to your mid-calf; the platform heel is slightly worn from constant use. You’ve paired them this time with a patent matching skirt and a black turtleneck — still the same girl from all those years ago, just a little more mature and a lot more loved by him.

Reed’s voice knocks Johnny out of his own head. He shrugs on a pin-striped suit jacket and rambles, “The number to the restaurant and the hotel is on the fridge. Call there if you need anything, alright? I mean it. Anything—”

“Anything,” Johnny echoes with a nod from where he sits between you and Franklin at the dining table.

He digs a pale fist into the box of Lucky Charms in his lap and shoves a handful of dry cereal into his mouth. He exhibits the same sort of gracelessness Franklin does in his high chair, mashing at the chopped banana before him rather than actually eating it.

“Not unless there’s an emergency, obviously,” Sue corrects, half-distracted, with her hands beneath her platinum locks to clasp her necklace. She pairs her mid-length, boatneck dress with the silver F pendant she wears in honor of her baby boy. “If he gets really fussy and nothing can calm him down, just try playing the Beach Boys— He loves that.”

“You know where we keep the breast milk, right?” Reed wonders aloud, anxious hands struggling with his cufflinks. Johnny nods, but the man answers himself anyway. “They’re in packets in the freezer, so just heat ‘em up if he gets hungry. They’re in the exact right amounts, okay? I made sure of that, so make sure you only use one—”

Sue sweeps in then, fastening his silver cuffs for him with steadier hands. “We already fed and changed him, so he should be good to go until tonight.”

Reed flashes a pair of pleading brown eyes over his wife’s shoulder, brows pinched in a pained sort of look. “I’d prefer if you’d just call, though. Every hour on the hour, ideally. Just so I know he’s okay.”

Sue’s icy gaze hardens playfully over her shoulder at the two of you. “Absolutely do not do that,” she instructs with an amused smile.

Johnny blinks like an owl, ocean eyes darting between his older sister and her husband, who he’s only just starting to care for. “I… Don’t know who I’m supposed to listen to.”

“Me,” Sue and Reed respond simultaneously.

“It’s Sue,” Ben answers as he stomps across the kitchen, in a pair of khakis he’s paired with a navy sweater vest and a matching baseball cap. (Ms. Rozman complimented the outfit once, and he never quite let it go.) “It’s always Sue.”

He chuckles at the half-hearted glare he gets from Reed and presses the button for the elevator with a large, calloused finger. The doors ding, and he steps inside — broad shoulders taking up the majority of the narrow space.

“Dinner’s on the stove, kids,” Ben tells you and Johnny as he hits the switch for the bottom floor.

“Thanks, Benny!” you call to him when the doors of the lift start to shut.

He shouts back, “Don’t forget!”

Reed and Sue share a quiet look then. “Ready?” he murmurs quietly to her. The older woman takes a deep breath in and nods wordlessly. They’ve saved the world together a thousand times over, yet you don’t think you’ve seen them look as worried as they are right now.

“We’ll call if there’s an emergency. I promise,” you assure them. “But there won’t be because Franklin is, quite literally, the perfect baby.”

The boy babbles in his high chair next to Johnny, utterly enraptured in his smushed bananas. He reaches across his uncle and out towards you with a tiny arm, offering you the piece of fruit enclosed in his chubby fist.

“For me?” you lilt in a small voice. “Thank you, Frankie…”

You lean down towards him and pretend to eat it. You make a quiet num, num, num sound that makes Franklin grin with all of his two bottom teeth.

Johnny’s pink lips curl into an absentminded smile as he watches you with his nephew, always so effortless in the way you care for him, like you were made to do it.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure between the two of us and the Beach Boys, we can handle it,” Johnny shrugs, then flashes you a blue, button-eyed look. “Right?”

You nod once with a tight-lipped smile. “Right.”

Reed and Sue leave with a smacking kiss pressed to their son’s chubby cheeks. They enter the elevator side by side and press the button for the main floor. “Try not to burn the place down while we’re gone,” Reed begs, only partly joking.

Sue smiles with an arched brow. “Literally.”

The double doors of the lift close before them.

Only when the parents are out of sight do you and Johnny exhale the pair of wavering breaths you didn’t even know you were holding. Franklin continues his babbling, playing with the mashed bananas on his high-chair table, while the two of you share semi-anxious looks.

“We can handle this, right?” Johnny wonders aloud, itching for an ounce of reassurance.

The two of you have looked after Franklin a thousand times before, during bathroom breaks and grocery trips and ninety-minute children’s movies, but never for a whole night. And never without Ben Grimm, the usual designated babysitter, more than one story away.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “We’ve done it before, kind of… What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, you soon realize, is everything.

And it happens far sooner than you expect.

You and Johnny lay Baby Franklin down for tummy time and get immediately enraptured in watching the boy experience the world on his stomach. So much so that you completely disregard the pasta Ben left simmering for you on the stove, which he blatantly told you not to forget.

The blonde boy sniffs once. “Do you smell smoke?” he asks.

“I think that’s just you, fire-boy,” you scoff.

Then the smoke alarm blares. The beep, beep, beeping is faint and faraway, but it startles Franklin nonetheless. The boy screams — a loud, teary, and grating scream — that’s a whole lot louder than the siren that had scared him to begin with.

While you rush to the kitchen to remove the smoking pan from the hot stove, Johnny scoops up his disgruntled nephew and brings him to his chest. He tries to soothe Franklin with one hand and start the record player with the other. With careful work, the Beach Boys crackle suddenly to life.

“—For I have the warmth of the sun…” the speaker croons. “Within me at night…”

It does little to quell Franklin’s screaming, despite his sister’s past assurance that it would. It’s entirely likely that he can’t hear the music over his pained shrieking, which pierces Johnny like a knife to the chest just now.

The blonde boy paces the length of the living room, bouncing the crying kid in his arms. Tears stream down his round, red cheeks in fat droplets that leave a dark stain on Johnny’s white t-shirt.

“Why isn’t it working?” Johnny strains through gritted teeth, hardly audible over the music and the subsequent screaming.

“It’s probably not the right song,” you answer, running past him in a flash and ducking for Ben’s record player. The record scratches faintly when you lift the needle from the vinyl.

“Not the right song?” he echoes incredulously, blinking at you with a pair of wide cerulean eyes. “He’s five months old, babe— He’s barely sentient. He can’t have a favorite song—”

You shift the arm slightly before setting it back in place. The needle hits the grooves of the record with a faint hiss. The music resumes again. “—Something’s bound to go wrong… But she looks in my eyes… And makes me realize…”

Franklin’s cries quieten instantly at the familiar music. He seems to forget, in that instance, what he’d been crying about in the first place. His pink mouth juts in a dramatic pout as he blinks up at his uncle with a pair of big, wet eyes.

Johnny grins down at him.

“Oh… Is that it? Huh?” the blonde boy coos, swaying the baby in his strong arms. He runs a wide palm up the length of his small back, and Franklin lets out a quiet hum of contentment. “You have a favorite song after all, don’t ya?”

The baby lets out a series of unintelligible babbles as you migrate to Johnny’s side. You rest your head on the boy’s broad shoulder, chest pressed to the outside of his bicep, while you run a gentle hand over the back of Franklin’s head. His still-growing tuft of dark chocolate curls is softer than cotton against your palm.

Franklin grins wide despite the tears still clinging to his round cheeks. Two tiny teeth poke from his bottom gums while his mouth opens and closes in unpracticed motions. He hums faint gibberish that you can’t quite understand, though it’s strangely in time with the crooning from the record player behind him.

“—Everything will turn out alright… Don’t worry, baby…”

It makes you laugh. “Are you singing, silly boy?”

Franklin’s babbling grows in volume at the acknowledgment.

He jerks in his uncle’s hold, tiny limbs failing with an excitement too big for his body. He reaches towards Johnny’s face, for the short flaxen strands just behind his ear. He wrenches the hair there into a tiny, unforgiving fist, and Johnny lets him. This raucous excitement is a lot easier on his heart than the screaming from before.

“Screw superpowers,” Johnny laughs, grimacing slightly when Franklin gives the strands a particularly hard tug. “We’ve got the next Beach Boy on our hands.”

His blue eyes glint with mirth when he turns his head to face you. The tip of his nose nearly grazes yours at the dwindling proximity between you. He kisses you instinctively then, pressing his smiling lips to yours in a chaste kiss.

Johnny’s eyes flutter shut. His long lashes dance over the tops of his flushed cheeks. In that fleeting moment, he feels a strange jerking at his chest.

The stars just beginning to speckle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows seem to align in that very instance. With you pressed so ardently to his side, and with Franklin still squirming in his hold, he feels a strange sense of nostalgia that he knows he shouldn’t. It’s strikingly familiar to him, but foreign all the same.

He gets a faint glimpse of his future then — of you and him and a baby, his baby — that he grieves when you pull suddenly away from him.

“You okay?” you murmur at the pinched look on the boy’s pretty face.

Johnny nods, still swaying softly with Franklin against his chest. “I think I just saw the future…” he tells you, playfully solemn as his brows raise to his hairline.

“Oh, yeah?” you hum, caging your bottom lip between your teeth in a feeble attempt to hide your smile.

“Mhm… And if I’m right, which let’s be real, I am right,” the blonde boy quips, only halfway joking. “Then… I’m gonna give you a baby.”

You meet his knowing grin with a deadpanned look. “Like, you’re gonna steal one off the street, or…?’

“I was thinking maybe we just kidnap Franklin or something,” he shrugs.

“Oh. Totally,” you hum with a slow nod. “I’m sure that won’t have any repercussions at all.”

Your gaze glitters with amusement despite the faux-serious look on your face. You couldn’t hide the way you feel for Johnny if you tried. You seem to carry all your love for him in your eyes. You think you always have. And Johnny sees it, too.

“I mean it, though,” he tells you. “I can see the future you, you know?”

“Oh, trust me,” you scoff. “I know.”

“So just… Prepare to have a baby soon.”

“How soon?”

When Johnny’s pink lips curl into a cheeky half-smile, you know he’s up to no good. He cradles Franklin’s bottom with one palm and smooths the other over the baby’s profile, cupping one ear and pinning the other to his chest.

“Tonight, if I’m lucky,” he quips in a low whisper.

Your face screws, and he laughs.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Franklin, now perfectly content, squirms like a wild little thing in your lap. With his chubby fist in his gummy mouth, he gapes incredulously at the black-and-white television across the room. As his aunt, you felt it was your duty to start him on chick-flicks while he’s still young. Tonight’s choice being Roman Holiday. He’s as enthralled by the moving picture as any baby would be, so you consider it a job well done.

You hold him carefully by the waist while he bounces up and down on your thighs. “Can you say Gregory Peck?” you coo in the baby’s ear, who responds with his own sort of gibberish. You repeat, slower this time, “Greg-ory… Peck…?”

Johnny laughs from where he stands in the kitchen.

The apartment has gone slowly dim with the late evening, lit only by rogue lamplight and the flickering television. He can just barely see your profiles from here, across the expansive apartment, where you and Frankie cuddle in the conversation pit.

“You are aware the kid’s basically a future genius, right?” Johnny laughs with a frozen pack of breast milk in hand. His palm glows a faint red color as the milk turns slowly into liquid. He pours the freshly warmed drink into a glass bottle and continues, “So if his first words turn out to be my sister’s first ever crush, Reed’ll have an actual aneurysm.”

“Sue and I are colluding to get Franklin to say ‘momma’ first, actually. And he’s almost got it, don’t ya, Frankie?” You grunt quietly as you spin the heavy baby in your hold. You grin instinctively when he faces you. “Can you say momma?” you coo to him. “Mom-ma?”

Franklin just babbles to himself, ‘cause he can’t seem to make the m sound quite yet. He just drools onto his onesie instead. You’re wiping the dribble from his chin with his bib when Johnny returns with the bottle.

“Here ya go,” the boy lilts.

“Thank you, honey—” you say, huffing as you shift Franklin in your arms once more. You cradle him in your lap and contort your limbs to check the temperature of the milk on your wrist.

Johnny’s face contorts in offense. He props his hands on his slim waist and frowns. “I tested it already, babe. It’s not hot.”

You look at the boy over your shoulder, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint. “You tested it on your skin?” you deadpan.

The blonde boy nods in response.

“Which has been known to be actively set on fire from time to time?”

Johnny thinks to himself for a moment, lips jutted and blue eyes flitted towards the ceiling.

“Exactly,” you giggle and turn away with the roll of your eyes.

Franklin grabs the bottle in a pair of strangely aggressive hands but still struggles to hold it on his own. You keep it propped up for him while he scarfs down his dinner. Johnny, meanwhile, descends the steps of the conversation pit and plops onto the plush sofa beside you. He sits with his legs spread and his arm thrown along the back of it. You melt instantly into his warmth.

While Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck slow dance to an unfamiliar song on the small, staticky screen across the way, Johnny feels a strange tugging at his chest.

“You know…” he starts with a sigh, cheek squished into your hair. “I think I could do this every day.”

“Watch Franklin?” you respond, half-distracted.

“Well, yeah, but… I mean, if we had our own kid, you know? I think we could do it.”

You turn your head slowly, half-expecting to find him wearing a cheeky sort of grin. Instead, you see something strangely sincere swimming in his round, ocean eyes as they flit back and forth between yours.

A laugh sputters from your lips before you can help it. “You haven’t even changed any diapers yet, Johnny—”

“I have!” he argues, wearing a pout that resembles his nephew’s.

“Or lost out on sleep for days because of sleep regression. Or because the baby’s gassy. Or colic—”

“I’m just saying we could handle it. That’s all,” Johnny shrugs with a shy smile. “There’s no one else I’d rather lose sleep with. Or change diapers with… Or clean up baby puke with.”

You falter for a moment.

It’s a more mature admission of love than you think you were expecting.

When Johnny approached you that sacred night in the smoky, neon dance hall — with the bold assurance that he would some day marry you — you figured you were just the prettiest, glittering thing that caught his eye. And you were okay with that, even more so when he started to love you for real. Far more than either of you was expecting.

Then you got married, and life got a little bigger. The laundry day, joint taxes, and choosing whose TV show gets watched on Wednesday nights, kind of bigger. Somewhere therein, you started to realize what it truly meant to love someone.

Love wasn’t always the prettiest glittering thing. Sometimes love was ugly. And that’s when it was best.

“How romantic…” you deadpan in response, lest you give away the warmth surging in your chest. But then you lean in to kiss him, chaste but lingering still, and Johnny feels all of it anyway.

He takes the empty bottle from Franklin’s tiny hands a moment later. You bring the boy to your chest, patting softly at his back for a few minutes more until his body jerks with a small hiccup. Johnny then laughs at the screwed look of concentration on his tiny features.

“What’s that face for, huh?” the blonde boy chuckles.

He inhales once and answers his own question.

The two of you wear similar looks of vague disgust at the baby’s obviously full diaper. You pass the full-bellied boy off to his uncle. “Here you go…” you mutter, half-strained as you hold your breath.

“Oh, god…” Johnny huffs in response, keeping Franklin at arm’s length as he rushes down the hall and towards the nursery. He hears your pretty laughter following him as he goes.

“I owe you one!”

Franklin’s nursery overlooks the Manhattan city skyline. The floor-to-ceiling window makes stars out of the yellow-lit buildings sparkling outside, like a personal nightlight for the sleeping baby.

You lean against the door frame while Johnny rocks his nephew in his arms. Your eyes follow his towering shadow as he paces the length of the dim, lamplight room. Franklin whines, trying hopelessly to fight his much-needed slumber. His attempts prove to be fruitless, though, when his uncle starts to sing.

“She told me, ‘Baby, when you race today, just take along my love with you…’” Johnny croons quietly, voice low and only slightly off-key. “‘And if you knew how much I love you, baby, nothing could go wrong with you…’”

Franklin doesn’t last long like that — not pressed to his uncle’s warm chest, swaying gently in his strong arms, listening to his most favorite song. Sleep lulls finally over him no more than a few minutes later, and Johnny makes the transfer into his crib with ease.

Franklin doesn’t move an inch when you slink out of the room with the baby monitor in tow. Johnny shuts the creaking door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar and exhaling a relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding.

You stand facing each other in the dim hallway, lit only by the kitchen light down the way. Half of your face is softened with dark shadows as you smile up at the boy. “You’re a real natural, you know that?”

“You are, too…” Johnny grins, pulling you closer by the belt loops of your skirt. Even in the dark, you can see the amused glimmer in his light eyes. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” he murmurs quietly.

The bridge of your nose scrunches in response. “That it’s really late, and we should probably eat something before we starve to death?”

The non-answer only makes him smile wider.

“Yeah, I think I could go for something to eat…” His voice trails as he ducks down for your neck. He presses a warm, wet kiss just over your pulse. Your knees threaten to buckle underneath you when his tongue darts out to taste the skin there.

“Johnny?” you sigh, eyes fluttered shut.

“Mhm?” he hums into your skin.

“You… are incorrigible—”

You push him away with a pair of half-hearted hands against his chest. Johnny wraps his fingers around your wrists to pull you gently back into him, anyway. His pink lips are noticeably rosier and slick with his spit when he asks, “How about we compromise, hm? I make you something to eat— without burning it this time, hopefully— and then you give me something to eat, too.”

You meet his smug grin with squinted eyes. “We’re supposed to be watching your nephew, Johnny—”

“He’s your nephew, too, you know? And he’s passed out until morning… The others won’t be back ’til then anyway, so…” He trails off with his brows raised in a playful look. “You owe me one, remember?”

You give in far quicker than Johnny expects.

“Well, then you better get to cookin’, fire-boy,” you monotone, poking him hard in the chest. “’Cause I’m not doing anything on an empty stomach.”

Johnny abides without question. It’s in his nature to obey you, and to keep you full — all in more ways than one.

So it’s only right that you keep your promise, too.

You christen the guest room on the Richards’ hall. Johnny tells you that Sue and Reed wouldn’t mind — that they’d much rather prefer it if you stayed on the same floor as Franklin, rather than a story above where your bedroom sits. You lie in the center of the foreign king-sized bed, as half-naked as the boy above you, while Johnny kisses down your body.

“I think they’d prefer it if we kept our hands to ourselves, actually,” you correct with a pretty laugh, staring down your body at the boy disappearing beneath the covers.

You run your fingers through his short, blonde locks when he presses a searing, wet kiss to your bare stomach. His warm fingers curl under the hem of your panties, sliding them slowly to the side.

“I mean, you are capable of that, aren’t you?”

Johnny’s mouth drools at the sight of your similarly weeping cunt, made of silk and honey. He looks at you from beneath his long lashes, blue eyes dark and dilated with lust. “Do you want me to be?” he murmurs lowly.

The warm breath of his whisper fans across your pussy. It clenches around nothing accordingly, waiting and pleading for his mouth.

You roll your eyes at him despite all that. “Get to work, fire-boy—”

His mouth latches immediately to your cunt. Your quip dissolves into a pitiful whimper when his tongue lolls over your clit. You keep one hand curled in his hair and the other gripping desperately at the silk sheets, trying fruitlessly to keep yourself tethered while Johnny sucks the sin from your body.

He kisses your pussy the way he would your mouth, tongue sloppy and languid against you. He makes a total mess of your thighs and his mouth and the bed sheets below you. His fingertips dig bruises into the plush skin as he laps at you, savoring the honey you leak for him.

He works until his jaw aches, until his neck burns from the harsh angle, until he feels your thighs trembling on either side of his face.

“I’m gonna cum” you squeak suddenly above him. Beneath his low grunts, which send gentle vibrations to your swollen clit, he hears you exhale pretty little whimpers for him. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna cum—”

Johnny makes no mention of how quickly your orgasm finds you. There is no snide remark or smug brag from the silver-tongued boy. His lips just curl into a proud smile against the velvety lips of your cunt, right before his mouth wraps around your sensitive button. He sucks mercilessly there until your hips buck off the bed — until your pulsing hole drools for him and a choked-back scream rises and dies in your throat.

He kisses away the remains of your orgasm until you’re pushing him away. Then he rises to his knees above you — cheeks flushed, lips rosy, chin shining with your cum. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans down over you, blue eyes lidded and glazed over.

“God, baby, I need to fuck you,” he slurs in a low murmur.

You smile deliriously at the ceiling when his mouth locks on your pulse point. His teeth graze over the skin there while you curl your arms around his neck. “Watching me with a baby got you this worked up, huh?” you tease — though judging by the swiftness of your previous orgasm, you’re hardly in a position to talk.

“You get me worked up all the time,” Johnny mumbles into your skin, before dragging his tongue over the bite mark blooming on your neck. “You’re gonna be the death of me at this rate—”

You hardly get a breath in before Johnny’s kissing the air from your lungs, licking fervently into your parted mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, a foreign sort of salty-sweetness stained on his lips. With his elbows propped on either side of your head, he cages you beneath the weight of his hungry mouth and golden body. Your nails dig into his freckled shoulders to pull him impossibly closer.

He grumbles a dramatic groan of disappointment against you a second later. Your swollen, spit-slick mouths part with a quiet smack.

“Shit…” Johnny huffs. “I left my wallet in the living room—”

Your legs wrap around his slim waist when he threatens to roll off of you. His pinched look of confusion is met with your devilish grin.

“I— I gotta get a condom, babe…” he stammers.

“You can’t exactly fuck a baby into me with a condom on, can you, Johnny?” you lilt with an air of feigned innocence, fingers twirling at the blonde curls at the nape of his neck.

Johnny huffs, like your words have physically knocked the breath out of him. He exhales hard through his nose as his lips quirk into a love-drunk smile. “See what I mean? You’re gonna kill me, baby—”

He’s kissing you again before he can properly get the words out, fueled with a primal sort of hunger that makes not touching your borderline unbearable.

It’s all tongue and teeth. Sloppy and nothing short of ravenous. He bothers not to drag his underwear down his legs, lest he have to part from you for more than a moment. Instead, he tucks the hem of them under his balls before jerking his stiff cock in his fist.

“Want this?” Johnny pants against your mouth. “Want me to fuck you?”

You nod wordlessly, throwing your head back when he drags the weeping, strawberry tip of his cock over your glimmering pussy.

He smiles crookedly down at you as he presses, “Need to hear you say it, baby, c’mon.”

“Fuck me, Johnny,” you plead in a breathless whisper, head back and eyes shut. “Fuck me, Johnny, please—”

And Johnny does what he always does. He obeys you without question, sliding within the velvety walls of your shuddering cunt with a practiced sort of precision.

You share sharply inhaled breaths when he’s sheathed fully inside of you — balls pressed to your ass, coarse thatch of hair above his cock grating your soft clit. His thrusts are painfully languid, and measured in a way that drives you wild.

“Please, go faster,” you beg against the shell of his ear. “Please. I need it…”

He shushes you gently. “Just let me make you feel good, baby…” he slurs into your neck. “Let me hit that spot…”

He rocks his hips, tilting them slowly forward until he hits somewhere deep inside of you. Only when you make a pretty noise for him does he creep back out again. He never pulls all the way out of you, just keeps your hips caged beneath his own until the pressure on your clit makes you keen.

You wrap your legs around his hips with a choked-back whimper, heels crossed and digging into the base of his spine. Your cunt suckles him further inside as the angle shifts. Johnny grumbles a moan into your neck.

“Oh, yeah— There you go…” Johnny praises, tucking his fingers into the curve of your waist as he sits back on his haunches.

His golden wedding band presses against your burning skin and glitters in the low lamplight. Yours does the same, small diamond glinting where you fist at the silk sheets.

The measured, unhurried rocking of his hips never ceases. A feeble whine sounds in your throat. His praise makes you as dizzy as his cock, and he knows it. “Yeah? You like that?” Johnny grins.

You nod, hair wild on the pillow.

“What happened to all that mouth you had before, huh?” Johnny pants, smiling deliriously at your fucked-out face. “You don’t have anything else to say? Huh?”

You only moan in response. He knows you don’t have the words to answer him. He knows he’s fucking you far too stupid for any of that.

“No…. You just wanna cum, don’t you? Want me to fuck a baby into you?” Johnny continues to tease despite his own breathlessness. You nod again, pussy fluttering around his twitching cock. He has to remind himself to breathe. “Then cum for me.”

The thread at the pit of your stomach snaps at his permission. Your body tenses underneath him — legs trembling around his hips, nails digging crescent shapes in his shoulders. There’s a fleeting moment of numbness when your cunt clenches tightly around him. It ebbs into a more blinding, white-hot pleasure a second later when you cum for him, leaking around his cock and onto the bed sheets below you.

Johnny’s not far behind.

You watch his orgasm roll over him through fluttering lashes. His jaw clenches, his neck tenses, his flushed chest heaves with heavy breaths.

He always talks a big game when he gets you all sweet and pliable underneath him. He likes to play dominant from time to time, likes the rare moments when he gets to tear you apart. But when his own orgasm crawls up his spine, he loses all of that bawdy confidence from before and leans back over you again.

Johnny cages you beneath his warm weight and the mattress while his thrusts go messy and erratic. He buries each of his pathetic whines and whimpers into your sweat-slick shoulder, babbling a string of nothingness in your ear.

“Fuck, honey. Oh, fuck— I’m gonna cum— Gonna fuck a baby into you— Shit—”

He punches into you once, hard, and then stills suddenly over your body. His cock jerks within your pulsing confines, spitting three ropes of warm cum inside you. Johnny trembles through every single one of them, slow to relax on top of you.

His golden body, radiating with heat and hunger, softens over yours in time with his sensitive cock. You lay like that for several long moments — sweaty bodies twisted in the sheets, pressed and melting together. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of your heavy breaths.

“We’re gonna have to wake up early to wash the sheets before they get back,” you whisper to him, breaking the honeyed silence.

Johnny nods against your shoulder until the words catch up to him. “I know…” he sighs.

He rolls off of your body and dissolves onto the mattress below. You waste little time leaving it, mourning his warmth as you squirm out from under the sheets and out of bed. You disappear into the adjoining bathroom, careful to keep your thighs together on the way there to prevent making a bigger mess than you already have.

You spend a few minutes cleaning yourself up, then return to the dim bedroom to toss Johnny a fresh rag for himself.

He wipe your slick away from his stomach, thighs, and still-sensitive cock, while you drag your panties up your legs. He flashes you a shy smirk across the bedroom and pulls his own underwear back over his hips. “Think it took?”

You shrug and pluck his t-shirt from the floor to drape it over your bare body. It just barely covers your ass. “I don’t know… Maybe.”

Johnny props his weight on his arms, sheets still twisted around his waist. His blonde locks are wild from your fingers as he blinks the remnants of bleary pleasure from his glassy ocean eyes.

“We can always keep trying if it doesn’t. We aren’t in a rush… Right?”

“Yeah…” you hum with a quiet grin, eyes glinting with mischief as you take slow steps his way. Johnny throws his legs over the edge of the bed, and you stand between his scruffy thighs. You drag your palms over his burning chest and hum, “The trying part’s pretty fun, actually…”

“You’re telling me,” he scoffs, obediently lifting his chin when you lean down to kiss him.

Your lips lock in something much more chaste and innocuous than before. Until a cry crackles from the baby monitor on the nightstand, anyway. It’s a garbled sort of whine at first, like Franklin’s just annoyed at having woken himself up. Then it turns into a full-blown wail the second he realizes he’s alone.

Neither of you says a word as you part from each other, leaving the sanctuary of the golden-lit bedroom to tend to the crying baby.

You head straight for the nursery while Johnny migrates to the kitchen. He retrieves another packet of milk from the freezer and heats it in his palm, all in practiced motions. He returns to you and his nephew with a fresh bottle in tow and finds you rocking the fussing boy in your arms.

He can’t shake the feeling that he’s looking at his future in the flesh.

Franklin takes to the bottle immediately when you give it to him, suckling at the milk like it’s the first and last time he’ll ever get to do it. You keep it angled for him with one arm and cradle him in the other. Johnny stands at your side and wraps his strong, golden ones around you. He keeps you pressed to his warmth as he sways you gently back and forth.

“I hope my sister knows she’s never getting this baby back,” he quips with his cheek pressed to your hair. Your giggling fills the dimly lit nursery, and he grins. “I mean it, babe. He’s ours now.”

You turn your head to flash him an amused look, eyes laced with a quiet sort of exhaustion. “You’re crazy, Johnny Storm, you know that?”

“Crazy for you…” he croons before pressing a smacking kiss to your flushed cheek.

Your subsequent laughter paints the lamplit room in flaxen shades of gold. Something about it pierces him deep in the chest. He loves you so much it hurts.

“How am I supposed to ever give this up, huh?”

“Well, we’ll have our own one day, right?” you ask him, smiling reminiscently at a memory that hasn’t yet happened. “We’ll give Franklin a cousin to run around with… And another baby to annoy Ben all the time.”

Johnny laughs at the thought of your baby climbing over the towering man like a jungle gym, the same way Franklin does. You feel the vibration of his chuckling against your arm. “The big softie,” he scoffs.

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth as you look at the blonde boy behind you. Your eyes go all squishy around the edges as they scan over his features, almost like you’re trying to memorize them.

“I hope our baby looks like you…” you confess in a honeyed whisper.

Johnny warms at the sincerity but hisses through his teeth all the same. “Well, now we’re in a dilemma, honey— ‘Cause I want a baby that looks like you. So… Now what?”

You shrug with a sardonic smile. “Guess that means we just have to keep trying until we get one of each, then, huh?” you lilt, all sarcastic and knowing in a way that makes him grin.

“Dammit, you read my mind.”

if you made it this far: thank you, i love you, and i'm giving you the biggest virtual kiss on the forehead right now!!! (▰˘◡˘▰)

[rikirush]

HIII here’s my idea

You let Jake hit raw for the first time except he’s lowkey a loser and he genuinely doesn’t know how to act and he’s blushing a little while acting kind of shy as if your legs aren’t on his shoulders and he’s not the one pounding into you

hey anon, another jake core spotted... the way i had so much fun with this, it might just be one of my favorite works actually. thank you for the request

—

𐙚 ENHYPEN JAKE raw sex

Jake hovered near your bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his cheeks flushed a deep, adorable pink that clashed wildly with the situation. He’d mumbled something about a condom, fingers fumbling nervously with the wrapper, before you’d stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"No," you’d said, your voice surprisingly steady. "Like this. Raw." His eyes had gone wide, swallowing hard. "You sure?" he’d stammered, the condom packet crumpling uselessly in his sweating palm. You’d just pulled him down onto the narrow mattress by his t-shirt, answering him with your mouth.

Now, minutes later, your bare legs were hooked over his shoulders, his thick cock buried deep inside you. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him right there, unprotected.

He was pounding into you, each hard thrust making your body jolt up the mattress. Yet, his expression… it was pure, flustered confusion.

"Oh god," he choked out on a particularly deep drive, his eyes squeezed shut for a second before snapping open. He looked down at where your bodies joined, where his cock was pushing into your pussy, then back up at your face.

His blush deepened, spreading down his neck. "Is… is it… okay?" he stammered. "Am I… does it feel…?" He couldn't even finish the question, trailing off into another helpless groan as his cock throbbed inside you, betraying just how much he was feeling it.

You moaned, arching up to meet his next thrust. "Feels so good, Jake," you breathed. He gasped, his hips stuttering. "Fuck! Yeah?" His voice cracked, high and tight with wonder. He was staring now, transfixed by the sight of himself sinking into you again and again.

He adjusted his grip on your thighs, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin behind your knees. "You’re so… soft," he mumbled, almost to himself, then flinched as if realizing how dumb it sounded while he was actively fucking you raw. He ducked his head, burying his face briefly against your calf. "Sorry," came his muffled voice, vibrating against your skin. "Just… you feel amazing." He lifted his head, meeting your eyes again, looking utterly earnest and completely out of his depth, even as his hips snapped forward, driving himself deep. "Like… really amazing."

The absurdity of it sent a fresh wave of wetness gushing around him. He felt it immediately. "Oh shit," he whispered, awe replacing some of the shyness in his eyes for a moment. "You’re so wet… for me?" The question was hopeful.

"Yes," you gasped, reaching down to touch yourself. Your fingers found your swollen clit. "Because you feel so fucking big inside me like this. All raw." You circled your clit fast.

His eyes followed your hand, glued to the movement. He licked his lips, looking mesmerized and utterly lost. "Big?" he repeated dumbly, a fresh wave of crimson washing over his face. He seemed stunned that he could cause that reaction. He was panting now, short, sharp breaths. "I’m… I’m gonna…" He couldn’t say it, biting his lip hard.

"Do it," you urged, rubbing faster. "Come inside me. Fill me up raw." The words were filthy, deliberate.

His eyes squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in intense concentration mixed with embarrassment. "Okay," he breathed out, sounding almost apologetic. "Okay, fuck…" And then he was coming, hard and sudden. His body locked up over yours. He gasped your name like a prayer. Even lost in his own climax, he looked flustered.

He stayed buried deep inside you for long moments afterwards. Slowly, shakily, he opened his eyes. He looked down at where he was still joined to you, at the mess he’d made leaking out around the base of his softening cock. "Oh," he whispered, the pink in his cheeks deepening impossibly further. "Wow." He looked back up at you, shyness warring. "That was… I mean… did you…?" He trailed off again, unable to articulate it, still panting, still pinned deep inside you by your legs over his shoulders.

[mooningningg]

۶ৎ JJK Men reads thirsty tweets! with suguru.

۶ৎ ningning, i personally think suguru wouldn't be repulsed that much... but he does think we need help and i know his monkey ass ain't talking >:(x

he walks in like he already read them backstage. which, he has. twice.

he’s not mad. he’s not rattled. he’s just… deeply entertained in the same way someone might be watching a neighborhood dog walk around in high heels.

suguru geto folds into the chair with the grace of a man who once burned down an entire village but still offers you tea. his robe’s loose around his shoulders, hair up in that perfectly unbothered bun. one hand rests on the armrest, the other reaches for the first card like he’s about to read your fate.

he smiles. you should be afraid.

tweet #1

@arletteluna: Suguru is so hot I’d let him wrap me around his dih like his hair wraps into a bun.

he raises a brow. slow smile.

“poetic,” he muses, tilting the card toward the camera. “do I get points for structural integrity? symmetry?”

he leans back, hand rubbing his jaw. “...though I’m a little disturbed you’re thinking of my hair when talking about that.” a beat. “you don’t know what I do with it. don’t romanticize the technique.”

tweet #2

@anonymous: I would dip your used panties in hot water and drink it like a tea bag.

he blinks. then actually chuckles. “...impressive.” he glances off-camera. “this one’s anonymous for a reason. that’s a felony somewhere.”

he holds the card up with a smirk. “is it weird I’m more offended about the idea of me wearing panties?” a pause. “also: it’s ‘steep’ the bag. steep. not boil. this is what happens when thirst overrides grammar.”

tweet #3

@4phroditesswan: i wish he’d swallow me up like he does those curses

he closes his eyes. there’s a breath. it’s long.

“ma’am,” he says softly, tone suddenly full of something like weary reverence. “...you do realize I’m devouring entities of pure malice and death, right?”

his gaze lifts. “but you want that?”

he taps the card against his thigh thoughtfully. “...you’re either incredibly brave or desperately horny. maybe both.”

tweet #4

@unadulteratedtranquility: He makes my jaw drop (in preparation)

he snorts. actually snorts. then covers his mouth politely, like he didn’t just let a laugh slip. “...this is the kind of confidence I expect from my followers,” he says, grinning now.

he leans closer to the camera. “just remember to stretch first. I’m not responsible for any dislocations.”

tweet #5

@gojoswaterbottle: Daddy use my face as a trampoline!!!

his smile fades a little. “…I don’t even jump.”

he stares at the card for a few beats, visibly running through the logistics. “is this about… physical impact? or am I missing some sort of metaphor?”

he sighs. “you people have made Gojo too comfortable. I blame him entirely.”

tweet #6

@fushigurozm: oh my gosh breed me and put me into mating presses

he chokes. actually chokes. a low cough, then his head falls back as he laughs, warm and rich and entirely amused. “mating—mating presses?? is that a real position or something your friend made up at 3am?”

he wipes his eye, still chuckling. “and you said it so sweetly. ‘oh my gosh.’” he mimics it in a sing-song voice. “‘oh my gosh, ruin my womb.’”

he shakes his head. “you’re all unhinged.”

tweet #7

@tiasd1ary: i want him to breed me til my walls are so white it looks like our wedding venue 😋😋

he goes still. his mouth parts. his head turns slowly to the crew off-camera. “...that one should’ve been filtered.”

they’re laughing. he is not. “‘so white’? so white it looks like our wedding venue?”

he stares, deadpan. “are you picturing this while planning floral arrangements?”

a sigh, heavy and exhausted. “you know I committed terrorism, right?”

he rubs his temple. “what happened to romance. flowers. long walks. slow degradation of sanity. now it’s just—" he holds the card out, “‘flood me with symbolism.’”

he leans back in the chair, folds his arms. his hair bun hasn’t moved. “well,” he says simply. “you’re all very… passionate.”

he pauses, then smirks again. “incredibly disturbed. but passionate.”

he tilts his head at the camera. “to those who want to be folded, steeped, swallowed, pressed, or bred—get therapy. and also… maybe call me.”

he winks. walks off set. robe trailing. hair immaculate. leaving behind a studio in shambles and a generation rethinking their life choices.

[satrs]

Hooooked!

SYNOPSIS. Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [...PLEASEEE may I request the LADS guys getting so lost in the sauce that they don’t realize that they forgot to put on a condom until it’s too late and then they see the evidence coming out 🫠] ¡! ❞

A/N; MAMA IS BACK! Finallyyyyy got this out now. And yes, did husband!zayne again. I'm a sucker for him sue me. Next up on the list are some more requests I'm working on. Enjoy my sweet darlings mwah <33

TAGS. NSFW /DARK CONTENT! MDNI! unprotected intercourse(duh). implied dubcon/manipulation. püssydrunk guys. size k!nk. breed!ng. dirty talk. nicknames. overstim in xav's. kinda subby/desperate xavier. tipsy!zayne. husband!zayne. Zayne's actually loosing it lmao. mention of kids in Zayne's. tummy buldge. overstim on reader. kinda brattamer!caleb. possesive caleb. praise.

RAFAYEL ★ Pound first, think later. ~ 1.3k

Plap! plap! plap!

There's just a low hum of low, sultry music playing from a speaker in the corner, but even that is drowned out by the slick, obscene sounds of Rafayel's hips slamming into yours.

"Raf—con— nghhh! condom," your gaspy voice catches, half-mangled between the ruthless crush of his mouth on yours, barely getting your words out.

He swallows most of it with a kiss so deep it knocks your breath loose, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue slides back in, wet muscle eagely tangling with yours.

And no, he didn't reach for a condom. Didn't even spare a glance toward the bedside drawer.

He's not even thinking. Not with his head, anyway. Not when every inhale he takes is laced with your sweet addicting scent and every exhale of his a hungry growl against your lips.

He's too far gone. Too drunk on your taste, the slight stutter in your voice, your—

He slips out again— cock slick and twitching against your folds, grinding the fat, leaking crown against your clit with such blunt pressure that your spine jerks up off the mattress, a wrecked cry slipping from your throat.

"F-fuck, no, nonono—" he pants, eyes wide in panic and breathless as he grips your hips harder, dragging you back toward him, aligning himself right back at your clenching hole.

Oh, that nasty clench of your feisty pussy almost made him burst his load right into—

Wait. He can't.

"Shhhh, cutie," he slurs, pupils blown wide as he pushes the thick head back to your entrance, spreading your shaking legs even further apart, "don't gotta break that pretty little mind thinkin' about it. Just let me— fuckkkk, cutie—"

Poor, poor Rafayel.

He just wants to feel you a little longer, wants to scrape your cervix for just a minute longer, dwell in the feeling of your warm cunny before he pulls out.

"P-promise I'll pull out, just a little longer, then m' gonna get the—" Right then he halts his breath, hands griping a smacking handful of your thighs, firmly pushing them apart to gawk at your sobbing cunt, desperatly clenching just around his tip, threatening to suck him in deeper, "—condom."

Yeah, right.

The thick, bulking head of his cock pushes back past your folds, spreaaading them like the red sea, so slow and calculated, just enough to stretch you wide at the tip and make your breath seize in your lungs.

"Can't you feel it? P-pleaseee cutie," whispers, grinding his hips in circles to smear himself all over your entrance, teasing your greedy cunny as it twitches and grips around his mushroomy head. "Feels good, yeah? You feel it, right? Riiiight? C-c'mon... Gonna make you cum reallll good."

He doesn't let you answer, let alone let out a sound before his lips are back on yours, lewd sounds of tongues clashing and teeth smacking almost drowning out the loud smack smack smacking of his firm hips against your plush thighs.

Almost.

Shallow, greedy thrusts follow, punching your sweet spot with such precision it makes your eyes roll back and mouth fall agape, granting him further entrance into your mouth.

He's going to eat you alive at this point.

His hunger is almost unbearable at this point and you keen beneath him, back arching clear off the sheets, legs twitching, threatening to tremble as you suck your tummy in.

Actually, they already do.

"Just—just wanna feel you. Need it, baby." His voice is ragged, like he's barely holding himself together. "Can't wait. Can't—fuck, I need you."

And he's mere seconds away from snapping, sanity holding onto a tiny threat so thin, it might aswell already have snapped in two.

Doin' so good, sweetheart." he groans, thick girth diving into your depths, knocking at your g-spot like it's a headshot to a wanted target over and over again, your fluttering cunt screaming out obscene sound after sound. "Taking me so well—s-shiiiiit!— 'm not gonna last. You feel unreal. Fuckin' unreal, baby."

His rhythm stutters for just a second, his body betraying him, and that's when it starts to crack.

That's when he starts to crack.

You feel the shift, feel the snap in him. His thrusts falter, not from weakness but from overload, the pleasure starting to short-circuit his brain.

His breath comes in harsh, quick gasps, chest heaving as his muscles tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady. His cock pulses deep inside you, wide and twitching like he's right on the edge, trying to stave it off, trying to hold on, but he's already gone too far.

"Raf, baby. Don't forget the— nghhhh! C-condom!" you rush out followed by a moan from the depth of your throat, his head already in the crook of your neck, plastering it with kisses and maybe even an accidental bite to your nape.

Right, there was still something.

He lifts his head, eyes wide as realization hits him— but he knows he's not going to pull out any time soon.

Because he physically can't.

And fuck, his pitiful expression alone is enough to make your pussy clench like a vice around him, wrench, wrench, wrenching him like your life depends on it, so close to the edge yourself.

That coral gaze burns straight through you, so blazing and ravenous, dripping with heat and panic searching for something behind your glazed iris.

"T-tight fuckin' thing. So damn tight. Gonna cum, yeah?"

It's lust stripped down to its bare bones— his pupils blown, rimmed with color like sunset bleeding into dusk, and the way he looks at you, like you're his last meal.

He's close. And it's scaring him. Wrecking him.

Voice low and shredded now, soaked with pleasure and darker things, almost broken with how badly he wants to cum—wants to cum in you.

"You don't even know what your fuckin' cunny is doing ta' me, cutie," he rasps, fucking into you harder now, deeper, angling up to punch that sweet spot with every desperate thrust.

But you do. Oh, you do.

Hips snapping against you like he's chasing something he'll never reach, and he plants one hand against the headboard to keep himself upright, shaking all over, barely holding on. The other is locked tight on your thigh, hiking it up towards your shoulder, keeping you locked in place. Like if you so much as tried to move away, rob him from your snug tunnel, he'd lose it.

"Drivin' me fucking insane," he growls, voice cracked open and fucked-out.

Your brain stutters mid-thrust—just enough clarity to gasp out, voice high and shaky, "Wait—hnghhh! Raf', you gotta—"

"Hahhh? Gotta make my pretty baby cum?"

Now he's tasting his release at the tip of his tongue, completely lost and utterly mad from the sound of your clenching pussy alone, balls tightening up, tip ready to burst his load out. "Yeahhhhh, ya got it, baby."

"Mhmm! M' c-cummin', Raf'! Fuh-fuckkkk!"

A cry tears from your throat on cue as your body clamps down, your legs trembling, thighs shacking as a violent orgasm tears through you, every fiber of your being burning hot as your vision goes blank and you forget every scolding thought you had in your mind.

He pauses for half a second before he begins to pound you again, steadier now, dedicated even, both veiny hands firmly folding you into a meanacing mating-press.

"You got it, all of it. Yes, cream 'round me js' like that— Yesyeseyes— fuckkkk baby m' sorry m'—"

He's not.

His balls draw up tight, cock swelling deep inside you with that final, desperate pulse.

Then he bursts. Hot, thick ropes of cum spill straight into your cunt, gushing right up against your cervix.

It's too much—sticky and endless, flooding you full until it's leaking out around him in messy drips, your body milking every last drop like it needs it.

And then his eyes snap up to yours, wide, in a daze.

"Babyyyyy—I didn't— was going to, I meant to—"

But his hips twitch forward again. He can't help it.

He can't help but slip out out and watch the aftermath in awe, watch his cum overflowing your overstimulated cunt as you deserately try to keep it all in, droplets drip drip dripping down the curve of your ass.

"Y-you made a whole big mess, Raf'! I told you to—"

The words die on your tongue the second you catch his face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glowing that deep coral pink and brimming with guilt and hunger. Wrecked. Maybe even a tiny bit sorry.

"C-can I make it up to you by eating it outta ya?"

ZAYNE ⋆ ★ Can't Wait. ~1.2k

Zayne's a lightweight. Always has been.

It shows, too. In the flushed pink blooming across his cheeks, the tips of his ears going all red like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.

Your sweet husband's never been good at hiding how much he wants you. But when there's just the tiniest bit of liquor in his system? A little heat in his blood, a little buzz under his skin?

Then he's shameless. Dangerous, even.

That black button-up from your night out is hanging off his shoulders, halfway undone, unbothered to fix it, wanting you to notice. His wedding band clinks against your waist as his hands roam your hips, fumbling for the strap on your shoulder to greedily expose your perky tits.

Eyes locked on you— the only thing his eyes are trained on.

"You looked so hot all night," he mumbles against your neck, voice syrupy, breath reeking of a faint liquor and sin, "All dolled up, just for your husband, hm?"

Once your back hits the front door from the inside as soon as he closed it, he kisses you with such a feverous hunger, so clumsily sloppy.

Teeth and tongue and all heat, hands pawing at your now exposed tits, then thighs as his mouth sinks to catch your stiff nipple.

"Zayne, what's gotten into y—"

"You."

His thigh shoves between yours, grinding up until you're letting out an embarrassed squeak, one of your legs hitching up around his hip as he urges you to swing the other around to, carrying you to the next best surface— the kitchen counter— in a hurry.

"It's alllll you, darling." His words are muffled against your skin, his hands eagerly riding up your breathtaking dress to snake his fingers into your soaked through panties. "My pretty little wife makes me lose my head, you know. Can barely recognize myself."

"Zayne, baby," you try, breathless, tugging at the back of his collar to catch his attention to your face. "Sure it's not just the alcohol? Maybe we should get to bed, the condoms are also there—"

"S-shhhh", he slurs, glasses nearly slipping down the bridge of his nose as he hovers over you, "Is it a crime to worship my wife for a little while?"

In this case, it should be. Because whatever this is, it's torture.

His fingers fumble with his belt, all cocky and tipsy as he palms himself through his boxers. The fabric's soaked where his cock's been leaking all night, a fat wet spot darkening the white cotton. He's been hard since the moment you stepped out for that restaurant you've been wanting to go for ages now, thick, angry red crown twitching on his hand.

You whine in protest until your panties are torn and tossed onto the floor, his cock already smearing it's pre across your slick folds. "Just a second, Mmm-hmmm, then we'll go to bed and— f-fuckkk."

Yeah, he messed up.

"G-go to bed and I'll get the c-condom. Juuuuust a second, darlin'."

He trails off when his hand yanks your panties to the side, then off entirely, a quick, lazy tear splitting the seam as he tosses the ruined scrap onto the floor behind him.

That second becomes two. Then five.

Then he's already carrying you toward the couch, tripping over a thing or two, lips never leaving yours. One knee hits the cushion, then the next, and you fall with him, laughing into his mouth until it turns into a gasp, because his rigid length is already poking at your clenching hole, bulky cockhead pushhhhing past it.

His lips trail down your throat, mouthing at your pulse, siver wedding ring cold where it squeezes your tit, making you hiss as it catches onto your nipple.

At this point, you don't think he'll be able to—

"Can't wait,"

Ah.

"I won't go all the way but please, I don't think you understand, darling," he's a panting mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, glasses askew. His hips stutter between your thighs, cock heavy and leaking as he rocks through your folds, sometimes pushing the tip into your quivering pussy, "I need to feel you around me right now."

"Oh-okay. But you gotta promise, Zayne."

"Yeah, yeah— Ohhh, what sweet, pretty pussy my darling wife has on her."

Oh, and your husband's also a terrible liar.

Because the second the words leave your mouth, he's already in, squelch squelch squelching sounds echoing as he plumbs your weak hole full of his hefty length.

His hips jerk, sloppy and desperate, punching his cock deeper with every thrust. That thick, angry swell at the base catches on your entrance, making you jolt, back arching off the couch as he bullies past your clenching walls.

He moans into your shoulder, cock twitching as your cunt clamps down like a vice. It's too much. Too tight. Too good and he's wondering if he's actually drunk.

Yeah, he's drunk on your pussy. Gone.

"You're—hahhh— toooo good to me," he whimpers, teeth grit, face buried in your neck, glasses hanging onto a thread. "Too good— sooo good, baby."

You keen, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as thick veins draaaaag along your walls and paint them with every twitch of his slit, eyes rolling, mouth slack, hips grinding into yours, roughly against your clit like he's a goddamn mutt.

"Zayne? Your glasses, darling—hnghhh!—t-they're gonna break on the floor."

"Fuck that shit."

His language is filthy, not caring about his glasses falling off and onto the floor, not caring about anything but your crying pussy gushing around him each time he hits your cervix.

"I don't give a shit, sweetheart," voice coming out as a snarl, pace roughening, cock battering your g-spot with every brutal stroke of his. "Not when your pussy's this—hahhh—fuckin' heavenly."

Your nails scrape down his back as he pounds into you, rougher now, like he's trying to fuck every thought right out of your head.

And honestly? You're not far off.

Panting heavy, he's biting your shoulder, hips snapping into you with eagerness so reckless you can feel his hot slick crown damn near in your womb.

His eyes are glassy, mouth hanging open as he watches the way your greedy pussy takes him so well and with such shameless need, he swears he can hear her cry for more.

"Pussy's so fuckin' good— shiiiit!" he slurs, obviously drunk off more than just booze by now. "Can't think straight, c-can't—fuh-fuckkk!— M' gonna cum, darlin'—"

"Z-Zayne! The fuckin' c-con— nghhh! Don't stop, don't—"

Forceful orgasm cutting your words off as you become a squirting mess, clamping and clawing at his base as he continues his assault on your poor, overstimulated cunny, juices spraying everywhere.

"Justttt like that, darlin', mhmmm. G-gonna fill my pretty wife up, have you all round and glowing, yeah?" he spurts out, slamming into you one final time then freezes, cock buried to the hilt as he floods you with his whispy spurts of cum. Thick, hot ropes paint your insides white, dripping out the second he pulses again.

His whole body trembles, arms giving out as he collapses on top of you, still twitching deep inside.

He tries to pull out—he really does—but the second his eyes land on your stuffed tummy, his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips already rutting back against you again.

"Ohhh my darling wife", he hums, nose buried in the crook of your sweat-slicked neck, drowning in your scent. He inhales deep, moaning like he's high off it, and that's when you realize, truly realize, just how far gone he is.

How drunk. How pussy-drunk. You-drunk.

His cock grinds even deeper, rutting into the deepest, most tender part of you as he whispers filth into your skin.

"Think it's time to consider a baby, hm?"

XAVIER ★ Pull out game... nonexistent? ~1.1k

"D-don't forget to pull out, 'kay?"

Your voice is light, barely a breath as you throw a look over your shoulder, eyes glinting with a warning that's too soft to land.

Xavier's already doomed. You both know it.

And he's already regretting everything.

Not you. Just the lazy-ass promise he made two minutes ago, when his morning wood was grinding slow and warm against your ass, and he was too blissed out on his day off to reach for a condom.

'Just a quick feel', he muttered in his grumpy morning voice, 'Gonna pull out. I promise', he said.

Even he didn't believe himself when he said it.

Now buried in you to the hilt, and the second your cunt sucked him in, wet and hungry and tight as sin, he knew he wasn't going to make it.

And it's his own damn fault.

You clench around him greedily, milking him already, and his breath punches out in a curse. He knows he should pull out. He told you he would. But all he can think about is how good you feel, how wet you are, how your cunt keeps sucking him deeper like you want him to stay.

"S-shitttt," he groans, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, hips twitching helplessly. "I'm—shit— I dunno, angel."

"Then get a condom, Xav'. It's alright if you can't handle it." And you're so cruel, saying it as a purr, clenching hard around his cock right as he's trying to pull back, locking him in place with your feisty cunt, strangling not only his cock, but also his ego.

A frustrated grunt rumbles from his throat because you know damn well he won't.

Get out of this? Out of you? And physically stand up?

Yeah. Over his dead fucking body.

"N-noooo—" he whines, arms trembling beside your body as he sinks back in deeper, grinding slow like he needs it more than oxygen. "I can take it, I swear— promise, angel. J-just don't make me leave."

"Oh-okay, Xav'," you moan, draaaagging it out with a long and mean breath as his swollen head knock knock knocks against the entrance of your womb, "Just keep g-going—ohhh yesss! Right there—!"

Violent shiver running through his body, cock twitching deep. The slit's drooling now, spilling steady heat into your cunt in thick little pulses, leaking.

"Shit, angel, d-don't say it like that," he pants, rutting into you now with slow, needy thrusts, teeth gritted. "You're making it so fucking hard to be good— so fucking hard—"

His teeth grit, breath catching in his throat, a stifled groan dragging up from somewhere deep in his chest as he tries to keep the rhythm steady. But he's failing badly.

Thrusts getting messier now, still slow, but shaky, cock twitching with every stroke because his body knows what's coming, building and building no matter how hard he fights it.

And to be honest, he's not even trying to fight the storm coming.

Not when you clamp down on him, a hicup fleeing past your lips as you feel every ridged vein adoring his pulsating dick.

"P-princessss, need to feel you cumming 'round me," he whines, long and runny tone causing your clit to pulsate, his fingers already finding comfort on the abandoned button, "Gonna be the death of me— gonna k-kill me with this pussy."

And yet his hips keep rocking into you, slam slam slam— sooo deep you can barely think straight. Deeper now. Harder.

Because if he's going down, he's taking you with him.

You're a gasping mess as you cum around him, sobbing on every thrust, thighs shaking, nails clawing back at his scalp as he fucks you through your orgasm, pussy spurting juices all over the base of his cock.

"Nnnngh!—you're so messy, Xav'," you croon, rocking back to take him even deeper, riding out your high, grinding your ass against his hips until his cock reaches that spot inside you, creating a buldge at your lower belly, "J-just give up—"

Right then, you hear it in his voice when he cracks.

"F-fuck no."

He fucking whimpers, cock throbbing violently as he stays buried inside you, his tip drooling more sticky pre that seeps out with every grind.

"Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—quit— squeezin' me like that— I can't—!"

But his words betray his body since his cock slams into your deepest spot with every stroke, the wet slap slap slapping of skin filling the clouded room, making your overstimulated cunt cry out.

"Then pull out," you bite, tilting your head back with the last strength you muster to look at him, eyes daringly sinful.

Wait. Waitwaitwait—

His eyes are glassy. Lips parted. Chest heaving.

"I—I can't, angel," he whines, voice all breath and heat, hips grinding in deeper even as he says it. "You're too mean—fuckkkk—milkin' me dryyyyy— h-hahhhh!—Can't even think—"

You feel the way his rhythm goes ragged, his whole body locking up behind you. He's fighting it, really fighting it, his muscles shaking, jaw clenched, hips jerking in shallow, stuttering thrusts.

"G-gonna take it, right? C'mon, princess, Just this— hnghhhh!— once."

But his cock's twitching like mad. And his balls are mere seconds close to burst out a fresh, sticky load.

With a strangled cry his hips slam forward, cock buried as deep as he can possibly get, grinding in hard as he spills inside you, thick and hot and so much.

You feel his cum flooding your pussy in long, pulsing spurts, painting your walls, dripping out around the base of his cock and onto the tangled sheets as he whines into your skin, thrusting through it.

"Fuhh-ckkkk!" he moans, drawn-out and helpless, hips jerking with every spurt, every twitch. "'M so sorry—fuck, I tried— swearrrr I tried to—"

But he doesn't even bother finishing, not with the way your eyes cut over your shoulder like a blade before your fingers tangle tight in his messy hay-blonde hair and yank him down into a wet, filthy kiss that makes him whimper right into you.

Back arched into him, tongue tangling with his as you both chase the last euphoric waves of pleasure by grinding like wild mutts against each other.

"Mmnn... I know," you shakily whisper, light giggle following suit against his pouty lips, "Tried s-soooo hard, didn't you?"

And he nods like a lost puppy, breath stuttering as his glossy lips tremble once you cage them between your lips.

Your grinding back against his hips in a rhythm that makes his thighs tremble and his cock jolt again, squishing out more of that thick mess he just dumped in you.

Now that he fucked up, might aswell make the most of it, no?

"Mhmmm", he hums in a daze, cock already twitching back to life inside you, eager rutts against your ass causing the sticky mess inside you to flood out between your pressed thighs,

"One more try, yeah? G-gonna pull out this time."

Famous last words.

SYLUS ★ Alllll in. ~1k

"I'm a lucky man."

His mouth brushes your ear, breath hot as he groans, the words vibrating right against your skin. One big hand caresses the side of your throat while the other spreads your thigh wider, pressing you open.

"Mmmm-hmmm," he growls, voice rough, cock sliding between your drenched folds at an almost eratic pace. The heavy head keeps nudging your clit, slick and angry, "Very lucky indeed."

Choking on a moan, your back arches when the thick, leaking crown of his cock drags through your folds again, smearing slick and pre along your thumbing clit.

"Had a rough night. Deal went to shit," he murmurs, though his voice betrays him—strained, desperate, twitching against your hole like his cock has a mind of its own, "But my sweet princess'll help me out, right? Give me a little pep-talk?"

"Yeah, right. Since when are you so- nghhh!- so tame?"

"Since now," he pants, nudging the angry tip right into your squeaking hole, your pussy already locking his tip in a headlock, "Enjoy it while it lasts and let me in, sweetie. I won't move. Promise."

Lie. Big fat lie.

Narrow eyes of yours stare him down just as his lips curl into a cheeky, smirk, slowwwwly forcing his massive size to push your poor walls apart.

You're not even trying to squeeze him, but your cunt is already fluttering around him, soaking wet from how pent-up he is. Gripping your waist with an iron-clad hold, trying so damn hard to stay still, but every twitch of your walls makes him flinch, throb.

It's impossible.

Now he's already bullying his way through your wails and shrieks, halfway in, dragging your pussy open inch by massive fucking inch, because he's trying so hard not to ruin you on the spot and pump you full of—

Wait. There's something... off. Something missing.

"Shoooo big, Sy'! Can't—hahhh!— I can't! M' so full!"

Maybe it's just in his head.

You shudder, overwhelmed by heat and stretch and the gush of pre smearing your walls.

Right then your orgasm hits hard, embarrassingly fast, dragging another cry from your lips as your pussy clenches around his cock again, pulling more grunts from his mouth.

You're already fucked-out, hips buck again greedily, stretch dizzying, walls clamping down with gluttonous need, and his breath catches with a hard shudder. Thighs locking tighter around his waist, holding him in, dragging him deeper.

Minutes tick by, or seconds, he can't tell, until his hips start to rock in tiny, traitorous movements.

Your cry cuts off into a gasp as his hips find a brutal rhythm, heavy balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Every ridge, every vein drags inside you, scraping his memoir into your walls.

God, he could die like this.

Eyes rolling, cock buried balls-deep in the warm clutch of your cunt, so moist and snug and just a little too cramped, your selfish cunny milking him for everything he's worth. Drowning in your whimpers, in the slap of slick skin, in the way your hands claw up his back for more.

It's perfect. Too perfect. Too bare.

Wait.

Wait—oh fuck.

He goes still mid-thrust, chest heaving, eyes wide and glossy as it hits him that he never put on the damn condom.

"Shit."

"Hmmm? Something wrong, Sy'?"

He's the Sylus, goddamnit. The ruler of the underground. But not here. Not when you're wrapped around him like this. Not when you're so hot, so loud, so feisty, and dripping down his length every time he pulls back just to thrust in again.

"Fuck's sake," he grits out, face buried in your neck like he's ashamed of himself, voice nearly unrecognizable. "I should—mmmh—I need to pull out."

But he doesn't. Can't. Not when your cunt squeezes him like velvet vice, not when your arms wind tighter around his neck and your hips grind up like you want him to ruin you.

"Hmm? What's that? C-can't focus when youhhh— ohhh!— in sooo deep, baby."

"Mhmmm, couldn't even get a condom because you're such a bratty little thing," he groans, voice going hoarse as he thrusts his fat tip right against your cervix with one forceful rut, barely holding on, "She's pulling me in, sweetie."

The bed rocks under the force of his shots, every sharp roll of his hips knocking the air from your lungs. The obscene, filthy sounds of your bodies say everything needing to be said.

"Whose fault is that, darling?" he grits out through clenched teeth, dragging his hands up your ribs to cup your face.

Fake it till you make it, I guess.

"Mhm! My fault, s' my fault Sy'!," you stammer, eyes glassy, mind running a thousand miles as he knocks your breath out again and again and—

"Now that's right," he huffs, forehead pressed against yours, a whimper catching in his throat as he eyes the heavy buldge at the pit of your tummy, "That's my good girl. Gonna let me cum inside, hm? Fill you up?"

"Mhmmm! Wanna feel it, allll of it Sy! Make me a m-mommy!"

Now you've done it.

Sylus's eyes roll back, face flushed, sweat pearling at his temple. He's trembling, so fucking close.

He's cumming before his mind even catches up, hips stuttering, breath leaving from his lungs as his body clamps against yours. A broken groan rips from his throat as he spurts buckets of pearly white cum into your womb, rutting in deep to make sure you take all of it.

"S-shit, sweetie," he hisses, forehead dropping to yours, ruby eyes blown wide and dazed, "feels good, hmm?"

You can't answer. Clenching, twitching, overwhelmed tears brimming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he hits without even moving, some of his cum escaping down the curve of your ass.

Pressing a weak, sloppy open-mouthed-kiss to his temple, your heart's hammering as the slow pulse of his cum inside you makes you more excited by the second, unconciously humbing up into him.

"A-again. Want you to fill me up again, Sy'."

"Again, huh? Now you're being greedy, sweetheart." He punctuates it with a sharp thrust, one that makes your whole body jolt, makes you yelp, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Whatever my sweet girl wants", he ushers against your puckered lips, dick twitching inside your cramped cunny, "she'll get."

Well, once you have tasted blood, you'll always want more.

CALEB ★ Home sweet home. ~1.2k

"W-what?"

"Condom, Cay'."

"Y-yeah right, condom. Gotta get it. Gotta—"

You're cruel. So very cruel.

Tangled together on the bed, your bodies slick with sweat, breaths rapid. Caleb's fingers dig into your hips as you impatiently grind your slick, exposed cunny over his stiff length, dragging it up right against his tip.

"Mhhh, hurryyyy! Wanna feel you already!"

Right then a fat bead of pre spurts from his slit, kissing your clit with a shining glee and you damn near sob, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stop the filthy little sound clawing up your throat.

"One sec' pips'. Just one second, m' gonna get it— fuck!"

He tries. He tries to lift you off, shaky hands fumbling at your waist.

"Just pull out and stop. t-talking."

But it's you who slid down on his tip, thighs slapping against his as you take him in to the hilt in one greedy push, his hefty girth streeeetching your out instantly, a loud squeak! resounding as his crown thumbs against your cervix.

Or did he drag you down, fists clenched tight around your waist?

Actually, it doesn't even matter anymore.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he groans, voice so thick with lust it's barely human anymore. "L-lemme get it, m' gonna—"

His voice cracks, almost a panic as his hands tighten on your waist, trembling, begging you to just slow down with each twitch of his fingers, cock twitching inside you since he's already right on his fucking limit.

He tries again. Hands push at your hips, trembling, uncoordinated, unable to decide if he wants to get you off him or fuck up into you on repeat.

"Wait—just lemme grab it, baby, j-just for a seco—"

"O-ohhh! I don't care anymore!" Your high-pitched tantrum throws him off, your hips grinding doen hard onto him in a hurry, so needy and shameless that he can't help but buck his hips upwards, stealing a pleased sigh from you.

You drop your hips again, soaked pussy swallowing him whole, strangling his pumping length and that's it. That's fucking it.

"Fuckin' hell," suddenly his grip turns firm, fingers digging into your flesh, forcing you down with a loud slap! of skin to skin. "Really? Ya' don't care anymore? Really want me ta' beat this pussy up?"

SLAP!

His hands slam down onto your ass, big palms grabbing, spreading, slapping, the poor flesh turning red on impact. And you jolt in his hold, clit thumb thumb thumbing like it has it's own heartbeat.

"Shit! Yer' fuckin'—nghhh!— gonna make me lose it," he pants, snapping his hips up into you dwelling in the suffocating hold of your soothing walls. "Ya' like that? Like ridin' me raw? Knocking this greedy pussy up? "

Desperate nod saying more than words could, you bounce up and down, up and down, tight pussy fixed around him, screaming in protest every time you surge up with loud, protesting gush gush gushes.

"Dirty fuckin' girl."

He grabs your ass again, harder this time, fingers sinking in, dragging you down with each thrust, eyes fixated on the delicious buldge of his fat cockhead bump bump bumping in your gut.

"Couldn't even wait, huh? Had ta' sit on my cock like the needy girl ya' are. Didn't even let me grab the fuh-fuckin'— shiiiiit!—"

Smack!

Another harsh slap ripples the fat of your rear, sharp but yet so perfect, the sting making you moan out, embarrasingly so, only further making your walls constrict around his hefty girth.

"Ya' want me to lose it, hah? Wanna make me forget everything but this feisty lil' pussy?"

You nod, nails dragging down his back. "Yessss! Pleaseeeee! Wan' you to fuck me stupid! Wanna c-cum!"

Forehead pressed to yours, he's fucking up into you with vicious intend, "Yeahhhh, yer' gonna get it. Gonna make you cum so gooood, pips' Js' let go f' me, yeah?"

And just like that, you break apart, body feeling like it's been lit on fire as you twitch around him uncontrollably, gushing your squirting sap alllll over his pelvic area.

"A-attaaaaa girl", he's watching you come undone, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he fucks you through your high, staring down at the mess you made in awe.

You're both drenched in it.

"What a beautiful mess," he pants, still pistoning his cock right against your g-spot, dragging your orgasm out. "Look at that pretty pussy squirtin' allll over me."

He's a pussy-drunk mess by now, cock still hard and throbbing inside your overstimulated cunt as she eagerly milks his cock, desperate for him to fill you up with his hot cum.

"Fuckkkk, I missed this. Missed you, this sweet little cunt, squeezin' 'round me. It's been sooo long."

You're panting now, still in shock from your orgasm, hips rocking against his, "B-but, Cay' we just did it y-yesterday—"

"That's wayyyy to long f' me."

You're whining, squirming in his lap, but he just has a crazed look, hungry, bucking his hips up, teasing the entrance of your womb with smooches.

He leans back slightly one hand gripping your ass, the other spreading you open so he can observe your stuffed cunny struggling to hold him in.

"Look at ya'," he mutters, half in awe, half in madness, "Gonna stuff ya' full till yer' leaking 'round me, till all you can think about is me, me, me—"

So close to his own wit's end, he's doing his best to focus on the delicious squelch of your stuttering pussy, heavy, fast breaths barely calming his racing heart down.

"God, you feel so good," he rasps, breath hitching. "So warm, so wet, 'm gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up."

You're clawing at his shoulders now, legs buckling as you feel your second high approching slyly. Every thrust sounds wetter than the last, his balls slapping your ass with every rushed snap of his hips.

Your moans are getting higher. His pace is getting sloppy. He's right there.

"No condom, no nothin'," he murmurs, forehead pressing against yours as he slowly, slowly inches the fat head inside, your walls stretching around him like they were made to take him bare. "You’re just gonna fuck me raw like this, huh? Gonna stuff you full till you're leaking around me, till all you can think about is me, me, me—"

He inches the fat head back in again, and your walls stretch, trembling, sucking him in until—

"Yesyesyes— fuckkk!—"

Your cry breaks into a sob as your body locks up around him. Caleb barely gets a breath before he's falling with you, mouth hanging slack as his hips jerk once, twice, and then he spills his thick load of fresh whites into you.

"Ooouhhhh! Cay-caleb!"

You sob, cunt spasming, milking him through it as your second orgasm rips through you, so intense your thighs shake, whole body shuddering in his lap, falling onto his sweaty, heaving chest.

"You're so fuckin' hot."

He's dazed, cock still twitching, slit spurting out the last wispy ropes inside you while his cum leaks out around the base in sticky dribbles, his locked gaze snapping up to your flustered face, sleazy grin twitching up his lips.

"Think m' addicted now."

Pff. As if he wasn't already whipped the second you climbed into his lap.

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[splendidcas]

At Last (Part 2)

read part 1 here!

Pairing: Johnny Storm x AFAB!Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: smutty smut smutttttt at the end, oral (m + f receiving), use of pet names like princess and babygirl (no daddy kink involved), cursing, johnny is a needy lil lover boy

Summary: Now that you've found your soulmate, it's time to meet the family. I'm shit at summaries

A/N: I rly just sat here for 5 hours straight writing this bro lmao jesus anyways it's been years since I wrote smut so pls excuse any rustiness, hope it's good sexy timeessssss. feedback gives me life!

x

The Etta James record had ended a while ago, but neither you nor Johnny had paid it any mind. You certainly couldn’t focus on anything else, not while Johnny’s lips were currently attached to your neck. 

“God, I could kiss you for forever,” he mumbled against your skin.

The two of you had been making out for god knows how long, and your head and heart were spinning. All you could focus on was how good his lips felt against your skin, the way your body seemed to innately know that this man was made for you, the only thought rattling around in your brain was “he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine.”

His lips finally started trailing lower at the same time your hands did, and that’s when a knock sounded at his door, startling you both out of your stupor. 

“Johnny?”

The two of you barely had any time to react before Sue Storm was opening the door, a surprised expression on her face when she walked into the room. Your hands were on Johnny’s chest, his on your waist, and Sue gave Johnny a knowing look. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Johnny had a guest,” she remarked, a small smirk on her face. 

Johnny placed his hands on your shoulders, an excited look on his face. “Why, dear sister of mine, this is not just any guest. This…is my soulmate.”

Sue blinked in shock, her eyes suddenly taking you in fully, before she laughed in delight. “Oh—oh my god! I don’t know what to say, I mean…wow, it is so great to finally meet you!” She immediately rushed over to give you a crushing hug, granting a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m Sue Storm,” she said, grinning.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, breathless and blushing. “It’s an honor to meet you.” 

Sue gave you one last look and smile, squeezing your arm affectionately before turning to her brother. “Well I really hate to interrupt this, but the gala’s about to end and the firm wants us to say our goodbyes to the guests.” 

Johnny nodded, and Sue began to head out of the room before turning around briefly. “It’s truly so wonderful to meet you, Y/N.”

You smiled. “You too.” 

Sue left the door open a crack after she left, and Johnny turned to you then, holding your hands in his. “Would it be okay if you hung back in the crowd? I honestly don’t think I want to share you with the world just yet.” He smiled nervously, thumb brushing the back of your hand.

Reality truly set in at his admittance. The world. The whole world would soon find out who you are, what your life is like, who you are to Johnny. Your life may never be truly private again…and the fact that Johnny had even considered that was something you genuinely appreciated. You weren’t quite ready to be shared with the world either. 

“That’s completely fine. I don’t think I want you to share me quite yet either.” 

Johnny smiled. “I’ll find you after?” You nodded, and he placed a quick kiss to your hand before jogging after Sue.

Whew. You couldn’t stop smiling, your mind still reeling from your brand new reality. Never in your wildest dreams was your soulmate ever actually Johnny Storm. You briefly considered pinching yourself, but not even your dreams could feel as real as Johnny’s lips against yours. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, before walking out of Johnny’s room and back to the gala. You realized, walking towards the middle of the crowd, that you felt completely at ease now. Because now, it felt like you belonged here. 

“Attention,” Reed Richards appeared from above on the balcony overlooking the crowd as he tapped the glass he was holding, and Ben, Sue and Johnny appeared beside him. You could see Johnny scanning the crowd, and once he found you, he gave you a grin and a wink, making your heart skip a beat. The crowd went quiet for the first time this evening at Reed’s words. “Thank you all so, so much for being here with us tonight. I truly feel like we’re going to change lives with the amount of money we have raised. I want to give a special thank you to our incredible PR firm for putting this all together for us. You all are amazing, and we truly appreciate every one of you. Unfortunately for Sue and I, baby duty awaits, so we’ll have to call it a night.” A chuckle rang through the crowd. “Goodnight everyone, get home safe!”

The crowd finally began to disperse, and you walked over to lean against the wall as you waited for Johnny. 

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and finally someone from your PR firm had found you. Your boss.

“Hey, how was your evening?” You asked.

“It was lovely. How was yours? Everything you ever dreamed of?” She smirked. She was the person you begged for a ticket, so you were certain she figured you were a superhero fangirl. 

“Uh,” you began, when you spotted Johnny jogging down the steps, making a beeline for you. You tried to hide your smile. “Yep, totally,” you said, trying to sound sarcastic. “I really do appreciate you getting me this ticket. You have no idea what it means for me.”

“No problem. Just remember it comes out of your paycheck for the next 6 months!” She said as she walked away. 

Johnny finally made his way to you as the last of the crowd finally made their way out of the building.

“Hi,” he said, beaming at you.

Your grin could probably split your face in two. “Hi.”

Johnny opened his mouth to speak, when another voice rang out. 

“Who’s this?”

Reed Richards made his way down the stairs with an intrigued look on his face, Ben and Sue following close behind with knowing smiles.

“That’s Johnny’s soulmate,” Ben and Sue said simultaneously. They both turned to each other in confusion.

“How’d you know that?” All three of them asked each other at the same time. 

You giggled. “Does that happen a lot?” You leaned in to ask Johnny quietly. 

“More than you would expect,” he murmured.

Reed finally approached you, holding his hand out for you to shake. “Reed Richards. It’s…a pleasure to meet you.” He looked between you and Johnny, the gears turning in his head as if he was trying to figure you and your dynamic out. 

You shook his hand, nervous butterflies twirling in your stomach at being in a room alone with the most famous superheroes on the planet. “The pleasure is all mine, truly.” 

“So, when did you two meet?” He asked. 

“Tonight,” Johnny replied. “I spotted her wearing my ring.” 

“And he had on the bracelet I made him this year,” you added. 

Reed gave you a small smile. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations to you both!”

“Alright, it’s my turn,” Ben suddenly interjected, walking over towards you before giving you a sweet, crushing hug and lifting you in the air, a surprised laugh escaping you. “It’s so great to meet you, Y/N.”

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Johnny asked, staring at you with pride. “I can’t stop staring at her.” 

Ben, Sue and Reed all exchanged surprised but happy looks. Johnny had always been forward with women in the past, but never so much so in front of his family. “That she is, Johnny,” Ben agreed. “That she is.”

Sue walked over to you and placed a hand on your back, ushering you towards the kitchen. “I know it’s late, but could I make you something to drink?”

“I would love that.”

You and Sue made your way over to the kitchen while the guys hung back, watching the two of you talk. 

“So, how do you feel, Johnny?” Ben asked.

Johnny was still staring at you in wonder. “I’m in love,” he sighed.

Ben chuckled, and Reed raised his eyebrows in surprise. Johnny narrowed his eyes. “I know, I know. I only met her a few hours ago. But—“

“It’s okay,” Reed interjected. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel with your soulmate. It’s just..strange to hear you talk like that is all.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But man, it’s…wow.” 

“You certainly have a way with words, Johnny,” Ben teased, earning him a glare. 

“Boys?” Sue called out from the kitchen table next to you, earning the men’s attention. “You three gonna stand there and stare or would you like to join us?” 

All of you sat around their kitchen table, and you were surprised to realize that this all felt…normal. Comfortable, even. Like this is the way it was always supposed to be, despite the fact that you were sitting with people who saved the world on a daily basis while you had sat back and watched on your television screen. 

Reed was the first to speak, his eyes on the shining ring sitting perfectly on your left hand. “So you two are already…engaged?” 

You and Johnny looked at each other and smiled bashfully. “We are,” he answered, his hand finding yours under the table. 

Reed was quiet, clearly having a million thoughts running through his head by the second.

“What are you thinking?” Sue asked, her eyes narrowed at her husband. “I know that look.”

“Nothing!” Reed exclaimed, holding his hands up in the air innocently. “It’s just…a bit quick is all.”

Johnny’s hand tightened around yours, almost protectively. 

“Reed, I don’t remember us even really talking much right after we first met. We were too busy…” Sue trailed off, giving him a look.

Johnny grimaced. “Okay, did not need to know that.” 

Sue laughed, shrugging. 

“Look at em’, Reed,” Ben said, gesturing to the two of you. “They look like they’ve been in love for years. Johnny’s practically got hearts comin’ out of his eyes.”

Johnny wiggled his eyebrows at you, making you laugh. “It’s true. I already feel like I’ve known you my whole life.” 

“And I, personally, have never heard Johnny talk like this with anyone else,” Sue pointed out with a smile. 

Reed looked at the two of you again before finally giving a small nod and a smile. “I do have to agree on that.” 

Johnny raised your interlocked hands to kiss your knuckles. 

“So Y/N, tell us about yourself?” Sue asked.

An hour later, the five of you were laughing hysterically, sharing life stories and memories, mostly embarrassing ones of Johnny, to your amusement. It was the most at ease around a group of virtual strangers you’d ever felt. But they weren’t strangers, not really. This…this was now your family.

“His fly was down the whole time,” Ben managed through laughter. “Didn’t tell him until after the camera’s stopped rolling.”

Johnny was smiling despite his blush. “Yeah, thank you again for that, by the way.” 

All of you were still laughing when a knock sounded at the front door. “Ah, that’d be the babysitter,” Sue said as she got up to answer the door.

Johnny leaned towards you then, muttering to you, “How are you? You okay?” You were suddenly very aware of the warm hand now on your upper thigh. 

You nodded, giving him a smile. “I’m perfect.” 

“That you are.” 

Sue wandered back into the kitchen, her babbling 8 month old son on her hip. “Babysitter said he just woke up from a nap, so he’ll be up for a while. He’s basically nocturnal at this point.”

Reed, Johnny and Ben stood up to greet their little guy, and you tentatively followed. 

“How’s my favorite little magic baby, huh?” Johnny exclaimed, grabbing Franklin’s foot and tickling it, making him giggle.

Sue turned towards you. “Franklin, this is Y/N,” she started, trying to get Franklin to look at you. “She’s gonna be your auntie someday.” 

You slowly approached him, giving him a warm smile and a wave. “Hey, little guy. You are so adorable.”

Franklin babbled happily and held his arms out towards you, surprising you.

“I think he wants you,” Sue grinned. “Do you want to hold him? Are you comfortable?” 

“Yeah, I’d love that.” 

You took little Franklin in your arms, laughing as he placed his little hands on your cheeks and giggled. You bounced him on your hip, talking nonsense to him as you slowly began walking around the room with him. 

“Johnny,” Sue said quietly as she stood next to Johnny. “She’s perfect. Seriously.” 

Johnny swallowed, still watching you play with his nephew in your arms. “I know. It’s a little scary, honestly. But I’m…I’m really excited. I wanna do this.”

Sue smiled. “I felt the same with Reed. Once you meet your person, everything starts happening all at once. But just…enjoy it. Take in every moment for what it is, and let yourself feel the way you feel. You’re supposed to feel totally in love and terrified at the same time.” 

Johnny looked down at his sister, giving her a small smile that she returned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise.” She squeezed her brother’s shoulder before making her way over to you, gently taking Franklin from your arms. “You two have had a very big night, and it’s getting pretty late, so we’ll leave you two alone.” 

“It was so amazing to meet you all,” you said. “Thank you all so much for being so welcoming.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Ben said. “You’re part of the family now.” 

Sue came over and gave you one last hug, Reed giving you a nod and a smile, and the four of them all went to their respective quarters. 

“So…” you began, biting your lip as you looked up at Johnny. 

He placed his hands on your hips, squeezing them gently. “So…”

Tension suddenly grew in the air, butterflies swarming your stomach as your mind wandered back to the way he’d been kissing you a few hours prior. “Um, I know it’s late, so I can head out…”

Johnny shook his head. “Stay. Please? I mean you could stay forever, if you wanted, but at least the night—”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll stay.” 

“YES.” He dramatically pumped his fist in the air before sweeping you off your feet and into his arms, bridal style, and walked you to his bedroom. 

“Oh shit, wait,” you exclaimed as he put you down. “I gotta call Violet so she doesn’t think I’m dead.” 

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Johnny went over and closed his bedroom door, and you didn’t miss the fact that he actually locked it this time. He plopped down onto his bed and laid on his side, watching you as you placed your phone to your ear. 

“Violet? Hey, yeah I’m fine,” you began, mindlessly wandering around his room.

Johnny flopped backwards, his head hitting his pillow as he stared up on his ceiling while you spoke with your friend. This was, hands down, the best night of his life. You, the person he prayed to the universe for, dreamed about his whole life, were finally here. You were beautiful, and not just that, but you fit in with his family perfectly. It was abundantly clear that you were made for him, and Johnny had never been happier. Not even being in space could compare to the joy he was feeling now. 

“Ow,” you exclaimed, capturing his attention. He sat up and saw you holding your phone away from your ear, the sound of high-pitched screaming coming through the phone making you laugh and shake your head. “Vi. Violet. Yes, I know you told me so….put you on speaker? Fine, hold on.” You pulled the phone away from your ear again and pressed the speaker button. “Alright, you’re on speaker.”

“Johnny Storm?”

Johnny looked at you, quirking a brow as he spoke. “This is the one.”

“Holy shit!” Your friend exclaimed from the other line. “Listen, I just wanted you to know that I totally knew it was you the whole time! I tried to tell her but she refused to listen to me!”

Johnny laughed as you ran a hand down your face in exasperation. “I appreciate that, Violet. I only wish you could’ve brought her to me sooner.” 

Violet squealed, and you bit your lip at the hungry stare he was suddenly giving you. 

“Um, Violet, listen, I gotta go now,” you said, your voice a little higher pitched than normal, your eyes still trained on your soulmate’s. 

“Ohhh I get it, you two are gonna bone now,” Violet laughed through the speaker. 

“Violet!” You smacked your forehead, white hot embarrassment creeping up your neck while Johnny laughed out loud. “I’m hanging up now.”

“BYE, HAVE FUN BANGING A SUPERHE—“ You immediately hit the “End Call” button.

“I’m, uh. Sorry about her.”

Johnny chuckled, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. “Don’t be.” The silence that followed was charged with something else now, his eyes wandering freely over your form. “We could, y’know. If…you wanted.”

“Could what?”

Johnny looked around the room as if it were obvious. “Bone.”

You busted out laughing as you walked over and stood between his legs. Your hands found either side of his face, your thumbs affectionately brushing his cheeks. “How romantic.”

“Sorry,” Johnny muttered sheepishly, his hands coming up to rest on your waist. “New to the whole ‘soulmate’ thing.” 

You smiled. “I am too. But we can go at our own pace. However slow or fast we want.” 

Johnny swallowed thickly, his hands squeezing your waist. “And…how slow or fast would you like to go?” 

Your heart was pounding in anticipation, desire beginning to swirl in your lower belly. You couldn’t deny that all of this felt right, and timing be damned, you wanted him. So you said nothing, instead choosing to answer by leaning down and capturing his lips in a deep kiss. 

Johnny immediately let out a groan against your lips that sent heat directly to your core. He pulled you towards him by your hips until you were straddling him, your dress now hiked up against your waist and his hard length hitting your core perfectly. Your fingers carded through his hair as he kissed you harder, his tongue sliding against yours as he bucked his hips up into you. 

“Johnny,” you groaned, grinding down against him.

“God, yeah, say my name like that again,” he panted, his hands roaming over every inch of your skin that they could reach. 

You bit your lip, forehead resting against his as you continued to grind against him. His cock was rubbing against your clit with exact precision, growing desire building hotter. “Johnny,” you panted into his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter. 

“Please let me see you,” he breathed out, staring up at you with wide, needy eyes. 

You got off his lap and stood up, removing the straps from your dress and letting it fall down to your ankles with a quiet thud, leaving you in a strapless bra and lace panties as you kicked off your heels.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He got down onto his knees on the floor then, his hands slowly moving up your thighs as he stared up at you reverently. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You swore your heart fluttered inside your chest. There was Johnny Storm, on his knees for you, staring up at you like you were the answer to every prayer he’s ever had. And truly, you were. You were about to respond when he suddenly began pressing sweet, sloppy kisses to your inner thighs, and your brain immediately went fuzzy. His fingers went to the edge of your panties, yanking them down to your ankles before you stepped out of them. 

Your lower half now bare before him, your instinct was to hide yourself, but Johnny was having none of that, gently swatting your hands away. “No no no, please don’t hide from me, princess,” he muttered, eyes locked onto your core. His thumb pressed against your clit, the flash of sensitivity jolting you forward, your hands on his shoulders steadying you. “So fucking pretty, every part of you. Can’t believe this pussy is mine.”

Swoon. 

Johnny then replaced his thumb with his lips, his mouth wrapping around your sensitive bud and sucking hard. Your knees damn near buckled from the sensation, his wet, hot mouth wasting no time in tasting you completely. He licked a broad stripe through your soaked folds, a guttural groan escaping him at your taste. Your fingers tightened in his hair, instinctively pulling him closer to you, and his hands went around to squeeze your ass. 

“Fuck,” he panted, pulling away just slightly. “You wanna ride my face, princess?

Jesus H. Christ. You nodded vigorously, and Johnny lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He stood up, practically ripping his shirt and pants off and kicking his shoes off before laying back down on the bed, staring up at you expectantly. 

You bit your lip, grinning as you made your way over and climbed on top of him. His hot breath against your core alone was enough to have you shutting your eyes, the desire coursing through your veins making your heart race in anticipation. 

Johnny placed his hands against your ass and practically shoved you against his mouth, wasting no time in eating you like a man starved. At any other time, the sounds escaping your lips would’ve made you embarrassed. But you couldn’t care less, not when they seemed to spur Johnny on even more. Every whine, every moan that you let out had him bucking his hips up in the air, desperate for some kind of friction. You leaned backwards instinctively, hand reaching out and gripping his hard cock through his boxer briefs. 

“Fucking shit,” Johnny grunted against you, bucking up into your hand. His lips were relentless against your clit now, the wet sounds of his tongue against your soaking wet core so loud. It was unbearably hot.

“‘M close,” you whimpered, your hips grinding into his mouth. The coil low inside your belly was winding tighter and tighter, you just needed…

Johnny hummed against you, and the vibrations from his mouth were exactly what you needed to fall over the edge. Stars exploded behind your eyes as the pleasure coursed through you, his tongue working you through it with one hand still on your ass and the other grabbing at your breast.

Both of you panted as you came down, tired yet energized smiles on your faces. You climbed off of him and moved lower on the bed to straddle his legs, your face now inches from the tent in his underwear. You smirked at him.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his head falling back onto the pillow. “You—you don’t have to…”

“I know,” you interrupted. Your hands gripped the bottom of his boxer briefs, pulling them down until his cock sprang free. You swallowed, staring greedily at him. He was perfection, and you wanted to taste him so bad. 

Johnny felt like he had just died and went to heaven. You were staring so prettily up at him, almost innocent-looking, like you weren’t about to suck him off. He was certain he looked stupid, his mouth hanging open in anticipation for what you were about to do, but he didn’t care. He was too focused on your pretty little mouth and the dirty things you were about to do with it. 

You leaned down and licked the entire length of his cock, one hand gently cradling his balls, the other gripping his thigh. The desperate, choked groan that came out of him had your pussy clenching, the sound spurring you on. You opened your mouth wide and took him all the way, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking. Johnny gasped, his hands finding their way to your hair as his hips bucked forward of their own accord. He was desperately moving the hair out of your face so he could see you, watch you move perfectly over his cock. You set up an easy rhythm, relaxing your throat as much as you could as tears hit the corners of your eyes. He was trying so hard not to lose control, his hips bucking up as you took him all the way, your hand still playing with his balls. 

“Wait wait wait,” he panted out suddenly, trying to gently pull you off of him. “I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that. “’s too good.”

You swallowed and nodded, wiping your mouth with a smile that made his cock twitch. 

“C’mere,” he muttered, holding his arms out for you. You climbed over his body and into his arms, kissing him once more. 

“Johnny,” you whispered against his lips. “Want you so bad.” 

He nodded, biting his lip. “I got you, baby girl.” 

He rolled over so you were underneath him now, his fingers interlocking with yours as he kissed you. You spread your legs wider for him, your free hand roaming the expanse of his back. He pulled away then, stopping just to look at you. You could feel his heart pounding, his breathing heavier. 

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he admitted, his eyes roaming across your face. “Imagined what it would be like. What you would be like.” 

You reached up and placed your hand on his cheek, your heart warming at the way he nuzzled into it, his eyes briefly fluttering shut. “Me too. But it’s so much better than I could’ve thought.”

He smiled, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you. “Yeah, you are.” He kissed you again then, his hand gliding down to hike your thigh over his hip. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, unable to wait anymore, your hips bucking up desperately against him. “Please.”

The tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, the breath you were holding escaping you while you relaxed into it. He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours as he pushed deeper, your walls stretching deliciously to accommodate him. 

“God, you feel fucking incredible,” he grunted, eyes shut tight as he worked himself in. 

You cried out in relief as he bottomed out, the pleasure unbelievably intense, more than you’d ever experienced. This is what it’s always supposed to be like, you briefly thought. He set up an easy pace, pumping into you leisurely to allow you to adjust to him. His hands and mouth were everywhere, unable to get enough of you. All of your senses were on fire, and you needed more. 

“Faster,” you pleaded, lifting your hips upward to drive him deeper.

He lifted his head to look up at you, a flash of a grin on his face. “Yeah? You want it harder, princess?”

You nodded, and he wasted no time in giving you exactly what you asked for. He was fucking into you now at a punishing pace, so deep, so hard, that his headboard began slamming into the wall with his every thrust. 

The sounds in his bedroom alone were almost enough to make you come. The headboard hitting the wall, Johnny’s desperate panting and needy groans, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. The pressure inside your lower belly began to build once more, your hips meeting his with every thrust.

“I’m close,” you whimpered, desperately clawing at his back.

He nodded against your forehead. “Yeah, yeah—fuck—me too.” He reached down to rub your clit, and that was all you needed for the dam inside you to break. The pressure built and built until it exploded, your hands gripping him tight as you shouted his name. He followed you over the edge moments later with a cry of your name, spilling into you until there was nothing left. 

The two of you caught your breath for several minutes, your head resting on his chest as his breathing evened out. He brought your hand up to his face, kissing your knuckles. 

“I know this is crazy,” he said quietly. “But I think I love you.” 

You beamed. If it were any other person but your soulmate, it would be crazy. But it wasn’t. It was the only thing in the world that actually made sense. 

You looked up at him, saw the vulnerability and nervousness in his eyes. Your thumb brushed his cheek, your heart squeezing with affection as he leaned into it. “I think I love you too.” 

Johnny’s smile threatened to split his face in two before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. 

Your eyelids were starting to feel heavy, the weight of the day finally getting to you. “‘M sleepy.”

Johnny nuzzled into your hair. “Me too. It’s okay. Sweet dreams, princess.”

The next morning, Johnny woke up before you did. Your back was to his chest, his arms wrapped around your middle, your hands tangled with his. His heart fluttered. It wasn’t a dream, he thought, smiling. 

Carefully and slowly, he untangled himself from you and left the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. He tiptoed to the kitchen, where Ben was having a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. “Morning,” Johnny greeted cheerfully, opening all of the cabinets and drawers. 

Ben furrowed his brow, turning around to look at Johnny. “Uh, morning, what are you doing?”

Johnny didn’t even turn to look at his friend as he searched for all the ingredients he needed. “Gonna make breakfast in bed for Y/N.”

“You’ve never cooked a day in your life.” 

Johnny finally looked at him, a sly grin on his face. “I know. That’s why you’re gonna help me.”

Ben sighed, shaking his head but standing up anyway. “Alright, fine. But only on one condition.”

“What?”

Ben looked at Johnny with a knowing, unamused expression. “You let Reed install the 100% soundproof walls in your room that he’s currently in his lab working on.”

Johnny furrowed his brow. “What? Soundproof walls, why?”

Ben stared blankly.

Oh. 

Johnny grinned sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Deal.”

[hazyserenityx]

Playing With His Aftermath

Title: Playing With His Aftermath (18+ MDNI)

Synopsis: (Lads x Reader) Lads playing with their cum after taking you.

Featuring: Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus and Caleb

Warning: 18+ MDNI,  smut, cumplay, facial, anal play, breeding, breast play. All with consent, respect, and gentle care.

WC: 600 words per LI

It’s been a few hours since Xavier first pinned you against the mattress, your legs and pussy begging for air after he relentlessly fucks you senseless. You can’t remember how many times you’ve cum, how many times you’ve screamed his name, how many times he pushed into your most sensitive spot. 

He lays beside you, chest rising and falling heavily, an arm draped across his forehead, sweat glistening. Your bodies were flushed, his abs flexing with every breath, and his cock twitched, still sensitive from his last release.

You turned to him, pressing a soft kiss to his hip. “You good?”

A low, breathless chuckle escaped him. “You’ve got me seeing stars, sweetheart.”

You grinned, letting your fingers trail lightly down his abdomen. “Then close your eyes,” you murmured. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

He opened one eye, smirking faintly. “Oh yeah? Thought you’d worn yourself out.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you slid down the bed, lips brushing over his inner thigh. His breath caught as you took him into your mouth, warm and slow. You could feel how overstimulated he was, every twitch of his hips, every quiet groan that slipped past his lips.

“Y/N…” he warned, voice husky and low. “I just came—”

But he didn’t stop you. He tilted his head back, one arm flung across the pillows, and let you work.

You bobbed gently, letting your tongue tease the head of his cock, swirling slowly, loving the way he tensed under you. He was so sensitive now, every drag of your mouth making him tremble. You looked up at him, eyes wide, letting him see the devotion in your gaze.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice ragged. “You’re too good at this.”

He shifted suddenly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up before flipping the both of you—so fast it made you gasp. You were on your back now, but he didn’t lay you flat. Instead, he moved above you—kneeling—straddling your chest, his cock glistening as he looked down at you.

“You want it?” he asked, voice dark and velvet-smooth.

You nodded, lips parted, breath shallow. “Yes… please.”

He didn’t hesitate. One hand wrapped at the base of his shaft while the other found your cheek. He stroked himself slowly, eyes fixed on your mouth, your skin, your desperation. His voice dropped another octave.

“Look at you. So fucking pretty like this. Taking care of me after all that.”

You watched, mesmerized, as he stroked harder—until his muscles flexed, and his breath hitched. You know he’s getting close so you open your dirty little mouth to take his cum like a good girl. His warmth splattered across your cheek and lips, his release painting your skin as his eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through his body.

You moaned softly at the feeling, heart pounding.

He opened his eyes, gaze dark and tender, thumb spreading his cum across your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispered.

Your thighs clenched.

Then, his voice dipped, commanding and sweet all at once:

“Again.”

Rafayel was so immersed with his work that he didn’t realize you had come over, until you walked past him completely naked, and that was how it all started. Hours of two bodies colliding with one another, mixed with sweat and unforgiving pleasure. You lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had. Intense orgasms only he can give you. The slight curve of his cock hitting that perfect spot.

He had bent you over the edge of the bed, one large hand splayed across your lower back, the other gripping your hip so tightly you could still feel the imprint of his fingers. You could still feel the way he called your name as he came—hot, heavy—spilling across your back in thick ropes, gasping like he’d been holding himself back for hours.

“Don’t move,” he murmured.

He leaves you momentarily —face turned to the side, chest heaving against the sheets—while he stepped away into the adjoining room. When he returned, his voice was low and rich, curling through the air like smoke.

You lifted your head just enough to glance back. “What are you doing?”

There was a quiet sound—the soft bristle of something brushing against glass.

Then, in his hand, you saw it: a small, slender paintbrush.

Your breath hitched.

Rafayel’s eyes roamed your naked body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every mark he’d left on you. And there were plenty—faint bruises blooming on your hips, scratches along your thighs, flushed skin along your spine.

“You,” he said softly, “are a fucking masterpiece cutie.”

The brush dipped toward your lower back—right where his release still glistened on your skin—and then dragged upward, slow and deliberate.

You shivered. “Rafayel…”

“Shhh. I’m working.”

The bristles slid over your spine in smooth strokes, circling your shoulder blade, then dragging down the curve of your waist, his cum now an artpiece on your back. He painted in silence, one hand pressed between your shoulder blades to keep you still, the other dragging the brush across your back like you were silk.

“Every inch of you belongs to me,” he muttered. “I could cover you in this—layer by layer—and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

You whimpered, your body tightening with each pass. Then came the pause.

He frowned, pulling back slightly. The brush hovered, but the movement stalled.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, breathless.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “I ran out.”

You swallowed hard. “You—what?”

His voice now a dark, and silent whisper,. “I’m not done. But if I want more to paint with…”

You felt the paintbrush slide down your back, between your cheeks, down your pussy to your clit, making little circles with the cum-soaked brush, his hand sliding between your thighs.

“…I’ll have to make more.”

You gasped as he pressed his hard cock against you once more from behind —already hard, already desperate—and in one swift thrust, he was inside you. The paintbrush is still moving in rhythmic circles around your swollen clit, “Rafayel—!”

He groaned into your neck. “Don’t move. Let me finish what I started.”

And he does—using your body not just as a canvas, but as his altar, his obsession, his art. Over and over again.

Your legs were draped over Zayne’s shoulders, heels digging slightly into his back as he moved inside you with slow, powerful strokes. His grip on your hips had softened from before—no longer desperate, but reverent, almost tender. You felt every inch of him, the way his body trembled from holding back. 

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes searching.

“You okay?” he whispered, breathing warm against your lips.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Zayne… please. I want all of you.”

His lips parted like the sound of your voice undid him. And he let go.

A deep moan slipped from his throat as he pushed in hard one final time before pulling his cock out. His whole body tensed, and you gasped at the sensation of his release—hot and thick—spurting across your stomach as he strokes himself in front of you, his cheeks flushed a perfect shade of pink.. Long ropes of cum land from your stomach to just below your breasts, making you shiver from the contrast of warmth against your flushed skin.

Zayne held still for a breath, panting, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His heart beat against yours in heavy thuds. But he didn’t move away.

Watching the way his cum dripped down your body—his gaze full of something deeper than lust. Adoration. Awe.

Then, without a word, he knelt back between your thighs. His hand cupped one of your breasts gently, thumb brushing the underside.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You flushed, but didn’t look away. “What are you thinking?”

“That I could stare at you like this forever.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss just above your navel—right where his release still clung to your skin. “And that I want to make you feel good again.”

You parted your lips to ask what he meant—until he reached for your breasts again, lifting them delicately, pressing them together with the softest touch.

His cock, still slick, slipped between them—his movements now slow, careful, like you were fragile and sacred.

“I just want to feel you,” he whispered. “One more time.”

You gasped as he thrust gently between your breasts, the warm mess of his earlier climax acting as a glide. His eyes never left yours, not even when his hips stuttered again, a softer sound of pleasure escaping him.

When he came again—this time smaller, less frantic—it pooled right at your collarbone. Zayne let out a shaky breath and leaned over you, resting his forehead against yours again.

You could feel his weight, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was comforting.

He stayed like that for a moment, catching his breath.

Then he slowly pulled back, gaze sweeping over the mess on your chest, and his jaw flexed—not in frustration, but something closer to guilt.

“Let me clean you up,” he said gently, already reaching for a warm towel from the nightstand. “You’ve been through enough tonight. You shouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

You smiled up at him, dazed and glowing. “I don’t mind.”

“I do,” he said softly, wiping you down with quiet care. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

His touch was tender, lingering just long enough to soothe without overwhelming. When he was done, he pulled the blanket up, tucking it around you with one arm before sliding into bed beside you.

You curled into him without hesitation.

Zayne wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you like you were his home.

And in the hush of the room, with the smell of sweat and skin still lingering in the air, he kissed your temple and whispered:

“Thank you for trusting me.”

The room was quiet now—except for the soft sound of your breathing and the way Sylus’s chest pressed into your back, still rising and falling with the aftershocks of what he’d just given you… multiple times.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you tonight. Slow. Rough. Deep. Worshipful. Each stroke calculated to hit your most pleasurable spot, in a rhythm that he knows can make you shiver. He loved the way your pussy wrapped around his cock and loved the way you call out his name each time you’re about to squirt.

You two were spooning this time as he took you, his favorite position. He knew it made you feel surrounded. Owned. Loved, even in his most possessive moments.

This time, he hadn’t even repositioned you—he pulled out just before his release, and reached for your thigh, and came across the top of your hips while you were still limp and breathless in his arms.

When he came—hot and deep from your hips rolled down across your backside—you felt every pulse of it, every thick rope dripping down your ass and slipping into the cleft between your cheeks. You shivered, body clenching softly in response.

Sylus didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

One of his hands trailed slowly down your side, over the curve of your hip, before slipping between your thighs. His cum was already sliding downward with gravity, and his fingers followed—coating your skin, slow and intentional.

“You feel that?” he murmured behind your ear, voice rough and low. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

You whimpered, melting into him. You can only respond with an obedient nod.

His hand moved behind you, spreading your ass cheeks slightly before pressing the slick pad of one finger right atop your asshole, where your body was most vulnerable. He paused—silent, listening to your breath.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, brushing his lips along the curve of your shoulder.

You nodded once. “I want it.”

That was all he needed.

His finger eased into your tight ass, slow and gentle, the slide made easier by the mess he’d just left there. You moaned, the unfamiliar stretch making your walls tighten instinctively—and Sylus groaned in return, the tension in his arm wrapping around you increasing.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he rasped.

You felt him getting hard again behind you—already pressing against your thigh, thick and throbbing, as his finger continued to gently work inside you.

Then, without removing his hand, he lifted your leg once more and slid into your soaked pussy from behind, burying himself in one long, fluid thrust.

You gasped, back arching into his chest.

“Sylus—!”

He stilled, savoring the feeling—your slick heat gripping him so perfectly, your body trembling from the double sensation of being filled in two places at once. His finger now angled towards the wall between your ass and pussy, creating an intense sensation that only Sylus is able to give you.

He kissed your neck before he wrapped one of his hands around it. As he begins to move, slow and deep, every motion deliberate.

“I want you to remember this,” he whispered against your skin. “How full you feel. How wrecked you are. How much I love being inside you… all of you.”

His thrusts stayed steady, one hand gripping your thigh, the other still inside you, working you open with reverent care.

And when you came—shaking and gasping into the sheets—he followed seconds later, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, arms wrapped around you as you two enjoyed this world made for only the two of you.

Your body trembled as you sank down onto Caleb once more, thighs aching, knees pressed into the soft sheets. His hands were on your waist, grounding you—but it was his gravity evol that kept you there. A delicious pull, like the invisible weight of him was anchored deep inside you.

His hard throbbing cock was so far in, so deep, so unrelenting.

You gasped, screamed out his name, hips stuttering, but couldn’t lift yourself.

“Stay,” he murmured, voice low and thick, his fingers digging gently into your hips. “Don’t fight it. Just take it.”

And you did.

You let the gravity hold you still, your body flush against his, his cock buried so deep it made your toes curl. Every time you tried to rise, your muscles tensed—but the air around you pulled you back down, as though the very space between your bodies refused to let you go.

“Look at you,” Caleb whispered. “Just sitting there. Full of me. Taking it all in like my good girl”

Your walls fluttered around him, sensitive and overstimulated. He wasn’t even moving—but it didn’t matter. He had control. Of your pace, your rhythm, your breath, your everything. You mind goes blank, the pleasure taking over you like he’s cast a spell on you.

He groaned as his hands slid up your back, down again, gripping the flesh of your ass as you rocked once—twice—and he pulsed hard inside you.

And then he came, his hot cum flowing inside you, shooting up into the deepest walls of your pussy, the heat permeating your senses. You loved the feeling of his cum filling you up. 

He didn’t pull out.

He stayed sheathed, twitching inside you as his hips gave one final roll. You could feel it—the warmth spreading, pooling between your thighs, slowly seeping out as his cock began to soften a little.

But you didn’t move. It feels so good to feel his cum flowing down, coating every part of your pussy.

You sat on him, body slack with pleasure, his softening length still nestled inside you as he exhaled against your neck.

Then his hand drifted down.

He slipped a finger between your thighs, gathering his cum that had escaped, and dragged it upward in slow, sensual strokes—pressing into your clit with practiced ease.

You gasped, body jolting. “Caleb—!”

He shushed you with a kiss, his hand still lazily working circles as his other hand gathered more of the mess between your legs.

“I want to see you covered in me,” he said, voice lower than before. “I want to mark every inch of you.”

His voice demanding now, “Be a good girl, play with yourself with my cum. Let me watch you. I want your cum to mix with mine” 

He dragged his hand up your stomach, smearing the warm slickness along your skin in long, slow swipes. His other hand slid up to your breast, thumb brushing your nipple as he spread the remnants across your chest, possessive but soft. Two fingers finally make his way to your lips, where you obediently open up as he slides them across your tongue.

"You're mine," he whispered.

Then he groaned against your collarbone. You can feel yourself getting close as his hot cum creates an added sensation to your swollen clit.

His cock, still inside you, twitched.

You felt him grow again, hardening with every slow beat of his heart.

“Caleb, please, I want more, I'm so close. Please, I need you again.” you whispered, dazed.

He smiled against your skin.

“Did you think I was done?”

In one smooth shift, he rolled his hips up into you, gravity curling around your spine once again, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—helpless to the slow build starting again. His hand clasped and binds your two hands behind your back. You submit, giving him full control of your body, your moans, and your orgasms.

This time, you knew he would take you even deeper, it was going to be even messier, and he wasn’t going to stop until every inch of you is covered with him.

[leonalovesalot]

Just gotta show you that I'm the one I

RafeCameron x Reader

In which you kiss Rafe during a game of spin the bottle, and he can't seem to leave you alone after.

wc: 7.1k

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The bass of the music made your whole body vibrate with adrenaline— that and the alcohol. It was the first party of the summer yet, everyone celebrated like it was the last. You rarely showed up to things like this, but after a difficult semester and a tough breakup, you figured you deserved to let loose. That’s what you kept telling yourself—to drown out the badgering thought that if you’d just been good enough, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself cheated on.

You shake your head like you were trying to get the thoughts to fall from your ears, and gulped down another Jell-O shot. Your fourth one of the night.

When you set the shot glass down, your arm was yanked and your body was being dragged over to the door leading down to the basement.

“Soph, where’re you taking me?” You giggled at the end of your question, which was confusing because nothing was funny. But you heard from friends that when you got drunk, it was a laugh fest.

“Basement— they’re playing spin the bottle.” She held you tight and guided you down the stairs. Leaning closer to whisper in your ear, she says, “maybe I’ll get to kiss Caleb.” She almost squealed with excitement.

Lots of people were laughing and chit chatting as they sat down in a poorly formed circle. You found an empty space next to Topper, who smiled politely at you. At that moment, you remembered that alcohol also made you very affectionate. You didn’t know Topper all that well and you still reached out and pinched his cheek in response. He was taken aback, but didn’t say anything.

“Alright, everyone knows the rules. If the bottle lands on you, you gotta give the spinner a big ol’ kiss. Capeesh?” Kelce announced to everyone, and looked around to make sure they were on the same page.

Nods and hums filled the room and an empty corona bottle was placed in the middle of the circle.

Kelce went first.

Everyone stared at the bottle in anticipation. Some dreading it landing on them, while others prayed to a higher being that they’d get to kiss Kelce. You, on the other hand, just looked up and around the room at everyone since the spinning bottle was making you dizzy.

Cheers sounded through the basement as the bottle finally chose. It landed on Kelce’s ex-girlfriend, Madison. Everyone whooped and laughed at how unbelievably perfect it was. Kelce was in disbelief and Madison looked like she regretted coming to the party. But rules were rules and also, people were too drunk to realize they had free will and could back out.

A perverse smile was slapped across your face, along with everyone else, at the sight of Kelce and Madison leaning in. Their breakup was the talk of the town as neither of them were the type to keep a low profile. The arguments in the streets to screenshots posted all over social media made this whole situation funnier.

The two leaned in and kissed each other for a split second before going right back to their spots. The group booed at the lack of commitment, but the ex-couple didn’t seem to care.

Madison’s turn.

The group once again glued their eyes to the spinning glass bottle. Your eyes wandered and took in everyone’s appearances— just a bunch of horny kooks, and you were no different. It had been a while since you’d got some action— or any proper action. It was embarrassing to admit but, technically, you were a virgin. You’d done everything but the big “P” for penetration— always interrupted. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t miss the closeness. Lips on your lips. Hands in your hair.

"Oh shit! Didn't know we'd get some girl-on-girl tonight!" A voice hollered from across the circle and you tuned back into the game.

Madison's bottle landed on Jade.

It was kind of perfect, actually. The one thing you remembered about Jade was how, one time in high school, you caught her checking you out after gym. You thought a lot about her after that— wondering what the curious stare meant back then.

Seeing her now—unflinching, ready to kiss Madison—confirmed your suspicions, and you mentally patted yourself on the back.

The two leaned in pressed their lips against one another. The crowd cheered and whistled as the girls got deeper into it. Your brows raised slightly as you were surprised at how long the kiss was. It was messy too— you could see a little tongue. Madison was practically swallowing Jade like she was trying to get any trace of Kelce off of her. You took a deep breath and looked away as you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks.

"Now that's what 'm talking about!"

The girls pulled away, sitting back down with shy smiles and flushed faces. They avoided each others' eyes and the group nudged them, finding the whole situation funny.

Jade's turn.

She spun the bottle without hesitation and stared at it intensely. She was quite attractive, with her dark hair and piercing eyes—so naturally, everyone was kind of hoping the bottle would choose them. You included. You laughed at the thought. God, I'm drunk.

The bottle began to slow its rotation and finally came to a halt. The loud, boisterous kooks somehow grew even louder and more boisterous. Your eyes trailed from the neck of the bottle to the legs of the person sitting cross-legged, up their torso, and finally to their face

Rafe Cameron.

The reaction of the crowd was understandable.

Rafe, Rafe, Rafe.

What to say about him?

He was the personification of the word "kook". During his teenage years, he was like a tyrant. Most people stayed out of his way because of his unpredictability and short fuse. You always tried to give him the benefit of the doubt considering how he was raised, but he didn't always make that so easy. With all this in mind, it's worth mentioning that now, as an adult, he was doing better. His belligerent days were behind him, and he had calmed down quite a bit. You don't remember the last time you heard of him beating someone bloody. Nowadays, when he'd come back from college, he'd work with his Father during the day, and let loose during the night. Still, you didn't forget about the person he was. No one did. Tensed shoulders and hushed whispers still arose at the mention of Rafe's name, and it would be a while before that changed.

Rafe was nonchalant. When the bottle landed on him, he held up his index and middle finger to motion for Jade to come closer to him. You watched with your Jell-O shot riddled mind— which had you thinking he was very sexy at that moment. Jade licked her lips and leaned forward on all fours— ready for it. Rafe's hand found the back of her neck and he pressed his lips to hers. The room erupted in cheers and you covered your ears at the volume. Your eyes stayed on Rafe and Jade and you shamelessly wondered how it would feel to kiss him. Despite his rough appearance, his lips were soft and pink.

They look delicious.

The kiss was short and clean. Nothing like the one before, and a part of you was surprised. Rafe pulled away first and sat back down, taking a swig of his drink.

Now you were a little intrigued— more alert. Moving your pupils side-to-side, you counted the heads in the circle and rounded up to about fifteen participants. There were also lots more people in the room, just as spectators, and they were at the edge of their seats. There was like a 7% chance that you’d be the one the bottle landed on— slim odds, but not impossible.

“I hope it doesn’t land on me,” Sofia whispers in your ear.

You nodded, even though you couldn’t really hear what she said over the drumroll sounding through the room.

Rafe held the bottle with his left hand and spun it with a sharp flick of the wrist. He stared at it closely. You wondered if he was mentally hoping that it would land on someone specific. There was no way to tell just by studying his face.

Again, the bottle began to slow down in momentum, and everyone knew it was going to choose the next participant soon. It was an exciting feeling— a lot more amplified during this round than the ones before. And that was the power of Rafe.

The bottle stopped spinning.

You looked at it and followed its path. You heard Sofia gasp right next to you.

The bottle pointed right between you and her.

The crowd groaned and then started weighing in on what should be done. Everyone talked over one another trying to reach a consensus.

All this over a game of spin the bottle.

You swallowed and looked across the circle at Rafe, whose eyes were already on you. It made you flinch in surprise and you quickly averted your gaze back to the bottle. You pretended to think about a way to solve the impossible equation.

Hmm, maybe he could spin again?

While you were busy pretending to look deep in thought, Rafe had already made up his mind. Ignoring all the opinions of those around him, he reached forward and shifted the bottle an inch so it was pointing directly at you.

Now you were the one gasping, as Sofia let out a sigh of relief.

Your eyes remained fixed on the bottle as the crowd got rowdy once again. Because this wasn’t as uneventful as a re-spin. No— this time, the bottle didn’t choose you.

Rafe did.

It felt like the first time ever in spin the bottle history for something like that to happen. And that’s why everyone was shouting, cheering, and feeling oh so lucky to be witnesses. Because now there were layers to this game. It raised questions. Like, why did he choose you over Sofia? Or, had he been hoping it would land on you all along?

Whatever it was, you didn’t have time to think about it right now. Because the game was still ongoing.

And this time, Rafe was the one moving closer. He was actually putting in the effort to come to you. This had you slightly impressed and also feeling a little funny. You felt Sofia pat you on the back as a sign of encouragement. So you slowly moved towards him too. Quickly running your tongue over your lips, you scooted forward and he met you before you got to the middle.

Impatient?

Eager?

Coming face-to-face with him was— and you don't say this lightly— breathtaking. You could sit there for days trying to find a flaw, and still come up short. He was simply perfect. With alluring eyes and pink lips, it was no surprise that everyone fawned over him all his life.

The group chanted your names like you guys were athletes or something. It had your veins coursing with adrenaline, and you weren't sure if you enjoyed that feeling or not. You were never used to being the centre of attention, but Rafe was. And that somehow comforted you.

Rafe did everything at his own pace—peer pressure never got to him. Finally, with a curl of his lip, he tilted his head and leaned forward, closing the distance. His lips met yours and he corrected his angle to better feel them. Your initial instinct was to freeze and just let him do all the work. But then you realized that this opportunity wouldn’t present itself again— it’s not like you’d want to be anywhere near Rafe when you’re sober. So why not make the most of it now, and give people a show?

Your blood alcohol content provided you with the boost that you needed. While Rafe took his time to suck on your bottom lip, you brought your hands to the sides of his cheeks and held him like he was the most precious artifact in the world. When he felt your touch, he moaned all breathy into the kiss—just for you to hear. You took that chance to deepen the kiss and swipe the inside of his mouth with your tongue, which he gladly welcomed.

The crowd’s cheers didn’t die down once. If anything, they got louder.

When you felt satisfied with your little risk of the day, you pulled back. Rafe, for a moment, had forgotten where he was and reflexively leaned forward to catch your missing touch. But when it wasn't there, he opened his eyes and noticed you’d sat back down at your spot. Topper reached forward and shook his shoulder, exclaiming, “dude, that was crazy!” Rafe just took a few seconds to catch his breath and then returned to his spot. His fingers kept finding his way back to his lips to settle the tingling feeling that was so prominent there.

You were out of breath too, but the game wasn’t over.

So you reached for the bottle to continue your turn. Grabbing it between your fingers and thumb, you gave it a hard spin and kneeled before it.

It was hard concentrating on the game after what you just did, and your thoughts were now filled with Rafe Cameron. Just as your mind was occupied with him, your eyes wanted to be included too. So you briefly look away from the bottle, and to Rafe, only to see him standing up and leaving. A few people seemed to ask him where he was going, but he just shook his head in response.

It was almost like he didn’t want to watch you kiss someone else.

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The morning, or afternoon, brought the blaring sun and a miserable hangover. You barely stumbled out of your bed at half past noon, and threw up on your way to the shower. The regret set in as the water hit your skin, and you cringed as your mind played a recap of the night.

Images of the party, the solo cups, and the wasted kooks all came flashing through when you closed your eyes. However, they shot open when you remembered the spin the bottle game.

Oh god. I full on made out with Rafe.

You weren’t sure how you felt about the whole situation. Sure, it was just a game and there was no need for further complication. But you weren’t the type to just kiss anyone at anytime. All the people you’d been with were ones you’d intended to pursue, and date, and all that. Seeing as how that was the last thing you wanted with Rafe, it was hard to wrap your head around the act of doing something so intimate with someone who you’d never really talk to again.

Is this what adulthood is?

Is this what hook-up culture is like?

You didn’t care for it. But it made things easier that the only two people you kissed last night were ones you wouldn’t cross paths with again.

After Rafe left, your next kiss was with Caleb. Yes, the Caleb that Sofia was praying she’d get. It made things quite awkward and you apologized profusely to her before, and after, you quickly gave him a peck. You earned boo’s from the crowd but you didn’t really care because your friendship came before all that. So Caleb was off the table, and back to being a stranger.

Rafe is the same too. Before last night, the only time you remembered interacting with him was during chemistry (which he was repeating), when you got partnered up for a lab. It was mostly forgettable besides the part where he made you do the whole experiment and lab report on your own, which had you furious. But he made up for it by presenting it to the class, knowing you were too shy to do so. Oh, and he’d also grab you the goggles and lab coat every time. So… that was quite nice of him.

Nevertheless, that was almost four years ago. Now you two went to different universities and lived different lives. He took the business route, and you took arts— couldn’t be more different. There was nothing to worry about then. Last night would blend in with the rest of the nights to come and, soon, you would forget the feeling of his lips on yours, and the quiet desperation he had for you.

Stepping out of the shower, you felt a lot better. Cold showers were the cure to everything.

You headed down to the kitchen, trying to satiate the growling of your stomach. The fridge was full of leftovers from last night that your mom so kindly packed up for you. It was a shame you were too nauseous to eat anything too heavy. So you stuck to some cold cereal and walked over to the table to begin eating.

A doorbell made you flinch and stand up. You peaked out the window and noticed a van had dropped off a package for you. Maybe it was those shoes you ordered two weeks ago. Finally some good news.

Walking over to the front door you opened it to see the shoes truly had arrived. You bent down to pick up the box and noticed a small envelope leaned against the wooden railing of the porch. It didn’t seem to have come with the shoes. No, they were placed too far apart. And this envelope had your name written on it. Not in any fancy letters, just simple penmanship.

You furrow your brows, pick up both things, and head into the house.

The shoes could wait now that your intrigue was stolen by the envelope. It was black too. You didn’t even know they made them in that colour.

Slowly and carefully, you slid your fingernails under the flap and lifted it, trying your best not to tear anything. It felt expensive.

Maybe it’s an invitation to midsummer.

No, but then Mom and Dad would’ve gotten one too.

After successfully opening it without any damage, you peaked inside. There was just a slip of paper. Not just your common printer paper though— this was thicker. Like card-stock.

Your index and thumb pinched the top of it and took it out of the envelope. One side, the side you saw first, was blank. The other just had a small message written on it.

“That was some kiss.”

You stared at the card and read the words over and over again until you were seeing them in between blinks. Who could possibly send such a thing? And why?

Was it Caleb?

It was Caleb, wasn’t it?

Fuck, this is all so wrong! He’s not yours to claim and you weren’t his. Sofia would be distraught and the thought of that made you feel like you could puke again.

You slam the card down, and grab your car keys. Time to pay Caleb a little visit to nip this in the bud.

All you knew about him was that he recently started working the morning shift at the Wreck. He should still be there if you drove fast enough.

You pulled into the parking space and marched into the restaurant like you were on a life or death mission— which is what it felt like in the moment.

Your head turned from side-to-side quickly as your eyes scanned the place. They zeroed in when you spotted him behind the counter. Your legs moved and dragged the rest of you along. You placed the envelope on the counter and waited for him to notice you.

“Y/N, hey, what can I getcha?” Caleb picked up the plate from the customer before you and walked it over to the kitchen in the back. He returned with a welcoming smile on his face.

“I’m not here to eat, Caleb.” You slid the envelope forward.

He furrowed his brows and looked down at it. “What’s this? Are you trying to bribe me or something?” He chuckles.

Look at him being all oblivious.

You narrow your eyes. “You know what it is. This- you can’t be sending me stuff like this.”

He was speechless, not having a clue of what you were on about. He looked down at the envelope again, then back at you and said, “Y/N, I have never seen this before. Ever.”

You scoff in disbelief. “At least own up to it— I mean come on! I came all the way here and—”

“Dude, I’ve been waiting for my sandwich forever.”

A voice cuts you off and steals Caleb’s attention. You turn to the sound and see Rafe behind you. Quickly you turn back and stare ahead, hoping he didn’t recognize you.

“Sorry, I’ll get on that.” Caleb shot Rafe an apologetic look and turned to you to quietly say, “promise I didn’t send you that.”

You weren’t sure if you trusted him. He could’ve just been too nervous to admit it. Maybe he wasn’t the confrontational type. Who knows?

With a sigh, and your head hung low, you walk out of the restaurant without glancing at anyone else.

If it was Caleb—and you knew it was—then your reaction would’ve made it clear to him that you weren’t into it. Which meant mission accomplished, because you only came to the Wreck to shut this down before it got out of hand.

On the drive home, there was still a feeling of dissatisfaction gnawing at you. Because, although, you were set on Caleb being the culprit, there was something about the sincerity in his voice that made you think otherwise.

He could've been a theatre kid— lots of time to perfect his acting.

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The next morning you were feeling a lot better without the life-altering hangover. To add to the great morning, you also woke up with zero thoughts of the mystery-of-the-card-giver— which sounded like poorly written Agatha Christie novel.

A new summer day came with so much potential, and so much daylight. You planned to run a few errands with your Dad and then catch a movie with Sofia. It was the perfect balance of productivity and relaxation, and you were ready to get on with it.

First on the list was picking your Dad up from the auto body shop a few blocks away. He had to leave his car with the mechanics because of a recent, harmless, fender bender.

You pull on your shorts and a band tee of a group you couldn't name three songs of, and head out the door. You stepped onto the porch and noticed a black box at the last minute, which made you stumble and roll your ankle. "Ow shit!" Leaning against the doorframe, you reached for your ankle and rubbed the area with the shooting pain. After trying, and failing, to massage that pain away, you let go and reached for the box.

You were already annoyed, and you had a feeling that the contents of this box would only exacerbate that. Holding it in your hands, it wasn't too heavy or too big. It was sleek, rectangular, and... velvet? So definitely not cheap.

Great.

You walked over to the porch swing and placed it in your lap.

What is Caleb's game here?

Pressing on the small golden button to make the lid pop up, you were gasping at the sight before you. A gold chain bracelet. You recognized the motifs on it— five of them. All four leaf clover shaped. Black. A vintage Van Cleef.

Holy shit these are like seven thousand dollars.

You felt like you had forgotten how to breathe. Quickly, you shut the box and place it next to you on the swing– afraid you'd break it.

Who in their right mind would carelessly spend money like this?

Caleb was rich, but not this rich. How could he shell out seven g's on you after just a peck that lasted like half a millisecond? He was clearly taking the whole "hopeless romantic" title too far.

Your phone buzzed and you checked to see that your Dad had texted you asking of your whereabouts. Snapping out of the daze, you put the box inside and leave for the auto body shop.

The whole day you felt a strange weight on your shoulders. Your love language wasn't receiving gifts, and so this made you very uncomfortable. The price too! You wouldn't accept it even if it was given to you by your husband of fifty years! (Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But still.)

And the worst part was that you couldn't talk to Sofia about it as it would kill her.

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You got no sleep last night. Just tossing and turning as the bracelet stared at you from your nightstand. Eyeing you with its slick chain and shiny motifs. It was truly a sight to see and you were already starting to feel upset at the thought of parting with it.

So you decided to rip off the bandaid, and give it back to Caleb right away. Did you try it on a few times? Yes. Did you consider just keeping it because it was a gift for you and you deserved something nice? Yes.

But ultimately, the cost of the thing made you too nervous, and returning it was the right thing to do.

You were dressed for the day and ready to head out. Before opening the door, you took a deep breath and mentally prayed that there wouldn't be another expensive present awaiting you. You didn't know what you'd do if there was just a Rolls-Royce in your driveway. Mainly because you wouldn't know how to return it.

Unlocking the door, and opening it just a teeny bit, you peaked your head out and looked down.

Shit.

Another box. This one was square shaped and it had a small envelope attached.

Where does Caleb find the time?

You reluctantly picked it up and brought it inside. A few moments of mental debate began to take place as you couldn’t decide whether to open it or not. What if you got too attached?

The envelope sat there on your coffee table and you were dreading the thought of another flirtatious line. You thought you had been stern with Caleb the other day. And yet here was evidence that your plan had backfired.

You bite the bullet and tear open the envelope without a care this time. Inside was a small note again.

“For your pretty neck.”

You furrow your brows and notice your stomach felt funny. You turn to the box, finally, and open it to find a matching necklace to your bracelet. Oh my. Oh no. Oh, this has gone too far.

Hitting up the Wreck twice in three days was rare for you. You typically didn’t like going there because of potential run-ins with old classmates you felt awkward around. But this was important stuff! You were being showered with expensive jewelry! And it had to stop.

On your angry march into the restaurant, you were mentally rehearsing a long and scary speech you’d say to Caleb. Drop words like “impermissible” and “cease!”

“Didn’t like the necklace, huh?”

You froze. It felt like the Looney Toons when a character was sprinting with smoke coming from their legs and then stop with that horrible tire screeching sound. A chill ran up your back because that voice… that voice didn’t belong to Caleb. No. It belonged to Rafe. You stood there for a few seconds, right in front of the doors. Then you took a deep breath, and turned around to Rafe who was standing behind you.

A million things could’ve been said but for some reason you settled on, “what— uhm— what’re you talking about?”

You flinched from surprise when he let out a short, but genuine, laugh.

“You know what.” He crosses his arms over his chest and quirks his brow at you.

Before you could respond, your phone rang in your pocket. You look down and fish out your phone, shooting him an apologetic look. It was Sofia.

When you glanced back up, Rafe had walked off with Kelce. And you were left with your hummingbird heartbeat and Sofia’s voice ranting about another annoying incident involving her coworker.

Her words went in one ear, and out the other. The only thing you could think about right now was how it was Rafe all along. The note. The jewelry.

For your pretty neck.

What in the actual hell.

You had never thought to suspect him because you didn’t think he actually had… feelings? Like human emotions? Like did he actually want you to like him? Was he capable of longing for a person? Unless that’s not what this was— maybe he just wanted to get laid. In the midst of this busy schedule, he probably didn’t have much time to get his rocks off. And maybe that’s why he needed you. To be there as a stress reliever. And he most likely thought you’d be more than up for it considering the way you kissed him. Like it was your last day on earth. Practically sucking face.

Oh god.

Later that night you laid on your bed and stared at the ceiling. There were too many questions on your mind. Along with those, of course, was a fluttering feeing in your stomach. Because even though you didn’t know his intentions, a part of you felt like you were actually being pursued. Like your attention was a valuable prize. A goal.

But this had already gone too far. And you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing something else on your doorstep tomorrow morning.

Maybe I should just stop leaving the house.

You shake your head and knock some sense into yourself. It’s time to take matters into your own hands! Sure, in person, you couldn’t get a word out to Rafe because of his intimidating presence (and hot face). But you could shoot him a text. There was more confidence behind the screen without his eyes swallowing you up.

You grab your cellphone.

You stood up and paced around your bedroom. Okay, all you have to do is send a strongly-worded text. Words. On a screen. You’ll be fine! It’s just a text! It’s not like he can reach through the screen and touch you, right? That kind of technology wouldn't come into existence overnight.

You took deep breaths as you typed his phone number into your cell. Okay. Okay. You can do this. Words on a screen. Words. Letters.

You stared at the message in horror, but sent it anyway. Why in the world were you texting like you needed a moment to talk about your lord and saviour Jesus Christ?

Why did you get so formal when you texted strangers? He’s going to think you’re the same goody-two-shoes all those years ago in chem class. But also, you didn’t need his approval. To be honest, you wanted nothing to do with Rafe. He was a big guy in many ways— his big personality, big presence, big impact. You weren’t sure you could handle it— or that you wanted to. You were quite content with the small circle of people in your life who helped maintain the peace. And Rafe? Rafe is… havoc.

But you also never knew he could be so smooth. All those years of girls chasing him you never thought it was because he had something to offer.

Clearly, you missed out.

The cell phone flew across the room and hit your headboard, plopping into the thin crevice between it and the mattress. His last text clearly had some sort of physical effect on you to the point where you thought that destroying your phone to bits would be better than responding.

Maybe this was a joke. Like a dare. Oh, that would be so cruel— but that was more up his alley, than being this sweet and generous loverboy.

You didn’t want to keep living in this fever dream, so you decided it was best to just call it a night.

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Day four.

You thought that after the text exchange last night, there would be a pause, a hesitance, a break.

But it seemed that Rafe only decided to crank things up. He didn’t see your texts as a sign to back down—no— he saw them as a challenge— to see how far he can push you; see how much you could take.

Outside your doorstep lay a large bouquet of tulips— red tulips. Knowing a little something about flowers and symbolism from English class during your senior year— these indicated love.

Love.

But maybe it wasn’t on purpose. Maybe they were just the first ones he laid his eyes on.

Attached was another note, and another box.

You shut your eyes tight hoping that you were just imagining things. But when you opened them again, the sight hadn’t changed.

Your muscle memory kicked in, and you carried all the presents inside, into the living room. You laid them on the coffee table and dissected each gift one by one.

The box, first.

It was smaller, like one for a ring. Which scared you— because rings could mean many things. Marriages, promises, friendships. None of which applied to you and Rafe.

The velvet box popped open and your assumptions were proven correct. A gold ring to match the necklace and bracelet. You stared at your reflection in the four leaf clover motif.

Your hands trembled and you took out the note next.

“Don’t freak out… just wanted to compliment the set.”

It was like he read your mind. Yes, it’s not like this was a proposal— no, this was a dire fashion choice.

Today was a busy day for you, unfortunately. You didn’t have time to show up at his door and talk some sense into him.

But then again, he clearly didn’t back down when you called him out. So maybe the best way to deal with this is to ignore him.

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

By the fifth day—and your lack of reaction to the ring—Rafe was a little more desperate. After the last gift, he’d been sure you’d reach out and scold him like a Sunday school teacher. Which, disturbingly, he found kind of hot and made a mental note to bring up with a professional. Still, he was Rafe Cameron, and when he wanted something, he’d stop at nothing to get it. Nothing. So your silence didn’t make him recoil—it only enticed him more.

Like clockwork, you opened your front door and looked down on the porch.

A box and a note.

More fucking red tulips.

You picked them up and brought them inside. There was only one vase in your entire house which was already occupied by yesterday’s flowers.

The box contained a pair of earrings to match the set. You almost felt dizzy when you mentally calculated the total cost of all his gifts.

Earrings were your favourite accessory and the longer you stared at them, the harder it was to resist putting them on and strutting around your living room.

Next, the note.

“Playing hard to get?

Makes me want you more.”

You read the words again, and again, and again. They made you feel something— a feeling you couldn’t pinpoint.

You sighed and pulled out your phone, opening up your text messages.

Rolling your eyes, you toss your phone aside and got on with your day. You weren’t the type of person whose life is upended because of some guy.

Yeah, he’s just a guy— a guy who’s given you almost twenty thousand dollars worth of gifts without blinking. A guy who has been complimenting and pursuing you like his life depended on it. A guy who's making you feel wanted for the first time in a long time.

You take a deep breath, it’ll all blow over in a few days.

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Oh, how wrong your were.

You audibly gasped when you opened your front door the next day. It seemed that Rafe had run out of accessory ideas, because all there was on your porch was an envelope full of cash. You jumped and picked it up and brought it inside, immediately locking the door. Flipping it over, you read his messy handwriting you'd become so familiar with.

"Does this count as an atrocity or generosity?"

Smoke was coming out of your ears and you were red with a mixture of rage, humiliation, and fucking butterflies.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins had you stomping towards your car with all his gifts, or debts, in hand and placing them in the passenger seat. You were slamming doors left, right, and centre trying to make a statement, but when it came to the gifts, you gently wrapped a seatbelt around them. It disrupted your flow, but your bank account couldn't take the hit if anything was damaged.

White-knuckling the steering wheel all the way to Tannyhill, you took shallow breaths and practiced your assertive voice.

Today it would all end. Finally.

When you pulled up to the house, you noticed Rafe was outside, on the grass, speaking into his cellphone. Without a care in the world, you drove up his driveway and noticed his brows shoot up, wondering who you were. Then when you got out of the car, frantically, his brows returned to their spot and a smirk settled across his face.

You slammed the door and walked up to him with the envelope of cash clutched in your hand. He hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket, without saying goodbye.

"What is this?" The assertive voice went out the window, and instead you sounded shrill. But Rafe didn't seem to mind at all— if anything, he was intrigued... and a little turned on.

He looked from your eyes, to your lips, and then to the envelope. "Generosity?"

You clicked your tongue in frustration and responded, "this isn't funny! I told you to stop."

He was about to say something, but you cut him off and began pacing on the lawn.

"— and this? Cash? Are you insane? What if someone saw? They'd think I was a drug dealer or something!" You ran your hand through your hair almost ripping it out of your scalp.

"No one would think that." He shrugged.

You stared at him like he grew a second head.

"Is that the only thing you took away from what I said?" The vein in your forehead was about to pop.

"No, I heard the whole thing— but I just had to let you know that you don't give off the drug dealer vibe."

"Oh!" You let out a short, hysterical laugh. "Oh, that is so good to know. I'm so glad we got that cleared up." You exclaimed with biting sarcasm.

Rafe was finding you more entertaining than any TV show he'd binged in the past, well, ever. He could watch you all day and listen to you yell at him for an embarrassingly long time.

He finally spoke up with the question he'd been meaning to ask since the night of spin the bottle.

"Go out with me."

You halted in your maniacal pacing— you were sure you'd dug a hole in his lawn at this point. You looked up at him with eyes basically bulging out of your head.

"What?" Your voice reached a pitch that only a dog could hear.

He chuckled, "go out with me."

He couldn't have been real. What human being was this shameless and infuriating? If you had told yourself last week that the Rafe Cameron would be acting like a lovesick child for you, you'd laugh and laugh until you fainted.

You scoffed in disbelief and replied, "are you serious?" You scoffed again and then just gasped like you were out of breath. "What— you— what? You think you can just buy my affection?"

His amused eyes never left you once. He didn't blink— not wanting to miss even a second of this conversation with you.

"No, but I can buy your attention right? Because," he smiled and stepped closer, "you're here."

Without hesitation, you took a step back and distanced yourself, to Rafe's dismay. But he was patient when it came to you, so he stayed still.

You were speechless. How does one respond to that?

He tilts his head, "cat got your tongue?"

You shake your head, "I only came buy to return everything to you. Nothing more."

With that, you head towards your car and bring out the stack of boxes from the passenger seat. You walk back to him to hand them off. But he doesn't budge, instead just putting his hands in his pockets with a smug look.

What a little—

"Rafe." You say sternly.

He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue.

"Y/N." He mimics your tone.

You sigh and hold the boxes out again, "please. I can't accept them."

He shakes his head, "I bought them for you. I'm not taking anything back."

With a groan you reply, "I don't want them! I- I don't want this— whatever this is— between us."

Rafe was slightly discouraged with your words, but he told himself that you were just desperate, and would say anything to convince him. He knew a little something about that.

Light bulb.

"Okay," he crosses his arms over his chest.

You blink surprised, "okay?"

He nods, "I'll take them back if you go out with me—"

You roll your eyes and exhale heavily, but he continues.

"— just one date. One dinner. And I'll prove to you that you do want this— whatever this is— between us."

"Rafe, there's no point in going through all that hassle—"

"One dinner. And if by the end you still— for some reason— aren't completely in love with me, then I'll leave you alone."

You paused and narrowed your eyes at him. "Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nods.

This is it. This was your shot.

"Deal."

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

This was initially supposed to be one-shot but got wayyy too long!! But there will be another part to this soon!

Thank you for reading <33

Let me know if there's anything specific you'd like to see in the second part as I'm still brainstorming what should happen :)))

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a series of young women are being murdered in your town, and you — the host of a true crime podcast — are determined to investigate the case yourself, even if it means constantly getting in the way of a team of profilers and putting yourself in danger once or twice.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x podcast host female!reader, criminal minds typical violence, case details, mention of sexual violence, abduction, addiction, and drug use, season 2 bau team 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14k 𝐚/𝐧: just letting you know I made a taglist for people waiting for the next parts! (part 3 — august 2)

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐/𝟒

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executioner — an official who carries out a sentence of death on a condemned person.

───────────────────────────────────

previously...

You managed to get some shut-eye only around dawn, but when you woke up, you didn’t feel rested at all, so you suspected you hadn’t really fallen asleep, that maybe your brain had just briefly disconnected from your body and stopped registering the passing hours on the clock. But maybe that was better than dreams where everything was hair. Hair being cut, hair in tins, hair between your fingers, sliding along your arms like a plague.

In the morning, you washed your face with ice-cold water to wake yourself up. Life went on—you still had to go to work, carrying that heavy feeling of uncertainty on your back. On top of that, the knowledge that the case had been handed over to the BAU filled you with mixed feelings. For the most part, you were relieved, they were professionals, the best when it came to catching serial killers, which was a glimmer of hope. But on the other hand, their presence and the fact that they knew about your existence, meant you had to be more careful getting involved in the investigation…

…walking into the kitchen to make yourself some coffee, you screamed at the top of your lungs.

The man kneeling by one of the cabinets jumped in surprise, hitting his head on it with a loud thud and cursing. It wasn’t until he stuck his head out and gave you a confused look that you pressed a hand to your pounding heart, realizing it was just Danny.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you blurted out in an apologetic tone, trying to mask how shaken you were. After the stress you’d gone through yesterday searching the station, your reactions to everything had become sharper, more intense. “I just scared myself more than anything. What are you doing here so early?”

Danny let out a breath through his mouth, rubbing the spot on his head where he’d hit it.

“There’ll be a bump, but it’s nothing serious. What am I doing here? Your mom asked me to fix the faucet, and it just so happens this is the only time I’m free today,” he said, nodding toward the open cabinet just under the sink where the pipe ran, and only then stood up, resting his hands loosely on his hips. He gave you a casual, half-smile. “I forgot you get up this early for work. But looks like you’re in for a rough day, look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

“I did. For like fifteen minutes.”

Danny snorted.

“What kept you up? Digging through the details of some old case again?”

Neither he nor your mom followed your online activity all that closely, but from time to time, they’d ask out of curiosity, show some genuine interest. You tried to look just as relaxed as he did when you shrugged your shoulders.

“Why dig through old cases when I’ve got a current one right here?” you said. You really wanted it to come off as a joke, but after what happened the day before, you couldn’t manage it. Your voice came out tight, like from somewhere deep down, and Danny furrowed his brows. You cleared your throat quickly. You could tell him about what you’d found yesterday. “No but seriously I always have trouble sleeping when the full moon’s close. Heard a lot of people do.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Mhm. Some people also turn into werewolves.”

“True. There really are two types of us.”

You lifted the corners of your mouth slightly.

Danny went back to working on the sink while you started packing your lunch for work. You barely spoke, lost in thought and moving on autopilot. You didn’t even notice the sound of honking outside—Danny had to point it out.

“That’s probably for you.”

You frowned and walked over to the kitchen window, lifting it only to spot Charlie’s car in your driveway. He never picked you up in the mornings—you weren’t on his way, and he always had to drop his younger brother off at work first. You froze for a second.

Your first instinct was pure anger, remembering how you had to go to that abandoned station alone, even though he’d promised to come with you. You wanted to ignore him, let him honk again and then drive off. But then you remembered—you hadn’t talked to him yet about why he left.

You hadn’t realized Danny had been watching the expression on your face the whole time. He must’ve noticed the hesitation and tension, because he asked,

“What? You two had a fight? I can give you a lift if you want, I’m almost done with the sink—”

“No need. I mean, thank you, but...I need to talk to him.”

He nodded.

You stepped out of the house with your arms crossed over your chest. Instead of getting into the car, you stopped by the driver’s side window, quickly noticing that Charlie’s fourteen-year-old brother, Conrad, was sitting in the back seat. You wanted an explanation first and only then would you decide whether or not you even wanted to ride with him but you didn’t want to bring this up in front of someone else. With a cold expression and a sigh, you walked past the car and got in.

“Hi, Conrad,” you said to the younger boy.

Focused on his game, he just muttered something in response.

Your eyes moved to Charlie. His face looked even more drained than usual, like he hadn’t slept either. But that didn’t make you feel any more sympathetic, and you had no intention of being kinder to him just because of that.

He gave you an I can explain kind of look, but you shook your head.

“Just drive. You don’t want your brother to be late for school, do you?”

You could tell that only guilt was keeping him from rolling his eyes at your passive-aggressive tone. When you arrived at the school, you patiently waited as Conrad grabbed his backpack, got out, and disappeared into the crowd of other students.

Still, you didn’t say a word. You waited for Charlie to speak first.

There was no time to pull over and talk; you'd be late for work, so he started driving again. From the look on his face, it was clear he was deep in thought.

“Okay,” he began with a sigh. “I know I shouldn't left you there yesterday…”

“Oh, you don’t say. I literally had to get home with the FBI…”

“I know, I figured, but listen…I panicked. Just imagine, they’re looking for a serial killer, and here I am, alone in the car, parked outside a potential crime scene…”

“Oh, poor you. They might’ve asked you questions, and you’d have to answer them.”

You saw him sigh heavily, clearly frustrated that you weren’t understanding his very valid explanations, and worse—were throwing sarcasm at him, painting him like the asshole he didn’t think he was. He opened his mouth again, then closed it like he gave up, then went through the same motion again but before he could say anything of substance, the car jolted.

Your gaze snapped to the windshield. Charlie had slammed the brakes just in time to avoid hitting another car. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then he pressed one hand against his face, so hard it looked like he wanted to scrape the skin off.

You shook your head.

“What’s going on with you, Charlie?” you asked.

He ignored the question and started driving again. That tightening in your chest returned. Somehow, you had momentarily forgotten about yesterday only to now remember more than just the day before. You mentally reached back over the last few weeks, piecing together his recent behavior.

“Should you even be driving in this state?” you pressed.

This time, the answer came quickly and sharply.

“What state?”

“That state. You’re…constantly distracted, you go to the backroom three times and forget why every time, most of the time you talk to me like I’m attacking you. When I ask you to edit episodes for me, you send them back at four in the morning. You drink ten like coffees a day,” you started listing.

His expression was dismissive, defensive even. He let out a loud scoff as he parked in front of the store. You looked at him seriously, confrontationally.

“Do you even sleep?”

Another scoff, and your lips pressed into a thin line. Neither of you was getting out of the car yet.

“I’m asking, because I’m your—”

“Did you see the chair?” he interrupted you, turning his head in your direction. His pupils were dilated, deeply, his usually deathly pale face now had color, but not a healthy one, he looked like he had a fever.

Confused, you pressed your back into the seat.

“What chair?”

“There. In the station. The electric chair, supposedly that’s what he uses to kill them, right? You talked about it in the podcast?”

You delayed your answer, simply unable to string a sentence together. Where that sudden change of topic come from?

“There was no chair there, Charlie. Nothing…nothing was found.”

Charlie was looking at you, and his face expressed nothing. You felt uncomfortable in the atmosphere that had settled between you. Sure, you’d originally wanted to confront him, but suddenly everything turned strange. Maybe you pushed too hard, or maybe it wasn’t your fault at all, and something was just wrong with him in general.

Your hand opened the door on its own.

“I’m going inside,” you said. “You can go back home if you need to. I can handle the shop on my own.”

He didn’t respond to your offer. You looked at him silently for a moment longer before actually heading toward the store, unlocking the door and raising the blinds once inside.

You stopped by the window, looking at his figure still sitting behind the wheel. You narrowed your eyes, and it seemed like his hand reached into the pocket of the hoodie he was wearing, pulled something out, and stared at it.

But then he got out of the car, and driven by impulse, you stepped away from the window.

*

You didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the day.

Charlie spent as much time as possible in the back, only coming out when there was a customer. He served them stiffly, not even glancing at you. You did your best not to look at him either. For that one day, you treated each other like air.

It got a little boring without even the background noise of whatever game he always played, and the spiral of your thoughts and worries made the shift drag on painfully slow. Especially that last hour. You turned your back to the counter and started tidying up the shelves a bit.

The small bell above the door rang, signaling someone had walked in.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Benson,” you said almost automatically, because you just knew it was him. Like every day at the same time, he came in so you could set his alarm for 4 a.m. You turned around and froze for a second, slightly surprised. You quickly recovered.

“You’re not Mr. Benson.”

Agent Reid was wearing a striped shirt with a tie, a dark red vest, and a dark suede blazer instead of his FBI vest. His glasses were resting straight on his face, not crooked to the side, and the lenses weren’t coated in white dust like they had been after you quite literally fell on him from the roof. He had come to you in plain clothes, alone, but you weren’t about to kid yourself—he knew you worked here, and he hadn’t just randomly decided to stop by a tech store.

Your factual remark didn’t seem to surprise him in the slightest. He observed you from the other side of the counter with a rather friendly look, but something told you to keep your distance.

“As far as I know, I’m not,” he replied, a flicker of a tight-lipped smile crossing his face—but when you didn’t return it, it disappeared almost instantly.

You braced yourself against the counter with both hands, lifting your chin slightly.

 “How can I help you?” you asked. “Need your phone fixed? Buying a new USB cable? Or is it something more serious. Like you were sent to talk to me and make sure I won’t tell anyone about—”

 “Careful,” he cut in, tilting his head slightly to the side. You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering if the word hair would even make it past your lips, or if you’d stammer through it. “You’re about to spill the thing I’m supposed to make sure you don’t spill.”

“And then you’ll lose your job.”

Reid looked up, pretending to consider that.

 “You know, I get the feeling I’m too valuable for them to fire me over something like that,” he said.

You stared at him without blinking, but you couldn’t tell whether he was deliberately arrogant, just pretending, or if that was his hidden nature.

He gave a small nod.

 “Well, maybe you’re the one who should be worried about that. Attacking a customer in your third sentence?”

“Did you take that as an attack?” you raised your eyebrows. It was the second time someone had accused you of that. On the same day. “Well, I just wanted to know where I stand. Should I be worried about whether our store’s inventory meets your needs, or about being thrown into a room full of two-way mirrors and interrogated again?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he reassured you. “No point in questioning you again. Whatever you didn’t say to us, you mentioned openly on your podcast.”

“And as we all know, everyone in Quantico is a devoted fan of it.”

A narrowing of his eyes.

“I’d argue not everyone. But as you’ve gathered, we’re familiar with it. Anyway,” he paused to take a breath, and his expression shifted slightly, as if he’d just remembered he came here with a purpose but had gotten sidetracked. “I’m not here to remind you of anything, or to keep tabs on you. I just…” he searched for the right word, gesturing lightly with his hand “wanted to make sure you’re okay. And also, I’ve got a small favor to ask.”

Genuinely curious, you parted your lips to ask about the favor when Reid’s eyes shifted to something behind you. You turned and saw Charlie standing in the office doorway, glaring at your visitor with clear hostility.

“You here to buy something or just to chat?”

It worked on you like an instant trigger. Red flag to a bull. You hadn’t spoken to each other all day, but the tension had only been building.

“To chat. With me. And it’s none of your business, so drag your ass back to the storage room where you’ve been sulking all day,” you snapped, then turned back to your customer like nothing had happened.

Reid was frozen for a second, lips slightly parted, then he closed them and let the corners curve up just a little. A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes. You figured Charlie had followed your suggestion.

“Was that the friend who let you go into the transformer station alone yesterday and then ran off at the sight of the police?” Reid asked, enunciating every word carefully, making Charlie sound like he sucked even more than he already did.

You nodded almost automatically. Only afterward did it occur to you that, if this were to be divided into sides, you and Charlie were supposed to be on the same one—and Reid on the opposite. Somehow your brain chose that exact moment to remind you of it, as if you’d gotten too distracted.

“He’s usually reliable,” you said diplomatically.

“Usually…?”

“Well, lately…” The words came to you again. Those past few weeks and Charlie’s odd behavior. But it was too complicated to get into with a profiler. So you held your tongue and returned to the foundation of your conversation.  “You mentioned a favor.”

“Oh, right,” he said, apparently remembering, and to your surprise, he suddenly looked genuinely sheepish and his previously piercing gaze dropped downward.

 “It’s… it’s not exactly a favor for me. More like for my friend…an agent on my team, but I’m the one delivering the request...”

He trailed off, lifting his eyes to you as if hoping you’d just guess what he meant. You had no idea. He sighed.

“So, Garcia, the one who introduced us to your podcast and vouched for it as a decent source of information, she really wants me to take a picture with you. For her.”

Somehow, a smile found its way to your lips. Wide, mostly from disbelief.

“You. A picture. With me. For her,” you repeated robotically, pausing between each phrase. It sounded like something you wouldn’t believe even if you told yourself.

You shook your head slowly and pressed one hand to your temple for a second. Reid watched you, waiting for your response, looking both mildly embarrassed by the request and slightly amused.

“No, stop, tell me you’re joking. I’m still not recovered from the fact that the FBI listened to my podcast, you can’t just walk in here and also ask me for a picture!”

You said it too loudly. Reid’s eyes flicked toward the back room, but you couldn’t care less about Charlie, and judging by how quickly Reid’s gaze returned to your face—drawn by your disbelieving laugh—he didn’t either.

“Of course, you’re totally allowed to say no,” he said. “And honestly, it’s probably best if you don’t post it anywhere—”

“How else will people believe me?”

“That’s the thing, ideally, there won’t be any people—”

“I’m kidding. I’m not about to share my fame with you,” you said dryly, making Reid huff a short laugh. Before he could reply, you extended your hand between you. “Show me your phone. That way, you’ll know I won’t show it to anyone.”

It was just too ridiculous of a life experience, not to mention a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and a blow to your ego, to say no.

Reid slowly handed you his phone with the camera already open, and you motioned for him to come closer to the counter. He obeyed, his brows twitching slightly when you leaned in on your side just as much.

You made sure not to look serious. Your lips pushed into an exaggerated pout meant to absurdly contrast his utterly awkward expression.

“Wow, my first picture with a fan. Mom, I’m famous,” you said, handing the phone back to him.

He accepted it, glancing down at the screen and lingering on the image for a second.

“I hope Garcia likes it. Maybe she’ll frame it in gold and hang it on her wall.”

His eyes snapped back up to you like he’d been electrocuted.

 “Please don’t,” he said, horrified.

You couldn’t help it and you burst out laughing.

He looked like he wanted to join you, but some frayed thread of professionalism held him back. Still, he couldn’t quite suppress the twitch at the corner of his mouth or the ease softening his features. Something you decided, on impulse, to take advantage of.

“So, what’s new with the investigation?” you asked as casually as if you were industry buddies who routinely swapped updates, even the classified kind.

He fell for it like a naive lamb. Your earlier laughter and the smooth flow of conversation between you had completely dulled his vigilance.

“We sent the hair in for analysis and, well, within the next 24 to 48 hours we should have confirmation on whether it really belonged to…” He paused, then narrowed his eyes. “Wait, did you just trick me into giving you information?”

He caught on.

You gave him a half-smile, feeling zero guilt for the maneuver.

“Well, you kinda walked right into it,” you murmured. “And admit it, that was clever.”

“I can only admit it was clever,” he said, reluctantly.

You gave him a look.

 “You got your picture. Now you have to finish the topic. What about the hair? What if it turns out it belonged to them?”

Reid held your gaze for a moment, clearly debating with himself. He was probably wondering whether you could really be trusted to keep sensitive information to yourself. But eventually, he sighed, realizing he’d already said too much anyway.

“Then we’ll just continue the investigation with that information,” he said. “And it’s…well, it’s pretty key. It might even help us deliver the profile.”

“So you don’t have a profile yet.”

“You know I can’t—”

The bell above the door chimed. You glanced toward it, then back at Reid, your eyes silently asking him to stay just a little longer. He visibly hesitated you saw it but then he shook his head and made for the exit.

You watched him leave with your eyes, then turned toward the new customer.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Benson,” you greeted the man.

*

You placed the tray of cookies in the center of the garden table carefully, making sure not to knock over anyone’s coffee or tea. Then you took a seat in the wicker chair beside your mother, facing your two neighbors. Elena and her fourteen-year-old daughter, Keasy.

Your garden was spacious, and your mother took great pride in keeping it well-maintained, so afternoons like this weren’t uncommon. During this particular one, though, your mind was both close and far.

Close—because the subject was close to your heart.

 Far—because the subject was close to your heart.

“But is it, like, confirmed confirmed?” Elena asked quietly. You noticed people always lowered their voices when talking about tragedies, as if that might somehow soften their weight. “I mean, I’ve heard it from several people already, but I don’t know if I should believe it… shouldn’t that kind of info be classified or something?”

In short, in case anyone was confused. The hairs you’d found at the transformer station had been confirmed to belong to Georgina, Gita, and Judy. The bodies of the first two had been found earlier, but Judy’s hadn’t until now, which confirmed that your instincts about her disappearance had been right from the beginning.

You didn’t feel even a shred of satisfaction.

You’d rather have been wrong.

It hadn’t solved much, aside from confirming that the station had been the site of executions.

Murders, really.

The area had been locked down even tighter, but no arrests were made. The killer was still out there. And yet, one question began to follow you like a round-the-clock shadow, always present. They had found the hair of three victims, most likely shaved off to allow for the placement of electrodes from the electric chair, and hidden in cans as some grotesque form of trophy.

Three victims.

But there had been four girls.

What about Maddy Baker?

The discovery of her body, in a hospital gown, her head shaved—had shocked everyone.

You too, even on a personal level. She was a few years younger than you, and you used to tutor her, often spending time at her house with her and her parents, both pharmacists.

She volunteered at the local animal shelter. You’d often run into her walking dogs.

She had bronchial asthma

She had honey-colored hair.

But it hadn’t been found with the others.

Had the killer not added it to the collection?  He’d shaved her head—that much was clear.

So what had he done with it?

Kept it? Why?

Was he personally connected to her?

Why had he suddenly abandoned the place where he committed his murders?

Did he sense that people were beginning to suspect someone’s presence at the abandoned station, and that police involvement was only a matter of time? If so, that would mean he had to be from around here. Close enough to keep up with local rumors and whispers.

It also suggested he was smart.

Did he decide to pause his killing spree? Or did he simply move it somewhere else?

Nobody knew what happened to the electric chair.

These questions circled endlessly in your mind. It was crowded and loud in there, filled with thoughts that refused to settle. And yet, you couldn’t pull any words from yourself, none that felt right for the podcast. You had paused posting updates about The Executioner, but that didn’t mean you had stopped watching the case.

The case consumed most of your attention. Even now, you only snapped out of the spiral of those repeating questions because of a sudden scoff from Keasy. The girl was wearing a gray hoodie, playing with its drawstring, her hair tied into two thick brown braids. She was side-eyeing her mom.

 “Mom, nothing in this town is classified. And if it is, not for long,” she commented and it was hard to argue with her.

Suddenly, she locked her brown eyes directly on yours. She gave a slight nod in your direction.

 “Like the fact that a young FBI agent visited you at the store recently.”

There was a smirk on her lips. Yours parted in surprise. Your mom and Elena both turned curious eyes on you.

 “How do you know that, you little smartass?” you asked with a disbelieving snort.

 She was absolutely right. Nothing in this town stayed a secret.

Keasy gave a slight shrug, a proud look on her face, like she didn’t want to reveal her sources. Your relationship had always been a bit sibling-like, full of teasing. You looked at her with raised eyebrows, expectantly, already knowing she’d tell you anyway.

“Mr. Benson,” she replied shortly. You tilted your head with curiosity. Right, Mr. Benson had entered the store while Spencer was inside, but when had Keasy talked to him? As if reading your thoughts, she added, “I’m kinda seeing his grandson now.”

“You’re joking.”

 “FBI agent,” your mom suddenly spoke, holding a bitten cookie in her hand, her worried gaze focused on you. “What did he want?”

“FBI agents have phones that need fixing too.”

“I’m being serious,” she said, and from the look on her face, you could tell she wasn’t joking. You saw Elena exchange an awkward glance with her daughter, but like everyone in this town, they loved drama too much to try and soften the conversation. “I know you’re recording something about the case, but you’re not getting involved in the investigation…are you?”

You sighed, searching for an answer that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie.

“Well, of course I’m getting slightly involved in the investigation—that’s kind of what my work is about…”

“That is not your work,” your mother cut in sharply. “It’s just some silly internet project that could get you into danger. What if… the person killing these girls is listening to it?”

“You think that’s possible?” Elena asked, genuinely intrigued but also clearly frightened. “That he’s listening… to something about himself?”

“Very possible,” you answered with a nod. “Psychopaths, assuming that’s what he is, often follow how the public reacts to their crimes and what the media says about them.”

“Assuming that’s what he is?” Keasy repeated, frowning. “Aren’t all killers that?”

“No, a lot of people think so, but in reality—”

“That’s not what matters right now,” your mother interrupted. “We’re talking about you putting yourself in danger. If the FBI is interested in you, they must think you’re getting too involved…”

“And is that a bad thing?” you shot back defensively. “If my too involved helps spread awareness about the case and the victims, warns women, maybe even contributes to finding the killer—”

“Finding the killer is the job of the police.”

“Who did nothing when Judy went missing! The ones who came after the murders don’t know anything about the people here. They’ll be doing interviews and witness statements, all of which I already gathered myself. And in the meantime, while they’re doing that, another girl could get hurt. So I think it’s morally right for me to keep going with my own investigation…”

“No. I don’t even want to hear it,” she said, cutting the air with her hand.

You pressed your lips together, but you were ready to keep fighting, ready to defend your point and your decision. At that moment, you didn’t care that the two of you were ruining a peaceful afternoon with the neighbors. You understood she was worried, but how could she call your work stupid? You stared each other down, and you saw she was preparing to say something else, her temper matching your own.

Then, timidly, Elena chimed in.

“Did I just hear your doorbell?”

You both fell silent, listening. After a moment, the faint ring of the doorbell reached your ears. You exhaled through your nose and stood up, stepping ahead of your mom.

“It’s probably Danny. You invited him, right? I’ll get it.”

You left the garden quickly, let the man inside, and even greeted him warmly. But you didn’t return outside with him. That was the whole reason you’d jumped to answer the door—you wanted to use it as a chance to slip away.

Your mother’s words had hit you twice: first, with anger. Then, they struck something deeper, reawakening a dormant sense of resolve.

Judy Perkins was dead, which meant another woman could go missing soon.

There was no time to waste.

You went upstairs to your room and grabbed your recording equipment. For the first time in days, you actually felt able to say something.

Not new information.

A request.

For your listeners to send you anything they knew.

There might’ve been more people like the one who told you about the station. People who knew something, maybe had some kind of gut feeling or suspicion, but didn’t know where to take it. It felt too trivial, in their eyes, to bring to the police. Or they were afraid of exposure. You offered them a way to speak up anonymously, and you fully intended to follow up on everything they sent.

Keasy’s words about your town’s people gave you a lot to think about. Here, everything was always somehow connected.

Almost in a frenzy, you started going back through the information and notes you’d collected so far. Over the following days, you didn’t just go over the theories your listeners submitted. You reanalyzed everything and everyone from the beginning.

You visited Georgina’s ex-boyfriend for a follow-up conversation. She’d broken up with him shortly before her death. He wasn’t exactly eager to talk. You didn’t deny that you were a bit pushy.

You watched Gita’s stepfather. The one people said had abused his family. You had no explanation for why he would suddenly start murdering in such a specific way, but it gave you a sense that you were doing something, not just sitting back and reading what others sent in. You’d bump into him at the store by accident sneaking glances at his cart full of alcohol.

Sitting in your car, parked just down the road from Gita’s house—far enough not to raise suspicion—you found yourself thinking about the murders again. The electric chair as the murder weapon. Its connection to execution was obvious. But what was execution a symbol of? Justice. Or rather, the desire to carry out justice, no matter how subjective it might be.

From that point on, two paths branched out in front of you, two questions.

Justice, but for what?

And second: who carried out the executions?

Of course, The Executioner.

But there were usually more people involved. Medical and technical staff. People who had acquired the knowledge of how it worked and had seen it with their own eyes. People who could’ve been affected by it.

You contacted your one listener who always seemed to know real things, things from unknown sources.

Still sitting in your car outside the Kopeckis’ house, you didn’t pay attention to anything around you. Night had already fallen, and the streets were empty, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights.

Then came a reply from blackqueen6969.

A full list of names—every person involved in the last execution ever carried out in the state of Connecticut. The killer was Robert Taylor. The very first case you ever covered on your podcast.

He was strapped to the electric chair in 1964. Known as The Devil of Bristol, he lured women into his car with charisma, good looks, and the reputation of a decent man. Even in prison, he received fan letters. There was a surprisingly large number of people who believed in his innocence even though one woman had escaped and managed to call the police, which directly led to his arrest.

You’d chosen that execution for one simple reason: it was the last one. The people who’d carried it out might still be alive. They might agree to talk to you.

You tapped out the phone numbers blackqueen6969 had sent, pretending to be a journalist writing a book on the history of executions.

Only one person agreed. Yes, it took a few minutes of faking wide-eyed passion, of raving about how much you cared about this book, how honored you’d be to speak with someone so brilliant, before his ego was stroked just enough to say yes.

Michael Pershing. The Executioner of Robert Taylor himself.

You couldn’t have gotten luckier.

You scheduled the meeting with him for the next day, in Richmond, around lunchtime.

The call ended, and for a brief second, you couldn’t believe it had actually worked. You wanted to squeal out loud in excitement, but instead of a happy little shriek, what came out of your mouth was a startled yelp.

Someone had knocked on your car window.

Through the glass, you saw a police officer standing on the dark street outside, his lips moving as he said something to you. You stared forward for a moment longer, biting back a loud curse. Then, because you had no other choice, you rolled the window down.

“Good evening, officer,” you greeted, giving him a nod.

It probably came across as arrogant, because it was. You didn’t exactly have a glowing relationship with the local cops. Too many times you’d asked for comment and gotten shooed off, or been accused of bothering someone’s family, which had never actually happened. Either way, neither of you was ever thrilled to see the other.

The officer sighed, leaning in toward your window with a tired look on his face.

“Why are you sitting here?” he asked bluntly, voice colored with weary condescension. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for your usual games.

What a shame. Because you were.

You shrugged.

 “Answering a message. Like a model citizen and responsible driver, I pulled over to the side of the road so I wouldn’t text while driving. Would you rather I replied while behind the wheel?”

“You stalking me, bitch.”

 Another figure approached your car.

The officer’s hand landed squarely on Mr. Kopecki’s chest before he could get too close.

“Watch your mouth.”

“She’s harassing me! Follows me wherever I go, watches my house. What the fuck is your problem?”

Right. You’d kind of forgotten you were still parked in front of his house. You pressed your lips into a thin line and glanced at the officer, who was now flicking his gaze between the two of you, clearly waiting for your explanation.

“Well… that’s not true,” you tried.

“Not true?! Not true?! You’re literally sitting outside my house, you fucking psycho!”

You pointed straight at him, locking eyes with the officer.

 “He’s being aggressive. I’d recommend a breathalyzer. And maybe a nice little trip downtown. Who knows what he’ll do once he gets back inside, wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the cop cut you off, running a tired hand down his face. This was probably his last call of the night and he clearly wanted it over with. You relaxed slightly, guessing he'd let you off just because he didn’t feel like dealing with it.

“Step out of the car. I’m taking you in.”

Your eyes flew wide.

“I was literally answering a text!”

“Out. Of. The car.”

You let out a sound of protest and shot him a pleading look, but he didn’t budge. Point to him for not cuffing you, but still—soon enough, you were sitting in the backseat of the patrol car as it sped toward the station. Arms crossed, you silently hoped Kopecki was fucking proud of himself.

You really, really needed to be out by tomorrow. You had a lunch scheduled with Michael Pershing.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t exactly use that as your defense. And honestly, there wasn’t much else you could do either. Your only option was to keep your mouth shut, pretend to be polite and cooperative, and hope they let you out quickly…

 But that didn’t sit right with you.

Not when you had a better idea.

You slipped your phone between your knees and fired off a quick message. No time to wait for a reply. You turned it off, tilted your head back, and caught the officer’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Then gave him the faintest, knowing smile.

He sighed, more to himself than anyone else. His partner threw him a confused look.

When the car finally stopped, you waited until one of the officers opened your door, gesturing for you to get out.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, stepped out onto the dimly lit station parking lot, and then—

“We’ll take it from here,” a male voice cut in, as two pairs of footsteps approached the patrol car.

Morgan didn’t even bother flashing his badge, which told you BAU and your local police were already well acquainted.

“We understand if you had reason to detain her,” Reid added, shooting you a suggestive, faintly mocking look.

You dragged a finger across your throat in a slow motion while holding his gaze—an unsubtle gesture, quickly dropped when the officer to your left noticed. You let your hand fall casually to your side and greeted him with a polite smile.

Reid cleared his throat. “But she’s a witness in our case and we need to speak with her. It can’t wait.”

You nodded in agreement, as if anyone gave a damn about your opinion in that situation. One of the officers waited a second out of courtesy, then shrugged like he couldn’t care less. The other one wasn’t as quick to let it go.

“Hey, you can’t just—”

“Let it go,” his partner cut in, shaking his head slightly. Then, quieter, under his breath, “Seriously, I don’t have the energy to deal with her tonight…”

Both Reid and Morgan heard it and looked at you, in sync. You tried not to look overly proud. None of you said anything until the police officers disappeared from your line of sight, which, given the darkness, happened rather quickly. Your lips parted first. There were so many explanations you wanted to let out, you wanted to share your theory, of course stretching the facts a bit and not saying where you got your information.

 Morgan beat you to it.

“You better have some kind of explanation…”

“A reasonable one,” Reid specified.

 “As it happens, I do!” you declared energetically, because, in fact, you did. One of their pairs of eyebrows rose first, unconvinced, Reid seemed to have a bit more faith in you — after all, it was him you texted. And he was the one who decided to come pick you up. You hoped he saw that note of gratitude in your gaze, which you tried to communicate. He wasn’t the best when it came to eye contact though.  “And it is something reasonable, or at least I think so. It’s not totally out of nowhere, otherwise I wouldn’t have messaged you…by the way, thanks guys, for being here. Wait, can I call you guys…”

 “Unusual, but acceptable,” Reid agreed so quickly it proved he was following your rambling with engagement and keeping up, which, to be honest, didn’t always happen.

 “What a relief, I know some people who would’ve called that insulting a federal officer on duty…”

 “To the point,” Morgan cut in.

You drew in a breath. Thoughts snapping back into place. You started from the beginning , about how you asked your listeners to send you tips and how you verified them, and then moved into your own attempts at profiling the unsub, secretly cringing inside, fully aware that two literal professionals were watching you. Still, you tried not to show it, avoided looking too closely at Spencer and the focused way his eyes squinted behind his glasses, and pushed on.

The last execution in the state, Robert Taylor. The people involved. Tracking down their identities (you claimed you found them online).

“And the main idea is,” you continued, gesturing animatedly, “To meet with them. But not as the police. I mean, undercover. For example… I don’t know, a journalist writing a book about crime. Just a loose idea. And that way, figure out if any of them could be connected to this somehow. Like, the most obvious first pick would be Michael Pershing. If, purely theoretically, someone had arranged to meet him…”

You trailed off, waiting for their reaction.

Of course you saw that exchange of glances. With growing unease, you searched their faces for signs of dismissal, scorn — maybe pity. Pity would’ve been the worst of all.

That poor, foolish girl who has no idea what she’s talking about… so embarrassed for her.

You didn’t expect the knot in your stomach to tighten that much.

"Did you come up with all of that on your own?" Morgan asked, a strange mix in his eyes — clear, dominant skepticism, but also a hint of curiosity.

You nodded in confirmation. Reid, meanwhile, rested his chin on his fingers, thinking.

"What you said has a fairly stable foundation," he offered enigmatically, causing you to tilt your head slightly. You caught his gaze, and for the first time, he held it. When he spoke about psychology or profiling, he always seemed more confident. "A person who participated in or conducted executions might have severely blurred moral boundaries and a distorted sense of right and wrong. They may believe it's in their hands or even their duty to deliver justice. Tying this back to the last execution carried out in Connecticut makes sense. What it doesn't fully explain, though, is why he’s targeting young women specifically."

You felt strangely lighter listening to him, the way he actually talked with you, how he genuinely considered your theories instead of dismissing them outright just because you didn’t have their experience.

"I hadn’t thought about that," you admitted honestly, pausing. Reid seemed to only just realize you two were making eye contact, because he abruptly broke it. Shame. It had helped you speak more clearly. You cleared your throat. "Childhood trauma? Bad experiences with women? I’m guessing here, I know, but like, 90% of the time it’s some shit like that…”

"We can’t generalize like that," Morgan interjected suddenly, his tone surprisingly calm and focused.There was no trace of pity, something that had already caught you off guard earlier and kept doing so. He gave a small nod, as if agreeing with you, and you could hardly believe it. "But the premise is definitely worth attention, and it’ll get it. But you," his tone regained its edge "are absolutely not going to keep investigating this on your own, you understand? You had an idea, and it was helpful, but from here on out, it’s our responsibility. Under no circumstances are you to meet with anyone from that list."

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nodded with feigned obedience.

 "Of course. I wasn’t planning to. That could be, like, fatally dangerous."

"Alright. If that’s understood, let’s get you home..."

*

You checked your reflection in your car mirror. Five minutes until your meeting with Michael Pershing.

You hadn’t slept half the night preparing your entire persona and backstory. You’d chosen the name Phoebe Wright because it was simple and sounded somewhat journalistic, in your new project you were focusing on the history of executions in the United States, on how the methods and public opinion had changed. And since you came from the state of Connecticut, it was an honor for you to speak to the man who carried out the last one.

You adjusted the sleeves of your elegant blazer and, with a notebook under your arm, stepped out of the car.

The place didn’t require you to dress like that. You were literally meeting for lunch at a breakfast diner whose specialty dish was bagels. But whenever you imagined the executioner, your brain served up the image of a distant man, with a piercing gaze, the kind of man you subconsciously want to impress.

You were excited as fuck.

Because even if this man wasn’t the killer, he was still someone your passion for criminology simply wanted to meet. And to record an episode, but that was impossible. Phoebe Wright didn’t host a podcast.

Right before pushing open the glass door, you whispered a few words of courage to yourself and stepped inside, ready to conduct the most important interview of your entire amateur career.

Michael Pershing turned out to be the most ordinary man in the world. White polo shirt, a silver chain around his neck, and gray hair. Stocky, with a broad nose. Had you sat down with the wrong person?

“What, were you expecting the Grim Reaper?” he scoffed at you.

There was nothing friendly in his eyes. He looked bored, like he had ten more interviews lined up before noon and had already slogged through eight of them. The words slipped out before you could stop them. And Phoebe Wright was supposed to have better control over her tongue...

“No, but deep down I was pretty sure you’d have a killer sense of humor.”

His expression changed. Froze entirely for a second. Then suddenly, he burst out laughing. Smoker’s laugh, rough and crackling.

"I like you," he said, pointing at you with a thick finger, a wedding band glinting on it. His laugh vanished as quickly as it came, and in a blink he looked bored again. And they say it’s the younger generation with no attention span. “This might actually be an interesting interview. What you wanna know?”

Straight to the point. You were starting to like him, too.

You cleared your throat; everything you wanted to say was already carefully prepared.

 “As I mentioned during our phone call, I’m working on a book ab—”

He cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

 “Oh, don’t repeat what you said on the phone!” he barked, loud enough that the waitress, who had just placed his plate in front of him, quickly retreated from your table. Eggs and bacon spilled from his bagel. “Just get to it. What you wanna know. Do I feel guilt sometimes, would I still choose this career if I could go back, how did I manage to get into a relationship and what does my partner think about it…”

You raised your brows. It looked like he was very eager to talk about himself.

Good.

 If he wanted direct questions, even better.

You leaned your forearms on the table between you, nodding slightly.

“1964. The execution of Robert Taylor.”

He grimaced.

 “The Devil of Bristol.”

“Knew you’d remember.”

“How could I forget? They caught him, he waited three years for an appeal, and after it was all over, people lost their fucking minds. Constant noise, saying he was innocent.”

“In your opinion, was he guilty?”

He laughed mockingly in your face.

“In my opinion? Yes, of course. I’m not a fucking moron like the rest of them. Especially those women who wrote him letters, just a group of brainless idiots…”

You let him rant about society for a moment. The topic was warming him up and loosening his tongue. Maybe it’d be easier to draw some real information out of him. You asked what his role in the execution was, in each one. You asked for a detailed explanation of the process, which took over thirty minutes.

“And what did you feel,” you asked, watching his face carefully “when you pulled the switch?”

You didn’t expect him to be honest. He’d probably give you an answer he thought you wanted to hear, something curated. The real feelings, the true experience of the executioner—those he’d keep to himself, and they’d only flicker across his face for a split second. It would be your job to catch them. To interpret them. To decide if he could be responsible for the recent murders.

There was nothing in his eyes when he said, “Hunger.”

You didn’t flinch, but a chill ran down your spine.

 “Hunger?” you echoed.

He looked you in the eyes for a moment, let you dig around in them as much as you wanted. His lips twitched, and for a second, you thought he might burst out laughing again.

“The execution was early. Around seven. They’re usually done later in the evening. I hadn’t had dinner yet and I was fucking starving. On top of that, the bastard’s last meal request was for this insanely overcooked steak,” he shook his head, like he still hadn’t gotten over it. Like he still held a grudge. Over the fact he had to wait an extra hour for dinner.

You needed to take a slightly deeper breath, sort this out in your head.This man was definitely…an interesting, alarming specimen.

You looked out the glass window next to your table just as he changed the subject to his preferred cuts of meat and suddenly, you sat bolt upright. Quickly, you forced yourself back into your usual posture. But he didn’t notice, too caught up in his own rambling.

In the parking lot, right next to your car—thankfully unfamiliar to them—another vehicle pulled in. One you knew very well, since you'd ridden in it just yesterday. And you immediately recognized the face in the front seat, in his signature tweed blazer and a tie knotted neatly at the neck, mid-sentence as he spoke to his absent partner who was busy rummaging for something under the seat.

He was cleaning his glasses with that thoughtful expression of his, then slid them back onto his nose and looked up.

Right as you were staring at him.

He froze mid-sentence, completely still, then his eyes widened.

You shot to your feet.

“Excuse me for a moment. Restroom,” you croaked out to Pershing, and without waiting for a response, bolted across the rectangular diner toward the corner where the bathrooms were tucked. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Morgan finally finding what he’d been looking for—and the moment both of them got out of the car.

Shit, shit, shit.

They’d told you very clearly yesterday not to do this.Not to meet with anyone from that list.

And where were you right now?

At a meeting with him.

Hidden around the corner, you spun in place, hovering without entering any of the three restrooms. You wanted to stay back there, behind the wall—they couldn’t possibly know you’d planned to meet someone here. Maybe they’d just stopped by for lunch while working a lead in Bristol, following up on the information you’d given them yesterday. If it were anything more, Reid wouldn’t have looked so shocked to see you.

It was also possible they hadn’t recognized Pershing. There weren’t any photos of him online. If he hadn’t noticed you, maybe you could’ve ducked into the restroom and waited them out…

“What are you doing here?”

Reid’s voice came out in that conspiratorial whisper-shout combo. You peeked around the corner in panic—Morgan wasn’t looking your way. Good. He was too busy placing an order. So they really were just here for lunch.

You grabbed Reid’s shirt and yanked him a few feet away so no one could see him talking to anyone.

He gasped in surprise—and then groaned when your heads collided. Ouch.

You took a step back, rubbing your skull.

“I came here for lunch?” you half-asked, half-said.

Reid shook his head, clearly not buying it in the slightest.

 “In Bristol? Two hours from Fairview? For lunch? You are a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Ha! Says the guy who got totally tricked by me last night—”

“What?”

“You didn’t tell Morgan I was here, did you?” you cut in quickly, changing the subject.

Spencer paused, adjusting the shirt you’d just yanked. His glasses had tilted slightly askew, so you reached up to fix them for him.

His eyes went wide, startled, then he caught himself and cleared his throat. Twice. And once more for good measure.

“N-no, I didn’t,” he stammered. Inhale. “I didn’t. I figured I’d find out what you were doing first and then decide if it was worth getting you into trouble.”

You shot him a grimace, though deep down, you appreciated it.

 “Thank you, your grace. Now maybe let me explain, and then you can decide if it’s worth it or not,” you offered.

Before you could say anything else, someone appeared right in front of you, and both of you jumped like kids caught sneaking around. It wasn’t Morgan, though, just some guy on his way to the bathroom, who brushed past without a word.

“Okay, so,” you began. “The man in the white polo shirt you probably saw when you walked in? That’s the executioner of Robert Taylor. I arranged a meeting with him, pretending to be a journalist and an author which is also why I look insanely good today,” you said, smoothing your blazer for emphasis.

Reid was dressed similarly, and the two of you did kind of look like you’d just walked out of an office meeting.

When he parted his lips to speak, you raised a finger to cut him off.

“And before you tell me how irresponsible that is, I just want to say that the conversation was going really well and I already got a few interesting bits out of him, so it would be a shame—a big, big shame—to waste this opportunity. So please, pretty please, don’t tell Morgan I’m here.”

You even pressed your hands together in a prayer-like gesture, looking at him with pleading eyes.

Reid looked at you for a moment with an unreadable expression, like he was preparing to say something several times but kept changing his mind. Finally, he rolled his eyes slightly upward and let out a deep sigh. You couldn’t tell if that meant yes or no.

He gave a subtle nod, more to himself than to you.

“I’ll go talk to Morgan,” he began.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised a single finger to your lips and continued, “I’ll talk to him and come up with something to get him to leave me here. And then I’ll come back and…” he exhaled again, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “…we’ll finish the conversation with Pershing together.”

He said it with a firm tone, but his eyes searched your face, clearly wanting to know if you liked the idea. For a moment, you stood completely still and speechless. Then you jolted like someone had stuck a pin in you and closed the distance between you, throwing your arms around his neck in a chaotic, unexpected hug, swaying him from side to side in some kind of victorious dance.

“Oooh, thank you!” you practically sang, squeezing him tight.

Reid froze, rigid and startled, clearly having no idea what to do with his arms or his face. You didn’t blame him.

You stepped back with zero shame about your outburst, flashing a grin toward his now slightly pink cheeks. “Thank you. I swear you won’t regret this decision. Together, we’ll definitely be able to confirm or rule out whether he has anything to do with it.”

You said it with a confident, full-of-faith nod, one that Reid, seemingly involuntarily, mirrored. It wasn’t until he shook his head slightly that he managed to speak again.

 “I’ll—I’ll go talk to Morgan,” he announced. He was just about to step away when something seemed to occur to him. “I’ll text you when he leaves, so you can come out safely, go back to the table and then…I dunno, I’ll have to figure out how to join the conversation, maybe say—”

You waved your hand in a calming gesture, a confident smirk on your face.

 “Don’t worry about that, my dear. Go do your thing, and I’ll handle the rest. I’m a master of improvisation,” you said proudly.

Reid’s eyebrows rose slowly.

“Not gonna lie, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.

 “Nothing to be afraid of. Now go on, shoo shoo,” you said, waving him off. “We don’t have all day.”

You could’ve sworn you saw a soft smile bloom on his face as he disappeared around the corner, a smile just for himself. Waiting for his message, you unconsciously wore the exact same expression.

When the message finally came through, you returned to the table. Pershing was finishing up his bagel, and remembering the chill that had crept down your spine just before the conversation was interrupted, you were secretly relieved that someone would be with you from now on.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said, catching a glimpse of Reid approaching the table, uncertain whether it was time to join you. You waved him over with a discreet motion. “But the good news is, from this point on, we’ll be joined by my assistant. I think I mentioned him during our phone call. And if I didn’t, I’m mentioning him now.”

The men didn’t greet each other in any particular way; Spencer simply slid into the seat beside you.

“Assistant, mhm,” hemuttered.

You elbowed Reid hard enough that he bit his lip to keep from making a sound. Pershing couldn’t have cared less whether one or two people were conducting the interview—he pushed his empty plate aside, wiped his mouth with a napkin, placed it on top, and cast a glance between the two of you, already looking somewhat impatient.

“There’s one matter my…friend here hasn’t brought up yet,” Reid began, his voice carrying the faintest trace of irony. “And we both felt it would be incredibly valuable to hear your undoubtedly insightful opinion on the subject.”

Before you’d parted ways earlier, you’d handed him your small notebook containing notes from your conversation, but you hadn’t expected him to go through them so quickly. Turns out he had, and he’d clearly taken to heart the part about how much your interviewee liked to be praised.

“We’d like to know if you’ve heard about the series of murders in the town of Fairview.”

Pershing let out a scoff so fast it was clear he hadn’t even thought about it.

“Where?” he asked, dismissively.

“Fairview, just under two hours from Bristol,” you chimed in. “But the location itself isn’t that important. The case has been getting enough attention that you might’ve heard about it. Someone’s been killing young women, even teenagers, in a style that mirrors executions. Most likely using an electric chair—”

“What’s that got to do with me?” he cut in. “I don’t even know where that is. I don’t watch the news. And if you’re wondering what’ll happen to that killer when they catch him, well, they sure as hell won’t fry him. That’s been banned over forty years ago. And I’m not the one who’s gonna do it.”

“But this killer sees himself as a self-appointed executioner,” you said. “We’re trying to understand where that belief might come from.”

“What’s that got to do with your book?”

“A lot,” you answered sharply, not even blinking, tired of the subject constantly being derailed. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Reid glance at you, then turn his steady, observant gaze on the man across from you, and leave it there. You had a gut feeling he already had some idea of what was really going on.

“My book wants to examine the topic of executions from the broadest possible perspective, across different decades, different social climates. In depth.”

“Then I hope you find someone who wants to talk about that. Maybe the local PD. Because I don’t even know where the hell that backwater is, and I don’t know anything about that case,” he replied, his tone just as firm as yours. “I came to this meeting to talk about my experience. You said you had questions about the last execution in this state, and that’s all I’m here to answer. I can tell you how many times Robert Taylor appealed his sentence, how he escaped prison once, what he had for his last meal, and how his wife and teenage son, a kid, really, watched him fry. I’m not wasting time on anything else.”

You clenched your jaw, unsure how to steer the conversation back to the Fairview murders. Your eyes shifted to Reid, hoping he’d know how to navigate it—or at least be puzzling over it the same way you were. Maybe he’d have an idea.

But instead, he was staring at Pershing with a cold, tilted gaze.

“In that case, we won’t waste any more of your time,” he said, and your eyes practically bulged out of your head in shock.

Even the man across from you froze, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

Reid, calm and controlled, leaned slightly forward, his eyes cold but his mouth forming a polite, artificial smile.

“Enjoy your afternoon.”

“He has nothing to do with it,” he stated confidently, gesturing with just one hand, his slim fingers slicing smoothly, almost sensually, through the air. “With Fairview, I mean. Sure, his behavior shifted the moment we brought it up, but not because he’s guilty. It’s because he’s a self-centered jerk who only wants to talk about himself.”

You stopped just by your car, at the driver’s side door, facing each other with barely a meter between you.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” you scoffed, forcing a joke to try and soften the awful knot curling low in your stomach.

It didn’t really work. Your lips didn’t twitch, your voice didn’t rise. In fact, it came out quieter than usual, thoughtful and low, tinged more with discouragement than humor. And whenever your tone dropped an octave like that, it was always a dead giveaway that something was off.

Reid must’ve picked up on it, because his brow furrowed slightly, and his dark eyes settled on you with a soft, concerned look.

 “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

You lifted your eyes to him, saying nothing for a moment before shrugging.

“I really thought this would lead us somewhere,” you admitted, pressing your lips together. One of your hands found the car door handle, but you didn’t press it—your fingertips just danced lightly across its surface. You were disappointed, and suddenly you regretted that he’d even come with you. Maybe you’d rather just go home alone and forget about this false lead you'd pinned so much hope on. “But I just wasted time.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied, shaking his head slightly from side to side.

You rolled your eyes, already expecting him to disagree, just out of decency.

“Even if you didn’t find a connection between him and Fairview, I can tell from your notes that the conversation meant something to you. And right, I’ve got your notebook,” he said, pulling it from the inside pocket of his blazer and holding it out toward you. You wrapped your fingers around it gently, but for a moment, he didn’t let go. “Robert Taylor was the first case you covered on your podcast. It was worth meeting his executioner if only to hear details no one else could’ve given you. Like the fact that his wife and teenage son watched his execution, which is almost unthinkable, considering the boy’s age. That probably wouldn’t happen today.”

“I meant I wasted your time” 

“That’s what investigations look like. Sometimes we follow leads that take us nowhere—it’s just part of the process. You didn’t waste my time.”

You looked at each other in silence for a moment. You bit your lip, trying to read if he really meant it or was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. After a few seconds, you figured—he had no reason to lie. You gave him a small, grateful nod for those words. And that’s exactly when something he’d said earlier caught up to you, and your eyebrows slowly, suspiciously rose.

“Wait, wait. How do you know what the first episode of my podcast was about? Did you listen to it?”

He looked slightly flustered, though tried to keep a pseudo-casual demeanor as he shook his head. “No, I mean yes. Someone...someone from the team had to go through it. But we already established you’ve got fans in Quantico.”

“Yep, I do. And no wonder my podcast is genius. But I didn’t think you specifically had listened to all of them from the very beginning.”

“Research purposes,” he said, and you could swear there was the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Sure,” you scoffed. “Or it was my incredible storytelling and razor-sharp sense of humor.”

“And above all else, your stunning humility. Should we head back now?”

You glanced to the side, only just realizing you were still standing in the parking lot by the car, your hand resting on the door handle. Right. You should head back. You’d taken the day off work and didn’t have anything else planned, but Reid? He was literally working on the murder case in your town. Since you’d dragged him all the way out here, it was only fair to drive him back. Just the two of you. Two hours on the road.

Spencer took the passenger seat.

“But I will admit,” he said after clearing his throat, “analyzing your podcast was one of the better assignments I’ve ever had. It wasn’t just informative, it was...well. I laughed a few times.”

You froze mid-buckle at those words, then turned your head toward him, tilting it slightly, a smile forming on your lips almost instinctively.

You spent those two hours talking—surprisingly—about things that had little to do with the only common ground you'd really shared so far. And you needed that. You needed a momentary departure from the weight of it all, especially after the day you’d had, and the several before it, where your thoughts had been entirely consumed by The Executioner.

It was your last chance for that kind of relief. And maybe the only reason you were able to bear the news that awaited you once you returned.

It was afternoon. Even from a distance, you could see the BAU vehicle parked in your neighborhood, right outside your next-door neighbors’ home. But in hindsight, ever since you'd crossed the town line into Fairview, something had felt off. Heavier than usual. 

Your fourteen-year-old neighbor, Keasy, was missing.

*

From the beginning of the day, your head was only searching for an opportunity to find itself in a horizontal position.

And well, since the day at work was, as usual, calm, you allowed yourself that. To close your eyes, stinging from lack of sleep, but not to give in to dreams—nightmares, to be precise.Three days had passed since Keasy's disappearance, and it felt like time in the town had stopped. Except for your life. Unfortunately, it had to keep moving forward, even when it wasn’t clear if hers still was.

They managed to determine who had seen her last—it was the boy she’d recently started seeing, who turned out to be five years older than her. But despite that age difference and the rather mixed opinions about him, suspicions didn’t really turn in his direction.

Everyone knew who was behind Keasy’s disappearance, everyone knew it wasn’t just a disappearance—it was a kidnapping.

The BAU and the local police were doing what they could, but from what you knew from Reid, with whom, due to lack of time, you communicated only sporadically, and from your own, old, reliable sources, there simply was no trace of her.

No witnesses. No leads.

Just like in the previous cases.

There was a soft scraping sound by your ear. You opened one eye to see a cup of coffee set down on the counter in front of you, and a man’s hand pushing it in your direction. You opened your other eye and sat up, resting the weight of your head on your palm.

“If you really can’t manage today, go home early,” Charlie offered, his hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his red hoodie. He avoided your gaze, and the sound of his voice struck you as strangely unfamiliar.

Right. You hadn’t spoken in days.

So much had happened since then that the reasons for the silence now felt distant, irrelevant.

“We’re basically done anyway. I’ll close up on my. No problem.”

Your dry lips parted slightly in surprise at the suggestion, but after a moment they closed again, and the two of you just stared at each other in silence. If the last time you looked at him he seemed awful, now he had clearly hit his lowest point. His face was thin, the skin stretched tightly over the bones, almost translucent. A beanie on his head, with strands of long, clearly unwashed hair sticking out from underneath. His eyes bloodshot and sunken, with purple circles around them. It hit you then that his preference for loose hoodies probably wasn’t just about fashion. It was also a way to hide his increasingly thin frame. A lump formed in your throat, and you lowered your gaze to the coffee cup in front of you, wrapping your hands around it.

“Thanks, Charlie. But I’ll stay till the end, as you said, we’re basically done,” you replied in a soft tone, one that suggested you weren’t holding anything against him anymore.

Charlie nodded, leaning back against the counter on the same side as you. A long silence passed before he spoke again, hesitant and slightly remorseful.

“So…we’re good? We’re talking again?”

You nodded without hesitation. It wasn’t just that your anger had passed, or that seeing him in that state stirred something in your heart and made you not want to leave him completely alone (although mostly that) it was also that work was boring as hell when you weren’t speaking to each other. You smiled faintly.

“Back to normal.”

Charlie returned the expression, one that looked almost foreign on his worn-out face. Then the sound of the bell above the door rang out, signaling someone’s arrival. You both looked toward Mr. Benson, walking in right on schedule with his phone in hand.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted him, already reaching out your hand. Silence followed as you set his alarm for 4 a.m., but just before handing the phone back, a question slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You could blame your talkativeness, or the way your mind was wrapped up in the case. Either way, you couldn’t help yourself. “How’s your grandson holding up, Mr. Benson? I mean, he was quite close to…Keasy.”

Her name was hard to say. Which made podcast recording especially difficult. You’d known the other victims—Maggie, who you used to tutor, and Judy, who you’d chatted with a few times—but not like this. They hadn’t lived across the street your whole life. You hadn’t handed down clothes to them or had them playing in your yard.

Mr. Benson made a sour face. At first, you thought you were imagining it—you even glanced at Charlie, but he was staring at the man too, just as shocked.

“Well, serves her right,” Mr. Benson said, dismissively, coldly.

You froze, stiffening all over.

“Same goes for the rest of them, if you ask me. Nothing but little whores with no decency,” he went on, taking the phone right out of your hand so suddenly that it practically slipped from your fingers.

He turned to leave, then paused, like remembering something.

“Well, maybe not that one. Whatever her name was. The one from the Bakers, you know, the ones who run the pharmacy. Good girl, smart, pretty. Always said hello. Didn’t deserve that. If that freak was right about any of them, well it sure wasn’t her…”

Charlie moved suddenly and sharply, and for a moment, you were sure he was going to react. His jaw was clenched tight, hands balled into fists and shoved into his pockets. But instead of doing anything, he just squeezed his eyes shut, his brow furrowing hard, and turned away, heading toward the back room with a quick, staggering gait.

You followed him with your eyes, confused, then turned your gaze back to Mr. Benson. For a moment, you didn’t know what to do at all. His words had gone off like a bomb, Charlie’s reaction only added to the chaos, making it hard to think clearly. You should probably go after your friend—right? The only thing you were sure of was the burning fury inside you. Fury at the disgusting, morally bankrupt man standing in front of you.

You stood from your seat and leaned over the counter, meeting his eyes with your own, blazing with anger.

“Don’t come here again,” you ordered.

You waited just long enough for him to leave and for the door to shut behind him before you headed straight to the back room. Inside the tiny, quiet space, Charlie was standing in front of one of the cabinets, hunched over, head buried in his arms, his body shaking either from tremors or dangerously erratic breathing.

You approached him immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched at the touch, so you quickly pulled it back.

“Charlie, what’s going on?” you asked.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, forehead furrowed with worry, silently watching as he tried to regain control, to slow the frantic breathing that at times sounded like quiet sobs. At one point, he started shaking his head with his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out. His hands slipped back into the pockets of his hoodie, fidgeting, like he was touching something, turning it over in his palms.

Suddenly, something clicked in your head. But first your friend, and his panic attack.

“N-no, don’t say anything,” you instructed him firmly. “Just breathe for a moment, okay?”

You had to repeat yourself once more before he started to follow the instruction, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose so deeply that his nostrils flared. The shop remained unattended, but at that moment, you didn’t care. Something else was festering in your mind, something that made sense of everything that had been going on with him lately—how his appearance and behavior had changed. You waited a little longer, giving him a moment to collect himself.

Maybe you should’ve asked more gently, but you didn’t know how.

“Are you using drugs?” you asked, your tone serious.

Charlie only opened his eyes at that question, locking onto your gaze. He held it for a long moment without answering, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

“God, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner,” you muttered, some shame aimed directly at yourself.

Now everything seemed so obvious. But clearly, you’d been too absorbed in yourself to notice something was seriously wrong with your friend. Or maybe you did notice. You just didn’t do anything about it.

He started shaking his head, denying it.

 “I’m not… it’s not that—”

“Then what do you have in your pocket?” you asked, confrontational.

The shaking intensified, turned almost frantic. The fear was just another confirmation—you didn’t want him to keep denying it. You weren’t trying to shame him or push him away. You just wanted the truth. So you reached for his pocket yourself.

For someone who had been slow and sluggish for months, Charlie suddenly found enough strength to grab your hand before you could even touch him, squeezing it hard. You let out a hiss, but he ignored it, not loosening his grip.

“Do you ever listen to a damn thing people say to you?” he snapped, pushing your arm back so forcefully your whole shoulder rotated and you had to take a step.

Yes, your heart jumped slightly with a flicker of fear, but you weren’t about to back down at the first hint of aggression. You’d known him for too long—you could’ve guessed his reaction wouldn’t be meek.

“Show me what’s in your pocket,” you demanded.

You remembered how he’d taken something out after your argument, staring at it while sitting alone in the car. Probably another dose of whatever it was he’d been taking. It all added up—and it only fueled you more. Maybe even too much. Looking at the tension on his face, you softened slightly, tried to shift your stance to something gentler.

“Charlie, you know you can trust me. I’ll help you, if you need it. If… I don’t know… if you’re scared I’ll report it to the boss, just know I’d never—”

He shook his head slightly, eyes closed, like he couldn’t take another word.

 “Move.”

You blocked him even more.

“Show me what’s in your pocket.”

He tried to push past you, but failed. The difference in strength between you wasn’t significant, especially not when his body was this weak, almost sickly. You literally grabbed hold of his hoodie, stopping him from leaving the back room.

Charlie tilted his head back with a sigh of frustration.

 “Jesus fucking Christ,” he ground out through clenched teeth, then reached into his hoodie pocket. He shoved something into your hands. Before you could even register what it was, he used the slack in your guard to push you back hard enough that you stumbled. As he left the room, he turned around briefly, spreading his arms with a bitter smile. “Happy now?”

You dropped your gaze to the small, orange plastic container.

You hadn’t been wrong for a second.

It was filled with pills.

*

It wasn’t even the next day when you heard the doorbell and knew it was Charlie.

After your confrontation, he had left the shop, leaving you alone. Ironic, really—he was the one who had suggested you go home early. Okay, maybe not the best time for irony.

After he squeezed your hand and pushed you, combined with everything else going on in your life outside of him, you probably had some unspoken right to just cut him off. Well, no one would be surprised that you didn’t. Just fifteen minutes later, you texted him asking to meet. A message he ignored. But you knew he read it. And you knew he would come.

After all, you had all his pills.

You hid them in the drawer of your desk, keeping them as a bargaining chip, just so you could talk to him a little longer. Just so you could ask how it had even started, and what you could do to help.

So, the doorbell, the steps up the stairs, the uncertain way he sat down on the edge of your bed, and silence. There was silence between you the whole time. Heavy and deafening.

The room was lit by your bedside lamp, the same color as the pill bottle hidden in the drawer of your desk, where you sat now.

Charlie kept his eyes fixed on the pattern of ducks on your bedspread. When he swallowed, it was so loud he might as well have shouted.

“I’m sorry for how I acted toward you,” he said stiffly.

“You’re only saying that so I’ll give you your pills back?”

“Yes.”

“You could at least try to make it less obvious.”

He pressed his lips together and shrugged apathetically.

“What for?”

Exactly—what for?

You slid down from your seat, still lightly leaning against it, arms loosely crossed over your chest. Charlie’s eyes gleamed with hope, thinking maybe you were moving to hand him back what was his. It was a pathetic sight.

"I need it," he said after a moment, placing heavy emphasis on the word need, his whole face tightening with it. "You obviously don’t get it, but for me this is... it’s the only way to, I don’t know, move forward."

You let out a sharp laugh.

"Charlie, you’re not moving forward. You’re barely dragging yourself."

“A small step is better than none.”

“Don’t bring up motivational you-can-do-it believe-in-yourself businessman quotes when we are literally talking about drugs!”

His hands slapped against his thighs with a tired sigh.

“I told you, this isn’t something you can understand. Just give it back, okay? If you don’t, I’ll get more anyway. It’s not a problem.”

You stayed silent. You knew he would say that, had even expected him to use that argument. But you couldn’t get past the moral block of physically handing your friend something that was slowly destroying him.

“No,” you answered plainly.

 He rolled his eyes.

 “Can I use the bathroom?”

You had your own bathroom upstairs, with the door right in your room. You gave him a look.

“Just so you know, I didn’t hide them in there. Don’t even think about going through my cabinets.”

“I just need to piss, psycho.”

You waved a hand.

“Be my guest.”

Charlie lazily got to his feet, with a look on his face like it had taken the effort of climbing Mount Everest. Then, with equally energetic movements, he dragged himself toward the room and closed the dark wooden door behind him. You were glad he had disappeared from your view for a moment, it meant you had time to think about what you were going to say to him when he came back. At least he wasn’t stubbornly denying his addiction anymore, and you considered that a good start.

As your eyes wandered around the room in thought, across the dark wooden floorboards and the walls covered in posters and photos, they eventually had to return to the place where Charlie had just been sitting. Your bed, the duck-patterned bedding, something lying on it.

And it didn’t belong to you.

You glanced toward the bathroom door—your friend was still inside.

You pushed yourself away from the desk and walked to the bed, picking up the object that must have slipped from his pocket when he stood up. Your brow instantly furrowed. It was a small crocheted bunny with button eyes, made into a keychain, with a clasp that allowed the tiny, adorable mascot to be attached to just about anything.

You carefully lifted the object, as if it might shatter upon falling. Your hands, for some reason, were trembling, so dropping it was actually a pretty likely outcome. You held your breath for a moment, as if oxygen deprivation might sharpen your other senses. And that strange feeling in your core.

Charlie wasn’t the kind of guy who’d clip a small, cute plushie onto anything, but even if he did, he’d wear it attached, not hidden in his pocket, right? You shook your head slightly, not knowing why you were analyzing it so much. Maybe he just got it from someone, maybe he bought it, found it. There didn’t have to be anything deeper behind it.

You were about to toss the oddly familiar plushie back where it had been, but then you glanced to the side and locked eyes with Charlie, just as he was stepping out of the bathroom. Upon seeing you, he froze in the doorway with one hand still on the handle, his gaze falling on what you were holding.

Your fingers closed more tightly around the little bunny.

If there hadn’t been anything deeper behind it, you wouldn’t have felt such tension in your body. You stared at his pale face for a long moment, without blinking or moving. Charlie parted his lips, then closed them again—his lower lip was trembling nervously. If there wasn’t anything behind it, he wouldn’t be reacting like that.

“That belonged to Maggie,” you said. “Maggie Baker.”

taglist: @mgg-lover4eva @jp600fox @garcialuvs

[munsonify]

perfectly fitted

pairing. johnny storm x fem!reader

summary. johnny’s wearing a pair of too tight jeans and you decide to do something about it

content warning. smut 18+ mdni, porn with little plot, kinda sloppy blowjobs, slight hair tugging (f!receiving), praising, swearing, pet names (baby, beautiful), alludes to more. not proofread

word count. 1651

a/n. can’t stop thinking about those stupid white jeans of his sorry. also i’m trying out something new with my headers, i can’t decide if i wanna keep with this or not.

———

tonight was supposed to be a casual night in. the longer you were dating johnny, the more often you came over for sunday night dinners with his family. it was nearing every week now that you were there. their striking kindness and immediate welcome every time made it easy for you to come back and enjoy their presence. that was no different this time around, they all greeted you with open minds and caring hearts.

johnny, however, made it a little difficult to truly enjoy the dinner. it wasn’t his fault, you don’t even think he’s realized what he’s doing. how could he? even with your lingering eyes, he was simply just existing. you wished you could follow suit, to simply exist and finish the meal without any worry. you couldn’t quite do that when he was wearing those oh-so tight jeans of his.

he’s been walking around the kitchen like it’s no big deal, like his jeans aren’t hugging all the right places. you had respect, you didn’t outright stare. especially not in front of his sister. that didn’t mean you couldn’t steal small glances, eyes flickering down when he finally sits beside you, warm body crowding your senses only slightly. johnny knocks his shoulder against yours gently when he sits, a gentle nudge letting you know that he’s here and happy you are, too.

and, like any normal person, you were able to keep ahold yourself. despite how delicious your boyfriend looked beside you, you put most of your focus towards the dinner and the conversation at hand. even if your mind kept drifting elsewhere, you were present.

by the end of the night, you realized that, maybe, he’d had caught on to your little staring problem. you were at the sink side by side with reed, rinsing and drying the dishes he’d just previously scrubbed clean. the family had long stopped insisting you didn’t need to help with dinner or cleaning the aftermath, your own insistence and stubbornness were just as strong as theirs. right before you’d finished up at the sink, johnny found his way towards you. the table was cleared and wiped off, the leftovers were stashed away in the fridge for later, and he had nothing else to do but to bug you.

reed gave him a glare when he slid behind you, hands finding your hips and his chin to your shoulder. and his bulge? well, his bulge was pressed right up against your ass. he wasn’t even necessarily hard, it’s just how he sat in those jeans. it drove you crazy. you hummed out in acknowledgement of his presence, swaying you two slightly as you dry the last of the dishes. after drying your hands, you twist around his arms, wrapping your own around his neck with a smile.

“hey, beautiful,” johnny greeted, a smile on his lips to match yours. he was a little more smug with the way he looked at you, feeling the way you press up against him a little extra tonight.

“hey, handsome. enjoy dinner?” you ask, fingers running through his short, blonde hair. he nods at your words, leaning in to place a soft kiss to your forehead.

it was just a short few minutes after that when reed and sue bid their goodnight’s and settled for an early night. ben followed suit, leaving you with johnny. alone. it wasn’t long before you two found your way to his bedroom, a little disorganized and scattered, but all completely him. that’s when you pounced, eagerly guiding him over to sit on the edge of his bed by his shoulders.

before johnny could protest, lips parted and ready to speak, he watched you carefully drop to your knees in front of him. he kept his lips parted as his eyes go wide, watching your hands dragging their way up to his thighs. it took him a second to find his words, your eyes round and filled with need as you stare up at him. fuck. you give them a gentle squeeze right before he speaks.

“is this why you’ve been staring at me all night?” johnny questions, legs spreading slightly to give you room. you find your way between them, settling there as you continue to stare up at him. one of your manicured hands inched towards his now growing bulge, fingertips brushing against his thickness.

“couldn’t help it,” you told him, tugging your lower lip between your teeth. “look so good in them, johnny. aren’t hiding a single thing in these jeans.”

you could hear the way johnnys breathing hitches when you gently palm his bulge, your words going straight where your hand lays against him. your eyes drift down to his lap, both hands moving up to his belt buckle to undo it, slow and steady and almost teasing. call it payback for practically doing the same to you. you didn’t properly take his belt or jeans off, you simply helped him shimmy it down enough to give you access to what you truly wanted.

“you spoil me,” johnny murmurs, eyeing you up just as hungrily as you’re eyeing him up.

“you spoil me,” you insist in a quiet voice, both hands sliding down to his hard cock, feeling him through his boxers.

one of johnny’s hands come up to cup your cheek, watching you move your face down towards his lap. your soft lips pressed a line of small kisses against his boxers. there was a growing wet spot on the fabric, you noticed, tasting the salty precum he was leaking. you needed more of it. you tugged down his boxers enough to let his cock spring free, heavy and drooling and ready for you to take. your lips, starting at the base of him, pressed another line of warm kisses up the underside, following a long vein leading up towards his reddened tip. your nose knocked against it by accident, just moments before your lips made contact with it.

johnny’s eyelids were drooping as he stares down at you, fingers moving to tangle in your hair. his grip was gentle but there, just enough for you to feel the weight of his touch. flattening your tongue, you slowly swirl it around his tip, eyes fluttering up to meet his again in an intense gaze. soon after you began kissing and licking at his leaky tip, you finally wrap your perfect lips around it and suck gently. the quiet moan he let out was beautiful, and, aside from feeling him deep in your throat, thats all you were looking for here. to listen to his praises and his moans and little gasps.

you take your time sucking gently at johnny’s tip, a hand of yours wrapping around his thick shaft. his round blue eyes were a little more difficult to see now, his pupils wider and darker than usual. you gave him a firm squeeze, tasting the precum that dribbles out of his tip in turn. he lets out a small gasp, fingers tugging slightly at your hair.

“so pretty, baby,” johnny whispers. he watches as your jaw slacks, carefully moving to take a little more of him in your throat. you try not to let that praise get to your head, jerking your hand slightly against what you don’t have in your mouth.

when you finally do take all of johnny’s cock, stuffing your mouth full of him, it takes everything in the man not to buck up into you. you wouldn’t mind all too much, he knows that. still, the last thing he’d want to do was make things uncomfortable or unpleasant for you. not when you’re making him feel this good.

his fingers stay threaded through your hair as you bob your head slowly. it wasn’t until you started to hollow your cheeks out, your tongue running against the underside of his cock that he started to use his hand to guide you. johnny needed it a little quicker, so he helped you get there, even though you’d eventually get there on your own. he needed it now.

it didn’t take long for his orgasm to approach. he’d had a long previous week, a rather stressful run of events that had him all pent up. this was exactly what he needed, and he let himself get lost in the feeling of your wet mouth on him. with his help, you took his cock gratefully, moaning with him every so often as he hits the back of your throat.

“feel so good, baby, shit,” johnny whispers, his free hand finding its way to his sheets and gripping. his eyes were screwed shut now, trying hard to get his words out before he finished. “just like that, takin’ me so well.”

your movements matched with his were getting rather sloppy. his tip, every few thrusts, didn’t quite make it down your throat, rather it hit the inside of your suck in cheeks. that’s what pulled his eyes open, desperate to see the pretty sight. hollowed out cheeks, slightly misty eyes, your mouth full of him. that’s what sent him over the edge, finding himself balls deep inside of your throat as warm ropes of cum string out of his gorgeously throbbing cock. you sucked at him as he came, swallowing every last drop of what he had to give you, eyes still staring right up at him as he groans out.

when johnny gently pulled you off of him, a hand still in your hair, he uses his other to reach up to your mouth. his thumb swiped what cum of his dripped out the corners, feeding it back to you to not waste a single bit. you took his thumb quick, sucking it clean, hollowing your cheeks out just like before to put on a show.

“go lay down, baby, gonna return the favor. you’re not the only one wearing a nice outfit today.”

[anon-188]

⟢ IN PLAIN SIGHT | 003. the rumor

pairing: bsf!clark kent x f!reader | series m.list

series summary: you’re in love with superman. clark’s in love with you. the only problem? you think they’re two different people.

warnings: emotional tension, soft angst.

You were already seated when you saw Clark walk in—hair tousled, messenger bag slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning the café like he wasn’t walking into the same place you’d been meeting at every week for years.

Just as he approached, you slid his coffee across the table.

“You’re late,” you said, though the curve of your mouth made it anything but serious.

Clark huffed out a quiet laugh as he dropped his bag beside the chair and sank into it. “By two minutes.”

“Two dangerous, coffee-deprived minutes,” you said, lifting your cup. 

He smiled as he took a sip of his own. That’s when you leaned in, eyes lighting up, voice just a little too casual to be innocent.

“So.”

His fingers tightened just a little around the cup as he lowered it from his lips. He already knew what was coming—could hear it in the rhythm of your breathing, in the soft stutter of your heartbeat picking up.

“So?” he echoed, trying to keep the usual ease in his tone.

“I read your article,” you said, grinning now.

Clark tilted his head, smirking. “The zoning board meeting? Didn’t realize city infrastructure was your thing.”

You nodded solemnly. “Especially the part about widening crosswalks. Riveting stuff.”

He gave you a flat look in response. 

You gave it right back, eyebrows raised.

“You know which one I’m talking about.”

“Oh!” he said, snapping his fingers dramatically. “The school taxes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile grew wider.

“The Superman one.”

His mouth twitched, like the grin wanted to fall but couldn’t.

“Right. That one.”

The one he published barely two hours ago.

“I read it on the walk here,” you said, sipping your coffee. “Twice, actually.”

Clark froze for a second, clearly thrown. “Twice?”

Your lips curved, slow and genuine. “It was really good. You outdid yourself.”

And he could tell—you meant it. He knew you weren’t just being nice. But he also knew why it hit so hard. Who you were really thinking about when you said it. 

That was the part that landed too deep.

He leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat. “And?” he asked, drawing it out with a playful lilt that didn’t quite hide the tension in his eyes.

“And…” you repeated, stalling a bit. Then you rushed ahead, voice quick. “I’ve got questions. Two or three. Okay—maybe four if you count the boots thing.”

“Just ask,” he said. The words came out dry, restrained. He added a shrug, like that might make it feel easier than it was.

You paused. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He forced a smile, lifting his cup to mask it. “Fire away.”

So you did. 

You dove right in, questions spilling out one after the next—some logical, sure. Sensible. The kind any curious person might ask. But most of them?

Most circled around one thing: Clark’s proximity to Superman.

You wanted to know if Superman ever made jokes during interviews. If his boots squeaked when he walked or if he was actually just that graceful. You asked if he ever had bad hair days or if the wind just conveniently cooperated. You wondered—without shame—if Clark ever got nervous around him. If he could tell when Superman was genuinely smiling or just being polite for the cameras.

Each question somehow came quicker than the last, each chasing the one before it. And he answered them all—well, except the one about whether Superman uses product in his hair. That one earned a conveniently timed sip of coffee and nothing more.

After your twelfth question, he thought you were finally satisfied.

Then—

“Oh, by the way,” you said, pausing with your drink in hand. “Apparently there’s a new rumor about him going around.”

He straightened in his seat—a subtle shift, one you didn’t catch right away. “About Superman?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “There’s this whole theory that he, like, causes danger on purpose so he can save people.”

His brows pulled together, slow and hard.

“Yeah,” you continued. “Like that apartment fire last week? Some people think he set it himself—just so he could come flying in to fix it.”

You opened your mouth to say more, but Clark beat you to it.

“That’s not—” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “He wouldn’t do that.”

You blinked, confused. Clark never interrupted you. And definitely not with that edge in his voice.

“He doesn’t make things worse just to feel important. That’s not who he is.”

“Yeah—” you started, a faint, reassuring smile forming.

But he kept going.

“You really think he’d do that?” He asked, more clipped now. “Put people in danger just to feel useful?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

“He’s not that selfish.”

Then he leaned forward again, the storm in his eyes flaring hotter than before.

“He saves people because it’s the right thing to do,” he said, quick and certain. 

“That’s the whole point.”

You studied him—his eyes, his posture, the way his glasses slightly shifted when his jaw tensed.

It made your next words come a little softer.

You nodded, slower this time. “Yeah. No, I agree,” you said, the warmth in your voice doing what your smile had tried to—ease whatever he wasn’t saying.

It wasn’t until then that Clark exhaled—quiet and controlled, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath in the first place.

“That’s actually what I was going to say,” you added gently. “I don’t think he’s the kind of person who could do something like that.”

Your eyes drifted down to your empty coffee cup, thumb tracing the rim absently.

“If anything,” you murmured, “he probably forgets how to put himself first.”

When your eyes lifted back to his, Clark was already looking at you. The tension in his expression had softened, that crease between his brows had started to fade.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat lightly. “That’s—uh… yeah. That’s what I was trying to say.”

The edge in his voice from earlier had smoothed out, but he still looked a little… off. Not wrong, exactly. Just out of sync. Like he was trying to find his footing again.

You let the silence settle for a moment, then leaned back with a half-grin—the kind you knew he couldn’t resist. If something had cracked the mood, you’d fix it the only way you knew how.

“Quick question,” you said, like it just hit you. “Do you actually read zoning reports for fun, or was that article a cry for help?”

Clark paused, then a slow smile started to form—hesitant, like he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

But it broke anyway.

He laughed, and this time it felt real. The kind of laugh that came from somewhere easy.

You watched him, the corners of your mouth lifting, as he followed it up with a quick-witted comeback—the conversation slipping back into the familiar rhythm you both knew by heart.

Though the moment passed, part of you stayed caught on the one before it—the way he’d snapped, the sharpness in his voice when he did.

Clark wasn’t usually like that. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten that worked up about anything.

It made you wonder if something had shifted.

But what lingered longer than the quiet weight of not knowing was the sinking feeling that, for the first time—

You weren’t so sure he’d tell you if it had.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

- a/n: i really enjoyed writing this one—hope you guys like it! again, thank you so much for the support and feedback! i really appreciate it <3

• tag list: @wiispyluvhayden @otakusimp1 @boogiemansbitch @buckturd @clarksweetheart @officialcaptain @sophiethelesbian @yeonalie @floufli @bragiarts @or-was-it-just-a-dream @cypherpt5fttaehyung @chuiisi @eternalsams @taurtel @macbaetwo @livbonnet @animegamerfox

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[m-robinavitch]

I am casually begging for "when was the last time someone fucked you?" with Jack Abbot and (if it isn't too specific) a virgin/shy reader. I think the prospect of being your first would really excite him. But also once he finds that out, he'd be so gentle and make sure you were doing okay. Like he's still dirty talking and domming, but also would check in with you throughout the whole thing.

finishing up thirsty thursday/freak nasty friday!

Jack Abbot x Reader

You didn’t make a big deal out of your virginity. It wasn’t a gift you were saving for the right one. It wasn’t this big moment that you made out to be the end-all be-all of yourself- you just were busy. You were a devoted college student, then med student, then resident- and at this point you didn’t have any dating experience so you were shy with actually getting to that point because most men ran for the hills when you said virgin. They thought you were going to be clingy or they’d latch on to the idea of you being untouched and want to claim you. Either way- at the wedding of your favorite night shift charge nurse, you found yourself stumbling home with your senior attending.

“Needy girl- when was the last time someone fucked you?” Jack only asked because you were so needy and eager- smiling at the energy you had when you pulled him by his tie and moaned into a sloppy kiss. All tongue and teeth and whiny moans- grinding on him after you shoved him back down on your couch. But his words slowed you- paused the desperate kisses you peppered along his face to bury your face in his neck and mumble ‘never’ while he moaned into the feeling. Wait- what? Never? Oh- oh Jack needed to rectify that immediately. And something deep inside him stirred when he realized you trusted him enough to be the one to do that for you.

“Another finger baby, you can do it for me- yeah?” Nodding as if to coax you into it- Jack had you spread out on your bed, a second thick, heavy finger slowly breaching your tight pussy with a soft moan when your cunt greedily sucked him in. “That’s it- good girl, feels good right?” So good. Your fingers never gave you this reach or thickness and you were too timid to attempt with a toy but- Jack just gave you the perfect stretch that you craved along with the same praise that you loved from him. It wasn’t long until you were begging- whining for him when he wrapped your thighs around his waste to rub his cock between your wet folds that he had been teasing for an hour.

“Don’t be greedy now baby- m’giving you what you want,” with a slap to your thigh and a bruising kiss to distract you when he shoved himself inside your tight walls. Oh. The stretch was so good and you immediately gasped his name- nails coming down to his shoulders while he set a slow but firm pace. You were perfect. Tight and wet and panting his name like it’s the only thing you cared about at the moment. “Fucking perfect sweetheart, you okay?” You couldn’t breathe- let alone answer him. But Jack stopped his slow thrusts, pressing his forehead against your own and asking again- needing you to answer him. And when you did- when you nodded and told him how good he was making you feel, how perfect his cock felt and that you needed more, he laughed and you swear you felt him twitch inside you.

“More? Greedy, greedy perfect girl,” again, heavy thick cock started to rock back and forth- dragging through your wet cunt and making your wonder why the fuck you waited so long for this? But you’re glad you did. No one else would have made you feel this fucking good. Jack had already brought you to your third orgasm- his tongue and fingers working over time and now you felt that familiar peek of a fourth.

[steddiehyperfixation]

a silly little notes app fic abt eddie's hair for my @steddiebingo free space | 795 words | T |

"So...Eddie's still not let you get your hands on his hair yet?" Robin asks during the slow hours of their shift at Family Video. 

It used to be all Steve would talk about. In the throes of crushing and pining, Steve talked about Eddie Munson near constantly anyways, but the guy's hair was a point he kept coming back to the most. For months, Robin had been made to listen to Steve's lamentations about how badly he wanted to run his fingers through Eddie's hair and teach him how to tame all the tangles and frizz. ("He'd have such gorgeous curls," Steve would sigh a minimum of twice a day; and Robin would tolerate it, because at least it was better than his lamentations about wanting to get in Eddie's pants.) 

When Steve and Eddie finally got together, Robin figured that would've been Steve's first order of business. She fully expected to be met with a glossy-curled Eddie within days of their new relationship. But it's been several weeks now, and Robin saw Eddie yesterday and his hair was still as mangy as ever.  

"You know, he does his hair like that on purpose," Steve says, setting down the stack of returns he's sorting and turning to face Robin. 

"What, like a raccoon that's just crawled out of a dumpster?" 

"Yeah, it's the style; it's 'metal.' He puts a lot of effort into it actually." 

"So he won't let you mess with it." Robin kind of understands that. 

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "No, he has, once. We took a shower together-" 

"Gross, do not need that image in my head, thanks."

"- and he let me wash his hair with all these nice curl products-" 

"Just lead with that next time." 

"- and he let me brush it with a good brush and put fancy conditioner and curl cream in it and everything. He let me do this whole routine, right, didn't complain once even though it kind of took a while." Steve smiles fondly, this dreamy little expression he always gets when he talks about Eddie. "I think we both just enjoyed the process, you know? He liked being pampered and I liked taking care of him. There's really something so romantic and intimate about doing someone's hair, I think." 

"That's sweet," Robin says, and she means it, really. She loves seeing her best friend happy and in such an adorable relationship. But she also kind of wants him to get to the point of this story. "So how did his hair turn out?" 

"Oh, yeah, it turned out perfectly," Steve says, but he laughs like it was a total disaster. "When it was all done and dry, he had these beautiful shiny, bouncy curls, just like I knew he would. But we take one look at his reflection in the mirror and we're both just bursting out laughing. He says, 'I fucking hate it,' and I say, 'I fucking hate it too.'" 

Robin tries to picture Eddie with glossy ringlets. "It didn't look good on him?" 

"It looked good, it just didn't look like Eddie," Steve says with a shrug. "It wasn't him. I realized in that moment just how attractive his normal, wild hair really is to me, because it's got personality, you know? Those supermodel curls just didn't fit—and it was honestly kind of a turn off. We had to mess it up immediately." 

"Do I want to know what you did to mess it up?" Robin ventures. Knowing them, 'messing it up' could mean anything from a filthy euphemism to something perfectly innocent. 

"We just backcombed the shit out of it." 

"Oh, good." 

Steve grins, eyes glinting with mischief. "And then of course I pushed him onto the bed and rode his dick into next week-"

"Ugh! God!" Robin shoves Steve's shoulder and he catches himself on the counter, laughing. 

The door chimes to announce a customer, and they both quickly straighten and try to look professional, but it's only Eddie in all his grungy, frizzy-haired glory. 

Steve's entire face lights up at the sight of him, bounding over to greet him like an excited puppy. Eddie's grinning too, the pure adoration in both of their eyes so sweet it's enough to make anyone sick. It's not long before they're sneaking off to the back room under some flimsy lie of searching for a movie, and Robin thinks it's cute that they still feel the need to make up an excuse for her when she knows they know she knows damn well what they're doing back there. Eddie's going to come back from that back room with hair even messier than before, and while Robin still cannot comprehend how Steve finds that man attractive, she's just happy they're happy. 

[smokebombsandspotlights]

🏁💿 "Paddock Princess Energy" 💿🏁

Formula 1 Grid x Reader (Platonic) ft. chaotic Gen Z female driver!reader, lots of slang, many confused men Word Count: 794 (this is part 1 of a multi-post fic adding up to 10k+ words!) 🧃 genre: platonic, humor, team bonding, slow build 📎 tags: gen z reader, reader is a driver, chaos, confused F1 drivers, gen z slang, lulu bag supremacy, baggy outfit energy, reader has a mouth on her, no romance, found family vibes 🎧 rec song while reading: "Cool Girl" - Tove Lo

🏎️ CHAPTER 1: “YOLO and Other Racing Strategies”

where Y/N shows up to the paddock dressed like she’s headed to a thrift store run, and the grid realizes they don’t have Google Translate for Gen Z.

"Y/N."

You don’t look up from your phone, thumbs moving way too fast for a normal human. TikTok brain had fully rotted your attention span, and you weren’t mad about it. You were chilling on a bean bag in your team’s hospitality tent — baggy cargos, massive graphic tee that said “SLAY MODE: ACTIVATED,” and your trusty black Lululemon crossbody slung across your chest like a seatbelt. Even your headphones were shaped like little cat ears.

Carlos Sainz blinks at you. “Are you listening?”

“Bro. I am listening. I’m literally absorbing your vibes through osmosis,” you reply, taking a sip of your iced matcha. “You just gotta trust the process.”

Carlos gives you the most Spanish™ look possible. "That means nothing."

“Okay boomer,” you mutter.

“…I’m literally 30.”

—

Your F1 debut was one for the books.

You were the first female full-time driver on the grid in years, a prodigy snatched out of F2 after doing one (1) illegal double overtake that made the entire internet scream. The media called you "electric." Fans called you “iconic.” Your engineers called you “a walking headache but somehow effective.”

The other drivers? Still trying to figure you out.

—

🧃 paddock fit check:

Baggy light-wash jeans that hang off your hips like you're from a 2003 Avril Lavigne music video

Huge tee that says “Hot Girl Lap Times”

Lulu bag. Always.

Headphones on. Music: Doja Cat or a random sped-up TikTok edit of a 2000s emo song

Lip gloss poppin’

Phone charged. Posts like “me n my intrusive thoughts 💅”

And your signature: three tiny silver rings and nails painted black with sparkles

—

"Y/N, please tell me you’ve done your track walk," Lando says, eyebrows drawn tight as he stares at your legs — which are definitely crisscrossed on the floor like you’re at a sleepover, not a GP.

You blink. “Oh babes, I touched grass. I just didn’t, like, study the grass. Y’know?”

“I don’t,” Lando replies honestly.

“You don’t need to memorize the turns,” you shrug. “Just manifest the apex. Visualize the drip. Slay the lap.”

Pierre chimes in from behind his phone: “I feel like I need subtitles.”

“Facts,” Logan mutters.

“Wait wait wait,” you say, standing up and adjusting your Lulu bag like it’s holding state secrets. “Are y’all telling me you don’t drive by vibes?”

They all stare at you.

Kimi Antonelli looks terrified.

—

📱Live Stream Highlight: “Y/N Explains the Grid”

user: @slaymodey/n caption: “u ever look at a group of men and realize ur the only one with a braincell”

“You guys, I’m gonna say it. Charles is the main character, but he’s also an NPC. It’s the duality.”

Charles (off-camera): “What does that mean!?”

“Oscar is giving ✨youngest child who got ignored✨ energy. Like someone hug him.”

Oscar (somewhere behind you): “I don’t need a hug??”

“George is definitely the kind of guy who answers emails with ‘per my last message.’”

George: “Oi!”

“Max is just...a cat. Like he would knock over your water glass and then say it was your fault.”

Max, deadpan: “That’s because it was your fault.”

—

🏁 Pre-Race: Grid Walk

Martin Brundle approached you with a mic and a raised brow.

"Y/N, how’s it feel being the youngest and most unbothered person out here?"

You grin. "Martin, I’m just here so I don’t get fined."

"Right. So, how’s the car handling this weekend?"

"It’s giving… banana peel on Mario Kart. But like, we move."

Martin stares at you.

You stare back, biting your lip to hold in a laugh.

"Anyway shoutout to my fans, my iced matcha, and to the people in my DMs pretending to know about tire strategy. Love y’all."

—

🛠️ Post-Race Debrief

"Y/N," your race engineer sighs. "We really need to work on your radio comms."

“What do you mean ‘too casual’?” you reply. “I was just describing the understeer as ‘a lil bit sketchy, not gonna lie.’ That’s descriptive!”

“You also said the car felt like ‘a sad shopping cart at Target.’”

“I stand by that,” you say, crossing your arms. “It did.”

—

📩 Team Group Chat: “y/n’s 2 fast 2 slay”

Fernando: Y/N, why did you just send a pic of your helmet on a cat Y/N: aesthetic. Carlos: please focus Y/N: I am focused on the ✨vibe✨ George: I’m begging you to speak English Y/N: ok mr. per-my-last-email Charles: I am scared but also impressed Y/N: thanks bbg 😌 Logan: i’m deleting WhatsApp Max: good. do it. Yuki: wait i like the cat pic Y/N: SEE?? yuki gets it 😤

—

to be continued…

[yeonayearns]

You thought you wouldn’t get such sweet and intimate aftercare from your roommate, Sukuna, but oh honey how you were very much wrong.

Wrinkled bedsheets, pillows on the floor, the lingering smell of passion and desire, messy hair, the sound of heavy breaths, and his playlist still playing in the background.

You couldn’t believe it, your roommate has almost fucked the soul out of your body. How many rounds did you two take? Two, three, four? Shit, you couldn’t count anymore. How can you even count when you can’t even think well anymore?

Thought what he said about fucking you until you can’t think about anything else anymore was a joke? Fuck no, he was serious, and you underestimated him.

Now you’re stuck in bed, body so fucking sore that you couldn’t move without your muscles aching.

That’s when you realized, where did Sukuna go? Did he leave you alone to deal with the soreness alone?

“Fucking jerk, knew he was a playb—“ You got interrupted as the door opened, revealing a nonchalant Sukuna with a face so casual like he didn’t turn your limbs into jelly!

“What’s with that look on your face, woman? Thought I’d leave you to deal with this?” He said, reaching out for the water jug and poured a glass of water for you.

You didn’t answer, instead, you took the glass of water and chugged the whole glass down. It made him amused by the sight.

“You’re like a feisty cat who’s been provoked.” He smirked, pouring another glass of water and handing it to you. “Here, drink up, you must be dehydrated after getting all creampied inside.”

You spat out your drink after he finished that sentence, why did he have to mention that right now?!

You shot a glare at him, “Of course I’m dehydrated, I nearly blacked out due to your soul crushing thrusts!”

He chuckled, then he suddenly stood up and swiftly held you in his arm. Yes not plural form, he was holding you using just one arm.

“Gah! Let me go! I’m filthy and sweaty and—“

“That’s why I’m taking you to the bathroom to give you a bath, woman.”

You tried to protest, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but you know him, he wouldn’t even budge.

“I’m gonna take care of you tonight, and that’s final. Got it?” He turned on the water, making sure it was the right temperature that you prefer.

“Ugh fine then..”

“That’s my favorite girl.” He kissed you on the forehead, lathering the shampoo in his hands as he started to massage your scalp.

God Sukuna can be such a brute, but when it comes to you, he’s a complete softie, it’s unbelievable.

All rights reserved, © YeonaYearns 2025-2026

DO NOT STEAL NOR REPOST.

[jujutsu-kaisen-after-dark]

WHEN THEY GET JEALOUS | COLLEGE AU!

Including: Sukuna Ryoumen, Satoru Gojo, Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi.

TW: mentions of alcohol, possessive behavior that leans a bit toxic.

★ SUKUNA RYOUMEN—“She’s coming home with me.”

The bar was packed, dimly lit with neon accents reflecting off sticky wooden counters and clinking glasses. Music pulsed through the walls—deep bass, low lighting, the smell of citrus, alcohol, and warm bodies mixing in the air. It was a Friday night. The kind that always brought the worst kind of crowd.

And Sukuna hated every single customer except you.

He was leaned against the counter, towel slung over his shoulder, tattoos peeking from beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his black button-down. He looked calm. He always looked calm.

You sat at the end of the bar, slowly sipping on a drink he’d made just for you—not off the menu, but something with peach and spice because he knew you liked the way it burned just a little. You wore one of his favorite blouses, one that dipped too low to expose the soft curve of your breasts, giving everyone a perfect view of the collarbone he loved to bite.

Sukuna was watching—leaning against the bar, towel slung over his shoulder perfectly, swirling a glass of whisky as he surveyed the room with a devilish grin. But his eyes always came back to you.

Until some asshole took the seat next to you.

“You here alone, babe?”

Sukuna’s eyes shifted toward you, his sly, devilish grin dropping almost immediately. His jaw tightened as he watched the guy lean in closer to you, close enough to smell the sweetness of your perfume. Too close. His elbow rested on the bar, voice cocky and laced with lust—barely loud enough for Sukuna to hear over the thump of bass.

“So, who are you goin’ home with tonight?” He said lowly against your ear. “I’ll let you take a guess,”

Your eyes glanced up to your boyfriend, shifting your weight uncomfortably as you opened your mouth to respond—but you didn’t even have the chance.

In a blink, Sukuna’s hand shot out, fingers curling into the collar of the guy’s shirt, yanking him forward over the bar until their faces were inches apart. You gasped, a hand instinctively slapping over your mouth. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you watched Sukuna smirk, slowly, his eyes lit by a deadly, wild flame.

“With me,” he said, voice low and razor sharp. “She’s going home with me.”

The guy’s eyes widened. His bravado cracking as he tried to speak.

“Is there a problem?” Sukuna drawled, cocking his head. His fingers tightened around the fabric, knuckles white.

“N-no,” the guy stammered. “Didn’t realize—m-my bad.”

Sukuna shoved him back, letting go with a flick of his wrist like he was nothing. His eyes slowly made their way to you, softening—just a little.

“Drink’s on the house, babe.” He winked. “For putting up fuckin’ with idiots like him.”

The bar felt quieter for a moment, the air dense with tension as Sukuna reached for the towel on his shoulder, cleaning his hands like they were absolutely filthy.

“You know,” you said softly, “you’re very not subtle, my love.”

“I don’t need to be.” Sukuna’s hand reached out to reach your face, two fingers tipping your chin up. “I just need him—and everyone else—to know where you’re fuckin’ going tonight.”

⸻

★ GOJO SATORU—“Can I steal my girlfriend for a second?”

The party was loud, chaotic—the way Gojo liked it. Music pumping, bodies swaying, drinks spilling. He thrived in this kind of chaos.

But right now?

He wasn’t feeling it.

Not when you were across the room, sitting pretty on a couch, laughing at something some random guy was whispering in your ear.

Gojo’s smile frozen as he watched. He held his drink halfway to his lips and a look of disgust was plastered on his face.

“What the fuck?”

He watched the guy lean in, all smug confidence, hand resting a little too comfortably on your thigh—way too comfortably and way too fuckin’ high is what that was.

“Oh, fuck this shit.”

Gojo was already moving towards you.

The guy didn’t even see him coming.

Not until Gojo was towering in front of him, one hand casually resting on back the couch, leaning in close—so close his glasses slid down his nose when he cocked his head, giving the guy a perfect view of the devious glint in his eyes.

“Hey, can I steal my girlfriend for a sec?”

The guy blinked, scoffing. “Girlfriend?”

Gojo’s grin widened. He loved this part.

“Yeah, y’know, the gorgeous girl you’ve been trying—and failing—to impress for the last five minutes?” He tilted his head, tone dripping with faux-sympathy. “She’s mine. You’re just keeping my seat warm.”

The guy scoffed loudly, his hand slipping off your thigh as he held both hands up in defense. “Didn’t realize she was taken, man. Didn’t even look like she was.”

“Well know you know,” Gojo snapped, reaching down with zero hesitation, his fingers curling under your chin as he tipped your face up toward his. His thumb brushed your lip, slow and deliberate.

“She’s been taken. You’re just late to the party, bud.”

You could feel the tension vibrating off him—the smugness, the fire, the sheer audacity of Gojo Satoru when he decided to make a scene.

Always such a diva.

The guy muttered a curse under his breath as he stood, shoving past Gojo and abandoning you on the couch.

“Yeah, you can fuck right off, you son of a bitch,” Gojo laugh loudly, watching him retreat with a grin that was all teeth.

The second you were alone, his attention snapped back to you. He softened for a moment.

“You know,” he drawled, leaning in so close his breath brushed your cheek, “I should be mad at you.”

You blinked. “Mad? For fucking what?”

“For making me play jealous boyfriend when we’re not even dating.” His grin was wicked, dangerous. “Yet.”

Your heart stuttered.

“But hey—” his fingers found your waist, pulling you flush against him, “—thanks for giving me the perfect excuse to change that.”

⸻

★ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI—“You’re mine, you’ve always been mine”.

Megumi hated going to these parties.

The music was nothing but noise, the lights were too bright, and his idiot roommate—Yuuji—was passed out on the bathroom floor after drinking too much too soon.

He stood by the wall, silent, arms crossed, but holding a lukewarm beer and watching the chaos unfold.

But his focus remained on you.

You’d been dancing shamelessly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, laughing. Completely oblivious to the guy behind you—even if his hands were on your waist.

He was too close— closer than Megumi could stand.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself you were allowed to have fun—it wasn’t like the two of you were dating anyway. But he knew there was more than friendship between you—and so did you.

But when the guy’s hand brushed against the curve of your ass— Megumi’s blood started to boil.

You didn’t see him move.

One second you were laughing, and the next, a hand curled around your wrist, firm but gentle, pulling you away from the crowd.

You gasped, stumbling slightly—until your body collided with a wall.

Or rather, with him.

“Megumi!” you giggled, arms flinging around his neck, completely unaware of how tense his body was.

“My babyyy,” you beamed excitedly—drunkenly. Your cheek was pressing against his, the faint smell of alcohol on your breath as you spoke. “I was looking everywhere for you earlier and I couldn’t find you…”

He didn’t say anything. Not right away. His hands settled on your waist, fingers flexing, holding you still—like if he let his hold on you to, you’d just slip away.

“You’re drunk,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Hmm yeah, a little bit more than I’d like to be,” you admitted, nose nuzzling into his neck, missing the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers dug in a little deeper.

“Why’re you all the way over here? You should come dance with me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, sharp, and burning.

“I was just watching.”

You blinked, tilting your head, absolutely clueless in your drunken haze.

“I saw him put his hands on you,” Megumi muttered, voice low, dangerous.

“Oh,” you breathed. “That? It was nothing, Megumi. You don’t have to—”

“I don’t share.” His words cut through you, sharper than you expected. “Especially not you.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you blinked up at him a few times as if you were trying to make sense of his words.

“You’re mine, you’ve been mine,” he said, quieter now, but the possessiveness laced in every syllable. “Even if you’re too drunk to see it right now.”

You stared, wide-eyed, heart pounding in your chest as his hands slid from your waist to your hips, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was suffocating, his gaze locked onto yours, daring you to deny him.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he whispered.

And you knew he meant it.

⸻

★ ITADORI YUUJI: “Don’t make me jealous again.”

The party fucking was wild.

Bodies moved like a wave, red solo cups passed around like lifelines, and Yuuji Itadori was right in the middle of it—grinning, laughing, playing the perfect host as if nothing could rattle him—just like Gojo, his big, taught him.

But then he saw you. Perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, drink in hand, cheeks flushed with that tipsy glow and eyes half lidded with a look he knew all too well.

And some guy was leaning over you.

Too close.

Way too close.

The guy’s hand was braced against the counter beside your thigh, his grin lazy, lips moving too slow and too confident. Yuuji couldn’t hear what he was saying—but he didn’t need to.

Something hot and electric spiked through his chest.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It was possession.

He crossed the room in seconds.

No smile. No drunken sway. Just purposeful strides, eyes locked on you, the crowd parting for him like they knew what was going on.

The guy didn’t notice him until Yuuji was there. And when he was—He didn’t even speak to him.

His hand slid to your thigh, fingers curling with enough force to anchor you, and his body slotted between your legs—completely caging you in. His other hand braced the counter beside you, chest brushing against yours.

“Hey,” Yuuji said, voice low, soft—but with an edge you’d never heard before. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The guy shifted. “We were kinda in the middle of something—”

Yuuji didn’t even spare him a glance. His gaze was fierce , completely and utterly locked on you.

“I’m not talking to you.”

His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly. Not enough to hurt—but enough to make a statement. You could feel his breath on your lips, steady and animalistic all at once.

The guy scoffed, muttering under his breath as he backed off. It didn’t matter—you didn’t matter to him.

Yuuji had already forgotten him, his whole world was just you—like it it was supposed to be.

His attention was fully, dangerously on you now.

“You shouldn’t let guys get that close,” he said, tilting his head, lips brushing your ear. “Not when you know you’re coming home with me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and your cheeks flushed a bright pink hue.

“I—” you started, but his hand slipped higher on your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, cutting you off.

“Don’t make me jealous again,” he whispered. “I’m not as nice as everyone thinks I am.”

“Oh my god, Yuuji—“

“This ain’t the alcohol talking—believe me.”

And that look in his eyes?

You totally believed him.

AUTHORS NOTE

A little ooc—my bad. Which one was your favorite? If you’d like to be part of my taglist, let me know!

Also if you know nothing about Greek life, that’s totally fine! I got an inbox asking “what did you mean when you said “just like Gojo, his big, taught him.” In yuuji’s part? In Greek life, at least in the states, your big is like your mentor or your big sister/big brother. They basically guide you through your early years of Greek life. They can either be great influences or absolutely terrible—depends on the person.

[saltyjoy]

Stupidly Lovesick

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You want Bucky to be happy, even if that means it breaks your heart every time you see him with Natasha. With the aid of Steve, you two devise a series of plans in order to get them together.  What you fail to realize is that Bucky and Natasha are simultaneously devising a series of plans to get you and Steve together, even if it pains Bucky.

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings/Tags: Reader is implied to be at least slightly shorter than Bucky (it’s like one line), Mutual pining except they’re both stupid, you and Steve wingman, Avengers tower fic

A/N: Woah not a thunderbolts fic!?!?!!? crazy

Masterlist

You have been friends with Bucky for a while. You’ve been there with him during his low points and high points. After years of companionship, you had foolishly believed you had a chance. You really wanted to believe that maybe after all these years beside him, perhaps you could be the one to be by his side for the rest of your lives.

Like you said, foolish.

You had already considered the idea that he liked Natasha, but you wanted to live in denial until it was confirmed. 

You get it, she’s pretty, incredibly skilled, and can empathize with him on a personal level. They’re essentially made for each other. You wouldn’t even be lying when you say that they’d be a good couple. They would, and that makes it hurt so much more.

You walk into the common area, immediately diverting your eyes away from Bucky and Natasha as you walk in. You beeline for the kitchen and grab a glass of water, using Steve as a shield to block your gaze from them.

Despite that, your own eyes betray you and sneak a glance at them. They seem to be invested in their conversation. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you don’t bother trying to listen. If they don’t want you to be able to hear you, you won’t be able to.

“Notice them too, huh?” Steve leans on the counter next to you, a small smile on his face.

You place your glass down, “Huh? Oh, yeah.” You offer a polite smile to him.

“Honestly can’t believe they aren’t together yet,” you try to ignore how your stomach drops at his words. 

You both turn to see Natasha smirking at something Bucky said. Whatever he says next seems to have her giggling. 

“They really are perfect.” You admit, forlornly.

Steve nods, “Yeah, if he could do something about it.” He taps his finger on the counter before turning slowly towards you.

You turn to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly dated since 1945, I’m pretty sure.” Steve starts. 

You raise your eyebrow even more, “‘Pretty sure?’” You quote

He tilts his head, “Well, I haven’t exactly asked. I’m just making an assumption, but that’s not the point.” He waves a hand, shaking his head. “I’m saying that,” he points at himself, then at you, “we help him.”

You almost let laughter escape, but you catch yourself. “You want us to wingman for him?” You smile at the absurdity of the idea. Out of all the people he could’ve asked. How did Steve manage to ask the one person who also likes Bucky?

He offers you the most hopeful grin, and you want to decline. God, how you want to decline, but then you look at them. He looks unburdened, untroubled. He’s smiling as if nothing weighs him down, and at the end of the day, that is what matters.

You turn back to Steve, a smirk on your face, “When do we start?”

-

Dinner. 

Dinner is when you start.

Honestly, you should not be surprised. You agreed to Steve’s proposition with (seemingly) no hesitation. Why would he wait to try to push them closer together?

So here you all sit at dinner. You sit next to Steve and across from the source of your pain and misery (and love, but that’s not important right now). Your eyes flicker over to Natasha, who's right next to Bucky.

It’s silent, like uncomfortably silent. Usually, somebody is making noise, but nope, not this time. All you hear is the utensils clatter every couple of seconds.

You glance at Steve, tilting your head slightly across the table to Bucky and Natasha. He returns the stare before looking towards Bucky. “So—”

“You two,” Natasha addresses you and Steve, surprising both of you. “How’ve you two been recently?” She takes a sip of water, giving you both a piercing look.

Both you and Steve glance at each other before looking back at her, “Uh, we’ve been… we’ve been good.” Your confidence falters at her random question. 

“‘Good,’ huh?” She traces the rim of her glass, not breaking eye contact with you.

You nod slowly, not sure what she’s implying. “Yep,” you pop the ‘p,’ “‘good.’”

She turns back towards Bucky, for a moment, before humming. “You two been spending a lot of time together?” She phrases it like a question, but knowing her, it’s anything but. It’s a declaration in disguise.

“I mean, we spend lots of time with everyone,” Steve interjects, with you nodding in agreement.

“What about you two?” You try to flip this onto them. 

Bucky looks puzzled. You wouldn’t be able to tell if you didn’t know him, but you do. You notice the details, such as a small twitch of his eyebrow, giving away his confusion.

Natasha, undeterred, quips back: “‘We spend lots of time with everyone.’” 

You smile, “Touché.”

“We happened to notice that you guys were… conversing in private earlier.” Steve cuts his steak.

“I wouldn’t call that ‘private.’ If you guys could see us, it wasn’t exactly private.” Bucky joins in.

“Well, what else should I call it?” Steve takes a bite of his steak. “Intimate?” He whispers low so that only you four can hear it.

Bucky and Natasha both freeze, eliciting a reaction from one of them is an achievement, but two? They must really be trying to hide their secret.

“‘Intimate.’” Bucky deadpans, eyes flickering to you in disbelief as if asking, “Do you hear this guy?”

You shrug, “We’re only describing what we saw.” You move your food around your plate, avoiding eye contact with Bucky.

“Oh? What about you two?” Bucky scoffs.

You blink, stopping your motion, “What about us?”

“You two looked cozy earlier in the kitchen,” Natasha remarks. 

“I was getting water?” You frown, you aren’t sure “cozy” is a word you’d use to describe that situation.

“Really?” She looks at you in mock disbelief. “'Cause I dare say it looked almost,” she smirks, “‘intimate?’” 

Just as you’re about to defend yourselves, you’re cut off.

“Okay, what the hell happened? Did something happen? It feels like something happened. Frankly, I’m disappointed in all of you for not saying anything.” All four of you freeze and turn toward Tony. 

“Nothing happened,” Steve responds dryly. 

“Now why do I find that hard to believe?” Sam asks. 

“Maybe we should drop the topic?” You try to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. Thankfully, Bucky and Natasha seem to agree. 

Tony gestures his hand to you, “Great idea. I think that’s a brilliant idea.” 

The silence that permeates the room is suffocating, but the rest of the team looks relieved. You try to sneak a glance across the table, and Bucky meets your eyes. He raises an eyebrow, and you try to suppress a smile, but you fail. You cough in order to cover your rising laughter. You notice him smirk at his plate, and you avoid looking at him for the rest of the night. Sometimes you wonder if he is aware of the effect he has on you.

As dinner finishes up, Steve gestures for you to follow him. 

“Well, that went better than expected.” You comment.

Steve gives you a look. “Perhaps we were too forward with it.” 

You huff, amused, “Yeah, maybe ‘intimate’ was a bit on the nose there.”

Steve looks a bit sheepish, shaking his head. “Okay, we need a new plan. Maybe if we can catch them on their own, it might be easier to stage something.”

You shake your head, “That assumes they can be separated from one another. Every time I think I see Bucky on his own, suddenly Natasha appears out of thin air.”

“Well, Natasha does have a solo mission coming up soon.” Steve walks over to the couch, and you follow close behind. 

“So what? We basically ambush Bucky while she’s gone and push him into admitting something?” You place your hand on your hip.

Steve smiles, “Your words, not mine.”

“Wait,” you shake your head, “what are we even aiming for at this point? Are we just trying to get him to admit his feelings for her?” The words feel bitter on your tongue.

“If we can get him to admit his feelings for her, then that makes our job a lot easier.” Steve sits down, looking up at you.

“I guess that’s true…” You look down at your feet, contemplative. “You know when she leaves?”

“Two days.” 

“Okay…” You sigh, “We can make that work.”

Steve stands up, clasping his hand on your shoulder, “Don’t look so stressed. It’ll be quick and easy. He won’t need much convincing.”

You give him a soft smile, “Yeah, he won’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper at this point. You doubt Bucky will hesitate at the chance to get with Natasha.

“Well, I’m going to head in for the night. We can plan tomorrow. Goodnight.” He clasps your shoulder before giving a small wave and leaving.

“Night, Steve.” You return the wave.

-

The next day,  you got up early, not because you wanted to, but because Steve knocked on your door at four in the morning.

“Is somebody dying?” You ask, half joking.

He rolls his eyes, “Wanna join me in the gym?” He asks. “We still gotta talk about what our plan will be.”

“You seem too happy about this.” You rub your eyes.

“Come on, I’ve never gotten to set up a date for him. You know, he actually tried to set me up on some dates in the past.” He leans against your doorway. 

“Really?” You chuckle at the image. “How’d those go?”

“Eh, they never worked out. I always found interest in other things.” He shrugs. 

“Like what? Enlisting in the military?” You smile at him.

He returns the smile, “You know me so well, now get dressed. I want to get there before Buck does.” 

You sigh, mourning the sleep you could’ve had, but get changed anyway. When you open the door, Steve is still standing there. “When does Bucky get there?” You ask, continuing the conversation from earlier.

“Usually we go together a little past five,” Steve explains, walking towards the elevator.

“Oh, so you’re trying to avoid him.” You wait for the elevator door to open before walking in.

“You make it sound worse than it actually is.” Steve comments amused.

“I’m just stating the facts.” You mumble, closing the elevator door and tapping the floor number.

Eventually, the door opens up and you two make your way into the gym. “Okay, so…” Steve slowly trails off as both of your eyes widen. You don’t even hide your shocked expression at seeing Bucky and Natasha already in there. 

You four all stare at each other for a moment before you try to break the tension, “Uh, hi?” 

“Hello,” Natasha responds slowly, “we didn’t expect you two to be down here.”

“Yeah?” You nod. “Well, neither did we.” Your voice gets quieter the more you speak. You turn towards Steve. “I thought you said you and Bucky—” You whisper.

“I’m aware of what I said,” Steve responds, matching your tone.

Bucky and Steve look at each other for a long moment, not saying anything. 

“Were you two planning on coming here alone?” Natasha asks slowly, keeping an eye on the super soldiers.

“I guess?” You frown, Steve turns toward Natasha, shaking his head. “I mean, what about you two?”

“Just wanted to get an early start to our day.” Natasha shrugs.

“Us too.” Steve gestures between you two. You nod eagerly. 

It seemed the conversation started to die off after that comment, so you make your way to your preferred piece of equipment when Natasha decides to continue.

“Is this about dinner last night?” She asks, making both you and Steve pause.

“What?” You frown.

Natasha sighs, tilting her head to the side, looking at you two expectantly.

You look at Steve to try to gauge his reaction. “What about last night? I thought we moved on.” You give her a confused smile.

“Did you guys follow us down here?” Bucky asks, his eyes on you and you alone.

Your lips part in genuine shock, “No? Why would we?”

“I don’t know, you two seemed awfully passionate last night.” Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“‘Passionate?’” You repeat incredulously. 

You turn towards Bucky as if to plead for him to understand, “In what world was that conversation ‘passionate?’” You shake your head. “What about you two? If we were passionate, then so were you two.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, “We weren’t.”

You cross your arms. “Really?” 

“Really.” You are briefly taken aback at his strong conviction, but nod anyway.

Steve sighs, “We weren’t spying on you.” He turns to Natasha. “Why are you two still hung up over dinner last night anyway?”

“We aren’t.” Natasha glares at Steve.

“You brought up the topic yesterday, and you’re bringing it up again today.” Steve frowns.

You groan, “We aren’t getting anywhere.” You turn toward Bucky. “Please, Bucky, I don’t know what you guys are talking about, but I promise we aren’t following you two. This has nothing to do with dinner. We just came to use the gym.” You don’t look away from him once. 

Bucky looks at you for a long moment before looking back at Steve and Natasha, who are still talking (or yelling at this point). “Nat, let’s just go somewhere else.” He stands up, sparing you a meaningful glance before he ushers Natasha out.

You and Steve both watch, surprised. “Why didn’t you try that before she started grilling me?” He looks at you.

Your mouth parts, “I didn’t think it’d work.”

-

The four of you silently agreed to let that day go. You don’t even hide your sigh of relief when Bucky gives you the same smile he always does when he walks past you. You were worried he’d be upset at you, but it seems he let it go.

“Okay, so maybe you can trip him—”

“‘Trip him?’” You rub your temples. “Not all of us are super soldiers, Steve. Bucky is more likely to trip me while I try to trip him.”  

“Well,” he pauses, frowning, “okay, maybe you can trip Natasha?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” You shake your head, not looking at him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, then what do you have in mind?”

You take a long sip of your water, “I dunno.”

“Great, so what I’m hearing is, we trip Natasha. Make sure Bucky is nearby, and hypothetically, he should catch her.” Steve spins a pencil in his hand.

“How would I even go about trying to trip Nat?” You look up at him.

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, you can push her if that makes it easier?”

“‘Push her?!’” You repeat. “Captain America himself wants me to push her so that she can fall in Bucky’s arms?” You look at him, slightly dumbfounded

He snaps before pointing a finger at you, “Yes.”

“Is this how you got dates in the 40s?” You rub your temple, looking away from him.

“I didn’t, remember? Buck set them all up for me.” He responds, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone for the headache he is causing you.

“I can see why he had to, my goodness.” You sigh. He gives you a disapproving look.

“What if he doesn’t catch her?” You ask, leaning against the desk you two were planning on. There is a large piece of paper littered with stick figures sprawled out on top of it. The top of the page has “The Plan” written in black sharpie.

“He will,” Steve says confidently.

“Okay, what if Natasha catches herself?” You put your hand down next to Natasha’s stick figure.

“Well,” he pauses, “make sure you push her hard.” 

“Natasha will kill me.” You sit down at the desk, setting your head onto it.

Steve pats your shoulder, “She will un-kill you after she gets with Bucky. Now come on, this will be great.”

You sigh, grabbing your phone before following Steve out of the room. “You sure you wanna do this now?” You ask, speeding up to walk side by side with him.

“I don’t see why not. No time like the present.” He keeps his long stride.

“How are we even gonna position them to be near each other? Maybe we should reconsider.” You frown, following as he sharply turns around corners of the hallway without slowing down.

“Just get Romanoff down, I’ll handle the rest.”

“Okay, well if you—”

You run into somebody, and it’s somebody strong. They immediately cause you to fall back a little, but they immediately clutch your arms. “Shit- You okay?” You immediately recognize Bucky’s voice. 

“Oh, uh, yeah?” Your brain freezes the moment you try to speak to him.

“Is that an answer or a question?” He smirks, still holding onto you.

“Answer. It was an answer.” You regain your confidence, smiling back at him.

“Alright,” he slowly lets go of your arm, almost reluctantly, “what are you two speeding around for?” He finally addresses Steve. Steve looks between the two of you, seemingly baffled.

“Places to be,” Steve says slowly, his eyes still on you.

“Oh,” Bucky seems to be surprised. He turns away from Bucky to face you. “Oh.” He suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Well, I’ll leave you guys at it.” He looks towards Steve again, offering a small smile and nod before leaving.

You and Steve watch as he walks away. “You were supposed to trip Nat, by the way.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off.

“And didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t trip Bucky?” He adds, walking down the hall you two were heading down.

“I technically didn’t. I ran right into him.” You respond dryly.

“Yeah, I guess.” You follow up right beside him. “It’s a shame that would’ve been perfect. It was just the wrong girl.” He looks toward you, giving you an indecipherable look.

“Yeah,” you look down at your shoes, “the wrong girl.”

-

It turns out that, despite having good plans for missions, Steve actually really sucked at coming up with good plans to get Natasha and Bucky together.

You two didn’t even get a chance to trip Natasha. You somehow failed the mission before you made it into a room. Granted, you imagine that if you successfully made it to Nat and tripped her, it would have been a whole lot worse.

So, you two were out of ideas. 

“Why don’t we just wait til Nat leaves to talk to him?” You ask, tapping your pencil’s eraser onto the Bucky stick figure’s head.

“Because Buck doesn’t even have her personal number yet.” Steve takes away your pencil, getting annoyed with the constant tapping noise.

“What? How do you know? Did you ask him?” You immediately sit up, firing questions at him. 

“I didn’t need to ask him. He has like four contacts on his personal phone. I figured you would ask me to make sure, so yes, I did ask him.” Steve nods.

“I’m not sure whether to take offense at that. Anyway,” You tap your hands onto the desk. “Idea! Okay, so what if we stage something for them? I have Nat’s personal number. You have Bucky’s right?” You look at Steve optimistically.

“I do.” He responds, not matching your enthusiasm.

“Perfecttt,” You grin. “So maybe we just talk to them and casually mention that ‘Oh, I have their number! Ya know, in case you want it.’ That way, they can stay in touch while Nat is gone.”

Steve looks doubtful, “That’s your idea?” 

You lean back, offended, “It’s better than you telling me to trip her!” You cross your arms. “Come on, you’ll just have to talk to Nat and casually add at some point that you have Bucky’s number. Make sure it seems natural. She’ll know if the change in topic seems too abrupt. Meanwhile, I’ll go talk to Bucky, give him Nat’s phone number.” You smile at Steve.

He looks at you, frowning, but he eventually nods. “Alright.”

You hide your joy at your victory, standing up to leave the room. As you begin your search to find him, you’re hit with a wave of dread. Dread that had been previously there, but subdued.

Hanging out with Steve helped you forget that you were setting up your crush with one of your friends. Now it’s getting real. You have an actual plan, and you were so happy that you thought of an actual idea that you almost forgot what exactly you were setting up.

Despite every bone pleading in your body to stay, to not go through with this, you go. You go because you know this is what he wants. This is what will make him happy.

It has to.

-

The next day, you and Steve decided to enact your plan. You had pretty high hopes, after all, there’s not really a way it could fail. Well, they could decline the numbers, but you throw out that possibility.

It was early in the afternoon when you and Steve split up. Knowing Bucky’s schedule (which is not weird at all, he’s your friend) came to be very useful in this situation. There he was, in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. You stare at him for a minute before approaching him.

“Hey,” you grin at him.

He looks startled by your presence, immediately standing up straighter and clearing his throat. “Hey,” he returns your greeting.

“Haven’t seen you alone in a minute.” You start off casually. You don’t want to immediately throw Natasha’s number in his face. You gotta build up to it. 

He smirks, “Could say the same about you.” 

You chuckle, “Fair enough.” You place yourself on the counter next to him. He watches you the entire time. “So,” you tap your finger on the counter, “how’ve you been?”

He shrugs, “Could be better, could be worse. You?” He looks down.

“I’m alright.” You nod, quickly realizing you aren’t sure how you’ll continue this conversation.

A long moment of silence goes by, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, you almost find yourself enjoying it. You try to look at him a few times, but he continues to stare down at his feet.

“Sorry about the other night.” He breaks the silence. 

You turn toward him, slightly confused. “Sorry for..?”

“Dinner,” he clarifies, gesturing a hand out, “and the next day.”

“Oh,” you respond, blinking in surprise. “It’s fine, really. We all moved on.” You place a hand on his shoulder casually. You feel him relax slightly under your touch, almost as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“I know, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to bring it up. I just,” he looks at you, “I didn’t mean to push the topic so hard.” 

You shake your head, “Bucky, don’t worry about it. In your defense, we were also kinda pushy too.” You rub his shoulder.

“Yeah, but we started the conversation.” Bucky insists. Does he want you to be mad at him?

“How about we compromise? We are both at fault.” You suggest, he seems hesitant to accept it, but you give him a pleading look. “Please? For me?” You ask.

He scoffs before turning back to you and sighing, “For you.”

You grin at him, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Great! Now that we have that out of the way, I have something you might be interested in.” So maybe you're a little impatient.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. He watches as you scroll through your phone.

“So, Steve tells me you do not have a certain someone’s number in your contact list.” You smirk at him, hiding your screen. 

Bucky frowns, “I have all of your guys’ numbers.”

You shake your head, “No, I meant on your personal phone.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “Uh, yeah, I guess not.” He mutters.

“Well, I guess you can thank me later.” You scroll down to show Natasha’s number, turning your screen towards him. Her name isn’t visible on the screen, but he knows who this is for.

He blinks slowly at the screen for a moment before turning toward you, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I mean it’s always good to expand your contacts with new friends.” You shrug. 

He shakes his head, amused, “I guess so.” You watch as he enters the number into his contact before he starts typing her nam-

That’s not her name.

“What… What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he types your name onto the contact that is definitely Natasha’s number.

He frowns at you, confused, “Adding your contact?” 

You gape at him as he continues to stare at you, confusion clear in his eyes. “Oh, that’s uh,” you clear your throat, “that’s Nat’s number.” You clarify. 

He looks down at the screen, which has your name plastered clearly onto it. “Oh.” He slowly erases it before putting “Natasha” on his phone. Well, at least they don’t have cute nicknames for each other. You might’ve jumped off the tower if that were the case.

“Sorry about the confusion,” you look back down at your phone, slightly embarrassed. 

“No, no, it’s okay.” He chuckles as he puts a hand on your shoulder, helping diffuse the tension. He nudges your foot, making you look up at him. “How about I get yours too? After all, I’d like to ‘expand my contacts.’” He holds out his phone, his number reflected on the screen.

You look up at him, instantly feeling your face heat up once you see the smirk on his face. Remembering why you are here, you compose yourself before adding a new contact labeled “Bucky.” You text him a simple “hi” to make sure he gets your number as well.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You literally feel your heart rate skyrocket. 

You nudge his foot, and he laughs, “Bold move there, Barnes.” You look away so that he can’t see the pure fondness in your eyes.

“Worked, didn’t it?” He opens your message, holding it up like it’s a damn trophy. 

You exhale, not able to withhold your smile, “Yeah, yeah, it did.”

-

Later that night, you meet up with Steve. 

You walk into your meeting room with a smile on your face, “I take it somebody was successful?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chair. 

“Yeah, mission successful.” You take a seat next to him. “How’d yours go?”

Steve gives a long exhale, “She got it.”

You nudge him, “Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he shakes his head. “She was just very hesitant,” he taps the arm rest mindlessly, “and confused.” He adds on. “You run into any issues?”

“Not really, he did ask for my number as well. Figured he wants to get past those four contacts you mentioned. Perhaps he’ll reach ten by the end of the month.” You joke. 

“He asked or you offered?” Steve tilts his head at you.

“Does it matter? He asked and then said, and I quote, he wanted to ‘expand his contacts.’” You do air quotes as you speak.

Steve looks down at the ground in front of you, contemplative. “You good?” You ask, and his eyes snap back to you.

“Fine. How would we know if Nat texts Steve or vice versa?” He leans against the desk. 

You shrug, “We won’t.”

“So there’s a chance that all of that was for nothing?” Steve walks over to the desk.

“It’s not for nothing, don’t be dramatic.” You sigh, at least for you it wasn’t. Steve watches you through his peripherals. “At least my plan has the potential to work. Your plan failed before we even got them in the same room together.” You frown at him, offended.

“That’s because you bumped into Bucky!” Steve points a finger at you.

“That’s because I was trying to keep up with you! You were walking beyond what anybody would consider a ‘normal speed.’” You do air quotes.

He rubs his temples, and you lean into your chair. “What are we doing?” He asks. You aren’t sure if he’s asking you or himself.

“I assumed you were the one with the answer.” You stare at the ceiling. You feel Steve give you that same “Really?” look he loves to give.

“Alright, let’s just wait till tomorrow.” Steve leans against the desk. “We’ll wait til Nat is gone, and then we can talk to him.

“Alright,” you nod, “sounds good to me.” You sit up straight. 

“Meet here at eight tomorrow.” Steve looks at you.

You give him a mock salute, “Yes, Cap.” He kicks your foot.

“Get out of here.” He rolls his eyes, but there is a smile on his face.

You bid him goodbye before making your way out of your meeting room. On the way out, you decide to grab a quick snack. You grab some chips from the cabinet before closing it and turning around.

“Oh my— Geez, Nat.” You jump as you see Natasha appear behind you. “Scared me.” You lean your elbows against the counter.

“Sorry,” you note that she doesn’t sound very apologetic, “just wanted to ask you something.”

You stand up straighter. Is this something serious? “What’s up?”

“We were planning on going for a walk later. Perhaps we can get something after, do you want to join us?” Natasha smirks.

Not serious. All that for a not-so-serious question. “Sur-”

“Oh, Steve is coming.” You blink at her interjection. “Just thought you should know.”

“Oh, okay?” You laugh. Did Steve just decide not to mention this? That’s odd, you were just with him. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great,” Natasha smiles before starting to walk away, “meet us in the lobby at seven.” She says over her shoulder before disappearing from sight.

You stand there alone in the kitchen, chips forgotten, “Okay?”

You decided to go back to your room after the strange encounter, not thinking much about it. You tidy up your room a bit and scroll on your phone for a bit. Before you know it, it is time to go. You grab your stuff before heading to the elevator and descending to the lobby.

“Hey guys,” You smile at Natasha and Steve. “We ready to go?”

“Waiting on Buck,” Steve responds, looking towards the elevator as it opens to reveal a person who is decidedly not Bucky. 

“Oh,” You weren’t aware he was coming. Actually, you feel substantially worse now that you know he’s coming. Did Natasha invite you and Steve to third wheel? 

“Don’t worry, we’ll give you two plenty of space,” Natasha smirks, giving you a small wink.

You blink, “Okay?” You whisper to yourself. Bucky finally appears once the elevator opens again, and he walks over to you three.

“Sorry about that, ready?” He smiles at you and Steve before you all agree to leave. 

You let Bucky and Natasha lead for a bit before turning to Steve, “You didn’t mention that you planned this.” You whisper to him.

He turns towards you, frowning. “I thought you planned this. Buck told me you were coming, so I thought you had some plan.”

You both turn toward Bucky and Natasha, then back to each other. “They got us.” You sigh. 

“No, we can work with this.” Steve tries optimistically.

“We can try.” You mumble tiredly.

The four of you walk around the city, eventually getting to the park. Natasha seems to attempt to make eye contact with you on multiple occasions. You offer her a small thumbs-up. At least things seem to be going well for her and Bucky. You and Steve haven’t needed to do anything.

“I have an idea.” You nudge Steve. “You see them on the bridge over there?” You gesture over to where Bucky and Natasha are talking on the bridge. “Let’s offer to take photos for them.” You smile at him.

“That’s an… idea.” Steve watches as you pull out your phone.

“Come on, let’s go.” You elbow him before heading over to the bridge.

“Hey! You two want a photo together?” You walk up to them, phone in hand.

Bucky freezes before turning around to face you. Even Natasha looks startled. You smile at him innocently, holding up your phone with the camera app.

“Do we get a choice—”

You cut Bucky off, “Annnnd smile!” You take various photos of them. 

“Put your hand on her shoulder, Buck,” Steve calls out from beside you.

“Are we photographing a family portrait?” Bucky retorts, amusement in his tone.

“A future one, maybe.” You whisper to yourself, slightly bitter.

“Okay, done.” You give them a thumbs up. “Those were so cute, you two. I’ll send them to you both.” You smile at them. The sooner you send them, the sooner they are out of your gallery. Those are not photos you need to keep in your phone, for your sanity’s sake.

The four of you continue to trek your way through the park. At some point, Natasha and Steve get caught up talking about the mission she’s leaving on. 

“There are ducks over there.” Bucky finds his way next to you.

You turn to where he’s pointing, seeing five, maybe six ducks on the shore of the lake. “Oh my goodness,” you frantically pull out your phone. You were honestly surprised that Bucky remembered that you liked taking photos of animals. 

“Want me to take a picture of you with them?” Bucky asks. 

You slowly pull your phone down, “Oh, sure.” You hand him your phone.

He steps back, and you let him take a few pictures of you with the ducks. “Thanks, Bucky.” You smile.

“It’s no issue at all.” He smiles.

You don’t know where the sudden burst of confidence came from, but you grab his shoulder and pull him next to you.

“What are you—”

“Smile!” You snap probably a dozen selfies of you and him in front of the ducks. He initially looks stunned by your action, but then he eventually gives the camera a small smile.

“Aw, these are cute.” You say scrolling through the photos. “Look at how shocked you look in this one!” You turn around to show him your phone, only to find he’s already been staring at the photos from over your shoulder.

“Send those to me.” He whispers, his voice right next to your ear. 

“Of course.” You smile at him.

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice catches both of your attention. “Where’ve you two been?” She asks, frowning. 

You point your thumb to the ducks behind you two, “Oh,” she looks towards Bucky. “Well, come on, we were going to go get ice cream.” She walks away before either of you responds.

Despite your actual objective having no progression, with Steve talking with Natasha and you talking with Bucky, you’d say that the whole adventure was pretty fun. By this point, it was pretty dark, so the group decided to wrap things up.

You guys walk to a small ice cream shop a couple of streets away from the tower. Steve and Nat go in first to order. You tell the worker what you’d like before Bucky comes along. 

“I’ll have chocolate chip cookie dough.” He tells the employee. You all decided to get cups this time around. Once Bucky gets his ice cream, you all pay before walking out.

You happily enjoy your ice cream, and you feel almost at peace right now. You could almost forget the fact that you and Steve are probably intruding on what could’ve been a date. Bucky and Natasha do such a good job of hiding their relationship that you almost think they aren’t dating. Bucky has actually spent more time next to you this trip than anyone else.

“Your ice cream good?” You walk up to Bucky. He nods, “Wanna try?” He asks, tilting his cup towards you.

This means nothing. This means nothing. This means nothing. “Sure!” You take your spoon and get a small bit of his ice cream before eating it. “Oooh, that is good!”

He chuckles, “You want more?”

You shake your head, “Nah, it’s okay.” You tilt your cup towards him. “Do you wanna try mine?” You try not to think too much about what you offer.

He seems hesitant to accept, but you offer him a warm smile as if you want him to try it. “Sure.” He gets a small bit of your ice cream. “That’s good.” You smile, happy he enjoyed your choice.

You eventually cave under Bucky’s persistent offers to share the ice cream. By the time you both finish, you realize you basically just split ice cream. You failed to notice how Steve gave you both odd looks as you shared ice cream. Before you know it, the four of you arrive at the tower and are crowding into the elevator.

“Well, I’m done for the night,” Steve says as you guys walk out into the common area.

“Yeah, that was fun though.” You add, and everybody murmurs in agreement.

You all bid each other goodnight, and you start to get ready for bed. Right as you plop into bed, ready to knock out for the night, you check your phone. Who is texting you at—

Hey, so I noticed you haven’t sent me those photos we took by the ducks. Do you mind sending them?

Instantly awake, you grip your phone, staring at the message. Do you open it now? What if he thinks it’s weird that you read his message so fast? Does he even care if you read his message immediately? Does he know general texting etiquette like that?

Oh shoot my bad

You attach the photos and send the best ones you could find.

I only sent you the best ones :)

You stare at your phone, watching as the bubble appears, showing he is typing.

Just the best ones? I’m sure all of them are perfect. Send me all of them.

You instantly feel your face heat up, and you kick your feet against the bed. Damn, you are glad he can’t see you acting like this.

Please.

You snort as he adds on that last text. It’s okay, though. Nobody is in your room. Nobody can judge if you act a little crazy.

Alright, but don’t blame me if they’re bad lol

You attach all the photos you guys took in front of the ducks. 

Sorry I may have spammed the camera without thinking. There’s a lot.

You watch as he types his next response out.

That’s okay. Thanks.

You decide to heart the message, and then put your phone down, thinking that’s the end of the conversation. You look up at the ceiling with a massive grin on your face. You turn off all the lights and get under the covers when you hear it: a vibration. 

Instantly, your hand shoots out from under the blankets into the cold air, grabbing hold of your phone.

Don’t you find it funny how Nat made us all go out to get away from work, and then proceeded to talk to Steve about work for the whole walk?

You stare at the message, an actual conversation? 

Omg fr I was like bro come on why did they ditch us like that??

You eagerly await the next message. You watch the texting bubble.

I haven’t heard “fr” yet. What does that mean?

You beam at the screen.

-

You walk into the meeting spot right on time, rubbing your eyes.

“Okay, so— What happened to you?” Steve starts out before frowning at your disheveled state.

“I was up late.” You respond shortly.

“I knocked out last night. How long were you up til?” He asks.

“Like two? Maybe three?” You shrug, sitting down in one of the chairs.

“Doing what?” He asks, you didn’t realize he was so nosy.

“On my phone. Anyway,” You wave a hand for him to continue his original rant. 

“What could you be doing on your phone that late?” He asks, frowning.

“Watching videos, doomscrolling.” You say, trying to ignore the voice in your head saying, “I was texting Bucky for hours, my bad.”

He looks at you, “Alright, well, maybe avoid doing that.”

“Yes, sir, Captain.” You spin in your chair twice before stopping. “Alright, now what is this plan you wanted to tell me about?”

He sighs, “As I was saying, Natasha is already gone by this point. Her mission shouldn’t take more than a day, as it’s pretty close to New York. I will talk to Bucky and try to open him up to the idea of a relationship.” You nod along to his plan.

“Then, later that day, you will just casually bring it up to him. Maybe even mention Nat by name. We won’t do it immediately, though. We don’t want him to think our efforts are coordinated. Let it roll around in his head for a bit. This is where you come in. You bring up dating again. Make him think ‘Wow, two people are telling me I should date somebody? Maybe I should.’ By this point, it’ll be night, and he’ll fall asleep thinking of Nat. Then I come around the next morning, and he agrees to let us help him get with Nat.” Steve gives a proud smile at the end of his plan.

You blink at him slowly, your brain still sluggish. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve smiles, “Oh, come on, give me more than that. It’s a good plan.”

“It’s a plan.” You say dryly. “Let’s just hope it works.” You stand up.

“It will, trust me. Okay, as for specific timing, I will go talk to Bucky now. You will wait at least six hours before talking to him.” Steve checks the time.

“Alright,” You give a small smile, “if this works though, Bucky owes us bigtime.”

“Oh hell yeah, he does.”

-

You went about your day normally. You didn’t really want to think about how you were going to approach Bucky. Hours and hours passed until you eventually got the text from Steve. “It’s time.” It read, perhaps a bit ominous for your liking. 

You walk around the tower in search of Bucky, and surprisingly, it doesn’t take long to find him. You walk into the common area, having zero expectations, and find yourself staring at Bucky on the couch.

He looks up straight at you, and you’re both frozen in place. For some reason, you get this feeling that he expected you.

“Hey,” You greet him, walking over slowly.

“Hey,” He returns, and it’s so quiet.

“Mourning the absence of the other half?” You joke, leaning onto the couch opposite him.

He raises an eyebrow, “Steve? Didn’t realize he left the tower.”

Thrown off guard, you frown, “What? I meant Nat.”

He nods slowly, glancing at the elevator before nodding, “Right,” he draws out. 

“How’ve you two been anyway?” You ask, taking a seat on the couch, facing him. 

“Nat and I? Fine?” He seems a bit puzzled by the question, but answers it regardless.

You cross your legs, leaning onto the armrest, “Just ‘fine?’” 

He frowns, shrugging, but nodding nonetheless. 

You open your mouth to speak, but hesitate. He’s looking at you, and it feels like he can read your mind. Does he know how much you hate this? He couldn’t. This whole time, you haven’t struggled with aiding Steve in this operation. You’ve been doing well. Pull yourself together.

You shake your head inconspicuously before continuing, “You’d be cute together, you know.” Your voice doesn’t stutter, and it sounds confident. 

Bucky’s mouth parts, as if surprised by the assessment. “You think?”

You nod, fidgeting with the fabric of the couch in order to avoid eye contact. “Yeah, I mean, you two spend a lot of time together. She’s badass, you’re badass. Power couple, ya know?”

You feel Bucky smirk at your comment, “You think I’m badass?” He chuckles.

You turn to look at him reproachfully, “That’s what you took from that?”

“I heard the rest, don’t worry.” His smirk widens.

You debate throwing a pillow at him, “Yeah huh.”

“I’m serious. What, you don’t believe me?” He shakes his head, as if offended. You know he isn’t.

“No, not really.” You can’t help the smile that appears on your lips.

He chuckles lowly, “That’s painful, sweetheart.” He gives a quick glance at the elevator.

You have to stay focused. Do not look at Bucky. Do not look at Bucky. That’s just how he is. You can’t help but think back to how Steve said Bucky was always the one who set up dates for him. If this was how Bucky talked to girls back then, you would’ve also caved. 

“You’ll live, sweetheart.” You mock him, if only to detract attention from your embarrassment. You await his laughter, perhaps a scoff, or even an overly exaggerated sigh.

Instead, he remains silent. You turn to look at him, but he just seems frozen, staring at you. The moment your eyes meet, he laughs, but it sounds strained. You raise an eyebrow at his odd behavior.

Suddenly, the elevator rings out. You don’t think much of it, but Bucky gives it an oddly conflicted look. Relieved? Pained? You can’t tell. Then you turn around.

Natasha walks in, and you feel your brain short-circuit. You watch, trying to hide your obvious shock, as Natasha walks over to where Bucky is. They greet each other casually, as if you aren’t there. Ouch.

You guess that Steve was wrong.

It’s fine. Really, it’s okay. It’s okay. Steve didn’t exactly give you a backup plan on what to do. This is going great.

Eventually, Natasha turns to greet you, and you smile at her. “I didn’t realize your mission would be so quick.” 

She gives a knowing smirk, “I left last night so I could finish it early.” 

“Oh,” you respond eloquently. “Welcome back.” You aren’t feeling very “welcome” yourself, but that’s not important right now. 

“Thanks,” she takes a seat on the couch next to Bucky.

You look between the two of them. Sorry Steve.

“Well, I’ll leave you two—”

“You and Steve? How’ve you been?” Natasha smiles, crossing her legs.

“Uh,” you glance between her and Bucky, “Good. Good? I guess? I can’t speak for him.”

“You can’t?” Natasha raises an eyebrow, clearly doubting your statement.

“No? Should I?” You frown.

Natasha sighs, “Look, we wanted to catch you on your own since we concluded that you’re less clueless than Steve.”

You blink, “Thanks?” You don’t like where this is headed. You need to get out. 

“As your friends,” Natasha gestures between her and Bucky, “we feel obligated to help you.”

“Did you two plan this?” You ask them. Both of them ignore your question, but Bucky decidedly avoids your eyes.

“Look, we saw you two talking.” Bucky leans forward from his spot on the couch. “And it’s,” he looks away, “agonizing seeing you two dance around each other.”

You gape at Bucky, “You are severely misinterpreting what you saw.”

“You guys have been meeting in one of the old storage rooms.” Natasha deadpans.

“You are…” You point to Nat, “also misinterpreting that.”

“Really?” Bucky responds detachedly.

“Yes. Whatever you guys are seeing is not what you think.” You sit up straighter.

Bucky scoffs, and Natasha gives a long sigh. “Fine, live in denial.” He looks directly into your eyes. You take a deep breath as he shakes his head, “I- We will be here when you want to tell us the truth.” Bucky stands up, ready to walk away. 

You furrow your eyebrows, “You aren’t going to believe anything I say, are you?” 

“I’ve seen you two.” He seethes.

You shake your head, looking away from him. “Fine, believe whatever you want.” You toss your hands up in the air. “If you want to believe I’m sneaking around with Steve, you can believe that. I told you the truth. It’s your choice whether you want to believe that.” Bucky seems to falter at your words. 

You don’t wait to hear what they have to say next before you walk off. Of course, you had to be the one they confronted. Couldn’t be Steve, no. 

You make it back to your room, closing the door behind you. You pull out your phone.

They think we’re sneaking around together

You don’t even have to wait a minute before Steve responds.

What?

You flop onto your bed.

Bucky and Nat think we’re trying to hide some secret relationship or something

This time, you wait a bit longer for a response.

How? How could they possibly come to that conclusion? Did Bucky tell you?

Bucky and Nat told me. They’re both here.

She’s back already?

Yupppp, I think they planned to confront me about this. She left for her mission early. She not tell you?

Not a word.

He sends another text immediately after:

I’ll talk to her.

You groan, throwing your phone onto the mattress before grabbing a pillow and slamming it onto your face. 

-

You lean against the wall, waiting for Steve’s door to open. You had gone to sleep that night, not wanting to deal with the aftermath of whatever that was. Steve hadn’t said anything after his last text. 

You have your phone in your hand, and you tap the side of it anxiously. The door opens up, and you immediately move to greet Steve.

“What happened?” You ask, making him stumble.

“Jesus, how long have you been there?” He asks.

“Like twenty minutes,” you follow him as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Now what happened?”

He starts to make himself a smoothie, and you lean on the counter watching. “I talked to Nat.”

You raise your eyebrows, gesturing for him to continue. “Okay? Details?”

He sighs, “I told her that we aren’t in a relationship.” 

“Did she believe you?” You grab an apple from the counter.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Seemed like it?”

“‘Seemed like it?’” You take a bite of the apple.

“Yeah, I dunno.” He grabs the ice tray from the freezer.

“How are you so calm about this?” You watch him in disbelief.

Steve pauses his movement, looking up at you, conflicted.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He puts all items down on the counter, giving you his full attention.

“What?” You blink.

“About Bucky.” He almost looks sympathetic.

“What are you talking about?” Is he implying what you think he’s implying?

“Don’t,” he shakes his head, “Don’t play stupid.”

You remain silent.

“When you bumped into him in the hallway, I thought it was odd. He was acting bizarre.” Smoothie forgotten, he moves closer to you to keep your conversation quiet.

“I thought maybe it was a fluke, but then you told me that he gave you his number.” He gives a small chuckle. “He is picky with who he adds to his contacts.”

Suddenly, your mouth feels dry. You can’t form words; you can only listen as Steve lists out the different pieces of evidence.

“Then he shared his ice cream with you.” Steve shakes his head at you. 

You look down, away from his unwavering stare. “We’re just good friends?” You respond, but even you’re questioning it.

“I’m his best friend, you don’t see me scooping ice cream out of his cup.” Steve deadpans. You cover your face with your hands. 

“Were you ever going to say anything?” Steve asks softly, a frown on his face.

“I dunno, you sounded so convinced that he’d be happy with Nat, I tried to ignore it.” You mumble into your hands.

“I wouldn’t have done any of this if I knew you actively liked him.” Steve sighs. 

You shake your head, “I didn’t think it mattered. You’re his best friend. If you thought he liked Nat, then that was probably the most likely scenario.” 

Steve leans against the counter, “This is a mess now.” He says softly.

You laugh humorlessly. “Yep.” 

He turns to you, “Are you going to do anything about it?”

You give a dead stare to the fridge in front of you, “Nope.”

Steve looks like he was slapped, and it’d be funny in literally any other situation. “So you’re just going to leave him with Nat?”

“Yeah,” You look down at the ground.

He remains silent for a moment before standing up straight. “I gotta go.” 

You blink, “What—”

“I’ll talk to you later!” He calls out, pulling out his phone.

You look at the cluttered counter, “Your smoothie?” You look at the forgotten ingredients.

“Guess I’m making one now.” You sigh, picking up where he left off.

-

After your talk with Steve, you pretty much locked yourself in your room for the rest of the day. Was it sad? Absolutely. However, you didn’t have the energy to face any of the people involved in whatever that was. The chances of seeing those people are pretty high, seeing as they live here, so yeah, you stayed in your room.

You didn’t get any texts from anybody (not that you were checking). So, you put on some of your comfort movies and watched those for most of the day.

Steve didn’t come to say anything, which you do find a bit surprising. You expected at least a text of “You okay?” He seemed concerned about your feelings earlier. Perhaps he realized that you and Bucky were a hopeless case. Which, yeah, true, but it still hurts.

You couldn’t help but rethink the past few days. When Steve laid it out like he did, it really seemed like Bucky could’ve liked you. You had ignored the signs because, well, Natasha was right there. Despite everything that’s happened, you still have that infinitesimally small spark of hope that he returned your affection. 

You pull out your phone, the movie droning on in the background. You open photos and see the selfies you took with Bucky. You tap on the first one, smiling at how unprepared he looked. You scrolled through some of them until you stopped at one. 

It wasn’t one of the ones you had originally considered the best. After all, he wasn’t looking at the camera. What made you pause is where he is looking. 

You.

He was looking at you.

You had a smile on your face, staring at the camera, oblivious to his gaze. The look he gave you wasn’t something you recognized. It wasn’t a look he gave Natasha, nor a look he gave Steve.

You dare to say it looks lovesick. The same emotions that had you giggling and kicking your feet late at night. The same emotions that had you avert your gaze when the word “sweetheart” was uttered by him. The same emotions that had you texting until early mornings, awaiting a response instead of sleeping.

You favorite the photo, immediately hiding your screen as if somebody would see you. 

A loud knock startles you, and you stand up, frantically throwing your phone (which lands safely on your mattress). You approach the door to see Steve there.

“Hi?” You ask, looking at his hand still raised to knock. 

“Hello,” he puts his hand down, “so I may have done something.” He whispers to you.

“Okay?” You raise an eyebrow.

“So, remember how we were talking about Bucky earlier?” He asks.

How could you not? “Eh, maybe a little.” You respond sarcastically.

“I made a plan.” He looks at you proudly. “For you two, not Nat.”

You look at him in horror, “All of your plans for helping him with Nat were awful. How is this going to be any better?” 

“Uncalled for, but this is good, I promise.” He gives you a small smile.

“Okay,” you look at him doubtfully.

“I told him I’d meet him in the common area to hang out in fifteen minutes. However, I want you to be there before then. He will be expecting me, and then see you. Then you two can hash out.” He leans against your door.

You look at him, blinking. “You serious?”

“Yes. I figured it’s the least I owe you for making you suffer through all of that.” He waves his hand as he talks about the past. You stand there speechless. “You might wanna go now, no rush.” He gives you a smirk before leaving you standing at the door.

You turn around and zip around the room, you try to make yourself slightly presentable with the less than fifteen minutes Steve gave you. You are about to walk out of your room before you decide at the last second to grab your phone.

You walk to the common area, taking deep breaths. You eventually pick a couch to sit on, pulling out your phone so that at least if somebody (Bucky) walks by, you aren’t staring at nothing. You stare at your reflection on the screen, feeling your heart race.

The couple of minutes you sit there feel like an eternity. While waiting, you open every app on your phone before closing it seconds later. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Perhaps Steve is making a mistake, and wouldn’t that be soul-crushing?

Minutes go by before you hear them: footsteps. You fight the urge to look up as they approach.

He says your name.

You look up casually, as if you haven’t been waiting for his arrival. “Oh, hey, Bucky.” You smile at him, giving him a slight wave with your phone. You both remain silent. 

You try not to watch as he slowly makes his way over to the couch opposite you. He sits down, and your gaze flickers to him a few times. You should put your phone down. You should definitely put your phone down. The issue with that is it’s the only thing protecting you from just blatantly staring at him.

“I believe you.” He breaks the silence after what felt like minutes.

You look up to him, confused.

He meets your gaze, “The other night. When I thought you were with Steve.” He clarifies.

“Oh,” you pause, “don’t worry. I’m sure the situation did look weird from an outsider's perspective.” 

“That shouldn’t have mattered.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve believed you, I was just…” He looks away. “Steve is my best friend. He looked happy with you. You two would sneak away and meet up secretly. I wanted him to be happy. He hasn’t found somebody who made him act like that since Peggy. I thought that maybe you’d be the one.” He looks up at you. “And I know, I know, that isn’t what you two had. I just made an assumption, a bad one.”

“You were upset that I was taking away that potential happiness from him?” You begin to understand.

“No.” He instantly says, “I mean, yes, but that wasn’t the main reason.”

You take a deep breath, digesting the information. “Because of me.” You whisper.

He gives you a tired smile, “I thought that maybe if I made Steve happy, that would triumph over the ache I felt for you. When you rejected the idea of getting with Steve,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t know what to do. I assumed you didn’t like me because you never attempted to do the things you did with him with me. You never snuck away to talk to me, never conspired with me like you did with him or anything. I figured it was a lost cause and damage control by that point.”

“You liked me?” The words are a question, but your tone makes it sound like a statement. He nods slowly. 

You stare at him before leaning back and covering your eyes with your hand. “I know, please don’t feel obligated to—”

“I liked you too, but I thought you liked Nat.” You say, abashed.

That makes him stop talking instantly. “What?”

“You were talking with her that one night, Steve and I happened to see it at the same time. He started telling me how he couldn’t believe you two weren’t dating.” You chuckle, looking up at Bucky’s astonished expression.

“So we came up with a lot of plans,” you continue, “to try and get you two together. It failed, obviously.” You gesture between you both.

Bucky rubs his temples before leaning forward from his spot on the couch. “You aren’t joking?”

You smile, but it comes out more like a grimace, ”I wish.”

“That night,” he starts slowly, “we saw you two plotting. Nat instantly spotted it. She told me she had been wanting to set him up with somebody.” You feel your stomach drop. There’s no way this story goes where you think it’s going.

“She told me how cute it’d be if you two got together, and well,” he gestures to the room around him.

“That night she came over and asked if I wanted to join you guys on a walk…” You shake your head. 

“Her idea.” He responds dryly. “I assume the phone number thing was one of your guys’ plans?” 

“Yeah,” you respond, laughing in disbelief.

He stands up, watching you. You copy his movement, moving closer to him. Neither of you looks away, staring at one another as if the other will vanish once eye contact breaks. “I can’t believe…” He chuckles. “This whole time?” He slowly reaches his vibranium hand up to cup your face. The moment the metal touches you, he flinches back, as if forgetting it wasn’t his flesh one. You grab it before he can pull away, slowly bringing it back to your face. 

He gently cups your face before freezing, “Wait, do you still like me?” He looks genuinely concerned.

You smile, stepping closer, “I never stopped.”

He leans in, and before you know it, the gap between you two is nonexistent. You feel your heart beating faster than ever. This time, however, it’s not out of stress or fear. You think that maybe this is it, you are going to melt under his touch, but he holds you firm and in place as if to tell you he will be there to support you. You find yourself relaxing in his hold. Love, the word places invades your thoughts as if it always belonged. It cements itself in the trenches of your mind. All those times you doubted who felt what now feel insignificant. The moment feels like it lasts less than a second, but oh— how you wish it was your eternity. 

He pulls back, a smile on his face.

-

“I swear you guys can’t pull this every damn dinner.” Tony points his fork around the table. “You did this last time, where you start off quiet, and then end with unsubtle glares across the table. Please, we are better than this.” He sets his fork down.

You glance at Bucky, who is sitting across from you. As if sensing your gaze, he turns toward you, matching your expression.

“Oh, and now that is happening. Love it.” Tony remarks sarcastically.

“I take it things worked out.” Steve comments.

“You can say that.” You sneak a glance at Bucky before turning to Steve.

“Oh, kinda hate it actually,” Tony adds helpfully. “You know, when I said I was disappointed in you all for not telling me whatever you’re up to, I lied. I don’t think I want to know anymore.” He shakes his head as if trying to tune out the situation.

You roll your eyes, turning toward Bucky, who shakes his head at Tony. He meets your eyes and throws you a small wink. 

“No, you really don’t.” You smirk at Tony.

The only reason that the last plan of Steve's worked is cause it wasn't his lmao. He 100% asked Nat for help. Bucky thought that you were "planning on meeting Nat" in the common area, and Nat told him to go meet you there.

Okay real side note, thank you SO much for all the support on my fics so far. I have no words. I read every single comment you guys leave (reblogged or not), and they bring me tremendous joy. Thank you so much for reading my work. I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog :D